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The plug inside him was thick, unyielding glass that shifted inside him with every step. Every step he took pressed relentlessly against his prostate. The flared base was nestled between his cheeks, barely covered by the thong. The lace was black and delicate, and utterly inadequate; it did absolutely nothing to conceal the metal cage locked around his cock. And that was to say nothing of the outfit Castiel had selected for him.
Dean stood in front of the full-length mirror in Castiel’s bedroom (their bedroom, though Dean still had his dorm room for appearances) and stared at his reflection with a churning mixture of dread and heat pooling low in his gut.
“I look ridiculous,” he muttered, tugging at the hem of the plaid skirt. It was too short, a parody of a schoolgirl uniform that ended high enough to flash the lace of the thong if he bent even slightly. “Cas, come on. I can’t go out like this.”
Castiel appeared behind him in the mirror’s reflection, immaculate in his tailored slacks and button-down, sleeves rolled to reveal forearms that Dean knew could pin him down with terrifying, delicious ease. His eyes traveled down Dean’s body, lingering on the bulge caused by the cock cage.
“You look perfect,” Castiel said in his gravelly voice that always made Dean shiver. He stepped closer, crowding Dean against the mirror, one hand settling possessively on Dean’s hip, fingers dipping under the skirt to trace the lace on his ass. “You look like exactly what you are. Mine.”
Dean flushed, the heat crawling up his neck to his ears. He was twenty-one, a junior at the state college, finishing up his mechanical engineering degree. He was lucky that he didn’t need to work because Castiel, his sugar daddy and Dom, had made it clear from the start that Dean’s only real job was to submit. Dean and all of his and Sam’s expenses were taken care of in exchange for Dean surrendering control.
Originally, yes, he did it to find a way to pay for both his and then Sam’s college, but… God help him, Dean loved it. He loved that both he and Sam would graduate college (and any further schooling) with no debt, but he loved this more. He would have done this for free, if only he’d known how much he’d enjoy it.
Even if Sam teased him about his older boyfriend.
Even if Castiel sent him to class with plugs or bruises. Even if he’d been locked in a cock cage for three months now with no end in sight. Maybe he enjoyed it, because it was a constant reminder that his pleasure belonged to Castiel now. The way Castiel dictated what he wore, what he ate, when he slept.
“Daddy knows best,” Castiel murmured against Dean’s ear, his hand sliding around to cup the bulge of the cage, giving it a squeeze that made Dean gasp. The plug shifted and Dean whimpered, his hands flying to the mirror’s surface to steady himself. “Doesn’t he?”
“Yes,” Dean breathed, his voice trembling. “Daddy knows best.”
“Good boy.” Castiel stepped back, adjusting his cufflinks with maddening calm. “We’re going to see my tailor. I need a new suit for the gala next week. You’ll accompany me.”
Dean’s stomach dropped. “Cas—Daddy—I can’t. Not like this. The skirt, the… people could see.”
“That’s rather the point, isn’t it?” Castiel picked up his wallet from the dresser, a cruel tilt at the corner of his mouth. The look that meant he was hard already, aroused by the mere thought of Dean’s discomfort. “I want them to see. I want you to feel every second of exposure. And you, sweet boy… you want to feel it too. Don’t you?”
Dean squeezed his eyes shut. His cock strained against the unforgiving steel of the cage, throbbing ache that had become background music to his life, spiking into sharp need whenever Castiel looked at him like Dean was a prized possession to be displayed.
“Yes,” Dean whispered. “I want it.”
The car ride was torture.
Castiel drove the vintage Bentley, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Dean’s thigh, fingers tracing lazy patterns upward, teasing at the hem of the skirt. Every bump in the road sent the plug rocking inside Dean and made him shift uncomfortably in the leather seat. He was sweating, his heart hammering against his ribs, hyper-aware of how little fabric covered him.
“You’re blushing,” Castiel observed, not looking at him. “We haven’t even arrived, and your face is red. Imagine how you’ll look when you have to bend over in front of the tailor.”
“Please,” Dean whined, squeezing his eyes shut. “Don’t make me. Daddy, please. I’ll do anything else. I’ll—”
“You’ll bend when I tell you to bend,” Castiel interrupted, his tone mild but absolute. “You’ll spread your legs when I tell you to spread them. You’ll let whoever I choose look at what belongs to me. And you’ll thank me for it afterward, won’t you, sweet boy?”
Dean bit his lip. The shame was a living thing, crawling under his skin, making his face burn and his eyes water. But beneath it, threaded through every nerve ending, was arousal. He was so hard in the cage it hurt.
They pulled up to the tailor’s shop. It was a discreet, high-end establishment in the historic district with tinted windows and a simple sign with simple brass letters: Crowley & Son.
Dean’s hand trembled on the door handle. “What if he calls the cops? I look like—I’m practically—”
“Crowley is an old acquaintance,” Castiel said, killing the engine. He turned to Dean, his eyes dark and possessive. “He understands value of quality things. Now. Out.”
The shop was colder than Dean expected, making him acutely aware of the skirt’s short hem. The interior was all dark wood and mirrors. There were so many mirrors, floor-to-ceiling panels that reflected them from every angle, multiplying Dean’s exposure infinitely.
A man emerged from the back room. He was shorter than Castiel, more compact, with a beard and dark hair and a mouth that curled naturally into a smirk. He was wearing a pinstripe vest and shirtsleeves, a measuring tape draped around his neck.
“Castiel,” Crowley purred, his accent crisp, his eyes immediately sliding past his Daddy to fix on Dean. They widened, then narrowed with predatory interest. “And company. My, my. What have you brought me today?”
“This is Dean,” Castiel said, his hand settling on the small of Dean’s back, pushing him forward a step. “He’s assisting me today.”
“Assisting,” Crowley repeated, his gaze dragging down Dean’s body with embarrassing slowness. He took in the skirt, the legs, the obvious bulge of the cage. His tongue darted out, wetting his lower lip. “How… helpful of him.”
Dean wanted to vanish into the floor. He could feel his face burning, his hands instinctively moving to tug the skirt lower, but Castiel caught his wrist, squeezing warningly.
“Don’t cover yourself,” Castiel murmured, loud enough for Crowley to hear. “You don’t hide what’s mine. Stand straight.”
Dean straightened, his eyes stinging with the effort of holding back tears of humiliation and arousal. In the mirrors, he could see himself from behind, the way the skirt barely covered the curve of his ass.
“Shall we begin?” Crowley asked, gesturing toward the fitting area. There was a raised platform surrounded by more mirrors.
Castiel stepped up onto the platform, spreading his arms for the measuring. Crowley approached, but his eyes kept flickering to Dean, standing awkwardly to the side, his hands clasped behind his back to stop himself from fidgeting.
“The usual cut?” Crowley asked, wrapping the tape around Castiel’s chest.
“Something more fitted through the waist,” Castiel said. Then, deliberately, he turned his head toward Dean. “Oh. Dean. I seem to have dropped my wallet.”
Dean looked down. Castiel’s wallet lay on the floor at the edge of the platform.
“Pick it up,” Castiel said. “Bend at the waist.”
The air left Dean’s lungs. He looked at Crowley, who had gone still, the measuring tape hanging loose, his hungry gaze on Dean.
“Daddy,” Dean whispered, his voice breaking. “Please. The mirrors—”
“Bend,” Castiel commanded. It was the tone that made Dean’s submissive instincts sing and his pride crumble. “Show Crowley how well you’ve been trained. Bend and pick it up. Slowly.”
Dean walked over to the wallet and turned, positioning himself so he was facing the mirrors and bent at the waist.
The skirt rode up immediately.
Dean watched his own reflection with horrified fascination. The lace thong strained, pulling tight between his cheeks, and there, unmistakable between his spread legs, was the base of the glass plug, and below it, the steel cage glinting in the overhead lights, his trapped, swollen cock straining against the bars.
He heard Crowley suck in an appreciative hiss.
“Lovely,” Crowley murmured. “Absolutely lovely. What a well-kept pet you have, Castiel.”
“Thank you,” Castiel said. “Dean. Lower. The wallet is still on the floor.”
Dean bent deeper, his hands trembling as they closed around the leather. The plug shifted with the movement, pressing against his prostate, making him gasp. He could see Crowley in the mirror, see the way the tailor had stepped to the side for a better view, his hand resting casually on his own belt, his eyes locked on Dean’s exposed ass, his tongue sweeping across his lips again.
“Good boy,” Castiel said as Dean straightened, the wallet clutched in his sweating hands. His legs were shaking. His face felt like it was on fire. His ears were burning. “Bring it here.”
Dean stepped up to the platform, handing the wallet over with trembling fingers. Castiel took it, but caught Dean’s chin, tilting his face up.
“Look at you,” Castiel said softly. “You’re glowing. You love this. You love that he’s looking at you. That he can see how thoroughly you belong to me. Can’t you?”
Dean couldn’t speak. He nodded, a tear escaping to track down his burning cheek.
Crowley cleared his throat. “I seem to have dropped my measuring tape,” he said, and his voice was rougher now. Dean looked down. The tape lay on the floor, directly behind him. “Would you be so kind, Dean?”
Dean looked at Castiel, pleading.
“Pick it up,” Castiel ordered. “And this time, spread your legs wider when you bend. Let Crowley see the cage properly. I want him to see how small it keeps you. How controlled.”
The shame was a wave, crashing over Dean’s head, drowning him. He turned, positioned himself over the measuring tape, and spread his feet shoulder-width apart. The skirt barely covered anything in this position. He bent slowly, agonizingly, watching in the mirror as Crowley moved behind him, ostensibly to look at Castiel’s shoulder, but his gaze fixed unerringly on Dean.
In the reflection, Dean saw Crowley’s hand twitch at his side.
“There,” Castiel said, his voice a purr. “Hold that position. Don’t move.”
Dean stayed bent, his hands on the measuring tape, his ass in the air, the cool air of the shop hitting places that should have been covered. He felt dissected by their gazes. The cage was agonizingly tight, his cock leaking steadily now, a wet spot forming on the lace of the thong. His whole body trembling with the effort of holding still, of submitting to this public inspection.
“Exquisite,” Crowley breathed. “I do love the sight of a caged pet… locked, is it?”
“Only I have the key,” Castiel confirmed, and Dean moaned softly at the casual way Castiel discussed his imprisonment. “He hasn’t had an orgasm in three months. He leaks constantly, as you can see. But he only comes when I allow it. Usually with my cock in his throat and or his ass.”
Dean whimpered. He wanted to die. He wanted to stay like this forever. The contradiction was tearing him apart, the humiliation feeding the arousal, the arousal deepening the shame.
“Please,” Dean whispered, not knowing what he was begging for. Perhaps for it to stop, for Castiel to fuck him right here on the platform, for Crowley to touch him, or anything to relieve the pressure.
“Please what?” Castiel asked.
“Please… I can’t… everyone can see…”
“That’s right,” Castiel said, stepping off the platform. He came to stand beside Dean, his hand landing heavily on Dean’s exposed lower back, holding him down in the bent position. “Everyone can see what a desperate, caged little thing you are. How thoroughly you’ve been trained to serve. Look at yourself, Dean. Look in the mirror.”
Dean looked. He saw a college student in a skirt that was too short, his ass plugged, his cock locked away, his face red and tear-streaked, his body displayed for two men who were discussing him like an object. He looked like a whore. He looked like Castiel’s perfect possession.
“He’s hard in the cage,” Crowley observed, stepping closer. Dean could smell his cologne, something smoky and expensive. “Poor thing. Must be terribly uncomfortable.”
“He learns to associate discomfort with obedience,” Castiel said, his hand sliding down to Dean’s plug, his finger pressing against the base, pushing it deeper. Dean cried out, his hips bucking involuntarily. “He learns that his embarrassment is my pleasure. And making me pleased is his only purpose. Isn’t it, Dean?”
“Yes,” Dean sobbed. “Yes, Daddy. Please…”
Castiel withdrew his hand, leaving Dean bent and shaking. “We’ll take three suits,” Castiel said to Crowley, his tone shifting to business, though his hand remained on Dean’s back. “The midnight blue, the charcoal, and the black.”
Crowley named an astronomical figure that made Dean’s eyes widen even through his haze.
Castiel tsked. “That’s excessive, Crowley. Even for your quality. I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”
Crowley was quiet for a moment. Dean watched in the mirror as the tailor’s eyes roamed over his displayed body.
“I might be persuaded to offer… a discount,” Crowley said slowly. “A significant one. In exchange for… use of your pet here.”
Dean’s breathing stopped. He tried to straighten, panic cutting through the arousal, but Castiel’s hand kept him still.
Castiel hummed.
“He’s lovely,” Crowley said, stepping closer, his hand reaching out to trail along Dean’s thigh, just below the hem of the skirt. Dean flinched, a full-body shudder. “And clearly well-trained. Obedient and desperate. I’d pay handsomely, or rather, deduct handsomely from your bill, for use of him. I want to see if he’s as tight as he looks. If he moans like that when he’s properly fucked.”
Dean looked at Castiel in the mirror, his eyes wide, begging for Castiel to tell him what to do. To decide for him.
Castiel looked down at Dean, considering. His hand moved from Dean’s back to his hair, gripping tight, pulling Dean’s head back so he had to look up, had to meet Castiel’s eyes in the mirror’s reflection.
“What do you say, Dean?” Castiel asked. “Crowley wants to use you. He wants to pay me for the privilege of fucking my caged, plugged little pet. Should I let him?”
Dean was shaking hard. The humiliation had swept away every bit of his pride. He was a bargaining chip. Castiel’s to lend, sell, or display.
And God, God, he wanted it. He wanted Castiel to say yes. He wanted to be passed around and used, to prove his total submission.
“Daddy knows best,” Dean whispered. “Please… tell me what to do.”
Castiel’s grip tightened in his hair.
“Then bend back down,” Castiel commanded, his gaze lifting to meet Crowley’s hungry stare in the mirror. “Show Crowley exactly what he’ll be getting.”
Dean sobbed, the sound echoing off the mirrors, as he bent again, spreading his legs wider, offering himself completely.
Crowley’s hands were on him before Dean could draw another breath—rougher than Castiel’s, pushing the plaid skirt up over Dean’s hips with a decisive jerk that left the fabric bunched around his waist. The air hit his skin, his ass bare except for the thin strip of lace.
“Pretty,” Crowley murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of Dean’s ass with appreciation. He knocked his knuckle against the glass plug, making Dean gasp and clench involuntarily around the intrusion. “Is this to keep him open? Training him for girth?”
“To hold my cum in,” Castiel corrected conversationally, as if discussing the weather. He stood with his arms crossed, watching Dean’s face. “I filled him before we left. I wanted him ready.”
Crowley’s grip tightened suddenly, brutally, fingers digging into the meat of Dean’s ass hard enough to bruise. Dean whimpered, his knees buckling, but Crowley held him up, kneading the flesh with punishing strength.
“I do love fucking sloppy seconds,” Crowley purred, his accent thickening, his eyes meeting Castiel’s in the mirror. “That tight heat, already broken in, already claimed. There’s nothing quite like pressing into a hole that’s still dribbling with someone else’s seed.”
“I know,” Castiel said simply. “It’s why I prepared him.”
Dean’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting Castiel’s in the mirror’s reflection, and the realization crashed through him. He’d been a bargaining chip from the start. The fucking that morning, the plug, the skirt chosen specifically because it was easy to push up, the constant reminders that Dean was his possession. Castiel hadn’t been indulging him; he’d been prepping the merchandise.
“You planned this,” Dean whispered, broken.
Castiel’s head tilted. “Of course, Dean. I always know the value of my assets. And you, my sweet boy, are quite valuable when properly leveraged.”
Crowley laughed, a low, delighted sound, and his hand slid down to cup Dean’s caged cock, giving it a rough squeeze that made Dean cry out, his hips bucking helplessly into the contact. “Oh, he’s figuring it out, the poor pet. Realizing he’s not just a boyfriend, not just a kept boy, but a commodity. Tell me, Castiel—what tricks can he do? Does he fetch? Does he beg?”
Dean’s face burned so hot he thought his skin might blister. He was bent over, skirt rucked up, while two men discussed his uses. The shame was a living creature, gnawing at his ribs, even as the cage grew tighter, heavier, his arousal a traitorous pulse that betrayed how thoroughly he’d been trained to crave this objectification.
“He begs beautifully,” Castiel said, stepping closer. He reached out, his thumb swiping through the tears tracking down Dean’s cheek, then pressing that thumb into Dean’s mouth. Dean sucked automatically, his eyes squeezing shut, his tongue swirling around the digit, tasting salty tears and Castiel’s skin. “He also takes direction well. He’s very obedient when he understands he has no choice.”
“Lovely,” Crowley breathed, his hand leaving Dean’s cage to grip his hip again, jerking him back slightly so his ass was presented higher. “And how full is he? Just the one load? Or have you been saving up for me?”
“Just one,” Castiel said, withdrawing his thumb from Dean’s mouth with a wet sound. “I came in him two hours ago. He’s been holding it since.”
Crowley tsked, his fingers hooking into the thong and pulling it aside, exposing the plug fully, the way Dean’s rim was stretched pink and swollen around the glass base. “That’s a pity. If you’d given him two, perhaps three, I might have been willing to knock fifty percent off the final bill. As it stands…” He twisted the plug slightly, making Dean sob, his hands flying to the mirror’s surface to steady himself. “I suppose thirty percent will have to suffice. For used goods.”
Dean was crying openly now, humiliated tears dripping down his face. He was being traded for a discount on tailored suits, his body bartered like a coupon, and the worst part was that his cock was weeping precome into the cage.
“He likes it,” Crowley observed. “The degradation. Look at him leak.”
“He’s been trained to associate his humiliation with my pleasure,” Castiel said, his hand returning to Dean’s hair, petting him possessively. “And since his only purpose is to please me…”
“He gets off on being sold,” Crowley finished, delighted. “Delicious. As for the price cut I’m offering. Perhaps if there were more… volume… I could go lower on the suits.”
Castiel’s fingers stilled in Dean’s hair. He looked at Crowley with a considering expression. “There is Balthazar,” he said thoughtfully. “He’s next door, at that bistro of his.”
“Oh, Balthazar would love this,” Crowley said, twisting the plug again, making Dean’s legs shake. “He does so enjoy breaking in new toys. Sharing is caring, after all.”
“Call him,” Castiel commanded.
Crowley pulled out his phone with his free hand, the other remaining clamped on Dean’s ass, holding him in position. Dean listened, mortified, as Crowley spoke into the receiver, his voice carrying in the quiet shop.
“Balthazar? It’s Crowley. I’m at the shop. Castiel is here, and he’s brought the most exquisite little toy for us to share. Trained, caged, plugged, and dripping. Yes, that kind. No, Castiel’s filling him, but there’s room for more. We’re negotiating the price of suits. I told him if there were additional… contributions… I could offer a deeper discount.” There was a pause and Crowley laughed darkly. “Yes, come enjoy him. He’s bent over the platform right now, crying like a virgin.”
Dean’s knees gave out completely. He would have collapsed if Crowley hadn’t held him up, his face burning, his chest heaving with silent sobs. They were talking about him like he was furniture. Like he was a hole to be filled, a receptacle for their convenience. And Castiel… Castiel, his Daddy, the man who owned him… was facilitating it, orchestrating it, pimping him out for better pricing on suits.
The door chimed a moment later.
Balthazar swept in, his blond hair artfully disheveled, his smile sharp and white. He froze when he saw Dean, his eyes widening, then narrowing with predatory interest.
“Well, well,” Balthazar drawled, approaching the platform. He circled Dean slowly, inspecting him from every angle, his gaze lingering on the cage, the plug, the tear-streaked face. “Castiel, you’ve outdone yourself. What a tasty little morsel. Look at him—he’s practically vibrating with shame. And caged?”
“Locked away months ago,” Castiel confirmed, his pride evident. “He hasn’t cum since.”
“Marvelous,” Balthazar breathed. He stopped directly behind Dean, his hands resting lightly on Dean’s lower back, then sliding down to grip his ass cheeks, spreading them wide. Dean choked on a sob as he was opened further, displayed to the room, the plug and his stretched rim exposed to Balthazar’s inspection. “And you’re filling him?”
“One load,” Crowley interjected. “But I told Castiel—more loads, deeper discount.”
Balthazar laughed. “Then by all means, I do love a good group investment.” He slapped Dean’s ass, the crack echoing and making Dean yelp and jerk forward. “What do you say, pet? Ready to earn your Daddy some nice new suits? We’ll all have to contribute generously to get him the best price, won’t we?”
Dean was trembling so hard his bones ached. Three of them all discussing his body like a ledger book. He felt like a thing. An object. A hole to be filled.
“Daddy,” Dean whimpered, his voice barely audible.
Castiel stepped forward, his presence overwhelming, his hand cupping Dean’s chin and forcing his head up until he had to look into those blue, infinite eyes.
“Yes, Dean?” Castiel asked softly.
“They’re… they’re going to…”
“They’re going to fuck you,” Castiel finished for him, his thumb tracing Dean’s lower lip. “They’re going to use your plugged, caged little body because I want them to. Because your purpose is to serve my interests. And right now, my interest is getting a discount in three bespoke suits. Do you understand?”
Dean nodded, his throat working, his tears dripping onto Castiel’s hand.
“Good boy,” Castiel purred. He released Dean’s chin, his hand moving to the back of Dean’s neck, pressing down firmly. “Then bend over again. Show my friends what a good investment you are.”
“How much does he cost you?” Balthazar inquired.
“Tuition for himself and a brother. Living expenses.”
“What a bargain. Would you be interested in selling the contract?” Balthazar inquired.
“Not at this time,” Castiel smirked.
The skirt was bunched around his waist. The thong was pulled aside. His caged cock hung heavy and visible between his legs, dripping steadily onto the floor. His ass was offered up, plugged and ready, a commodity to be shared, a discount to be earned.
“Perfect,” Crowley breathed.
“Delicious,” Balthazar agreed, already unbuckling his belt.
“Hold still,” Castiel commanded, his hand resting possessively on Dean’s lower back, pinning him in place for what was coming. “Be a good little bargaining chip, Dean. Don’t spill a drop.”
Balthazar didn’t bother with preliminaries. He lined himself up with the crude efficiency of a man who knew exactly what he was paying for, gripping the base of the glass plug and twisting it sharply. Dean screamed around the gag of shock, his rim burning as the plug was wrenched free, leaving him open and gushing, Castiel’s cum leaking down his thighs in a humiliating trail. Then Balthazar pressed in, shoving through the sloppy mess with one brutal thrust that drove Dean forward.
“God, he’s wet,” Balthazar groaned, his fingers digging into Dean’s hips, yanking him back onto the cock. “Squelching like a good little whore. You really did fill him up, Castiel. I can feel it around me.”
The shame was a physical weight. That Balthazar could feel Castiel inside him, could feel the evidence of his earlier use lubricating every thrust. He was a warm place to cum.
Balthazar set a punishing pace, each snap of his hips forcing Dean forward, his caged cock swinging uselessly between his legs as he was rocked back and forth. The mirrors caught every angle: his tear-streaked face, his skirt bunched uselessly at his waist, his ass being claimed by another man while his owner watched with arms crossed, assessing the depreciation of his asset.
“How is he with his mouth?” Balthazar asked, breathless. He gripped Dean’s hair, yanking his head back sharply, exposing his throat. “Worth the throat training, or should I just ruin his ass and call it even?”
“He’s wonderful,” Castiel said calmly, reaching out to thumb Dean’s lower lip, pulling it down to inspect his teeth, his tongue. “He takes a face-fucking beautifully. Cries so prettily when he can’t breathe. I’ve been training him to take me all the way and hold me there. He isn’t there yet; he still struggles, still panics. But he’s getting better. Practice makes perfect.”
“A fucking machine,” Balthazar panted, his thrusts slowing to a cruel grind, rotating his hips to make Dean whimper. “That’s what he needs. Strap him down, set the pace. Use it to fuck his throat. Hours of drilling. No breaks.”
Castiel considered this, his head tilting, his thumb pressing hard against Dean’s tongue until Dean gagged around the digit. “That’s a good idea,” he agreed, his voice musing. “Condition the reflex out of him. Teach him that his throat is just another hole to be used, whether he’s conscious or not.”
Crowley had moved to stand beside Castiel, watching Dean’s face with a predatory focus. He was stroking himself slowly, his cock heavy and dark in his fist, his eyes tracking the spit that was already leaking from Dean’s mouth as he struggled to breathe around Castiel’s thumb.
“I like it when they gag,” Crowley said softly, almost to himself. “When their throat seizes up around you, when the panic sets in and they realize they can’t get away. The tears. The drool. It’s divine.”
Castiel withdrew his thumb with a wet sound, wiping it on Dean’s cheek, mixing tears and saliva. “Of course you would,” he said to Crowley, a faint, knowing smile on his lips. “It makes you feel powerful. To have a life in your hands and choose whether to let them breathe or not.”
Crowley’s eyes darkened, his grip on his own cock tightening. “Then let me test your training, Castiel. Let me see how far you’ve brought him along.”
Castiel’s hand moved to the back of Dean’s neck, and pushed him forward, off Balthazar’s cock with a wet, obscene sound, toward Crowley.
“Offer your throat,” Castiel commanded, his voice dropping into that register that made Dean’s bones turn to water. “Show Crowley what a good little cocksleeve you are. Show him how well Daddy’s trained you to be used.”
Dean was sobbing openly now, his face burning, his body trembling between the two men. He opened his mouth, his jaw aching already, and Crowley wasted no time. He surged forward, gripping Dean’s face with both hands—pinching his cheeks, forcing his mouth wider—and drove his cock deep in one brutal thrust.
Dean gagged immediately, his throat convulsing around the intrusion. Crowley was thick, his pubic hair coarse against Dean’s nose, his balls slapping Dean’s chin as he forced himself in to the hilt. Dean’s eyes watered, his vision blurring.
“There,” Crowley groaned, holding Dean there. “Right there. His throat fluttering like a bird’s wing.”
“Beautiful,” Castiel observed, his hand returning to Dean’s back, petting him even as Crowley held him suffocating. “Hold him. Make him panic. Make him realize who owns his breath.”
Crowley pulled back just enough for Dean to suck in a wet, ragged gasp. Spit dripped down his chin. Crowley slammed forward again, burying himself to the root. Dean choked, his body jerking as his airway was cut off once more.
“Look at him,” Balthazar said, resuming his position behind Dean, lining himself up again. “So well-behaved. Like a trained dog. Does he sit on command, Castiel? Does he roll over?”
“He has a collar,” Castiel said conversationally, watching Dean’s face turn red, tears streaming down his face as Crowley throat-fucked him with short, brutal jabs. “And a leash. I make him crawl around the house on it sometimes. Hands and knees. Plug shifting in his ass. He fetches my slippers in his mouth. It’s adorable.”
“Puppy play,” Crowley chuckled, withdrawing slightly to let Dean gag and gasp, then thrusting deep again, grinding his hips against Dean’s face. “Is that what you are, pet? Castiel’s little bitch? His puppy? Kept and caged and fed on cum?”
Dean couldn’t answer, not with the cock in his mouth. He was being rocked between them now with Balthazar driving back into his ass while Crowley held his head still and used his throat like a cock sleeve. Back and forth. Every thrust from behind drove him deeper onto Crowley’s cock, every withdrawal from Crowley’s grip slamming him back onto Balthazar.
“Such a pretty puppy,” Balthazar crooned, reaching around to grip Dean’s cage, giving it a cruel tug that made Dean whine around the cock in his throat. “So well-behaved. Taking two cocks like you were born for it. You’re not a person, are you, love? You’re just a set of holes for us to share. A warm place for Castiel’s friends to unwind.”
“He’s crying more,” Crowley observed, pleased. He pulled Dean’s face back by the hair, letting his cock slip out just long enough for Dean to wheeze and cough, spit hanging in ropes from his chin. It was getting harder for Dean to focus, the world going soft an fuzzy at the edges. Then Crowley shoved back in, cutting off the air mid-gasp. “Tears running down his face. Messy little thing. You should keep him in a cage, Castiel. A real one. Not just that thing on his cock. A kennel.”
“I’ve considered it,” Castiel said, his fingers tracing patterns on Dean’s heaving back, possessive and proud. “A crate by the bed. He could sleep there, plugged and caged, ready for use whenever I wake.”
“Or when guests come over,” Balthazar added, his thrusts speeding up, his hips slapping against Dean’s ass. “Just wheel him out. A party favor. Look how he struggles. He loves it, the filthy thing. Look at his cage. Dripping. He’s leaking like a faucet.”
Dean’s mind was fracturing, shattering under the weight of the degradation. He was nothing. A toy. A discount. Balthazar was discussing using him as a party favor while Crowley choked him with his cock, and Castiel… His Daddy was standing there nodding, agreeing.
“Deeper,” Castiel instructed Crowley, his hand pressing down on the back of Dean’s head, adding his strength to Crowley’s grip, forcing Dean down further, until Dean’s lips were stretched around the base, his nose flattened against Crowley’s abdomen, no air, no escape, his throat convulsing in desperate, rhythmic spasms that made Crowley groan. “Make him understand that his only purpose is to be filled. By me. By my friends. By anyone who offers me a good enough price.”
Dean’s vision was going black at the edges, his lungs burning, his body jerking helplessly between the two cocks using him as a connector, a bridge of flesh. He was being spit-roasted in a tailor shop, in front of mirrors that showed him every moment of his debasement.
They talked over him, around him, through him, discussing his training, his leash, his kennel, the machine they would build to train his throat next time, the price per load that would earn Castiel his wardrobe. They didn’t ask him if he was okay. They didn’t look at his face as a person’s face. He was a pretty, well-behaved dog who fetched and crawled and cried on command.
Crowley pulled out of Dean’s throat with a wet, filthy sound. Spit and precum were trailing from Dean’s lips to the tip of Crowley’s cock. Dean’s chest heaved, his throat felt raw, and he coughed weakly, more fluid dripping from his open mouth onto the polished floor beneath him.
“Enough of that,” Crowley said. He gripped his cock, slick from Dean’s mouth, and stroked it, his eyes on Dean’s mouth. “I want the other end. I want to feel what Balthazar’s enjoying. I want to fuck Castiel’s cum deeper into this little slut.”
Balthazar was still pounding into Dean’s ass, his rhythm relentless.
Crowley looked at Castiel, his expression shifting into something calculating. “I want to negotiate further.”
Castiel raised an eyebrow, his hand still resting possessively on Dean’s lower back, feeling the vibrations of Balthazar’s thrusts transmitted through Dean’s trembling body. “Speak.”
“I want to feel him truly full,” Crowley said, his gaze dropping to Dean’s ass, where Balthazar was buried to the hilt, grinding in tight circles that made Dean whimper. “Not just sloppy seconds. Sloppy thirds. I want to fuck him after you’ve had him again. Fill him up once more before I take my turn.” He stroked his cock slowly, his eyes meeting Castiel’s. “I’ll go to forty-five percent off the entire line. Three suits, custom linings, the works. But only if you add another load to him before I fuck him. I want him dripping with you when I press in.”
Dean’s mind spun. Balthazar used him like a fleshlight, and they were discussing him like a spreadsheet. Forty-five percent. His body as a line item deduction.
Castiel considered this, his head tilting, his thumb tracing slow circles on Dean’s spine. He looked at Dean’s face then he looked at Balthazar, who was watching with amusement, still sheathed inside Dean’s body.
“Forty-five percent,” Castiel repeated softly. “Yes. That seems fair. You’ve been more than generous, Crowley. I accept. But stay at forty-five. I won’t ask for more. You’re a good friend to indulge me.”
Crowley’s smile was wolfish. “I’m a businessman. And this is the best transaction I’ve made all year.”
Balthazar groaned behind Dean, his thrusts losing rhythm, becoming erratic and brutal. “God, he’s tightening up. Listening to you two haggle over his ass while I’m buried in it. The shame is making him squeeze me like a vice.” He gripped Dean’s hair, yanking his head back sharply. “You hear that, pet? Your Daddy’s going to fuck you again. Going to fill you up so Crowley can enjoy my sloppy seconds mixed with his. You’re going to be so full of cum you’ll be leaking it for a week.”
Dean sobbed. Balthazar slammed into him one final time, burying himself deep, and froze, his hips jerking in small, vicious thrusts as he came. Dean felt the heat, the pulse, the additional cum filling him alongside Castiel’s. Balthazar stayed buried for a long moment, grinding, ensuring every drop was deposited in Dean’s body, then pulled out with a obscene, wet sound.
Dean’s ass was gaping, leaking, a mess of Castiel’s seed and Balthazar’s addition, dripping down his thighs, staining the lace of the thong that had been pulled aside. He was open, empty for a moment, feeling the air hit his ruined rim, feeling the humiliation pool in his gut.
“Beautiful,” Castiel murmured, stepping forward. He pushed Balthazar aside gently, taking his place behind Dean. His hands moved to Dean’s waist, gripping with sudden, brutal strength. “Hold still, Dean. Daddy’s going to use you now. Going to fill you up for Crowley. Be a good boy.”
Dean nodded, and watched in the reflection as Castiel unzipped his trousers with one hand. Castiel pressed in with one smooth, hard thrust that drove Dean forward, his hips slamming against Dean’s ass with a wet slap that echoed in the quiet shop.
Dean cried out. It was too much, too full, too sensitive, but Castiel didn’t pause. He set a punishing pace, fucking Dean with the efficiency of a man who owned the hole he was using, his hands gripping Dean’s waist like handles, jerking him back onto his cock with every forward thrust.
And the mirrors caught it all: Dean’s face, contorted in pain and ecstasy, his caged cock bouncing uselessly, leaking a steady stream of precum, and Castiel behind him, clothed and composed except for his trousers, his expression one of satisfaction.
“Look at him,” Balthazar said, having moved to lean against the wall, adjusting himself, watching with a glass of scotch he’d produced from somewhere. “Taking it like he was made for it. Where did you find this creature, Castiel? Estate sale? Orphanage?”
Castiel’s grip tightened, his fingers bruising deeper, his hips snapping forward hard enough to make Dean’s teeth click. He laughed. “A sugar baby site,” he said conversationally, not breaking his rhythm. “He was advertising himself as a companion. Looking for tuition money. Looking for someone to take care of him and his brother.”
Crowley stepped closer, his eyes fixed on where Castiel was entering Dean, watching the way Dean’s body accepted the intrusion, the way the cum from before was being forced out around Castiel’s cock, dripping down Dean’s legs. “And you knew? The first time you met him?”
“I knew,” Castiel said, his voice dropping, becoming almost reverent as he brutalized Dean’s ass. “He walked into the restaurant, and he was wearing this cheap jacket, trying so hard to look expensive. And when I told him what I wanted he blushed. This deep, gorgeous red. Spread from his cheeks down his throat. He stammered.”
Dean was crying again, the tears mixing with the spit on his face. He remembered that meeting. The shame of it. The way Castiel had looked at him like he was a meal.
“He’d never done a scene,” Castiel continued, his thrusts speeding up, his breath coming faster. “Never been tied up. Never been owned. He was nearly virginal. Innocent and desperate to please. I asked him suck my fingers, just to test him, and he did it. He opened his mouth for me, trembling the entire time. That’s when I knew. A diamond in the rough.”
“Fuck,” Crowley breathed. “Untouched clay.”
“Exactly,” Castiel grunted, his hips slapping against Dean’s ass. “I molded him. I trained him. Look at him now. He’s perfect. He lives for this. He craves the humiliation. I’ve got him so well-trained he probably wouldn’t even need the tuition anymore. Would you, Dean? Would you do this for free now? Just to be my pet? My little caged puppy?”
Dean nodded. “Yes. Yes, Daddy. Please.”
“He’s mine,” Castiel said, his voice rising, his grip becoming almost crushing. “Mind and body. I own him. I doubt I’d even need to pay him anymore. He’d crawl to me. Wouldn’t you? You’d crawl across broken glass just to sleep in my cage, wouldn’t you, Dean?”
Castiel shifted angle and hit something deep inside Dean that made his vision white out.
“Pathetic,” Castiel laughed, with a dark, triumphant pride. “Look how far he’s fallen. From a sugar baby looking for rent money to a triple-stuffed cum dumpster in a tailor shop. And he loves it. Look at him leak. Look at him shake. He’s going to come from this, from being told he’s worthless, from being used as a bargaining chip. My beautiful, broken little pet.”
Dean was pathetic. He was owned. He was nothing. A warm place for Castiel and his friends to spend their pleasure, and the realization was driving him toward an orgasm he knew would be trapped, painful, endless, vibrating through the cage without release.
Castiel’s rhythm faltered, his breath hitching. “I’m close,” he announced. “Going to fill him up for you, Crowley. Going to make him ready. Four loads. Three men. And he’s going to take it all because he’s mine, and I command it.”
“Yes,” Crowley hissed, stepping closer, his cock aimed and ready. “Fill him. Make him sloppy for me. I want to feel you swimming in him when I fuck him.”
Castiel slammed forward one last time, burying himself to the root. He came with a groan, his hips jerking in short, vicious thrusts as he emptied himself into Dean. His second load to Balthazar’s first, mixing inside Dean’s body, making him so full he felt he might burst.
For a moment, Castiel stayed there, panting, his forehead resting against the back of Dean’s neck, his hands still gripping Dean’s bruised waist. Then he pulled out slowly, watching with satisfaction as his cum leaked out, running down Dean’s thighs in thick trails.
Dean stayed bent over, trembling, his ass gaping and dripping.
Castiel reached out and gripped Dean’s shoulder, turning him slightly, toward Crowley.
“Take him,” Castiel commanded, his voice soft and satisfied. “He’s ready for you now. Three loads deep inside him. Fuck him, Crowley. Enjoy him. He’s worth every penny you’re not paying.”
Crowley caught Dean as he stumbled forward, bending him over the platform in the center of the room.
“Look at that,” Crowley breathed, lining himself up, pressing the thick head of his cock against Dean’s dripping rim. “You’re a master, Castiel. A true artist.”
“Thank you,” Castiel said, moving to stand where Dean could see him in the mirror, his hand reaching out to pet Dean’s tear-streaked face. “Enjoy your purchase, Crowley. Fuck my pet thoroughly. He can take it. He was made for this.”
Crowley pushed in with one brutal, unrelenting thrust, sliding through the slick mess, filling Dean with a thickness that made him cry, his body stretched to its limit, his mind finally breaking completely as he realized he was nothing. Nothing but a hole to be filled, a discount to be earned, a pet to be shared.