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Take Me To Church

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From the moment you died, you were tied up in anguish, pain, despair. There was nothing as horrifying as waking up in Hell, your limbs bound, mouth gagged, and a sinister looking man standing over you. The snarl on that face was seared into your mind's eye, the growl that accompanied it rang in your ears. He claimed you, for some reason, and now there was no escape. You are fastened to a tilted table, leather straps holding you in place, your naked body already covered in fresh wounds. Blood seeps onto the wood beneath your bare skin, and tears run down your face. The walls, which seem more like ever-moving barriers of flame, intangible and yet definitely there, are lined with rows of weapons and torture devices straight out of the witch trials. Everything around you is tinged with a reddish-orange glow. If it weren't for the gag in your mouth, you would be screaming.

"Wakey, wakey, princess," Dean hisses at you, sliding his dirty knife along the inside of your thigh, just barely grazing the skin.

Shaking your head, you close your eyes and will it all to be a nightmare. Strangled pleas make their way around the gag and weakly sputter out into the air.

"Oh, stop. You were out cold through all of this. Time to appreciate my handiwork!" Dean chuckles, dragging the tip of his blade across your belly, letting it come to rest underneath the leather strap covering your breasts. The point digs into your skin, making a tiny, shallow incision. You let out a muffled cry but he only laughs.

Suddenly, he is next to your face, and the knife is dangerously close to your eyes. But instead of cutting them, Dean cuts loose the gag. 

"I wanna hear those screams, baby. I wanna hear you beg." The sinister voice chills you to your very core, your hands clenching into fists and straining against the leather straps around your wrists. 

"Where am I?" You stutter, another tear rolling down your cheek.

"Ain't it obvious?" He laughs again, with a wicked laugh. "You're in Hell. You're getting what you deserve, aren't you?"

"I don't understand." you cry out. "What did I do?! What did I do to deserve this!?"

"You must've done something, sweetheart. Maybe you didn't go to church enough, who knows? And I'm grateful you didn't, because I haven't had a pretty little thing like you down here, like, ever."

Before you realise what he is doing, Dean's knife is back against your sternum, lengthening the incision he already made. Your scream fills the fiery room, and Dean gives a small smirk of amusement.

"Tell me you deserve this and I'll stop."

"But--"

"Say it. Say you deserve it." His hands are on you now, fingers creeping under the leather to touch one of your nipples.

"I-- I deserve it." You stutter, whimpering beneath his touch. A mix of shock and fear has forced you to comply.

The rough fingers pinch at your nipple, sending a jolt of pain through your body. It adds to the pain of the fresh wound between your breasts and you shudder, writhing, trying to get away from him. Dean forces a knee between your legs, and the bindings seem to expand at his will to allow him in. The fear sends adrenaline through you, sickening you to your stomach, and you fear you may pass out again. Which, actually, would benefit you a fair bit, because his intentions are clearly disgusting.

"Oh, baby, I'm gonna make you beg me to take you. You're gonna want my cock more than anything in the world by the time I'm through with you."

"No- Please! Cut me again, do what you want, but please... Don't do that. I can't - not - not again!" You already know what it feels like to have a man force you into something you don't want to do. 

"I was gonna cut you into ribbons, sweetheart. Don't you worry about that." He growls into your ear, his knife slipping to the side of your belly. The sharp edge of the blade slices through your skin, and you scream again, wishing you were anywhere else but here. 

His blade continues making marks all over your body, your stomach, your thighs, calves, arms, but he doesn't touch your face. That, he needs intact. Across your stomach he has carved his initials, a big 'D.W.', marking you as his property. You're whimpering, crying, breathless with the agony of it all, and you want to do anything to please him so he'll stop slicing you up.

"Please don't do this, please. You have a choice, you can choose not to! Please, please, please..." Your wailing voice trails off into a sorry string of 'pleases'.

Dean's wandering hands return to the leather binding across your breasts, sliding the knife up underneath it again. This time, the sharp edge faces upwards to slice through the leather, exposing your naked breasts. The knife disappears from view, and he leans in close to your face.

"You need a break, sweetheart?"

"Please," you beg. "Please, I'll do anything."

"I want you to get nice and wet for me."

"What?" You cry, the word coming out with more syllables than its meant to have.

"I said, I want you to get nice and fucking wet for me. Down here." He brings his hand down in a harsh slap against your cunt, making you cry out. You feel shame and embarrassment that he's touching you there, but you desperately want him to stop hurting you.

"I can't, I can't! Please, I--"

His hand slaps you again, harder this time, sending a flash of pain through your pussy. You ache.

"I'll try," you whisper. "I'll try."

"Would this help?" Dean asks, using a finger to circle one of your nipples. You nod, using the gentle touch to separate yourself from the pain of a thousand cuts.

Your nipples become hard with the stimulation, and he keeps going. Dean clicks, and the cuts across your midriff vanish. One finger trails down, down, down, around your navel, and towards the meeting of your thighs. You shudder, but try to focus on getting wet for him so he will allow you this break. You search his face for something to concentrate on, and find it in his green eyes. He's handsome, more handsome than you could notice when he was torturing you. He was human once, you can tell that much. You imagine him smiling like a normal person, and suddenly getting wet isn't too hard. His finger finds its home between your slick folds, coming to rest atop your most sensitive little bud.

"Please," you croak, "Please don't stop."

"I like it when you beg, princess." Dean growls at you, pressing down with force into your clit. You cry out with a mixture of pleasure and pain, and it pleases him. He forces your legs further apart, and you feel yourself getting wetter at the thought of him sliding between them. If you make him happy with your wet cunt, he might let you off the table. He might let you play with him. If you please him, you could be his pet forever.

"That's right," he sighs into your ear, his tongue moving to caress your neck. "You're a naughty little slut, aren't you?"

You squirm at his touch, panting with need now. 

"Aren't you!"

"Yes!" You almost yell back.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Sir?" It's framed as a question; you're unsure what he wants you to call him.

"Good." He says, and pats you on the head.

Dean's fingers move away from your clit, finding your soaked entrance and forcing their way inside. You cry out from the sudden feeling of fullness, looking down at him. Hid head hovers above your belly, one hand at your cunt and the other at your breasts. He finds the incision between your breasts and jams a finger into it, forcing a hearty scream from your lungs. But you see all he wanted was what was inside you. Dean rubs the finger around your nipples again, leaving a meandering trail of blood, while his other fingers start moving inside your pussy. A groan escapes your lips, and he knows he's found your sweet spot. Hammering his fingers into it, he drives you to insanity. It's too much, too much to take. You're crying, but you're so wet. You've never felt this much pain and pleasure all at once.

Your legs are driven wide apart, held tight by the leather straps which have tightened again, your full pussy on display for him. You close your eyes with embarrassment, feeling your juices drip down your thighs and onto the table. You're well and truly drenched for him, aching for whatever he's going to give you.

Dean is barely looking at you now, completely intent on the blood from your chest wound. Part of you knows that he wants to reach in and grab your heart right out of your body at any moment. He's resisting, purely so he can hear you scream when he finally fucks you, rapes you. You're shaking with fear, adrenaline, and desire. There's so much shame in all this. He scissors his fingers inside you, stretching you out so you gasp.

"I'm getting you ready, baby. My cock's gonna destroy you. Forget church - you're gonna worship my cock instead. Now beg for it."

The jeans that Dean was wearing are on the floor, and he's stroking his enormous cock. You watch in horror as it grows in his hand, bigger than you know you can take. He approaches the table, leaning over you and rubbing the head of his monster cock up and down the folds of your cunt. Your clit is on fire, being lubricated by your wetness and by the blood he's spilled from your body. You think you might scream, but all that comes out is a moan and you start to beg, exactly as he asked you to.

"Please, Sir, I need your cock."

"You need it bad, don't you? Don't you, little slut?"

"Yes, Sir, I need your cock really bad."

"Tell me you're my little slut."

"I'm your little slut and I need your big cock, Sir."

"My big monster cock. Say it."

"I'm your little slut and I need your big monster cock, Sir." You start crying when you hear yourself say that; it sounds so silly.

"Oh, baby. Cry more," he growls at you, and forces the entire length of his wide shaft into your tight little hole. You scream, loud. "Oh, yeah baby. You're so fucking tight."

Dean's cock stretches you painfully, made unnaturally large by his time spent in Hell - the perfect weapon to torture little sluts like you. He slides it out of you slowly, until just the tip is inside you, and then rams it in again as hard as he can. An anguished cry wails from your mouth into the atmosphere which lights his senses on fire. He's sliding in and out of you faster and faster now, pulverising your cunt and pushing his cock head into your cervix. You've never felt every inch of you so full before, so full you might burst. 

Sharp fingernails rake your skin, leaving scratch marks across your chest and belly, smearing the blood across your skin. As much as you can underneath all the leather straps, you arch your back and cry out in painful bliss. 

"If I let your hands go, you can hold onto me," he grunts into your neck as he smashes his cock into your cunt repeatedly.

"Please, let them free. I want to touch you," you mutter. 

Without any need to move, Dean has freed your hands so you can move them. Blood rushes to your fingertips in seething agony. You bring one hand up and slap him hard across the face, which shocks him into stopping his delicious thrusts. 

"You little cunt," he rages, sinking his teeth into your neck. You gurgle, feeling blood fill your throat. You can't make a sound now. Dean begins thrusting into you again, your hands falling around his neck, gripping him tightly. He removes his teeth from your neck and replaces them with a hand, holding your neck together by sheer brute strength.

With his right hand choking you, and the other now resting on your lower abdomen, Dean leans his body back, face to the ceiling and eyes close so he can begin the ascent to his climax. The thumb of his left hand begins to press into your clitoris, and you know you're about to cum for him. He's broken you completely, absolutely savaged your body, but you are utterly his. At his mercy, you feel the walls of your cunt start to clench and tighten around his giant dick. He senses this in you, and snaps his fingers to repair your torn up neck, purely so he can hear you scream out your orgasm.

The sensation of his cock filling you beyond belief and his thumb pressing hard circles onto your clit sends you spiralling out of control. You shudder as you cum, eyes closed, toes curled, head thrust backwards, and mouth wide open. You scream, feel every muscle tense as you writhe underneath him, spasming around his cock.

"Oh, baby," he grunts. "You dirty little whore."

Dean moves his thumb from your clit to your mouth, forcing it inside. He holds it in there, and you suck it hard, like you wish it was his dick. Before too long, the devilish man lets himself tip over the edge into bliss, shooting hot, Hellish cum inside you. You feel it burning hot, searing the walls of your cunt. Dean growls into your neck, biting you just hard enough to leave a bruise but not tear out your throat as he did before. You feel an aftershock from your own orgasm, your cervix expanding and contracting with spasms of pleasure. Then, a sudden jolt of fear - you know that your greedy womb is swallowing his cum. You don't even want to imagine what might happen if his seed impregnates you in Hell. 

"You liked that, didn't you, slut? You love the feeling of my monster cock ripping you open and filling you up. I hope I've put enough cum in you to last a while, because you're not getting it again for a long time, you understand? I'm gonna make you beg for it every day. Who knows, maybe I'll breed you one day. Maybe I'll force you to carry my Hell-spawn. Would you like that, huh?"

Every fibre of your being knows the answer should be 'no'. You know you don't belong in Hell at all, there must have been a mistake made somewhere. But Dean has broken you; you're his for eternity, down here in the pits of Hell. No escape, no respite, no saving grace. Just you, and him, and his cock that he's forced you to love.

"Yes, Sir," you whisper, smiling up at him with adoring eyes, waiting for the next cut he will adorn you with.