Chapter Text
Castiel runs a gloved hand down the shuddering flank of the panting boy, wolfish smile developing as he's met with a jump, and then a whine that is barely audible over the slick squelching, the mechanical whirr of the machine ruthless fucking him. Dean's exhausted muscles show under the pale skin as he tries to pull away. Can't get very far though, not with his wrists bound by a tightly laced sleeve in the small of his sweat-sheened back, not with how he's secured to the machine below him. There's a thick leather blindfold keeping every bit of light out, a breathable red ball gag stretching his mouth wide so he can't help but drool incessantly, and a collar keeps his face resting on the floor, or an inch away at most. Metal cuffs around his ankles are attached to ringlets in the concrete, feet useless. Mercifully, his knees are padded, or they'd be bloodied to shreds. Between his thighs is a wide spreader bar, keeping him from straightening up at all, with a chain attached the machine to ensure the boy can never squirm his way out of the continuous penetration.
There's a grate between his legs where his waste will run down, a hose sitting in the corner of the concrete pen to hose him down when it comes to inspection time. After the machine is out for the assigned hours of sleep, the bitch will be woken up with the nozzle pressed to his recovering hole, the water flowing through his bowels. It's always slightly warm for the bitch's comfort, but the cramping starts almost straight away, bodies fighting against the inflation process. It stretches within them, blossoming out from their constantly abused asshole, gravity and water pressure swelling them up like a pregnancy. Cleaning them out for the day's use. The slaves quiver and sweat as their pathetic mewls become hopeless panting. They are then plugged with the machine's huge dildo, pushed right to the hilt as the water threatens to escape, the pressure too much for even the well-fucked sluts to handle. Dean doesn't bother trying to restrain his animalistic whimpering these days. It's more than any toy he ever took as a sex-slave, bigger than any cock forced into him at Michael's mansion. Certainly teaching him to be grateful for everything he took for granted there from the moment he'd been bought. That was a world of luxury, pleasure, compared to this industrialized Hell. Nothing but the machine, the sadistic trainers and the gagged moaning of every other bitch in their sty.
The vibration in the dildo will start then, as the slave's ball gag is removed, and a plate of slop is shoved under their mouth. As they eat, their entire body will be shaking, and their bulging, distended belly will slosh wildly. If they don't ignore the agony of inflation, they'll go hungry, and no slave is that stupid twice. When the plate is licked clean, the gag will be reinserted, and a water dish with be left in its place. By sucking through the ball gag, the slave can slowly drink during the day's fucking. Have to learn their place, after all. They are their mouth, their ass, their obedience to their master. No more than that. The mechanical thrusting starts without letting the water out, the machine pistoning out first, right down to the narrowed end (every slave groans in relief the water gushes out and down the grate) and then sliding back in at a punishing rhythm. Still vibrating, and around twelve inches from base to tip. Every inch will be forced into the disobedient slave at some point or another. They won't properly come on it, not once. The occasional, dribbling prostate orgasm, but largely the cock cages make that too painful. What they will be subjected to, other than the degradation, the comments, the stares, is much more deliberate. On the first day, it was a whip, enough to smart without serious marks, and over the next days there was paddling, choking and finally a low voltage cattle prod (Dean thinks) usually paired with a constant stream of verbal abuse. He'd be called a bad slave, pathetic, useless, worthless. Dean has a temper and a will of iron, but when the electricity sparked across his nipples his silence had been abandoned. He'd sobbed and begged around the gag, comforted after the punishment with soft petting through his hair. Every moment the machine drilled him from behind, making him keen and squirm with desire and agony. Being a good boy makes this easier on him.
Castiel is checking the leather and the chains now, whispering as he strokes from the knee right up Dean's thigh, over a patch of freckles and then to where his pubic hair was ripped off painfully with wax strips. Beauty is pain, and Dean's pain is certainly beautiful. He pauses there. "Such a pretty slut. I can see why he was so keen to have you retrained rather than just put in a body bag," he says, darkly, and then his fingers slide lower, running across his groin. Dean's cock is almost purple with prolonged arousal, bound up tight by a cruel looking piece of silver metalwork. The cock cage won't be coming off any time soon. Satisfied with the slave's health, Castiel slaps his ass a little harder, rewarded with a keel of surprise. Sensory deprivation makes them so responsive. "I need you to be good for me now, boy," he whispers in his ear, stubble grazing the earlobe before he steps away. Dean knows his master is a very important man, and no doubt the special attention is a result of Michael's political pull. The slave has been here two weeks now, sent away from his master after an escape attempt. The training will be complete in only a month, usually, or there will be permanent physical and psychological damage done to the property. Dean tenses and groans as he inadvertantly tightens his raw anus around the huge intrusion. There's a hollow in the tip of the dildo, he's figured, constant lubrication leaking out. It runs down the back of his thighs in cold rivulets. Still, day after day of relentless fucking has left him bruised and sore all over. He's not supposed to be enjoying this. He's been a bad slave, and his masters here are letting him see his place.
There's brief footsteps after, a short sound of shock from one of the men. "...is everything alright, sir?" comes Castiel's gravelly tone, severe without being disrespectful.
"That looks painful," comes the reply, and Dean could crawl straight into his master's lap if he wasn't tied down. He resented him every moment of the trip here, when he was bundled out of a crate and strapped down. Now, he sees how lucky he had been to get such a kind man. He should have been honored to be at his feet, in his bed. He wishes he could say that now, but he just falls still under the pistoning, waiting for the trainer to respond.
"He's a good bitch now. He's learning his place."
There's silence, and Dean squirms under what he can only imagine is Michael's evaluation. The machine's pace is often irregular, and now it is slow and deep, occasionally brushing his prostate when his back arches. He wishes he could see, and as if Michael can hear his thoughts, his master speaks. "Get that out of his mouth, off his eyes. I want to hear his apology." Beneath the smooth tone, there's rage.
"I warn you, it'll be a shock for hi--"
"...are you questioning me?"
"No, sir," comes Castiel's response, and the footsteps are closer, Castiel clicking open a clasp and loosening the blindfold. Dean whines against the light, trying to shy away, eyes screwed closed. The gag comes out easily, wet with drool. Michael examines his slave's face, the loose and cherubic lips covered in spittle, the freckles standing out on a flushed, pale face.
"He's got stubble," Michael notes, displeasure evident. Dean's eyes open for a moment, just a glimpse of the pristine grey dress shoes. Michaelmichaelmichael, he wants to chant, but bites his tongue.
"With all due respect, sir, your arrival was a surprise. We wax the bitches every other week, but--"
"I have no patience for your plentiful excuses," Michael barely whispers, but the trainer is spared by the distraction of Dean letting out a tiny noise, trying not to let his eyes roll as they finally open against the light.
In his memory, his crate had been smaller, closing him in. He looks over at the trainer, striking blue eyes and a cruel smirk playing on his lips while Michael can't see. His breathing speeds as he stares up, pleading as well as he can in absolute silence. Michael only meets his slave's eyes for a moment, never prompting conversation. Castiel has stepped back a little, hanging the blindfold and the gag on hooks by the door, and Dean shivers through his entire body as he sees the other bondage equipment that has yet to be used on him. Then he concentrates on Michael's movement, wishing his collar allowed him to turn his head to see, knowing he'd be punished for curiosity. He's turning red with humiliation as he feels the machine pistoning into him. Slower and deeper now.
"You're controlling it, are you?" Michael asks, voice pointed with interest. Maybe he's planning on buying one of these to keep his slave on permanently. Always stretched out and ready for him. Always this wreck of nerves to be toyed with. He nudges Dean's hip with his toe, watches the way he practically jumps. Castiel smiles too, extends a touchscreen remote that must have been hidden in his pocket.
"Very good, sir. The first setting is depth of thrust, the second is speed, third is vibration."
"And why don't you simply keep it on the highest settings all the time?" Michael asks, practically snatching it from Castiel's hands.
"...with all due respect, sir, we don't want to turn the slave's brain to pulp," he says, earnest and without humor.
Dean flinches at the words, then at Michael's laugh. He feels the machine speeding, gasps against the floor. The toy pushes against the warm, wet flesh all the way in, colliding with his hypersensitive prostate, forcing his entire body to jerk in the restraints. Then again, faster this time, and he cries out and bucks wildly. He feels it slip almost all of the way out of his pink, sore hole, sure Michael is watching it flutter wildly with overstimulation, and then the slightly ribbed length slides all the way in again at once, bottoming out inside him with a wet slap.
"I guess I was too soft on you. Seems like your instinct is to be a bitch and nothing more. I'll treat you as you deserve from now on," Michael whispers, as the machine continues furiously.
"He's made for it," Castiel confirms, seems awed by Michael's authority. Maybe he shouldn't have drawn attention, because the dark eyes swivel at once.
"Made for me. Has anyone enjoyed my boy while he's been here?" he says silkily, over Dean's exhausted whimpers.
"Of course not, sir."
"Really? You haven't wanted to? Those pretty, plump lips, and you never thought about taking the gag off and seeing how well I'd taught him to choke down a cock?"
"No, sir," Castiel forces the words out as obediently, as meekly as he can possibly.
"...I don't believe you. Go on."
"Sorry, sir?"
"I said go on. Sit down and let him show you how grateful he is for your attention. Dean looks after all of my friends," Michael says dangerously, just as Dean starts crying with sensation, squirming harder now, trying not to speak. The possessive glint lights up the dark eyes as Michael begins to smile.
There's a tension and silence between the gentleman and the trainer, and then Castiel is almost too eager, dragging a low stool closer, unclipping Dean's collar and pulling the short chain like a leash upwards. He's still mostly immobilized, back arching to still accommodate the huge fake cock imbedding itself inside him. Fingers stroke his hair once as the lab coat is unbuttoned, the slacks opened, and then Dean's wet mouth is shoved towards the half-hard cock, freed from the underwear. The dark curls peek from the small patch of bared skin, but otherwise Castiel has all his dignity. He doesn't have to encourage Dean much, so eager to please both the trainer, and his voyeuristic master. His mouth is sloppy with drool, and he takes all of the length at once. His tongue strokes furiously, and then the boy moans around the hot skin, seems glad to be gagged again. Maybe nursing a crush on the trainer he tried so hard to hate. He hopes Michael sees only eagerness to obey.
"Fuck. Fuck, he's good," Castiel curses as he bunches fingers in the hair, a perfect view of where the enormous, thick toy is pounding the slave's ass. Michael seems to wear an expression somewhere between jealousy and delight, erection showing through his slacks. Asked for the pretty boy trainer for a reason, after all. Michael steps a little closer, predatory and powerful as he watches Dean's green eyes fill with tears as they roll back with fucked-out pleasure.
"How does he feel?" comes the almost taunting question.
"Wet. So... hot and wet and... he's practically choking himself on me," Castiel rushes out, over another moan, a flush creeping past his tie and up his neck. His hand is just above Dean's collar now, feeling himself fill the stretched out throat. The wet lips and the friction down the bitch's throat is enough to have him thrusting up already.
"Look at the way my slave is pushing himself back onto the machine. Bitch must want more. I bet he wants to be filled right up. I'm going to have to keep such a big plug in him all the time now, or he'll start getting withdrawals," Michael says, cruelly, as Dean shudders. His cock cage seems to be tighter than ever, feels like it's on fire with how desperately his body is trying to get off. His hips sway in tandem with the ruthless pace, and he's sucking so eagerly that he practically chokes on the semen shot down his throat. Castiel pants hard, watching the machine continue, watching Dean whine and lick at him, cleaning him with a desperate show to impress.
"He wants to get off," Castiel breathes out, batting the slave away, when he can think straight. His hands are still shaking as he closes up his clothing, clicks the chain down in place to the floor again. He almost immediately regrets the words with how eagerly Dean's eyes flicker up to him.
"Oh, I'm sure my slave does. But this treatment isn't for his benefit," Michael points out, hand back on the remote. The machine comes still, almost completely halted except for the inch by inch drag in and out. Dean starts crying freely, trying to rock back onto it, and his owner clicks his tongue in disapproval. "And it's got weeks to go before he's really ready to come home and be a good boy for me again. Hm, Dean? You can speak now."
"Please, please, 'm so sorry, I wanna go home, wanna be with you, wanna--" the boy chokes out, high-pitched in a frenzy of desire.
"That's enough," Michael cuts him off sharply, and leans down at once, grabs Dean by the mouth and pulls his face up to meet the hazy eyes. Dean chokes a little as his collar comes to the end of its chain, but Michael shows no pity. The snarl is more pronounced now. "You don't deserve to come home. You don't deserve the life you used to have. When you get that through your head, you'll be of some use to me, are we clear?"
"Yes, sir," comes the choked reply. Michael lets out a soft, satisfied sound, drops the boy to pant and heave against the concrete, shaking in his bondage. What a pathetic creature, Michael seems to all but say as he scoffs, stands to leave.
"Gag him again, put the blindfold on. I want you to remove the machine. I'll be back to check up in two days, and I want him nice and tight by the time I'm here to enjoy him. Until then, don't let him get off, don't let him rest. Punish him whenever he doesn't seem aroused. He's a little masochist, you know. I want attention on him at all times so that when I come back, he's so desperate he can't even speak," Dean whines on the floor, shaking even more now. His back arches and he tries to stare upwards again, but Castiel is already back with the gag, the blindfold. He feels the dildo slip out of him, whimpers once more as he hears the footsteps heading away. All around him there's silence except for the other slave's panting and whimpering, the wet squelching of the toys. Now he wishes he was being punished by the machine too, even having his mouth fucked by Castiel, a hand stroking his bound form. He needs something inside him.