Title: As I Am, You Understand
Scenario: Dean gets spanked while Sam watches
Implement: various paddles,hand
Summary: Written for luvspnl's prompt # 36 Chuck. A Fetish Club brings out hidden desires.
A/N and Warnings: God, where do I begin? Totally made up ridiculousness that includes Spanking, Voyeurism, Sub/Dom references, and Wincest. Please point out any errors or crap writing so I can fix. I love constructive criticism and reviews so bring 'em! Title stolen from High School Musical II 'You Are the Music In Me' lyrics. I totally made up this place but did use partial descriptions and brochure from the Paddles website. Also, my friend isaacsapphire, you rock with the information and the encouragement. Didn't turn out quite as hot as I wanted but what are you gonna do? Me and deadlines – yeah, we don't do so well.
"Dean, I need you!" Chuck's voice is desperate, the frantic pleading crackling over the phone line into Dean's ear.
"Chuck, is that you?"
"Dean-" Chuck's voice is breaking up, but Dean's catching an odd word hear and there, enough to get an address, "Becky…trouble…need your help…You and Sam come…New York…627 Halloway…
"Sam, this can't be right."
They're parked outside a large Victorian manor, waiting at the gates for access, talking to a disembodied voice over an intercom, asking them to state their fetish.
Dean gives Sam a panicked look, whispering in undertones, "What the fuck do I say, Sammy?"
"Fetish?" Sam catches sight of a discreet sign on the fence, "Crime and Punishment Fetish Party, Friday Sept 21-Sun Sept 23." And he looks over at Dean, shrugging, muttering low, "Tell them you like to be spanked."
The look on Dean's face is comical and he sputters, "What! I do not!"
Sam shrugs and laughs, still talking soft, "Peed on? Tied up? Hot waxed? Dude, just get us in the fucking door."
Dean gives a long, drawn out sigh and says painfully, "I like to be spanked."
The metallic voice confirms, "You like to be spanked?"
Dean grits his teeth and rolls his eyes, "Yes." as Sam snickers quietly next to him.
"Enter and be punished."
Once the window is rolled up, Dean glares over at him "And how the fuck you even know about this shit, Sammy, I'm afraid to ask."
And Sam just laughs harder at the look on Dean's face.
They're met at the door by a large man in black leather, whip in hand. "Welcome. Please feel free to take a brochure, read through it and then you can register at the bar to state your crime. The fetish areas are upstairs. This is the punishment arena. Are you partners?"
"What? No!" Dean is wide-eyed, frantic and Sam hides a grin, because Dean is totally off balance, out of his element here and Sam's surprised, thought with the way his brother acted that he'd tried everything sexual at least once and had no idea Dean was so…vanilla about this kind of thing.
Sam steps forward, "We're brothers. My Dad was a big believer in corporal punishment and Dean here, well, sometimes the stress of his job makes him have certain…needs and he's not comfortable with me, uh…helping him out so we heard about this place and came to check it out. Dean, well, he's having a hard time admitting that he even wants this, you know?"
And the daggers Dean's eyes are shooting in his direction should have dropped him right where he stood, dead and twitching on the ground but Sam bites on his lip and looks away, shoving down the gleeful laughter quick, looking anywhere but at his brother's face because shit, this couldn't get any better-
The burly man is nodding, understanding and then he gives Sam a questioning look, "And you?"
Sam lets his eyes drop to the ground with a shy smile and whispers, "Me? Well, I just like to watch."
The brochure that Sam is reading is tastefully designed, the front cover a pair of handcuffs glinting in the sunlight and inside, instructions for play:
Welcome to the first annual Crime and Punishment Party:
1. Criminals should register at the bar by stating your crime (bad boy, bad girl, disobedient slave etc.)
2. You will be called before a judge for a public hearing.
3. A jury of your peers will hand down judgment
4. If the verdict is guilty, the Mistress/Master Judge will pass the sentence
Possible Sentences include: Hand spanking, Paddling, Restrictive Bondage, Public Humiliation, Other punishments at the discretion of the Judge
Assume the position (and have fun!)
A cuff to the back of the head gets his attention.
"Ow, Dean, cut it out!" And he shakes back his bangs, staring into Dean's outraged eyes with a bewildered look.
Dean's face is so red, he looks like he's gonna rupture something, "Sam, what the fuck was that?"
Sam shrugs, "I had to say something, man. We needed a cover and you were just staring at the guy like he had two heads or something. Dean, I swear I've never seen you so freaked before."
"Why the hell did you have to bring Dad into it?" Dean hisses at him.
"Because, Dean, some of these people are professionals here, they study and psychoanalyze people for a living, getting inside their heads and learning what gets them off and what doesn't and they know if people are lying 'cause they've pretty much seen it all. So, the closer to the truth we tell it, the better chance we have of blending in and not being questioned! And Dad did use to spank the shit out of us, sometimes for no good reason other than we didn't follow his stupid orders, ok?"
"Those orders were to keep us safe, Sam. Dad always had a reason for beating our asses and you know it. Hell, you were always going against him-"
Sam snaps back before he can stop himself, "Yeah, and he'd end up punishing you for it because somehow you'd always manage to make it be your fault!"
"Better me than you, Sammy. Besides, sometimes I felt so out of control that I really needed-" and suddenly, Dean chokes off his words, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably as Sam studies him and he drops his eyes, breaking the tension, "Dad did the best he could. Now, let's find Chuck and Becky and get the fuck out of here. This place gives me the creeps."
"Gee, Dean, I don't know, seems like you're protesting a little too much…maybe you got a secret kink for this stuff and don't want to admit it."
And the hand bangs on his shoulder, shoving him forward and making him stumble as Dean grits out, "Bite me."
And Sam turns around with an eyebrow raised, licking his lips seductively, halting Dean in his tracks as he watches the pink tongue swipe across the swollen mouth and when Sam sees the hot lust steal into Dean's green eyes, he smiles at his own power.
"You want to? Later?"
Dean groans and nods, muttering under his breath, "Like I have a choice..."
It had started a couple weeks back, a drunken bar fight had left them beaten and broken, staggering back to their motel room holding each other up in support, and Dean had been cut, bleeding.
Sam remembered the glint of the knife and hearing Dean's cry of pain and a red rage had closed down over his vision, blood pounding in his ears and Sam had lost control, beating and pounding on everyone in sight, pulling bodies away from his brother and yanking Dean the hell out of there, picking him up and carrying him away.
He'd gotten Dean to the parking lot, shoved him into the Impala and driven hell bent to their room, helping him inside with a hand around his waist.
Once the door closed behind them, Sam had ripped off Dean's shirt to see, baring his torso to the dim lamplight and stitched the wound closed, a white bandage stark against the tan skin the only evidence of injury.
He doesn't know how it happened, maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was the adrenaline but Dean was staring up at him, eyes warm and glowing and thanking him for saving his ass, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking at him like Dean used to, before Ruby, before the demon blood, when there was still trust and love between them. Suddenly, Dean's faith in him was back, shining out of those glittering eyes into his own and Sam couldn't help himself, he loved his brother so damn much and he'd missed him, missed this closeness-
He'd leaned forward, brushed his lips over Dean's, the barest whisper of flesh on flesh and pulled back, cheeks on fire, shyly peeking up at Dean's face, and when he'd seen the shocked look, the brows come together in a fierce frown, he'd turned away fast, not wanting to know about all the things he'd just broken between them.
He'd stuttered an apology, wiping a hand across his mouth and the grip on his arm had him flinching, ready for the punch he knew Dean was rearing back to lay on him-
He'd been spun around, shoved back against the wall and before he could get his balance, get his breath, Dean's mouth was on his, hot and hungry, opening him up and kissing the life out of him. Rough hands had ripped open his shirt, calloused skin rubbing across his flesh, chafing him as they caressed, waking up feelings in Sam he thought he'd buried long ago.
And he'd whimpered at Dean's touch, at his forceful handling, because this was everything in the world Sam had ever wanted, had always denied himself and it was just as mind-blowing, just as fucking shattering as he'd always known it would be.
And before he knew it, Dean had him naked and on the bed, his expert fingers bringing Sam to the edge and holding him there, until Sam was begging for release, for completion and Dean had taken him then, hard and thrusting, spreading Sam wide open and pounding in deep, riding over the sweet spot inside until Sam arched his back and pulsed his seed all over Dean's pumping hand, and a few seconds later, with a cry of pleasure, Dean had followed Sam over the precipice into oblivion.
Since then, it had become necessary, like breathing.
Sometimes it was Sam leading the way, sometimes it was Dean but they didn't talk about it, didn't discuss it, it was a midnight thing, all dark shadows and rough kisses, and they buttoned their collars up more to cover the marks of ownership, walked a little stiffer when they'd been used more vigorously the night before and learned to convey their needs with a slow, longing look, a secret between them.
They find Chuck easy, just by asking for him, one of the scantily leather-clad women pointing them in the right direction and they enter a large ballroom, stopping at the scene spread out before them. Chairs filled with patrons encircle a wide raised platform on which a man stands, head down, hands bound in front of him, in front of a judge's bench and behind it, a women in judge's robes, still opened, wearing a revealing leather corset, leather skirt, fishnet stockings and stiletto heels.
Her voice intones harshly, "You are charged with being a disobedient slave, for touching yourself when specifically ordered not to and for having unauthorized orgasms. You are sentenced to the stocks and paddle, where your hands will be bound and your bottom upturned for anyone who walks by to paddle harshly. You will stay there until your master decides your punishment is over or until your safe word is used. Do you agree to abide by the sentencing of this court?"
The man nods, head still down and the judge slaps her gavel on the platform, "Answer me with your mouth, slave."
The "Yes, mistress." Is whispered into the room and two assistants, clad in executioner style masks, come and lead the man away, to the corner of the room where he's put into the stocks in short order.
The judge calls out, "Next." And another bowed prisoner is brought in, this one a woman.
Dean shakes his head, "These people are fucking sick, Sam. They come here for this, they actually enjoy this shit! I mean, who likes to get hit for fucking fun, man?"
Sam stares at Dean for a moment, watching the disgust cloud his handsome features and shakes his head, voice soft, "Oh, I don't know, Dean. It serves a purpose."
"What purpose, Sam? To get the skin beat off your ass? I mean, what the hell, really?"
Dean's angry, tense and rigid as he looks at the man in the stocks, already getting paddled by a passer-by, his red bottom writhing against the sting while another man stands next to him, obviously the 'master', nodding in approval.
Sam watches Dean's face as the man gets more smacks, two spots of color high on Dean's cheeks, his mouth pressed into a firm line of disapproval, but it's his breathing that Sam notes most of all, it's speeded up, double-time and he's swallowing fast, like he's-
But he's seen Dean like that in these past two weeks, usually in the throes of passion-
And when Dean turns, meets his gaze and flicks away, tries to hide it, Sam knows.
Dean's fucking turned on.
Probably not as much as Sam is but still, he's definitely aroused. Sam is in heaven right now because he didn't lie to the man about his kink, he does like to watch, it sends him right to the fucking moon and makes him want to hump on the first body that comes near him, rutting and jerking to get himself off. Not that he'd ever be able to tell that to Dean-
But now…watching Dean huff expletives at the sight before him, seeing the rasp of breath work hard in his chest, he thinks that maybe he can tell Dean and maybe, just maybe, Dean might have a few things to tell him as well.
He reaches out, touches Dean's shoulder and his brother jumps, almost flies out of his skin, jerking forward and snapping around quick, questioning and Sam points towards the door at the far end of the room. That's the office, where Chuck is holed up and they make their way through the crowd to knock on the door.
When a voice yells at them to enter, Sam turns for one last look at the room, now more people are getting spankings and Sam feels his blood heat up at the sound and the sight. Fuck, he can't wait to get back out here and watch this, his dick already standing at attention and ready for action. With a sigh, he pushes his palm against it and follows Dean into the room.
Chuck and Becky are sitting on one side of a desk, a well-built man in a leather vest and pants is behind the other, and they're engaged in animated conversation.
Chuck jumps up, "Sam, Dean! Wow. You came. You're here."
Sam nods at him, "You said you were in trouble so of course we came, as soon as we could. What's up?"
Chuck looks uncomfortable, glancing at Becky, who gives him a knowing eyebrow, before rubbing an awkward hand across the back of his neck, "Um…you know, I meant to call you and tell you not to come but I got caught up and couldn't get to my cell. Did-did you end up having to drive a long way?"
Dean looks at him incredulously, "Are you freaking kidding me? Yeah, Chuck, it was a little out of our way…we had to drive for five fucking hours to get here. Why'd you call us if you didn't need our help?"
The man behind the desk rises up, extending a hand and introduces himself, "Maybe I can explain. My name is Matthew and I own this place. Chuck here didn't seem to understand exactly what it is we do here and he thought he would be held against his will and made to do, er, things that he didn't want to do. Since then, I've explained my operations to him and he's feeling better about things now. He and his mistress have actually just enjoyed a scene together that turned out to be highly satisfying to them both."
Chuck's face is flaming, giving them an uncomfortable grin and clearing his throat before his eyes settle on the floor and Becky steps forward, puts a hand on Chuck's shoulder, her gaze unnaturally bright and shining, like she's high on something, "I'm so sorry you had to come all this way for nothing! But, it's really good seeing you both again" and she winks at Sam, "You especially, Sam. And don't worry, Chuck will be punished hard for this incident. Apologize to the boys, slave."
And Chuck looks up at them, clearly wanting the floor to open up and swallow him, manages to stutter out the required words, "Yes, mistress. I'm really sorry for calling you here, guys. Please forgive me."
And Dean shakes his head in disgust, "Jesus, Chuck."
And Chuck blushes again, "Dean-"
"No, man…you're a-a goddamn prophet of the Lord. What the fuck you doing letting a chick treat you this way? Are you a fucking wuss or something?"
Matthew puts out a hand, "Dean, don't be so quick to judge something you don't understand. Chuck is showing Becky how much he loves her, he's fulfilling a basic need she has and she, in turn, is filling one in him. It's actually healthy and good for them."
Dean snorts, "Healthy? Fucking sick is more like it-"
And Chuck steps forward, grabs Dean's arm and pulls him down close, whispering in his ear softly, "Talk to me again in about an hour."
And Sam is pulling him away, out the door, waving at Chuck and Becky, apologizing, "You know what, you two are awesome and you just keep doing what you're doing. Matthew, we meant no disrespect, Dean's just a little freaked out by this place."
"No offense taken. Some people take a little bit more time than others to come around."
Sam slams the door shut behind them and pushes Dean to one corner of the room, trying not to be distracted by the sounds around them, moans of pleasure, yelps of pain and the smacks of spankings being given and received.
Dean's shoving at his hands, "Get the fuck off me, Sam" but he ignores it, just keeps steering Dean away, towards the back of the room and finally pulls him around, glaring down at him.
"Ok, Dean, that's it. I've had about enough."
"You've had enough? This fucking place, man, I need to get out of here now."
"Dude, what the hell's wrong with you? I've never known you to be so…disapproving about something before. You-you're game to try anything, Dean and this-well, you'd usually be laughing about this, maybe joking but not freaking condemning, not hating-"
Dean takes a deep breath, rubbing his forehead roughly, like it's paining him and he shrugs, flicks his eyes up to Sam's and then away, clearly uncomfortable in his own skin, opening his mouth and shutting it again and then, haltingly, "I don't know-"
"Don't know what?"
Dean shrugs again, shaking his head and mutters, "Don't know what's wrong with me, why this is…messing with my head. I'm trying to figure it out myself." And he turns his back to Sam, watching the room, focusing intently on the man still in the stocks and he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, his fingers shaking slightly.
Sam reaches out and does something he never thought he'd do in a room full of people. He wraps his arms around Dean's waist and pulls him back, holding him tight so he's warm on Sam's chest and not letting go when Dean tenses and tries to pull away.
"Sam, let me the fuck go! What the hell are you doing? You know we don't do this in front of people."
"Dean, nobody's watching and I need to…tell you something, something about me and I can't face you with it, so I need you to just listen, ok?"
And Dean fights against him for another second before he settles, relaxes back against Sam, nodding his head and Sam leans down close, right next to Dean's ear.
"You remember when I told that man at the desk that I liked to watch?"
Dean nods again, trembling slightly at Sam's breath on his face.
"Well, I do. This, seeing people getting spanked and whipped, watching asses get reddened while they wiggle and squirm, while they kick their feet and holler…trying to get away from taking their punishment, it gets me so fucking horny, I can't stand it. You feel it, you feel what it does to me?"
And Sam presses into Dean's ass, his erection rock hard and straining against his pants, and he continues, whispering, "And all I can think of, the only thought that keeps running through my head, is how you would look up there, maybe in the stocks, bent over and waiting for your spanking, ass tense and naked, not knowing when the next smack is gonna come but knowing that it is and you're not getting out of there until you've been thoroughly punished."
Dean's breath hitches and his nerves give an errant jump, skin flushed and hot under Sam's hands.
Sam breathes onto Dean's neck, voice low and erotic, "And then, after your ass is hot and red and hurting so bad you can't sit down, I'll take you back to the motel and…oh, fuck, the things I'll do to you…" And Sam's hand slides along his hip, cupping an ass cheek in his palm and squeezing hard and Dean bucks up with a gasp-
And Sam palms around to Dean's front, finding Dean just as excited, just as bulging as Sam is right now and he pants in Dean's ear, "Christ, you would be so fucking hot up there, on that stage, getting your ass whipped, knowing I was watching and letting me see you like that-"
And Dean turns his head, sliding his eyes up to Sam's, terrified, panicky, his brows worrying his forehead and he bites on his lower lip, looking like he wants so badly to tell Sam something but he's not able-
Sam nudges him, "What?" and he feels the tremor rack over Dean's body where he lays against him, Dean's eyes still locked on his, now chewing on his bottom lip, gonna draw blood if he doesn't stop, and his head shakes back and forth, denying.
And suddenly, his eyes are swimming with tears and Sam's scared, afraid he's pushed too far and broken something between them but no-
Dean's voice is a ragged whisper, "What-what you told that guy back there...before? About Dad…and me?"
Sam nods, holds his breath because holy Jesus-
"You, uh, pretty much called that right." And Dean's breathing fast, trembling harder now, nerves rocking out under his skin.
"What are you-?" Sam can barely get the words out over the lump in his throat.
"Shit, you're gonna make me say it, aren't you?" and Dean's angry, eyes flicking back to the man in the stocks, to his master now administering the paddle himself and then he turns, staring deep into Sam's eyes, emotions warring on his face and finally, he takes in a cleansing breath and nods, admitting the truth, "When we were younger, sometimes I'd lose it, you know? I was so angry all the time and sometimes, I'd be so out of control that I wanted to rip something bloody, hurt something just for the fun of it and it scared me so bad that I would hide from you and Dad, afraid I'd hurt you. Dad-well, he knew what I was feeling, I think and he'd use his belt on me or the hairbrush and it would help, would pull me back and I'd be better."
Dean's eyes slide back to the man in the stocks and he hitches in a breath, "I still need that, sometimes. But now, there's no one who can help and sometimes, it's like I'm spiraling down into crazy, like I can't hold on any longer. And I want this so bad sometimes-"
He looks back at Sam with flushed cheeks, "Didn't want you to know, Sammy…maybe think I was a pervert or something-"
And Sam's heart starts pounding in his chest at Dean's words, eyes wide with excitement, with lust and he's mumbling in awe, "Are you fucking kidding me? I would never think that about you. I love you, man. And if this is what you need to make you better, then why the fuck are you standing here watching? You need to get in there, get what you need because this place…you're never gonna find a better opportunity."
And Dean's eyes study his, searching for truth and what he finds there seems to satisfy him because he steps back, nods slightly and pushes out of Sam's arms to walk towards the stage.
Sam falls back against the wall, hanging on for dear life and not sure he's gonna make it if Dean's gonna do what he thinks Dean's gonna do-
The room quiets as Dean approaches the stage, stepping up onto the platform and moving in front of the judge.
The woman stares down at him, "You're new here. Are you here to be judged?"
Dean clears his throat and stares straight up at her, nodding defiantly.
"You will stand in the position of respect, with your eyes looking down and your hands clasped in front of you." The judge proclaims.
Dean gives her a look of uncertainty before replying, "I don't bow down to anyone."
"Ah, a rebellious one. Tell me, do you have a master?"
Dean pauses for a second and Sam's sure he's gonna say yes but then Dean shakes his head.
The judge smiles at him, "Then I will carry out your punishment myself. You will be placed on the spanking bench with your hands and feet bound. Then you will be spanked with as many implements as it takes to break you, until you are apologizing for your insolence. Do you accept your judgment?"
Dean quirks his eyebrows at the small woman and gives a grin, "You're gonna spank me? Well, excuse me for saying this but you don't look strong enough to swat a fly, much less to break me. So, sure, yeah. I accept your judgment."
The judge pounds with her gavel, calling to the bailiffs and Dean is led over to where the round bench is being placed.
"Remove your clothing, please." One of the executioners has a deep voice and Dean kicks off his shoes, unbuttons his pants and pushes them down off his legs, tossing them to the side of the stage. He twists his shirt off over his head, throws it onto his jeans and stands there, in underwear and socks, waiting.
"All of your clothing, please." And Dean's glancing over to where Sam is standing, eyes locking on his as he pushes down his underwear, his hardness free and straining up towards his belly. He pulls off the socks and a hand to his back indicates he should bend forward over the bench.
He puts his knees on the step and leans forward, hanging over the other side and his feet are being spread and tied to bars on either side of the step, his ass splayed out and exposed, upturned to the ceiling and his hands are bound in front to two handles. Under his belly, the bench is soft, padded and he's made as comfortable as possible.
He lifts his head, looking around and feels a second of panic when he can't see Sam but there, there he is, moving forward into his line of sight and taking a chair right in front of him. Mirrors have been strategically placed around the stage to allow viewing pleasure from all angles and Dean can see himself in some of them and he's embarrassed at how wide open he is, and everyone can see-
He hears the click of the judge's heels as she walks across the stage to him, bending down to whisper in his ear, "What's your safe word, slave?"
And Dean clears his throat, stares into his brother's eyes and swallows hard, muttering, "Sam. It's Sam."
"Are you ready to begin?"
And Dean nods, "Yes."
She starts with her hands, quick smacks that he barely feels, especially remembering how hard his father used to hit, but they sound loud in room, the low mutter of the crowd barely masking the noises. She hits one cheek and then the other, scattering the slaps around, unlike his father who used to hit the same spots every time to get the most reaction. A light heat covers his bottom soon enough but it's nothing he can't handle, sure not anything he can't stand.
He gives Sam an eye roll and Sam grins back, palming his crotch as he squirms in his chair.
She stops smacking and Dean hears movement to one side, a clattering noise and then-
He gasps out, jerks forward in surprise and the flare in his ass is immediate, sharp and getting his full attention.
"OW! Fuck!" The expletive is out before he can stop it, "What the fuck you hitting me with?"
"Are you addressing me, slave?"
"Yeah, bitch, I'm talking to you-"
And Dean is arching his back, the sting in his backside raw and angry, "OW! What the-"
"You will call me Mistress or Ma'am. You will not call me bitch."
Another four smacks are laid on him, the sound dull and heavy and Christ, the fucking fire in his ass is shooting through him-
There's more movement behind him and he feels the whoosh of air before the next hit comes and it's sharper this time, louder and Damn, it fucking hurts-
A lightening round of slaps hit his ass, so many, Dean loses count but he forgets that Sam is watching, forgets he's getting spanked before a roomful of people, forgets that it's a girl doing this to him-
All he knows is the burn, the bright flash of pain at the initial hit and the searing spread of aftermath and he's bucking, fighting against the ropes holding him down, gripping fists knuckle white, thighs tense and straining for freedom, ass thrashing to get away-
And he's sputtering out foul obscenities, sweating against the bindings, body jerking with each hard smack, the blows raining down on his ass and thighs-
"Fucking bitch! When I get offa here, I'm gonna rip you apart!"
And there's a pause, Dean collapsing down, muscles tense and coiled against the pain, and the thud comes across both cheeks at once, lunging him forward with a sharp cry, "Ahhh"
"Mistress." The hard voice comes just ahead of another slash and Dean's jumping at the sting, "Or Ma'am."
The second he settles back, another strike smacks across and he freezes in agony, body rigid, twitching and the fire is deep now, in his bones and he collapses across the bench, exhausted, panting-
His body arches fast and falls forward limp, breath wheezing out as he shakes with reaction and he can barely get out the words, almost whimpering as she continues to slam into his ass with the heavy paddle, "Ow, Christ! Fucking hell! Goddamn bitc---ouch, M-ma'am! Ahhh, shit!"
The question comes close to his ear, "You want me to stop? You need to use your safe word."
Dean shakes his head, needing more, needing it all, "No, Ma'am…please...don't stop…"
Then he hears the judge talking to someone, "You came with this man?"
And Sam's voice is deep, raspy as he answers, "Yes."
"He needs a strong, loving master who will guide him with a firm hand and give him the discipline he craves. Can you be that for him?"
"Then come, show him your love."
And Dean keeps his head down, hearing Sam's boots come onto the stage, feeling Sam's hand caress his hair-
And passing by, taking up position behind him.
"What instrument do you wish to use?"
And Sam's whispered, "My hand. Just my hand." Is just about Dean's undoing.
He moans in anticipation, knowing Sam will take care of him, just like his Dad used to and he tenses when he feels the swing and-
Sam's hand is hard as stone, crashing in on the tender cut where thigh meets cheek and Dean can't even cry out, just writhes in silent agony, head snapping back when another slash hits the other side, breath whooshing out through tightly clenched teeth.
And suddenly, Sam starts wailing on him, hitting as hard and as fast as he can, deep solid cuts to Dean's ass guaranteed to leave bruises for days and Dean is trying to kick his feet but can't so his thighs buck and squirm, ass jerking in to get away from Sam's relentless palm And the fire he's laying across Dean's ass is too much, crumbling Dean's control, breaking his resolve and he's shattering, hollering and yelping like he's twelve years old again across his father's lap-
He jerks up with each sharp slice, hissing in his breath against the pain and then crying out when the blooming burn spreads across his mind, until he's beyond swearing, beyond anger, beyond humiliation-
Sliding right into peace-
And Dean doesn't even know he's crying until the tears fall onto the mat in front of him and his voice is cracking, breaking, "Please…please…"
And he slumps over, all fight gone out of him, exhausted and sobbing, "Sam, Sam…"
And the spanking stops abruptly, Sam's hands on his back now, caressing, stroking, moving down his legs to untie his feet and rubbing the circulation back in to Dean's ankles where he's strained against the ropes, leaving raw welts. Sam unties his hands and falls to his knees, lifting up Dean's face to look at him, seeing the wet trail of tears, the boneless flop of neck and he looks up at the mistress, "We need a recovery room."
And the mistress is motioning for one of the bailiffs to accompany them and Sam helps Dean to stand but his legs buckle under him so Sam swings him up, cradling him gently and follows the hooded man to a private room. He opens the door for them, dropping Dean's clothes on a chair before leaving them, intoning, "You have it for as long as you need."
"Thanks, man." Sam spies a couch next to a wall and lays Dean on it carefully.
He's on his knees next to Dean, stroking his face, crooning soft noises at him as he waits for Dean to come back and soon, Dean's breathing shifts, becomes faster, and he's aware, blinking up at Sam with slow, tired eyes.
"Hey." Sam says softly, bending down to kiss Dean's sweet mouth and Dean responds, reaching up a hand to pull Sam down, thrusting his tongue in with an urgency that surprises Sam but he gives it right back, meets Dean eagerly and slides his own tongue against Dean's, sucking hard.
When they break apart, they're panting hard and Dean's eyes glow up at him, hot and pulsing with need and he's growling up, "Fucking want you, Sam…want you so bad-"
Sam pulls back, keeping a tight rein on his libido, "You sure? You sure, Dean? I don't want to hurt you, man-"
With a frustrated groan, Dean's yanking him back down, hands roaming over his body, kissing the breath out of him and Sam falls right into it, letting go, hungry and needy-
Before too long, he's got Dean bent over the cushions, hanging onto the back of the couch with clutching fingers as he explores the crevice between those hot cheeks with his lips and tongue, squeezing them apart and making Dean arch with pain, with pleasure at his touch. And when he spreads Dean wide, takes him rough, his hot ass pressing into Sam's lower belly, Dean grunts with each deep thrust, head thrown back and fists clenched tight. Sam rubs himself into the heat of Dean's skin, burning against his and he can't hold back, exploding into the hot channel, filling his brother up, his mind swooning with images of Dean, broken and beautiful over that spanking bench, begging for more-
With a hungry moan, Sam pulls out fast and flips Dean over, pushing him up onto the couch while Dean hisses in pain at the polyester rubbing into his raw skin but falls back in pleasure as Sam's mouth takes him in deep and slow, tongue flicking and sucking until Dean's throbbing, pulsing and finally, with a shout of bliss, spurting out into Sam's throat-
And later, after their heart rates return to normal thumps and their breathing isn't loud and rasping in the air, Dean's curled up on Sam's chest, ass up because there's no way he can sit comfortably and Sam's large hand is rubbing gentle, soothing the scorching cheeks as he lays soft kisses on Dean's forehead. When Dean raises his mouth to Sam's, his whisper is hoarse, shy, "Sammy-"
"You'll help me out sometimes…if I need this again?"
And Sam chuckles, pinching at Dean's backside for the sudden jump, the quick jerk of pain and he takes Dean's mouth hard, possessive, breaking away to pant against those sweet lips, groaning with sudden heat, "All you gotta do is ask, man. All you gotta do is ask…"