Sam could tell when a patron was looking at him because the lights in his little cell grew brighter. Dim blooming swiftly into blinding, flooding his bound body with inescapable scrutiny.
Other than that, there was no change or indication of what might be about to happen. He could lay there for long stretches of time, looked over like a slab of meat.
Human meat, there to take a pounding. If that's what they desired. Sam had no room for desires of his own it only led to heartache, none of them ever came true.
Seconds ticked by and he closed his eyes again. Wait. Don't worry, don't anticipate, he always got it wrong.
The lights stayed on. The door clicked open. He'd been chosen.
His body belonged to someone else for the night.
Half an hour later, freshly scrubbed and pink as a blossom, he was led by armed guard to one of the client rooms.
He was bare, all soft soled feet and curled hands and waxed skin. Nothing between him and whoever owned him for the night.
They must have asked for no embellishments, no cuffs or collar. His piercings had been removed and even his cock cage was gone. Whisked away like nothing, as though it hadn't tormented him for weeks.
The guards left him outside the room with a smirk, one barely concealing a laugh. The cameras watched his every move and he had to obey, he couldn't face the prospect of another punishment cycle, not for something as trivial as a night with a random buyer.
He steeled himself and slipped into the extravagant room, daring to peek at who might be using him tonight.
The guy was… big. Not as tall as Sam but broad, thick, muscle and weight and a barrel chest. Large meaty hands and a confidence in his demeanour that made Sam shudder. No one that looked like that, and asked for him, had ever treated him well.
He paused by the door, knowing his only way out was back down the corridor, back in an isolation cell and at the end of a whip. It wasn’t a way out, not really, just trading one horror for a worse one. He had to do this. The flashing cameras in the corners demanded it.
He slid to his knees.
“Evenin’ sugar, seems like we’ve got some time to kill, huh?”
And that was an odd way to phrase it but Sam wasn’t about to disagree. The footage had no audio, but if he made this guy mad it would be easy enough for the facility managers to know.
So he nodded.
“Look, I don’t wanna hurt ya, but I do have to get what I paid for.” he stepped close and Sam looked up, and up, and took in the scruffy beard and focused gaze.
“Yes, sir, what should I call you?”
Clear blue eyes cold as ice stared down at him with fascinated consideration.
“Sir is fine, my name’s Benny, but maybe we shouldn’t get too comfortable just yet.”
Sam licked his lips, “How long have you paid for sir?”
“Two hours, should be plenty of time. They teach you this? The kneeling, the calling me “sir” all formal like?”
“It’s… expected.” Sam frowned, shrinking away, this wasn’t right, something wasn’t right.
“Hmm, thought it would be straight to the sex, all seductive and teasing, you doing everything you can to turn me on.”
“You’re thinking of a whore house sir, I’m a slave, I don’t do anything unless you tell me.” Sam retorted, eyes widening as the words slipped free, realising what he’d said.
His mouth was always getting him into trouble.
The guy, Benny, laughed. Sudden and long, throwing his head back, gravel and crisp fall leaves, a sound so rarely heard by Sam’s ears. He leaned towards it, hungry, terrified.
“I like that, you got guts!”
“Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
“Look if I’d wanted you silent I’d have had them gag you, it’s all good. I ain’t here to make you miserable.”
Sam nodded. It was true enough, he spent many hours in rooms like this with a full mouth and an aching jaw. His hands were shaking and he rested them on his knees. This was normal, just a client, he could handle it. He would handle it.
“How do you want me to serve you sir?”
Benny crouched down, meeting Sam on his level.
“What do you want to do?”
Sam’s insides folded in on themselves, squirming round his heart like a constrictor. He hated mind games.
“I don’t get a say sir, as I said before.”
“I don’t want to do anything you hate. C’mon, zip the sarcasm, let’s see what you react to and take it from there.”
Sam waited for the command or the rough grip on his hair, and startled at the warm hand that settled on the back of his neck instead.
“Up and at ‘em, kid.” Benny said softly.
He followed the guiding hand, drawn around the room like silk on the breeze, barely seeing barely thinking. Time to check out now the worst was coming, he could just float away until it was done, and hate later as he felt the marks and hurts his body was sure to receive.
“There, see.” they’d stopped in front of the St Andrew’s cross and Sam recoiled when he realised it. “You don’t like this one. That’s good to know.”
Sam clenched his fists, anger seeping down to find a way out.
“How did you know?”
“Pretty good at reading people, you got all tense and something changed in your eyes. It’s fine, we’ll do something else, I gotta make this look good.”
Ah yes, the tapes, his brutal sessions always surveyed by monitors and recorded for prosperity in case the clients desired to buy the footage.
“Here, up on this.”
Sam faltered, before slipping away and folding into the high backed chair. Straps and buckles wrapped around his limbs, torso, and head, but he was nothing, gone. Watching blearily as hands caressed his skin.
“Darlin’, hey boy, come on back it’s alright,” sir said, tapping his cheek.
Sam couldn’t shake his head now he was all fixed in place, but he blinked.
“You don’t have to talk to me. I’m here for your… usage. Do as you please.”
“I want you here with me, gotta stay alert, right? No checking out, be a good boy and stay with me.”
Sam swallowed, throat closing, lungs squeezing, anger boiling. Don’t let them get to you, he told himself, but it was harder when they didn’t let him zone out.
His struggle was noticed, Benny sighed, pinching his nose.
“I’m gonna be straight with you, there’s a reason I’m here and it’s not because you look like a good fuck — though believe me you do — but your brother, he sent me, we’re making a break to get you out but I gotta wait for the signal. We have to make this look good, but be ready to run when the time comes.”
“I can roleplay sir, but… I need more information. How do you want me to act?”
“This ain’t a joke kid,” he spat, leaning over Sam, wide shoulders hunched close and musky aroma tickling Sam's nose. “Your brother, Dean? We’re staging a rescue.”
Sam had vague memories, a brother, a life, sometime before he was twenty. Sometime before he curled up inside his mind to survive the cruelty.
He wasn’t breathing, he couldn’t fathom the reason Benny was saying such things, such taunts.
“I don’t — you’re… please, I can’t.”
“Fucks sake, calm down, just… forget I said anything, we need to pass some time.”
Sam whimpered, closing his eyes.
“Tell me which things you can manage without drifting too far away. Right now, boy, don’t think just tell me.”
“Nipple pain or, or teasing, I can… I can do those.”
The words slipped free like water, and Sam wasn’t in control anymore.
Benny had pulled an orgasm out of Sam pretty quickly, nipples clamped in fiery pain and his body locked down tightly, he’d jacked Sam off and ordered him to come as soon as he could.
It wasn’t difficult, he hadn’t orgasmed in weeks, most clients didn’t care about his own release. He was floating pretty high, Benny was being unnaturally gentle.
He kept talking, and expecting responses, keeping Sam present and aware. It was off putting, but a welcome distraction from his body seen as he couldn't fully slip away
“These cameras, they always on? Even in your cells?”
Sam gasped, his ass was pretty sensitive now, his prostate screaming at every touch.
“I think so,” yes sir, he added mentally, as pleasure rolled through him, rendering speech a far off concept.
He’d been tied to the spanking bench after his release from the chair and Benny had fucked him hard and fast, condom wrapped pleasure pounded out in minutes. Now it was just toys and teasing touches as Benny worked to elicit every reaction out of Sam that he could.
“Mmm, love to get a look at that footage. You looked amazing all on display,” he said, holding Sam by the hip, making mark after mark, nails digging into flesh. Sam didn’t care though, his skin was a canvas and right now the painter was not a harsh one.
He moaned as whatever toy was in his ass pressed deep and drew back with a squelch and a pop.
“Do you know what you looked like? I'm surprised you weren't already booked up, stroke of luck for us.”
Sam had some idea what Benny would have seen, the way the slaves were arranged for optimal viewing. There was a two way window in all the cells, and it reflected his own sad form back at him. Legs spread in ankle holsters, leaving his ass and cock exposed. Head and arms held steady so every part of him could be seen, leered over, appraised and judged.
It was sickening. And normal. And he closed his eyes every time so he didn't have to see.
“You think they’re looking at us right now? Seeing how you behave, seeing what I do?” Benny sounded flushed, eager, wanton. Voice cutting low and desperate.
Sam didn’t expect they were paying very close attention, this wasn’t an unusual sight. But Benny liked the idea and he didn’t want to anger the man who was treating him with so much more care than usual.
“Yes, sir, they’re there.”
“You sound so fucked out right now.” Benny huffed.
“Fuck, always apologising you, should teach you not to do that.”
“Not to state the obvious, but usually people want me to be meek and obey.”
“How’s that working out for you?” Benny circled round to look at his face.
“I’m not the best.” Sam admitted, glad of it, hating it. He didn’t want to be a husk of who he was, but it got him into trouble far too often.
“You respond well though.” Benny smirked. “Wanna see what else I can do to you.”
The crop left Sam panting hard, tears pricking at his eyelashes, ass covered in cherry red stripes. Benny gave it up with a sigh.
“Shame I can’t do more, reckon it’s almost time.”
He walked back into view and ruffled Sam’s hair, and gripped tight, pulling Sam’s head back for a kiss. Unusual, so unusual. Too intimate, too possessive. Sam’s mind screamed to pull away, run far far away, but his body reminded him he couldn’t even if he had the guts.
Benny quickly undid the bindings and lifted Sam to his feet. He was shaky, holding tension and pain behind a wall that he couldn't let break until it was over, but he managed to stay upright and still his trembling legs.
“I need to make you look the part,” Benny said opening cupboard doors. “They got stuff in here that will fit you?”
“Yes, sir.” Sam gulped. His brain was spinning away from him at an alarming rate, Benny's words starting to shake something loose, now they’d had chance to sink in. His insistence that there was something more going on was a warning light in Sam's mind.
A rescue? His brother? The idea was so specific, even the name sounded right.
“Dean?” he sounded the word on his tongue. Pleasure and stinging pain had lowered his defences.
Benny rounded on him with a wild look in his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said urgently, gripping Sam's arm with a cruel bite of nails. “You heard that? You putting the pieces together?”
“I don't understand.” Sam admitted. “Why? Why now?”
Benny threw his hands up, agitated and animated and Sam sunk to the ground waiting for the blow to fall.
He squinted at the man, seeing the danger and unpredictability, watching for the moment Benny decided Sam looked better in pain. Waiting for the instant he could believe his gut when it screamed wrong wrong wrong.
“You have any idea how hard it is to infiltrate and rob a slave operation. They don't exactly leave the doors open. You could try being grateful that we're here at all.”
“I don't know you!” Sam growled.”You could be making it up.”
“Well hang on to your balls cause you're gonna be proven wrong in two shakes of a lamb's tale. And there'll be all the time in the world to get to know me after.”
The thought made his heart jump. Fear. Hope. All the things he didn't let himself feel.
“Now, be a good boy, and make yourself all pretty for the cameras.”
Minutes later, dressed in black and silver fetish gear, Sam was caught unawares by the blaring of an alarm.
Benny didn't give him time to think just grabbed his wrist and they were running. Running and stumbling past guard stations, all empty save one, which Benny pulled a gun on and fired a low shot.
The guard went down with a cry and Benny clocked him round the head without so much as a pause.
Sam followed like a child clinging to its mother's skirt tails. Eyes wide and unable to take in the reality before him.
Out. Out. Out.
Benny tugged on his waist, strong arms circling him, dragging him into an embrace. Where were they? Why was there music?
A club. The club. Sam had heard there was one connected to the slave house, and there he was being guided through it, eardrums protesting the thud of the bass.
There were people everywhere and he didn't know who was who, were they looking for him? Would anyone recognise him?
His toes curled in an effort to protect his bare feet from stamping ravers and drunk patrons in high heels and studded boots.
Benny growled something he didn't hear and pushed him roughly up against a wall. Hands turned him round and he pressed his palms to the smooth surface.
Benny crowded in behind him and Sam felt the hard press of a cock against his hip. Grinding.
He whimpered. Mind stalling. He was still dressed up in a harness and metal eyelets, D-rings and strips of faux leather. What was it he was supposed to do?
He tried to inch away, meeting wall and resistance, finding a hand around his throat.
“Play along, cher, guards are looking.”
Sam tipped his head back, finding rough beard and piercing eyes and nodded. He did his best to match Benny's jerking movements thrust for thrust as he rubbed up against Sam, his breath hot on Sam's neck.
Benny shoved the straps wrapping around Sam's ass aside, rutting up against his crack, cock silky hot and heavy on Sam's skin. Sam groaned, he couldn't think past the fear and confusion and flashing lights, he couldn't move with the weight of Benny bearing down on him.
And yet years of training kicked in and he did what the client wanted, let his body be taken and used, and only felt grateful that Benny's bulk hid most of him from sight.
He glanced around and saw a sea of faces, some engaged in their own play, others watching as Benny took his pleasure out of Sam. He shuddered and pressed closer to the man thrusting and bruising against his back. Benny was safety, Benny meant possibility. He couldn't get captured, he couldn't face the terror of it, it overtook him. The punishment he'd receive for trying to run set his heart racing.
Reality became too much so he tumbled away and he played his part.
Hazy time later he was yanked by the arm out of the club, shivering in the cold and his skimpy outfit.
He heard a woop and raising his eyes found a black car, embracing men, and a long dark road.
“We did it!”
“Free and easy.” he recognised Benny's low grumble of voice.
Someone stood in front of him, hands waving.
He stood rooted down and steady, resisting the urge to sink to his knees.
“This him? Hey, Sammy?”
The man laughed, leather jacket rustling.
“You're with us now, we got you, okay?”
“He's a little skittish.”
Hand's tugged at his only protection from the cold, picking at the meagre bits of cloth, and he swung his own hands away so as not to bat at them.
“Skinny too. Thought there'd be more to him.”
“We can fix that. Did you get the tapes?”
“Yeah it's all taken care of. Let's get out of here before someone finds us.”
Sam wavered. The dark road looked inviting. Instinct told him not to rely on anyone else, he was all he had.
Two sets of hands pulled him unresisting into the car before the thought had chance to take flight.
A water bottle was thrust into his hand. “Drink up.”
He sipped gratefully.
“Dean? You're Dean?”
“You don't recognise me?”
“You're familiar? I'm sorry, it's been a long time.”
“He's always apologising.” Benny grouched.
“Ha! Not sure that's a problem dude. Yeah I'm Dean, we'll get you remembering before long, alright?”
Sam nodded. The water felt nice. The car was warm. He wasn't in a cell.
“Where are we going?” everything felt too big, too extreme. He focused on the leather under his hand and the rumble under his feet.
“Home.” Dean said simply.
The night was flying past and Sam floated.
“Drink all that, you'll probably need it.”
“He's got a mouth on him too you shoulda heard how he talked back!”
“Always did think he was too big for his boots.”
“We can fix it, get a nice ball gag, stuff him up. I don't think he'll protest too much. Wouldn't matter if he did either.”
“I dunno, I kinda want to hear him.”
“Maybe a ring gag, then? All the noises none of the lip.”
Sam blinked as his stomach clenched. Were the voices talking about him?
“Back with us baby bro?”
He tried to sit up. Memories flooded back. Benny. Escape. Car.
He couldn't move. Everything was heavy, fuzzy.
“Take it easy, you're not quite yourself right now.” Someone… Dean? Leaned over and patted his knee. He was laid out on the back seat, folded limbs all squashed up to accommodate the cramped space.
Something white and plastic pinched around both his wrists. That wasn't right. He tugged, panicking when it didn't budge.
“Is he back with us?”
“Almost, not moving much though. All drugged up still, I think.”
Sam squirmed, breathing going ragged and wild.
He didn't understand.
“Think we've got time for one more thing before we hit the road again?” Dean asked.
The smell of greasy food filled Sam's nostrils. Dull light and the sound of a highways worth of cars rushing by not far off. Too many senses, too many things to process, he was spiralling out and and out and out.
“What did you have in mind?” Benny asked, sounding amused.
“Need to get a shot at that mouth.”
The words brought him crashing back in to leather seats and leather clothes and his helpless floppy limbs. He trembled, nothing was in his control. He couldn't do more than wiggle his fingers.
Car doors opened and closed and night air washed over him as hands gripped his legs and hoisted him out.
“Shh, come on.”
His body folded beneath him and hands propped him upright, cool metal against his back, rough concrete beneath his knees. Blinking in the strange lights his brain connected parked cars and illuminated signs and came up with a highway rest stop.
There were hands on his head pushing backwards. Why couldn't he understand what was happening? Why wouldn’t they explain?
“Stop.” it came out slurred, his mouth was filled with cotton wool.
“Nah, I don't think so, open up.”
Fingers pried his jaw apart and a body blocked his line of sight, a thick cock inches from his face.
“Come on, be good and open wide.”
He took a deep breath, instinct taking over, before his mouth was full and precome slid over his tongue. The cock pushed in, and in and in, filling him all the way down his unresisting throat. He couldn't even choke, couldn't even gag, his body was so lax and loose.
“That good, huh?”
“He's taking me all the way, you seeing that?”
Someone laughed. Sam gasped as the intrusion skittered out and groaned as it filled him all over again.
Hands tipped his face and his body followed, so out of control. He looked up into a sculpted face and tears fell.
“Hold on, gotta make this quick.” Dean told him.
The pace was swift, brutal, and Sam's relaxed body took every inch, every thrust, until Dean emptied across his tongue.
He fell forward when the body steadying him let go, his bound hands hardly able to hold him upright. He struggled to swallow the thick liquid, sputtering as his muscles tried to take control.
A hand wiped his mouth for him. A grip on his hair yanked him straight. He yelped, gasping. Tears pricked his flush skin.
“Fuck you,” he whispered, his lips swollen and barely responding.
“Good boy, got some fight in you yet, I'm glad. I missed you.”
He kissed Sam, licking his own come around the sides of Sam's mouth.
“Got a long drive,” Dean said, pulling away. “Gonna go easy? Gonna be good for us?”
“Please,” Sam urged. He couldn't form full sentences. He just hoped. Hated. Tried to convey it all with the words he could shape.
“Begging isn't gonna change this, sorry to disappoint. This is all you're good for.” Dean said, roughly grabbing more hair to keep Sam upright.
“Think we should put him in the trunk?” Benny asked.
Sam panicked, he knew he wasn't small and the trunk of any car would be a tight fit and a horrible journey. He wished briefly for the familiarity of his cell, for the routine he was used to, he didn't know what do with this danger in the unknown.
“The footwell should be fine. Grab a blanket to cover him with.”
Dean yanked on his hair until he was looking into green fiery eyes, blinking away tears. Dean leaned in and bit harshly at his neck, bruising force of teeth and pressure that made Sam want to squirm away.
“Benny's got his marks all over your backside it's only right I should get mine on you. Be a good boy and do as we say, just relax now.”
Sam flailed, trying to connect his limbs to his brain, the fuzziness was slipping away. He wasn't strong enough and Dean hefted him into the car. Squashed down in the space behind the front bench seat he twisted, gasping, trying to surge forward — get out. He barely managed to raise his head.
Hands caught him, soothed him, shushed him. He sobbed.
Water was lifted to his lips, tipped back into his unresisting mouth. He sputtered but learned how to glug it, noticing a metallic tang this time. He shook with the knowledge of what it would do to him.
“There, all better. Settle down and sleep, next time you wake up we'll be nearly home.”
He blinked at the men above him, trying to recoil as they disappeared from view and a dark sheet smothered him. Hands tucked it in around him, he felt it encase him from head to foot. He whimpered.
One of them patted his hip and they laughed.
The rumble of the car engine rolled through his body, rocking and lulling. Vibrations thrumming as his body succumbed to drug induced tiredness.
Next time he woke he would be in an entirely different kind of hell.