#dom!sam

There are rules for a reason. Lucifer’s not supposed to mess with them when they’re hunting because the power imbalance here is already well and truly fucked, and Sam isn’t about to invite Lucifer to interfere where he shouldn’t. Although, maybe he should have been less focused on Lucifer hypothetically being too helpful and making their efforts obsolete and more on the fact that Lucifer can make himself into a nuisance when he really wants to. Between him showing up when they were talking to the survivors, and distracting Sam when he was trying to research, and what happened at the morgue (which he is not thinking about ever again,) he’s more than proven that he can be a pain in the ass.

And where Dean took it at face value that the devil was getting his kicks pissing them off, Sam’s not angry. He’s worried. Lucifer is, without a doubt, arrogant and difficult and petty, but he doesn’t act without reason. Sam takes a step back, breathes, looks at how he’s acting. Only then does he approach Lucifer with the knowledge in hand to take care of the problem.

Or, maybe more accurately, Lucifer comes to him. Sam’s in the shower when he hears something in the other room fall and shatter on the floor. He nearly slips when he snaps towards the noise. He’s barely gotten out of the shower when he hears it happen again. A third time as he’s pulling the bathroom door open, on edge and expecting a fight. All he gets is Lucifer sitting at the tiny table the motel provided them with, staring at a pile of glass on the floor. Sam’s about to ask what’s happening when Lucifer blinks, and the glass reforms on the table. Lucifer looks up at him. Makes eye contact.

He knocks the glass off the table again. It shatters.

Sam sighs.

“Clean that up,” he says. Lucifer looks at the shards on the ground.

“Why should I?” As though he hasn’t broken and remade the same glass three times now. Sam goes to his bag to start getting dressed. He feels uncomfortably damp, but he’s got the sneaking suspicion that if he leaves the room now to go get a towel, more things are going to start breaking. Things that are more valuable than a cup.

“Because if you don’t, I’m probably going to forget about it and step on a shard.” Sam has had glass pierce his skin more than enough times in his life, thanks. When he turns back after having pulled on his pants, there’s no more glass on the ground and Lucifer is frowning at nothing. He turns his gaze on Sam like it’s a challenge. Sam doesn’t falter. “Is there a reason you’re being a brat?” Lucifer doesn’t answer, only narrows his eyes. Sam shakes his head and tries to approach him.

“Are you going to punish me?” Lucifer says, glib and sharp, but the way he tenses when Sam comes closer betrays him. Sam can’t hurt him, except in the ways that matter. Lucifer waits for rejection like it’s a blade against the back of his neck. This is him goading Sam to swing.

“Yes,” Sam says, and the way Lucifer actually relaxes at that breaks his heart. It's as though one of these days, he thinks Sam will actually follow that up by trying to hurt him. Sam reaches out to touch him instead. Lucifer looks confused when that’s all he does, hand resting against the curve of Lucifer’s jaw, feeling stubble prick against his palm. Sam lets it stay there for a minute. Lucifer remains frozen under the touch. He will understand that this is how Sam will punish him. Sam strokes his cheek. “Come lay on the bed with me.” Lucifer tilts his head away from Sam’s hand, but Sam follows, pressing warmth into Lucifer’s chilly skin.

“What?” Lucifer asks.

“Come lay down,” Sam repeats, slower. If Lucifer feels condescended to, then tough, Sam has to be as clear as possible to get through to him.

“That isn’t a-”

“You don’t get to decide.” Sam withdraws his hand. For all that Lucifer was trying to lean away from it, he still looks miserable that Sam’s not touching him anymore. Sam turns and walks back to the bed. He always gets one big enough for Lucifer and him to share, now. (And Dean gets to have a whole room to himself. It’s a win-win.) For a minute after he lays down, he’s not sure Lucifer will follow him. He’s stuck sitting across the room, staring at Sam like he’s lost it. He stands slowly, unsure, and he stills again.

Sam pats the empty space next to him. Lucifer jerks forward like Sam just-

Yanked on his leash is not a thought Sam should be having about Lucifer right now.

He far more dressed than Sam is. The first step is getting him on the bed. The second is getting his coat and over-shirt off. His jeans have to go, too, and that leaves Lucifer half-naked and kneeling in front of Sam on the bed, fists clenched against his bare thighs. Sam reaches up and touches his face again. Lucifer’s confusion returns, though now there’s a touch more panic in his eyes. Sam holds back from shushing him like he’s a scared animal. Instead, he lets his hand slide back, under Lucifer’s ear, brushing the short hair at the bottom of his skull, and then holding firmly onto the back of his neck. When Sam pulls him down, Lucifer resists. Sam pulls him down anyway.

Sam keeps his hand on the back of Lucifer’s neck, firm and unbreakable. If he really wanted to leave, there’s no amount of force Sam could exert to stop him, but when Lucifer struggles, he doesn't make Sam's hand budge an inch. Eventually, he stops. He stays tense against Sam. Sam promised punishment, and punishment for Lucifer has only meant pain and isolation for a long time. This, Sam knows, will be much harder for him to bear and far more effective. Sam settles back.

I want to be kind to you. I want to be gentle. I know you can’t believe this because you don’t know what it looks like, but that’s all I want for you, forever, but Sam can’t say any of that. Lucifer will lash out at it as a lie or recoil from it as pity, and so this is the only way Sam can get him to accept it. They dress it up at a struggle and ignore how badly Lucifer wants to let him win. He lets the hand at Lucifer’s neck drift up through his hair and then back down again, one slow stroke. Lucifer doesn’t make a break for it, and so Sam does it again and again.

“Stop,” Lucifer says. Sam can barely hear him, even though there’s not an inch between them. He keeps petting Lucifer’s hair.

“It’s a punishment,” he says. “You don’t choose when it stops. I do.” Lucifer breathes. It’s unsteady. Sam keeps petting him. He drinks in Lucifer through every sense, feels the coolness of his skin under his palm as he smooths his hand a little further down to his spine, smells the overwhelming scent of magnolias mixed with something that leaves an aftertaste like pennies on the back of Sam’s tongue, hears the way Lucifer struggles to keep himself breathing slowly.

“Stop,” Lucifer begs a second time, even softer.

“No.” Lucifer shudders. Sam wraps his hand over the back of Lucifer’s neck again and squeezes. “You want me to forgive you for being frustrating all day, right?” Lucifer doesn’t answer, but his head is bowed, his forehead pressed to Sam’s shoulder. Sam shifts to move his leg before it cramps from the odd position he put it in, and he bumps Lucifer’s, dropping his hand down to Lucifer’s thigh to help him get comfortable. As he moves Lucifer, he feels the devil go limp like a ragdoll in Sam’s arms. He’s soothingly heavy. (Angels are dense, in more ways than one.) “This is how you earn that. Be good for me, Lucifer. Hold still while I touch you.”

Lucifer makes a strangled noise, muffled against Sam’s shoulder. It sounds like no.

He needs more if Sam is really set on breaking him down. Sam massages behind Lucifer’s shoulders as he turns his head to kiss him. They’re only soft butterfly kisses that Sam lands on his temples and the top of his head. Even that makes Lucifer squirm, reeling back against the barricade of Sam’s hand. Like it’s nothing, Sam’s touch stops an archangel in his tracks. Seeing Lucifer’s face lets Sam know how well this is working. He still looks confused, but he’s relaxed, eyes glassy. Some part of him knows to trust Sam. In return for that trust, Sam leans in and places kisses all over Lucifer’s face. His nose deserves a few, and so do his cheeks, and his eyebrows, and his forehead, and finally, his lips. Lucifer doesn’t have the time to kiss back with how quickly Sam leaves a smooch there and backs off to find a new spot for his next one.

“Good,” Sam praises between kisses, “good, so good...” and though it’s simple, it’s effective. Lucifer tries to escape from the praise, but he has nowhere to go and looking away only exposes more untouched spots for Sam to kiss. Sam trails kisses over Lucifer’s chin and jaw and down his neck.

“Sam, please.” Sam has fucked Lucifer harder than anyone else he’s ever been with. He’s pulled his hair, bitten him raw, bruised him black and blue until his vessel heals. He’s spanked Lucifer over his lap, and he’s tied him up, and he’s used every other trick in the book to make him behave. None of those punishments could make Lucifer sound like he does right now.

“I think you deserve more,” Sam says, merciless. Lucifer exhales, overwhelmed and as desperate for this onslaught of affection to end as he is to never be let go. Sam starts kissing him again, but he lingers on each kiss now and he varies up his praise, sprinkling in more and more specifics, like “You’re such a beautiful angel,” and “See how lovely you are when you’re not trying to pick a fight?” He kisses just next to Lucifer’s ear and whispers to him, “Next time you want attention, I expect you to say something and not start breaking things. Understand?” Lucifer swallows. “If it happens again, I’m going to punish you even worse next time. How would you like me to massage your wings and groom out all the messy feathers?”

“I’m sorry,” Lucifer says, and there’s a lilt to it, like he’s wondering if all it’ll take to get out of this is to admit his guilt. Sam doesn’t plan on letting up any time soon.

“Apology accepted. You still have to earn your forgiveness. We’re almost done.” Sam begins running his hands over Lucifer’s entire body, seeking vulnerability and since he knows exactly where to look, he finds it. Angels wear vessels strangely, connect to nerves in odd places more than others. Lucifer has patches of skin at his hip and his belly and the back of his calf that are more sensitive than anywhere else on his body, excluding right between his shoulderblades, which Sam is already using to make him melt in his arms. Lucifer isn’t trying to get away anymore (if Sam could even call it that with how little effort he put into it.) He’s shaking like he can’t help it, full-bodied tremors every time Sam grazes a sensitive spot, accompanied by gasps that rush Sam’s ears.

He wraps his arms around Lucifer in a hug and pulls him in tight.

He squeezes and squeezes. Lucifer makes little noises like he can’t stand it that slowly quiet as Sam’s body heat radiates into him, his soul drawing in Lucifer's grace. Sam feels himself calm down, too. Lucifer’s grace always has that effect on him. Sam savors it, and the way Lucifer finally gives in. This is exactly what he needed. “I love you,” Sam says. “I forgive you. You’re so good for me.”

Sam holds him for a few long minutes. This, plus what they’d done beforehand, was the longest Lucifer had ever gone.

So it doesn’t surprise Sam when Lucifer finally says, “Cage. Sam, cage, now.” Sam instantly releases Lucifer, no hand on the back of his neck, no arms around him, nothing keeping him still. He looks extremely overwhelmed as he falls back out of Sam’s lap, and for a moment, Sam thinks he’s taken it too far.

“Lucifer-” Without thinking, Sam reaches out a hand to touch Lucifer’s arm. Lucifer flinches, withdrawing his arm, and Sam makes a soothing noise. He doesn’t try to touch Lucifer again. That’s not the kind of comfort he needs right now. Sam gets off the bed, giving Lucifer a minute alone to reorient himself. He searches around in his packed bags for first, a blanket Sam bought for Lucifer, one he showed interest in because of the texture, and second, one of Sam’s shirts. It’s washed, but it still smells like him from being tossed in with the rest of his clothes. Sam offers them to Lucifer, and they’re taken gratefully. Lucifer wraps the blanket around himself, but he doesn’t put on the shirt. He holds it close to his chest instead. With that, Sam gives him space.

He just put Lucifer through a lot. He needs a minute to recover.

“The hug was a nice touch,” Lucifer says when he’s a little more put together, though Sam still doesn’t put a hand on him, wary of setting him off.

“It wasn’t too much?”

“No. It was nice, until-” Sam grins at being reassured that he did the right thing for Lucifer.

“Until it wasn’t?” he asks.

“Exactly.” Sam sits down on the bed near Lucifer. He still leaves a firm boundary of personal space between them. Touch will be overwhelming to him right now, but even having Sam’s soul too close, automatically trying to tangle up with Lucifer’s grace, might be too much. “You were right. I should have asked for it.”

“You’re forgiven,” Sam reemphasizes, and Lucifer hmphs. “If we’re trying to set more realistic standards for you to meet next time, than I’ll settle for you not disrupting a hunt. You can’t do that.” Lucifer pouts, clutches Sam’s shirt closer to his chest.

“I... will try not to. Next time.” Sam gets the urge to lean over and kiss him. He doesn’t, but he lets his gaze linger on Lucifer’s mouth and stores it away to do later, when Lucifer’s more open to touch.

“Good,” Sam says, “because I will do worse to you. I don’t make empty threats.”

“How terrible. You’re going to pet my wings if I misbehave.” Lucifer’s words are flippant, but his tone is a little more unsure.

“You can handle it,” Sam reassures. “If you can’t, one word and we stop, but I know that you can. Trust me.” Lucifer smiles.

“I do.” Sam’s already got plans spinning in his head for the next time Lucifer needs Sam to be gentle with him and can’t accept it. He’ll really get Lucifer squirming. Maybe Sam will even get him to beg for it to stop as his wings flex and beat and submit. All while knowing that if Lucifer wanted it to actually end, he’d safeword. There is something so intoxicating about having the devil under him, pleading for Sam to stop showing him how much he’s loved. Sam is never going to get over it.

The Black Garter was a private club, one you’d been to before, though that didn’t make you any less nervous as the sleek black car pulled up to the curb and Sam’s hand covered your knee, his fingers long enough to stroke the sensitive inside of your thigh where the stockings ended.

“Are you ready?” he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips across your shoulder, covered by the long coat that hid your sultry and minimal clothing from the chilly New York air.

“Yeah,” you croaked, remembering yourself at the last second, “yes, sir.”

Sam chuckled, and you felt his other hand slide underneath your ass to squeeze it. “Good girl.”

Warmth swelled in your chest at the praise, and when he climbed out of the car, you followed dutifully, trying not to worry about what lay ahead. In all the times you’d been here, you had only observed, for the most part. Tonight, Sam wanted you to be the observed party, and you knew you had to give him a good show.

Stepping into the stall, you tugged the sheer door behind you closed, humming as the warm spray washed over you. Your muscles ached, and you could still feel the pressure of Sam inside you, the stickiness of his seed on your skin where he had marked you. There was a disappointment inside you at the thought of washing it away, but he’d been clear when he’d sent you in here, you had to clean thoroughly.

You couldn’t stop reliving the night. Every single movement provoked the discovery of another bruise, another mark, all of them his, along with all of you. Sam worked hard, and he played just as hard too.

He kept you close as you entered the club, one large hand almost encasing yours. When you reached the cloakroom, he helped you out of your coat, and you tried not to duck your head bashfully as your outfit - chosen by him - was put on display for every other attendee.

Sam liked you in black, specifically lace. He liked the delicate look of it, how it made patterns on your skin. You had no preference in material and before him, you hadn’t bought anything more exotic than a front-clasping bra; he’d introduced you to more than just pleasure.

“You look beautiful.”

The water was soothing to your tired muscles, so you leaned against the tiled back wall, enjoying the warmth. You inspected yourself, running your fingers over the marks on your forearms from the cuffs, smiling to yourself. Those marks were ones you’d inflicted yourself by thrashing in the restraints, too high on pleasure to care..

Your careful exploration halted when the bathroom door opened and Sam slipped in, his gaze searching you out, lips curling into a grin as he saw you. He was only wearing a pair of low-slung sweats, and his bare feet made no sound as he crossed to the stall.

“Room for one more?”

“Always,” you whispered, lifting your chin with a smirk. “Sir.”

He chuckled, stripping out of the sweats before opening the stall door. “Just Sam,” he corrected, climbing in and closing the door behind him. Joining you under the spray, he tugged you close, cupping your jaw with one hand. “No rules… I think you earned it.”

It was warmer inside the club than outside, so the amount of skin you had exposed didn’t seem to matter, though you could feel eyes on you as Sam led you through the familiar corridors to the main rooms of entertainment. The lights were all low, coming from half-covered lamps on the walls, with only a few spots highlighted in whiter, starker luminance. Soft music filled the air not occupied by conversation or gratuitous moans, and you chanced a look around, spotting numerous couples and throuples engaged in everything from light teasing to full sex. Alcoves in the corridor were filled with harnesses and toys, and as you walked along, you made eye contact with a woman wearing a bit between her teeth, her eyes half-shut and face contorted in pleasure as an older man fucked two thick digits into her cunt.

Sam’s hand was hot against your lower back, rubbing through the thin fabric of your teddy, pressing just enough to keep you moving forward. Your senses were buzzing with apprehension and nervousness, and his touch helped to ground you, guiding you towards the middle of the crowd. You’d watched this happen a hundred times before, now it was you who would be the center of attention.

“Just remember,” he breathed, sliding his hand to your hip, “you say the word and I stop.”

You nodded. “I know the rules, sir,” you whispered, turning your head to look up at him with a smile. 

He returned the affection, squeezing your hip gently. “Would you like a drink first?”

His fingertips danced over your skin, adding to the sensation the water was already creating. He didn’t rush, watching his own hands move, and you smiled as you realized what he was doing - exactly what you’d been doing when he walked in. Every time his fingers stopped, lingering on a spot, you felt a tingle of pleasurable pain, sudden and briefly sharp, leaving you with only a gasp and a yearning for more.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, dropping to one knee. You bit your bottom lip, unconsciously spreading your thighs to allow him whatever access he wanted. He chuckled up at you, watching your face as he pressed his thumb into the same large bruise on your thigh that you’d found earlier. “Does that feel good?”

“They’re yours,” you hummed. “I love them.”

The club rules were simple: no alcohol, no drugs, and consent was compulsory. Sam’s rules aligned with that, aside from one - he never allowed anyone else to touch you. It wasn’t unheard of for some dominants to be happy with others around their sub but Sam was far more possessive than most. This was a performance but as far as you were concerned, the only person you were out to impress was Sam.

You could feel your whole body trembling as he helped you onto the raised platform, and you let your gaze wander over the plush leather upholstery of the table. Sam allowed you to get comfortable, waiting for you to stretch your arms out either side before he fastened the soft cuffs around each wrist. Your legs were split open by the table, and he was quick to secure your ankles in similar cuffs to the ones on your wrists, and once he was satisfied, he stepped between your thighs, resting one hand over your sex. The crotchless panties did nothing to hide either your modesty or your arousal, and you tried not to emit a sound as he held his hand there, the warmth of his palm soaking into your pussy.

“Gonna make you scream for me, baby girl.”

The water had drenched his hair now he was lower down, and you watched him inspect your thighs, not even trying to conceal the sound of your pleasure when he grazed a bruise. His lips replaced his fingers, getting closer and closer to the apex of your thighs, and you tipped your head back when his nose pressed against your folds.

“Sam -” you whined, resisting the urge to grab his head and force him where you wanted him.

“Patience,” he ordered softly, a low chuckle vibrating against your thigh. “You’ll get everything you want.”

You hummed, biting your lip as he continued his torturous path upwards. One of his hands cupped your thigh and lifted, and you allowed him to manipulate you, wobbling slightly when he left you on one leg to hook the opposing knee over his shoulder. His grip held you firm, and in the next second, his tongue stroked over your folds, coaxing a desperate mewl from your lips.

The toys were provided by the club. You hadn’t gotten a good look at the selection on an adjacent table before Sam had tied you down, but you trusted him to know what you liked and what your limits were. He abandoned you for only a minute or two, though it felt like an age under the bright spotlight with the air conditioning making your nipples stiff underneath the lace covering them.

Despite the crowd, only a few paid attention to the stage. Most were engaged in their own pleasures; you could hear snippets of dirty talk, and the occasional climatic wail but you didn’t stop looking at the ceiling, avoiding the spotlight. Sam appeared a few seconds later, looking down at you with a soft smile.

“Lift your head,” he commanded, loud enough for you to hear, and you obeyed, finding a small measure of relief when he slipped a blindfold over your head. “Keep it up,” he added, and you did, ignoring the slight ache in your neck. A gag pressed against your lips, so you dutifully parted them, letting him slot the soft rubber ball between your teeth. “Good girl.”

He paused, fingers grazing your jaw purposefully, asking if you were okay with a tap against the curve below your left ear. You nodded at the practiced signal, and answered his question by clicking your fingers twice, smiling as best as you could.

It didn’t take long for him to make you cum with his tongue. Your pussy was still sensitive, almost raw from how he’d used you that night, not that that stopped your body craving him again. You cried out as he sucked at your clit, keeping up the pressure even when your knee buckled, leaving only his strength to hold you up. Even then, he sought more, easing one, then two thick fingers inside you, dragging them back and forth slowly.

He pulled his mouth away to look up at you in amusement. “You’re still all full of me,” he commented. “That tiny pussy holding all my cum… let’s see if we can’t make you drip.”

You whined loudly, clawing at the wall behind you as he held you in place, driving his fingers into you over and over. Each stroke made your whole body shudder, and your pussy clenched around the intrusion, hips canting forward in search of more.

A second climax almost fried your overstimulated nerves, and you could barely scream. Sam chuckled as you grabbed for his wrist, staring at him with lust-drunk eyes. “Pl-please, Sam,” you whimpered, still rocking yourself onto his hand even though your fingers pried at his wrist.

His lips curled upwards into a hungry smile that made you shiver. “Tell me what you want.”

He didn’t take long in unlacing the teddy, exposing your breasts to the audience. You moaned, lifting your chin slightly.

“They’re watching you,” he murmured,, fastening a clamp around one stiff nipple, forcing you to whimper through the gag. “I’ve already had an offer.” His hand cupped your breast, squeezing lightly as the clamp pinched at the swollen peak. “They didn’t realize that I won’t let anyone touch what’s mine.”

You shuddered, perspiration already beginning to gather on your forehead. Sam’s low chuckle was barely audible over the music, and you had to pay attention to figure out where he was when he wasn’t touching you. Another clamp tightened around your other nipple, tingling jolts of pain mixing with pleasure and only adding to the arousal between your thighs.

His fingers tapped at your jaw again. You swallowed around the gag, clicking your fingers twice again. Moving his hand to your thigh, he held it in a tight grip, rubbing his thumb deep into your flesh. You could feel him leaning over you, the fabric of his shirt brushing against your painfully hard nipples, jostling the clamps just enough to make you gasp around the gag.

“I want to hear you,” he instructed. “I want them to hear you.”

He moved away again, leaving you almost breathless. Deprived of his touch, you could only focus on the throb of each clamped nipple, the pleasure of it making your fingers curl. Something hard and cold patted against your thigh; you recognized the sensation, eyes rolling under the blindfold.

“Want you inside me,” you whined, looking down at him again.

He crooked his fingers inside your cunt, almost making you choke on a cry. “I am inside you.”

“No,” you gasped, shaking your head, trying to articulate your need as he kept working his digits against your deepest spots. “I wa-want your cock inside me.”

“And?”

You moaned low in your throat, struggling to think through the fog of desire. “Want you to fuck me,” you stammered out. “Want you to cum inside me.”

“You want another load of my cum, baby?” he teased, slowly rubbing his thumb against your clit. “You gotta earn that.” You groaned in frustration, releasing his wrist as he began to move a little faster. “Cum again, and I’ll fill up that pretty pussy just like you want.”

The gag stopped you from vocally keeping count of the blows of the paddle but you counted in your mind out of reflex. He started with light impacts to your thighs, twenty each side, keeping to the inner, softer flesh, until each tingled with the repeated impacts. Your tits were next, and you keened loudly every time he struck you, feeling your nipples fight against their prisons as your skin darkened with bruises. 

Every hit was another burst of pleasure, and though you knew you wouldn’t cum from this alone, it never stopped Sam from trying. You could feel how wet you were, certain you’d soaked the table underneath you, and he would no doubt show everyone just what a dirty little painslut you were. After ten on each breast, he stepped back, letting you writhe in the haze of arousal, unable to get friction from anything.

“You want more?” he asked, voice suddenly right by your ear. “Two clicks for yes.”

You released a shuddering breath around the gag, desperate to please him, and then clicked your fingers twice.

Sam’s mouth covered a bruise on your thigh, sucking at it. You cried out, finally obeying the urge to grab him, running your fingers through his thick, damp hair. He moaned against your leg, working his thumb harder against your clit as he buried his fingers deep and stroked the tips right against your sweet spot. Your eyes went wide, cries turning silent, and your hips began to rock faster, your orgasm right at the peak.

You could feel fresh warmth gush around his fingers, and he moaned again, releasing your thigh to look up at you, a pleased smile on his face.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, and you gave him a dazed smile as you pulled your hand away from his head, drunk on the burst of pleasure hormones. He withdrew his fingers, letting your foot drop back to the floor as he got his feet, and your gaze lowered to his thick erection, feeling the blunt tip brush your belly when you looked back up at him. “You earned this.”

Orgasm after orgasm had been wrung from your body. The clamps around your nipples were slick with sweat, and you could feel your own drool on your face from the gag. Sam had only used his fingers so far, making a spectacle of how little he needed to render you limp.

But he wasn’t done. 

Releasing your nipples from their prisons, you felt a small measure of relief when he sucked at each one, letting his tongue soothe the ache. His teeth scraped against him, making you moan again, and when he started to suck at your breast, you squirmed, unbearably desperate for him to fuck you, unable to beg.

“Look at you,” he chided, lifting his head. “So desperate.”

You jumped in surprise when his hand curled around your head, long fingers making easy work of the gag. He tugged it out of your mouth, and you gasped, quickly realizing what he was expecting as he moved away.

“Turn around,” Sam ordered softly, tapping your hip. You smiled and turned, putting your back to him, arching and sticking your ass out. He hummed in approval, placing one hand over your left cheek and squeezing. “Hmm, we’ll need to even this out. Paint your ass as pretty as your tits.”

You moaned as he thumbed his cock between your cheeks, letting the tip catch on your aching hole. He still wasn’t rushing, teasing you with only the head, chuckling when you squirmed impatiently and whimpered.

“I’ll stop teasing,” he promised. “Can’t help myself sometimes.”

A reply popped into your head and fled the next second when he pushed forward, impaling you on another few inches. You gasped, forced up onto tiptoes, and you placed your hands against the wall to brace yourself when he pulled back only to penetrate you more.

“How are you always so tight?” he moaned, repeating the action until he was balls deep, holding you with the entirety of his thick shaft inside you. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against your shoulder. “This pussy was made for my cock,” he muttered. “It belongs to me, just like the rest of you.”

You hissed out a yes in agreement, pressing your forehead against the cool tiles. “Body and soul,” you gasped, unable to stop your pussy clenching around him. “Oh, god, Sam -”

It wasn’t surprising that he made a show out of how well you took his cock. Sam was more than well endowed, intimidating almost - it had been when you’d first experienced it. Now you craved it, prided yourself on how easily you could take him. You heard someone gasp when he finally revealed his favorite toy to torment you with, slapping the solid column of flesh against your sensitive cunt until you let your desire get the better of you.

“Please, Sir,” you cried out, so desperate now that you were choking on the need.

“Poor little cockslut,” he teased, bumping his cockhead against your clit. “Is that what you are?”

“Yes,” you whined. “I’m a cockslut, Sir.”

He hummed, pressing the tip further down, threatening to enter you but holding back. “Why don’t you tell everyone exactly what the little cockslut wants?”

Your mouth felt so dry but you know he would only torment you further if you didn’t do as you were told. “I want your big cock inside me, Sir,” you mewled. “Want you to fuck me full.”

The water cascading over you made the sound of your bodies colliding echo against the tiles, and your cries soon followed, mixing with Sam’s grunts as he fucked you up against the wall. You couldn’t keep your eyes open as the intense pleasure in your belly started to get stronger all over again. Pushing back against Sam got harder with each brutal thrust, and he moved one arm around your waist, cupping a breast as the other slipped underneath your hips until he was practically holding you off of the stall floor, using you like he wanted.

“Cum on my cock,” he growled, biting at your shoulder again. “Lemme feel it, baby, and I’ll fill you up, just like I promised.”

You gasped against the tiles, barely able to form a coherent thought as he kept fucking you. Every moan was punched out by the force of his thrusts, and you didn’t need to put any effort into obeying, letting bliss wash over you. He felt it, groaning loudly as your body tightened around him, and when he finally came, he held himself as deep as he could. Warmth flooded your cunt and dripped down your thighs, and your high simmered in your veins as you relaxed in his hold.

You were shaking when he released you, but he didn’t wait for you to stand up, scooping you into strong arms. His seed was drying on your thighs and pussy, his marks still buzzing as they developed into bruises, but you ignored it all, settling into the warmth of his arms.

“You were so good tonight,” he whispered, carrying you through to the quieter rooms, away from the applauding onlookers. “My perfect girl.”

Your legs trembled as Sam let you down, his strong hands helping you to stay upright. He smiled as you lifted your chin to give him a dazed grin, and when his hand cupped your jaw, you leaned into it, raising your own hand to cover his.

“You’re mine too,” you whispered, the words breaking apart as a yawn disrupted your composure.

Sam chuckled, nodding lightly. “You know I am,” he assured you softly. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up and into bed.”

“Hey, Jodes.”

“Heya, Sam,” Jody answers, just shy of suspicious. “What can I do for ya?”

“You can get down,” Sam growls, pushing Jody back into the corridor and pressing her up against the wall, jostling picture frames on their way. His hands latch onto her shoulders and shove down, putting her on her knees, brown doe-like eyes blinking up at him invitingly.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Jody doesn’t wait for Sam’s answer before going for his belt and button.

“I saw Dean leave here about half an hour ago,” Sam grins down at her and runs his fingers through the short, spiky hair Jody hasn’t had a chance to brush since her earlier rendezvous with Dean. “Figured you’d still be free,” he shrugs.

“How presumptuous of you,” Jody laughs. Her hand reaches into Sam’s boxers and pulls out his cock, already hard. He must have been thinking about this before he came to knock on the door.

Sam sighs heavily when Jody leans forward and suckles on the head of his cock, pulling back with a string of spit still connecting him to her lips, the head of his dick red and shiny.

“You get down on your knees for Dean, too?” Sam asks nonchalantly, eyes slipping closed as Jody sucks him down as far as she’s able to. Her hands come up to grip the base of his dick where she can’t reach with her lips, and hums negatively around his flesh. “Save this just for me?” Sam grins smugly, eyes still squeezed closed against the sloppy, wet pleasure encasing his member.

“Dean went down on me, actually,” Jody replies, pulling Sam out of her mouth and licking him from root to tip, pausing to slip the tip of her tongue into the slit at the crown of his cock, tasting the salty precum there.

“What a gentleman,” Sam chuckles, hissing as Jody drops her head to suck at his balls.

“Exactly what I said,” Jody smiles up at Sam, holding his gaze as she licks at his cock hungrily. Sam pulls at her hair, drawing her lips off him and hoists her to her feet. His long fingers go for the buttons on her jeans, pulling them down unceremoniously and rubbing his fingers across the crotch of her panties, now thoroughly soaked with her own slick and his brother’s cum.

Sam curls his fingers into the sopping material, running them through the puddle of sticky liquid and easing them up inside her. Jody gasps as he pulls his hand forwards, pressing against her g-spot.

“Can’t have him outdoing me, can I?” Sam asks like he doesn’t have his hand inside of her.

“Well then, get down Winchester.”

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You're walking through the kitchen, minding your own business, and you collide with the sharp corner of the table. The plate resting in your hand hit the floor, shattering. In a split second you're panicking, the sound of broken glass reminding you too much of your bad days.

Memories flooding through your head, voices booming all around you. You're looking at your hands, the slippery culprits now shaking like a leaf. Your vision is spotty, lungs burning, air barely coming in, face losing feeling soon. Your eyes move to the shattered ceramic, overflowing with tears now. You realize the 'mistake' you've made and start clumsily shuffling around. You're picking up the biggest pieces, placing them as soft as you can in your hand.

Sam instantly heard the plate break, immediately jumping up from his chair in the library. He was rushing to you, and when he arrived in the doorway, he takes in your rattling body. Your breaths are choked, whole body racking as you're picking up pieces of glass? Sam instantly rushed over to you, kneeling in front of you, "You with me baby?" A hand coming up inches away from the hand holding the pieces of glass, his other coming around to your shoulder.

As you're picking up a piece Sam places a hand on your shoulder and under your hand holding the glass as gently as possible, but it still scares you. You let out a loud gasp, clenching your hands together, another sob coming out of you, "I-I'm sorry-" He lifts you from your squatting position, pulling your legs around his waist. He's rubbing your back, whispering in your ear as he carried you, "Shhh, my little baby, nothing to be sorry about, you're okay, it's okay." You're sobbing, shaking, mumbling ''m sorry' over and over, you can't open your eyes, you're just stuck gripping onto him and struggling to breathe between broken sobs.

He sits you on the counter next to the sink, your legs and arms still around him. "Hey, baby," he's trying to reach you in your thoughts, "baby, can you look at me?" He's rubbing your back, feeling the wetness grow on his back, knowing he needed to check it. After about fifteen seconds, he decided he had to check your hand. He brought his hands to your ears, taking a deep breath and turning his head as far away from you as possible, "Dean!" His voice was dripping with fear and concern. Your body jolted when he did so, and he felt it, instantly consoling you, "Oh I know, daddy was so loud and it was scary. I know baby."

Dean does into the room, hearing your cries echoing through the room as he sees the back of Sam's shirt covered in blood that's coming from your hand? He's rushing over to you, softly speaking to you, his hand hovering over your wrist, "Hey, little one, wanna let Uncle Dean see your hand for a minute?" He gently grabs your wrist, slowly leading your away from Sam's neck.

You're starting to calm down, Sam's scent engulfing you, his words bringing you back to him. "It's okay bug, I now it's scary but daddy's here. Take a deep breath for me, come on." You're trying to follow along to him, Dean pulling your arm away from him bringing some feeling back into your arm. Your breathing is still scattered, but doesn't burn as bad, Sam's voice coming in clearer as you hear the water coming on. "You feel my hand on your back sweetness?" He makes big circles on your back, applying the slightest amount of pressure. You enjoy it for a moment, trying to take good breaths for your daddy, then nod to him. "You think you can tell me what letter I'm making?" You nod again, "Okay, remember to keep focusing on what I'm writing yeah?" Another nod, and as he starts drawing lines on your back water hits your hand causing you to let out a small cry and jerk your hand away from Dean.

"Hey, baby, you gotta let Dean make sure you're okay," his other hand is enclosing your face, kisses planting on top of your head, trying and succeeding in wrapping you in his love. He continues, "Focus on my hand baby, what letter is daddy drawing?" Dean's hand touching your wrist barely registers as you focus on the letter. You hiss at the water rushing over your hand again, shaking your head at Sam, letting him know you don't know the letter. "Okay, let me do it again," he traces two exaggerated lines on your back, forming a L. "What letter baby?" He is wiping away some stray tears as you choke out, "L."

Sam hums happily, "Such a good, smart girl, it was L!" His voice is soft and soothing, Deans movements on your hand becoming a little more noticeable as you start to breathe better. "Ready for the next one?" You nod keeping your head on his chest, listening to his heart beat. He traces a circle on your back, then a line, you shrug not sure, a little too distract by the thump thump thump of his heart. "Circle," he traces a circle, "and a line," he traces the line, repeating the letter once more. Your voice is wavering, not confident in yourself, "a?"

He rubs your back gently, delivering kisses where he can reach, "So smart! Let's see if we can get another, yeah?" You nod, Sam sensing the small amount of eagerness and feeling relieved that you're starting to get back to being his happy little girl. He starts a point at the top of your back, drawing straight down and circling back. I know that one, you thought happily. Your heart skips a beat, excited to show your daddy how smart you are. "That one's d!"

Sam smiles even though you can't see him, knowing that you're gonna be okay. He's been watching Dean, wanting to make sure you were okay. It was a long cut but not deep, spreading across the inside of your fingers. Fingers bleed bad, and look scarier than they are. "Okay, okay, you're too good at this!" A small nuzzle into his chest from you, the praise pleasing your tiny headspace. He traces a v with a tail on your back, causing you to giggle, "I know the word!" He chuckled, "There's more!" He see's your brows furrow in consideration before speaking solemnly, "Okay, papa, write it."

His heart swelled, his perfect baby makes him feel magic running through his veins. He traced, another vertical like and circle, opposite from the d, and you bounced on the counter. "Yes, daddy! I know it!" He glances at Dean, who is putting small gauze and tape over the slices on your fingers, Dean focused on his task, but smiling at you and Sam. Sam speaks softly, but with admiration, "Ya hear that Uncle Dean? My girls got it!" Dean's voice dripping excitement, "Well I don't know what it is! Tell me what it is sweet pea!"

"Issa ladybug right?" Sam quickly litters kisses all over your face and shoulders. Your arm moved around his waist, face burying into him as he makes you blush with his words, "Genius baby! So smart and perfect, did so good!" You're giggling at him, Dean letting go of your hand, "All patched up sweetheart. You wanna come with me and watch some toons while daddy cleans up?" You squeeze to Sam, not wanting to let go, causing his heart to break a little. "Baby, Daddy's got some blood-" you try to raise your head but he stops you, "Little girls are too small to see things like that, right angel?" You blush, nodding, "Yes, daddy."

"Good girl, now I need you to keep your eyes closed while Dean grabs you, real tight 'til he says okay?" You nod, placing tiny kisses on his chest. Dean reaches for you, your eyes close real, real tight. Dean takes Sam's place, moving you to the other side of the sink. Sam's hand didn't come off your back, gliding with Dean. "Good girl," he butterfly kisses your nose consistently, letting you return it with a giggle. "He's gonna clean your hand, and I'm gonna go clean up." He kisses your forehead and you whine when you feel him leave.

Dean is quickly rinsing off the dried blood on your other arm that transferred from your other hand as he shushes you, "I know bug, just a second." After he finishes, he prepares to lift you, speaking softly, "Keep those eyes shut darlin'." When you nod, he lifts you, carrying you out of the kitchen, careful to avoid the plate and blood in the floor. You feel him lean, but keep your eyes closed, clinging to him tightly. He straightens back up and walks you to the tv room, sitting on the couch softly.

"Alright baby," he tapped your shoulder twice with a feather tap, "open up." You lift your head, greeted with Deans wide smile and a lavender beaded pacifier in his hand. You hummed excitedly, bouncing up and whining slightly when he didn't give it to you. He puts it against your lips, your mouth happily taking it in and sucking on it, laying back down on him.

After no more than ten minutes, you're squirming. You want your daddy, not uncle Dean. "Peanut," Dean sighs, "daddy's coming, give him a minute, yeah?" You whine, fussing a bit, Dean stands with you, pushing your head into his neck. He starts pacing the room with you, bouncing you slightly. You're still squirming a little, trying to escape his grasp. "Wan' papa," you whisper, Dean feels a tear slip onto his shoulder and he's shushing you. "He's coming baby, he's gotta get real clean! You don't like when daddy's stinky do you?" You giggle a little, shaking your head, "No stinky papa." Dean coos at you, "That's right little girl, daddy needs to get to smelling good again, doesn't he?" That elicits a heavier laugh from you, tucking yourself back into his neck.

Around ten minutes after that, Sam walks in, holding a pair of rainbow leggings and one of his t-shirts. His hand comes to your back, nodding you out of your sleepy state, and you're instantly reaching for his arms. "Papa," your hands find his shoulders to support yourself while you transfer arms. "I know baby," he's holding you now, but it's short lived when he gently sets you on the couch. You're whining and whimpering, reaching out to him, being careful not to squeeze your sore little fingers. He shakes his head, "No baby, don't you wanna get these uncomfy clothes off of you?" When he says that you realize how tight the clothes you're wearing are, how rough they feel against your skin. You're suddenly squirming, pulling at your clothes messily.

"Oh little girl, arms up now." He's speaking softly but sternly, causing you to stop moving and lift your arms. He picks up your shirt, lifting it up over your face and back down, making silly faces at you repetitively, "Where my baby?" the shirt is covering your face, "There she is!" He moves the shirt out of the way again, only stopping when your giggles die down. He slides his shirt on you, it was a little oversized on him, it swallows you. You're bunching it in your hands, whining when he pulls down your rough blue jeans. He slides the leggings on, the soft, stretchy material making you kick your legs playfully.

Once the leggings are all the way up, Sam grabs your ankles, laughing at you, "Oh! Daddy's got you now little ladybug, what you gonna do?" You giggle at him, a blessed sound to Sam and Dean, twisting your body in unnatural ways to try and escape the mean ankle monster. "Papaaaa," you kick your legs a little seriously, causing Sam to raise his eyebrows, a test telling you that you know better than to hit your daddy. "Pease papa, jus' wan' you hol' me." You reach your arms up and Sam's heart melts.

He tickles up your legs, grazing your sides, causing you to twist and turn again, before he's lifting you by your underarms, putting you around his waist. Dean comes in, you're not sure when he left, but he's got your favorite spaceship sippy cup and your reaching for it. He laughs, handing it to you as Sam sits with you. "I thought we could watch Tink, you wanna watch Tink peanut?" You nod at Dean, he presses a kiss to your cheek and plays the movie, Sam letting you adjust so you can watch the television.

Now composed again, Sam makes his way back to his dressing room, where he knows you’re waiting for him. If you’ve been good, he’ll find you waiting exactly where he left you. He’s curious to know if you’ve managed it.

When Sam pushes open the door to his room a small smile makes it onto his face. You’re still unclothed, on your knees and legs spread, his cum visibly dripping from your naked pussy. You don’t look up when Sam enters, obediently keeping your eyes trained on the floor and not reacting to his presence. Sam stands still for a moment, door to the hall wide open while he admires his doll where anyone else could join him – he swears he can see you get even slicker the longer he lets the risk play out.

The door swings shut behind him as he walks forward, giving your hair an affectionate stroke before reaching for a bottle of water and sprawling out on the couch you’ve been knelt next to for the past hour. He knew it was cruel, asking you to stay on your knees on the hard, tiled floor when there were chairs and a couch right there but that was part of the fun. The discipline was something you’d asked him to help teach you when you’d been purchased, and he has been happy to oblige.

“Did you enjoy the talk?” Sam questioned, taking a deep drink from the water he’d grabbed.

“Very much, Sir,” you nod, looking up at him now you’ve been addressed. “But you did leave off one of your recommendations for success.”

“Did I?” Sam raises his brow, surprised you’re challenging him on something.

“Yes, sir. My favourite one,” you smile.

“And what is that?” Sam leans forward, his fingertips resting together between his knees.

“Regular sexual release.” You blink up at him innocently, and Sam can’t help cracking a smile.

“You’re right,” he admits. “I think that’s my favourite too,” Sam reaches out and pinches your nipple, making you whimper, and your eyes slide shut. “Never gonna be successful like me if you spend all your time edging like a little slut. That’s why you’re never gonna get anywhere in life, isn’t it doll?”

You nod eagerly, knowing your place. You’ve achieved the highest status you can possibly hope to as Sam’s doll, and you’re immensely grateful for his ownership of you – it’s all you’ve ever wanted out of life.

“Yeah, you like being denied too much, don’t you,” Sam coos, massaging both your breasts now, pinching your nipples when he sees you settling too much into the pleasure of his actions. After all, he’s not touching you for you, he’s doing it for him. Because he likes the feel of your flesh in his hands. “How long has it been since your last orgasm, doll?”

“Three–” you squeal when he delivers a harsh slap to your clit “–weeks, sir,” you manage to tell him, proudly. He grins at you coldly.

“Very good.” Sam scoops his fingers through the cum between your legs. Some of it had dried, but you’d been slowly leaking the whole time you were on your knees waiting for his return from the stage, and you’d grown even wetter once he’d begun touching you again, prompting more to slide out of your pussy and start a small puddle on the floor.

“It’s the longest I’ve ever gone.” You whine as Sam curls two of his fingers into you, pressing insistently at the small spongey point just inside your pussy, not giving you the satisfaction of being filled.

“Really?” Sam asks curiously. You nod, eyes squeezing shut as he speeds up the ‘come hither’ motion of his fingers. “That make you proud of yourself, dolly?” You nod again quickly, and Sam’s thumb reaches out to start making light little circles over your clit. Your orgasm is building quickly inside you, Sam knowing exactly how to coax what he wants out of you.

“Well we can’t have you getting too big headed, can we?” Sam smirks, his focus on your clit unrelenting now, and you feel your thighs start to shake with the effort of holding back your climax.

“No, sir, please,” you try to beg but you can already tell you’re going to fail. Sam’s too good at this. He’s too good at everything, the exact opposite of you. And you love it.

“Cum for me dolly,” Sam teases, and you can feel yourself nearly there, despite all you’ve done to hold back. “C’mon, let me see how pathetic you really are,” he sneers and you can’t resist the pleasure anymore, cumming hard on his hand, squeezing his fingers inside you and soaking his hand. You feel tears leak from the corners of your eyes, whether in relief or disappointment at finally cumming after so long, you can’t tell.

Sam pulls his hand away, wiping it on the couch cushions. “What do you say, doll?” he asks calmly, after you remain silent, tears streaming down your face now.

“Thank you, sir.”

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