A/N I have recieved so many requests to post more to this story that I had to continue it. Sorry it has taken me so long to get back to writing but life events in the past six months or so have been keeping me from my passion for far longer then wanted to. It didn't help any that my computer crashed taking with it all of my works in progress and anything that I didn't have saved on the internet somewhere was totally lost. A wedding, a hurricane or two and a lot of other personal issues cropped up and kept me from my beloved stories but... hopefully I'll be able to keep at it. This story alone deserves at least one more chapter and I have two or three other works in progress that I'm sure miss me as much as I miss them!

Chapter Three: Sweet Revenge

Dean smiled as he checked his duffel bag making sure he had everything he needed for tonight's 'hunt'.

"How many times are you going to check your gear Dean?" Sam asked his brother exasperated.

Dean glanced at his brother and smirked. "Until I'm sure I have everything I need to make sure things go exactly as planned tonight."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother. "When has any hunt we've ever been on gone 'exactly' as planned?" Sam replied.

Dean's eyebrows rose and his lips perked out giving him a ducky look that made Sam smile every time he saw it. "Good point," he told his brother and reached into the open trunk of the impala, snagged a pair of handcuffs and tossed them into the bag as well.

"Handcuff's?" Sam asked. "I thought you said it was a poltergeist."

Dean smiled. "You coming?" he asked as he closed the trunk and headed into the old abandoned farmhouse.

Sam huffed at his brother, gave one of his classic bitch faces, lifted his salt gun and slung his own bag over his shoulder before following Dean.

The door squeaked loudly as Dean pulled it open and entered before Sam even got up the front stairs. It was dark inside the house, but he didn't need the flashlight to point the way. He'd been in the house a few hours ago making his own preparations for this evening's 'hunt'. The dark room hid his grin as he silently made his way to the basement.

"Dean!" Sam called urgently but quietly as he entered the house. He pulled out his flashlight and shown it around the sparse room. His brother was no where in sight. "Damn it Dean," he said under his breath. "What the hell?"

Adrenalin pumped through his body as he searched the room, flashlight in one hand, salt gun in the other, arms crossed at the wrist to lend support to each other. "Where the hell did you go, Dean," he though silently.

The house was silent and there was no sign of his brother. "Dean," he called urgently. Fear for Dean's safety uppermost in his mind. He'd cleared three rooms in the house with no sign of Dean. His chest heaved with worry for his missing brother as he entered the kitchen.

A quick scan of the room told him it was empty except for a dark door across the room that stood slightly ajar. Light flickered feebly through the opening.

Fear ate at his soul as he inched the door open to find a set of stairs leading down into the bowls of the basement. The flickering shadows of flames just out of sight danced across the wall at the bottom of the stairway.

Slowly he moved down the stairs, silently creeping to the bottom where he could get a look around the corner to where the light from the flames was coming from. He stood with his back to the wall of the stairway. Took two deep calming breaths and peaked carefully around the edge of the wall keeping his body out of the line of fire of whatever was on the other side.

His brow furrowed at the sight of what lay on the other side. He swung his head back and tried to make sense of what he'd seen. Candles were everywhere bathing the room in flickering light. An old bed was partially visible, the brass bars at the head and foot of the bed held medical straps used to tie a person down. The wall held whips, leather straps and other instruments of torture.

A quite moan from somewhere in the room drew his attention back towards the bed. He couldn't tell where the sound came from but he knew, without a doubt, that it was Dean. He pocked the flashlight and lifted the shotgun.

Adrenaline rushed through him again as he spun towards the bed, salt gun out and pointed in the direction of the bed. His gasped as he took in the entire room for the first time. The bed wasn't the only thing in the room, though it took up a large portion of the basement. A modified stockade stood to one side opened as if waiting for someone to lay their head in the wooden block. It was bolted to the floor. Ankle straps designed to hold the person's legs apart were on the ground also bolted to the floor.

His brows furrowed again. "Dean?!" he called quietly.

Instantly he knew it was a mistake as the slightest of sounds came from behind him and he was shoved forward and pushed against the stockade. A hood was pulled over his head and darkness descended on him as his eyes were covered leaving his mouth and nose free. He struggled uselessly in the grasp of his silent attacker as he was forced into the stockade and the hood tied securely.

His legs were forced apart and strapped in leaving him bend over, legs spread wide. Fear gripped Sam as he realized he was totally at his attackers' mercy. "Dean!" he called as terror gripped him. "De…"

The cold steel of a knife was laid across his throat, the message clear. He stood held securely, trembling as his captor moved quietly around the room. He prayed silently for Dean fearful not only of what was planed for him, but of what had happened to his brother.

The intensity of his breathing increased and he began to struggle, quietly testing the strength of his bonds. Something slapped his ass. Hard. He stopped struggling swallowing hard and waiting for the knife to begin its work, preparing for the worst.

Fear gripped him again and he couldn't help the yell that escaped him. "Dean," he called out, the fear obvious in his voice. "Where are…" A ball gag was stuffed into his mouth and strapped on silencing him.

Cold steel was again placed against his skin, this time though at the back of his ankle as the knife was used to slice up the leg of his jeans. He struggled in earnest trying to throw the hood and gag from him pulling at the cuffs that held his legs in place. The knife bit into his leg drawing a trickle of blood warning him not to struggle.

As his pants were cut away, Sam realized for the first time the exact use of the room to which he had stumbled into. The use his captor intended. His shirt followed his jeans leaving him nearly naked, his sweat glistened body heaving as panic began to set in.

The knife slipped into the back of the waist band of his shorts pulling them away from his body as it sliced them away leaving him naked, exposed completely to the attention of the knifeman.

The knife clattered loudly onto a table, the sudden, unexpected sound causing Sam to jump slightly. Something soft, light touched his skin running gently up the inside of his thigh. His shaft jumped traitorously and he tried unsuccessfully to pull away. "Dean," he mumbled around the gag as tears filled his eyes. He knew what was coming next.

The sound of a zipper lowering was loud in the silence of the room and he could picture in his minds eye his faceless attackers' pants sliding down his legs, the shirt following in rustle of fabric.

His attacker stepped closer his naked body making contact with Sam's sensitized, sweat slicked skin. He leaned over close to Sam's ear and whispered, "It's my turn to teach you a lesson, Sammy." Sam's shaft hardened instantly as he heard his brother's gruff voice in his ear.

Dean stood and looked down at his brother. All the preparations he'd made during the day had paid off. Sam was now completely at his mercy and today, Dean intended no mercy for his brother. Today Sam would beg for mercy in every way shape and form that Dean could possibly imagine.

And Dean had a very active imagination.

A/N -- Okay... you know the drill. Clicky, Clicky and let me know what you think!