Chapter Text
Sam let his eyes trail over the sight before him. This- This was worth the risks he was taking.
He'd seen the man out on the street. One look was all he needed to become addicted. A lean, fit body, beautiful green eyes, a strong jaw and luscious lips. He'd wondered often what those lips would look like stretched over something- and now, never had to wonder about it again.
It had taken him a month to track the man down. Dean Smith, the head of the Human Resources department at some building. Sam didn't bother learning about the job, only knew that Dean, his work of art, was there. In a world full of so much ugliness, Dean was like a painting, one that Sam wanted to immortalize. So, he dug up everything he could find about the man. Dean was born in Texas, had graduated top of his class with honors before going into college for business management. His parents were dead, no living relatives, and he had a string of girlfriends a mile wide, which indicated that he obviously wasn't attached to anyone. Whomever could call themselves his friends were rarely, if ever, in contact with the man.
It was as if fate itself had made the puzzles pieces so perfect. Sam just had to be the one to align them together. A month of learning the man's schedule, of watching night after night- A month of getting things perfect at his own home, of making sure nothing could go wrong- A pick of the lock, chloroform and a two hour car drive later - he had him. His work of art. His Dean.
Now that he had him? Sam would never let him go.
Dean was a beautiful work of art. Sam had spent those first few weeks breaking him down, learning about every part of the man's body. Of course, Dean resisted at first- screaming whenever Sam removed the ball gag that stretched those lips beautifully to feed him- and he had bitten Sam. So, he'd punished Dean that first time. Locked a ring gag on him for three days, feeding him through a tube and promised that, if he didn't behave, it would be permanent, because Sam had no problem taking care of whatever medical pains it would cause him- Dean had learned not to bite him again after that.
Over the next two months, Dean became slimmer. His hands were all but useless, locked away in padded mittens that gave him no mobility of his fingers whatsoever. Sam only ever removed them to cut his nails, but he doubted that Dean would even be able to use his hands after having them locked away for so long. Not that it mattered. Sam took care of his every need. Dean was originally gagged because he protested in the beginning. Now? Now, Sam thoroughly enjoyed the way he looked and sounded, lips stretched out on whatever gag he choose, the little noises he made when he tried to talk.
Sam had established a routine, because routines were good, they were stable, and Dean needed that.
Every morning, Sam would unchain Dean from the bed he slept on, giving him his morning enema. Dean still tried to get away, but his body was steadily getting use to it- already he was up to three bags, and he looked beautiful when his stomach was rounded out like that.
After the enema was their morning 'walk'. Sam would put knee pads on Dean's knees, always having him chained onto his hands and knees one way or another, and would walk him around the house for half an hour. Dean would pant and whimper around his gag, but Sam was impressed. Not many people would be able to move with a vibrating toy inside of them, and Dean always had one in around the clock.
Then, they'd have breakfast. Depending on whether Dean had behaved that morning, though mostly on Sam's own mood, then Dean would either get a tube down his throat, or eat out of his hand.
Then, came their art sessions. Sam loved those times. He would play with Dean for hours in one way or another, tormenting and teasing him, seeing where his limits were before pushing him past those limits and beyond. In those two months, Sam had not once let Dean have an orgasm. He didn't want Dean escaping from him, and letting him orgasm? It would provide an escape, even temporary, from reality. So, Sam kept his little cock locked away, with a steel sound embedded deep into the slit of his cock. He would let the sound out for when Dean had to use the bathroom, but otherwise? Not a single drop of come would get out without Sam's say so.
It was time for Dean to be milked.
The man was blindfolded, unable to see through the thick leather taking away his vision. Sam had stuffed his ears with earplugs that took away any and all sound, and the gag that Dean had on was a ring gag that stretched his jaw to it's limits. His left wrist was cuffed to his left ankle, and the same was done for his right side. The position, when on his back, forced his legs to spread lewdly, showing off his pretty caged cock and puffy hole.
Sam sat on the edge of the bed, enjoying the fact that Dean couldn't hear or see him. The man certainly tried, making little noises around the gag as if he had anything useful to say. Sam reached down, fingers tracing over the man's red and puffy hole, easily slipping inside. Dean was always loose, Sam ensured that, and the reaction was beautiful. Dean arched his back, making a hurt little noise around the gag and pathetically trying to pull away, as if he could. He was always beautiful when he reacted like that.
Lazily, Sam teased Dean's hole, pulling his fingers apart, scraping them around and pressing on his prostate, enjoying the little noises that his Dean made. The sound in Dean's cock- which was red and inflamed- kept every drop from escaping.
He'd taken to milking Dean every few days to ensure no permanent damage was done to his piece of art. However, eyeing the sound stuffed in Dean's cock, Sam wondered what it would be like if he didn't take it out this time. Well, there was one way to find out.
The prostate massager slid inside easily with a bit of lube, and from the way Dean suddenly tensed, he obviously realized that today was milking day. Finding his prostate was easy. Sam knew every inch of Dean's body by heart now. The vibrations flicked on, and Sam held the toy in place, watching as sweat gathered across Dean's body. Only, his cock was stuffed with a sound, unable to even leak.
Dean was making the most beautiful noises. Sam touched the man's trapped cock- something he only ever did when it was time for him to use the bathroom- and stroked the sensitive flesh slowly. Dean screamed and cried, trying to beg for a release he would never get, but it was beautiful. Dean was beautiful in his pleasure, but in his pain? That was when he was truly a work of art.
Normally, Sam would remove the sound, would milk Dean until he was sure he was empty, but today? Today, he was going to milk him dry. The sound would stay in, trapping his come inside of his cock, and Sam would make him realize that even this, even when his useless little cock was being milked? It wasn't under his control. Nothing was. Not even his own body and how he reacted.
So, when Sam passed the limit he usually left the toy on, Dean started crying. When Dean's neglected cock twitched in it's cage, obviously trying to harden, Sam just turned the vibrations onto the highest setting. When Dean tried to escape the sensations, Sam held him down easily. It was twenty minutes, it was an hour- but Dean gave in. He stopped fighting, body going limp as he sobbed, legs splaying wide open. Sam just knew if he took out the sound, Dean would have so much release built up that it would actually look like he was coming.
When he was satisfied, he removed the toy, smiling at Dean's groan of relief. It was cute how he thought it was over.
Easily, Sam rolled Dean around onto his stomach, jerking his hips in the air. Picking up another toy, Sam slid this one inside of the man's swollen, puffy hole, aiming it right at Dean's abused prostate. The noise that escaped those gagged lips was beautiful.
Sam had no plans of removing the sound today. No, he intended to make Dean suffer- to force out the art he knew was buried inside. He intended to bring Dean to the brink, push him beyond his limits, even more so than yesterday. Looking down at the bound, helpless figure, pathetically mewling as the vibrator assaulted his already abused prostate, Sam smiled.
Dean was a piece of art, and Sam was the only artist who could mold him into something truly beautiful.