“What do you think, my good little bitch?” master said, scratching Dean under his chin. Tilting his head up to welcome and encourage the touch, Dean panted, lapped at the air before him with his tongue, wiggled his ass and waggled the tail attached to the plug in his ass. Long strands of faux fur caressed his behind, his inner thighs, his balls, and the breeze generated chilled the liquid beaded at the tip of his cock. “Do you want to try the bench? Let these nice dogs breed your tight little hole?” Master leaned down, brushed over the curve of Dean’s jaw, and breathed in his ear, “You’d look beautiful with that belly fat with a litter of puppies...I’d take such good care of you...will you show me how good you can be?”
Dean wagged his tail enthusiastically.
I’m master’s good little bitch. He’s so kind to me. He brought me here knowing he’d have to share, because this is what I wanted…no, not wanted, that’s too mild a word.
...I need this so badly…
“Good,” murmured master, petting down Dean’s back, nipping at his ear.
A whimper caught in Dean’s throat. Metal clinked and leather snapped as master took up Dean’s leash and led him toward the dog park’s breeding bench. The room was brightly lit, painted to look like a sunny day, the floor carpeted by the brilliant green of sod and turf, so soft and springy that Dean had no need for knee pads. Master led him toward the bench, placed discreetly behind a hedge. Pets frolicked and played around them, all wearing tails, many naked, many with paws or masks, a handful fur-clad. They chased each other or playing fetch with their owners or lay and basked beneath the sun-like heat lamps, grooming themselves. Several looked up as Dean and his master went by, some sniffing the air. Dean shivered, his scent thick in his nose, musky and raw and natural. Distressed, nervous, sick with anticipation, Dean strained to catch up with master, nuzzled at his ass, relished the manly, human smell of his owner.
That’s better. No matter how much others touch me…I need to smell like Cas...like master. At least he’s already marked me…
Dean bore master’s collar and leash. Dean wore the plug that master had selected for him, that master had prepared Dean for with master’s own cock. Lubricant and master’s come slicked Dean’s channel. Master tugged the leash - a gentle reminder of correct behavior, not a stern rebuke, - and Dean settled back on his heels, tail curled around his side, hands beneath him, awaiting master’s commands.
No matter what happens, I’m his and I’ll continue to be his.
“Dean, here’s what will happen now: your leash will be secured to this pommel,” master explained, dropping the leash and circling the bench to show Dean what he meant. “You will mount the table and be bound in place with these straps…” He indicated loose leather restraints at the head and fore of the bench. “The alphas will mount here.” He patted a lowered platform at the back of the bench. “I will check the ownership paper of every breeding male - only the best for my good girl - and I expect you to behave. This is an elite club - they only allow prime bitches into the breeding program - and you will not embarrass me. Do you understand?”
Dean shimmied and set his tail to thumping on the ground. The plug teased at his ass; his cock stuck out obscenely between his arms as he sat, dog-like, before the bench.
“I know you won’t disappoint me,” master added warmly, taking Dean’s leash up once more. “Now, come girl.” Dean sprang to hands and knees. Master patted at the bench and, as Dean had seen demonstrated many times but never done himself, he assumed the position the bench forced him into: chest supported, arms - forelegs - before him, hind legs spread wide by the platform. Quick tugs and sudden pressure spoke to master binding him in place, and Dean shivered and shook, cock leaking.
Master stepped away.
Cool air surrounded Dean, encompassed him, and no touch came. He waggled his behind suggestively, prompting the tail to wag and the plug to tingle inadequate pressure through him. Warmth approached up behind him, master’s scent diffusing through the air, and a hand reached between his legs and cupped his dangling balls and hard cock.
“I know how badly you want this,” master murmured, “but if you do need to stop there’s no shame in that. This can be overwhelming, especially a bitch’s first time...we could start smaller…”
Dean growled a warning - no, I don’t need to stop, I don’t need to safe word, I know exactly what I’m doing and I want this so damn bad - and pivoted his hips, thwapping Castiel’s...master’s hand...with his tail.
I’m not Dean Winchester and he’s not Castiel Novak. I’m not a person, I’m a dog, and he’s not my boyfriend or my dom, he’s my owner and my master, and how dare he pull me out of subspace now of all times?
...because he cares about me and he’s worried about me and he wanted to remind me that I have an ‘out,’ before I sink so deep I can’t remember…
...still, I wish he hadn’t …
Master’s fingers wrapped around his testicles and kneaded them gently. “You’re going to do great,” master promised. “My precious bitch.” Heat curled through Dean’s guts, diffused through his limbs, and with a content sigh he eased against the cushioned bench supports, thoughts quiet once more.
Tender touches adjusted Dean’s cock, shifted the plug from his ass, switched Dean’s tail to hang from the thin belt he wore around his hips. After so long wearing the plug, his ass felt stretched and open, slick and come leaking out and beading down his perineum. Master’s hands left, and anticipation shivered through Dean, but master’s presence and warmth didn’t move.
A hand pet down Dean’s trembling spine and lips kissed the small of his back, his coccyx, and his pucker. Dean barely morphed a moan into a whine.
“Such a good, good girl.”
Focusing on the words, focusing on the task at hand - being open and ready for every male, every alpha, who came to breed him - Dean took deep breathes and let his awareness drift. The sounds of puppies and owners playing beyond the hedge muted to nothing; the hum of master’s voice at the entryway soothed him though the words were meaningless. The air was cool, a light breeze blowing on his back from somewhere above, and Dean was profoundly at peace.
Everything was perfect.
“Go, boy,” ordered an unfamiliar voice.
Soft, furry fabric seized roughly at Dean’s middle, weight slapped against his thighs and ass, and a large cock thrust into his ass. Dean’s yowled as pressure and shock and pleasure clenched him tight. The alpha pulled back and pounded into him, ceaselessly, relentlessly, and Dean whined and whimpered and reveled in being used. The beast above Dean grunted as he thrust, claws on furred hands digging into Dean’s belly. Only the bench and the restraints kept Dean positioned under the onslaught. Anticipation combined with bliss to drive him to distraction, snuffling, rocking his hips in time to the alpha’s thrusts, his cock leaking. Forgotten was the sense of a chill to the air; the room was hot, overly so, and sweat slickened Dean’s skin. His insides twisted around pleasure, but climax eluded him. Desperate, he mewled for release, begging with panting breaths and canine whines as the alpha’s cock stuffed him full over and over.
Even just a touch...even just a stroke...oh...oh…so close, so close, so close…
Claws raked down Dean’s sides, teeth nipped at his shoulder, the alpha’s cock tore into his body, and with a howl Dean came, thrashing at his restraints, dick spewing into open air.
The alpha didn’t stop.
The pleasure, already mind-blowing, intensified. Dean’s vision greened out like the grass before him, rapture exploding through him with every thrust. His nails dug into the wooden edge of the board beneath his hands, his knees ground into the cushions, and the bench rocked as his body rocked, as the alpha absolutely, utterly rocked and destroyed his world. He might have come again and again as the alpha knotted him, like the good bitch he was, heat making him ready for puppies - or perhaps it was one extended orgasm, drawn out by thrust after thrust after thrust pushing him beyond anything he’d experienced before. Dean had no idea and he didn’t care, as long as it never stopped.
With a snarl, the alpha’s harsh movements aborted to shaky, unsteady, shallow thrusts and then ceased. Dean yowled frustration.
“Shh,” murmured master’s voice from before him.
A hand curled around Dean’s chin, another carding through his hair. Eager for more praise, Dean leaned forward as the sweaty weight of alpha lifted from his back. Dean’s nose brushed over fabric and the hardness of an erection beneath. Master’s smell was unmistakable; he pulled Dean’s face to his crotch and butted his cock up against Dean’s chin.
Hardness skimmed over Dean’s crack, slid over his hole, and then pulled him back onto hard dick, pulled him from master’s grip. Panting, Dean strained to accommodate this alpha - even larger than the previous - and strained forward, seeking his master, whimpering and snuffling. His cock twitched, thickening under the renewed stimulation. Master’s hands seized his head and tugged Dean back into position, humping his face as the alpha humped his ass.
“Arch your back more, you good bitch, get that come good and deep…”
Dean obeyed, hoisting his ass up, and every thrust buried the alpha deeply. He lost track of the temperature, the surrounding noises, of himself. The world narrowed to a few points of reality, and even those ebbed and flowed…
...the thrust, thrust, thrust and wet smack-thwap of the alpha behind him…
...the intermittent praise offered by his master as master thrust against his face and clutched at his head and shoulders…
...the endless rub of friction in his ass, over his sensitive glands, bursting through him as pain and pleasure mingled…
...the ache of his overstimulated cock as he grew excruciatingly hard yet once again the rush of climax eluded him…
...the ooze of sweat down his back, his sides, his torso, his shoulders, his arms…
...the pant of sweltering air through his parched, dried throat…
...the whimpers and mewls and yowls and howls of his own voice grown high pitched and reedy with desperation…
A wet splattering and the stilling of the alpha behind him registered in his dazed mind as an unspeakable deprivation and he moaned and shimmied back, shaking his ass, arching his back, urgent in his invitation…
Come on, alpha, fuck me - fuck me - I’m so wet and ready and I need you, please, please, please—
Another cock sank into him and he howled again, teeth gnashing at the fabric-covered cock before him. The merciless thrusts renewed and a sharp slap beneath his chin rebuked his aggression.
“Behave,” snarled his master.
Come splashed down his legs - his own release, the alpha’s, he wasn’t sure. His skin was coated, his body encompassed, and the pleasure went on and on. Delirious on bliss, Dean lost track even of the little awareness he had retained. Only Castiel’s hands clutching him provided a lifeline, a fixed point, and Castiel...master, owner, lover, everything, the lodestone of Dean’s existence...never moved, never deviated, never ceased steering him, instructing him, praising him and punishing him in turn. Dean lost track of how many alpha’s came inside him, lost track of how many times he came, lost track of himself and his humanity.
Master gave him the one fact, the one reality he could cling to.
I am a good bitch.
“Hey…” murmured a voice, close to his ear, as distant as the stars. “You with me?”
“Cas…” Dean breathed.
Wait - no!
Fear and tension tensed Dean and he moaned as pain cascaded through strained joints and aching muscles.
The world spun and bounced, up and down, up and down. Dean so spent, so used, that he could only bemusedly wonder if he was being fucked. He couldn’t tell.
“I’m going to set you down, okay?”
Dean tried to shake his ass, to signal his assent with a wag of his tail, but he felt no whoosh of fur, only pain from his abused backside.
“It’s okay - you can talk, or nod - we’re done, Dean. You’re done. You did so well.”
“You did,” reprimanded Cas. “You obeyed and behaved. I’m proud of you.”
“Not what I...not done…”
The collar yet pressed against his throat with every breath. As long as he wore it, Dean was still master’s good girl, not Dean Winchester.
…but master said I could talk and respond as a man would…
“May I lay you on the bed?” asked Castiel. Dean nodded, too tired to sort through the contradiction of Cas’ permission to act human despite the presence of his collar. His weight shifted and only as his limbs flopped onto something soft that bounced beneath him - a bed or a couch, he thought - did he realize that the world had been teetering because Cas had been carrying him. With effort, Dean rolled onto his hands and knees and presented his ass to Castiel, his true master, his true alpha male…
“Fuck me?” he whispered plaintively.
I shouldn’t ask, I should signal as a bitch would. I’m not a...not a man...I’m a…
“Anything for you, Dean,” Cas whispered, awed.
Gentle touches adjusted Dean’s position, lowered his behind, shifted his knees, eased his chest onto the soft surface beneath.
“I don’t think I can get hard again,” admitted Cas. “I’ve already come twice. but I’ve got something else...don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need…give me a moment to change…”
Rustles and clinks meant nothing to Dean. His mind was empty and quiet, his body sated yet not. Cas was with him, and trust and loyalty and faith fired the heat of arousal and something bigger than arousal, deeper than arousal, and far more meaningful. There was no putting a name to that feeling, no thinking on its nature. It was enough that the feeling existed at all.
Something thick rubbed against Dean’s hole, fingers spread him, and Cas sank deeply into him.
No, not Cas...this feels different...good, but different…
Cas thrusted experimentally, one, twice; leather bit into Dean’s leg and he belatedly realized Cas had donned a strap on. Cas picked up a steady, rocking rhythm, gentle, and even taking that was a strain. There was no surge of bliss, no overwhelming tide of pleasure. Dean was too tired, had been rubbed too raw, and his body was too spent to react normally, yet he still felt good, satisfied, pleased to be full. His cock didn’t harden to full erection but it thickened, half-mast, flopping and jerking and leaking with every thrust. A hiss as of air escaping niggled at him and something caught at his rim - a finger? A piece of the strap on? He didn’t know, couldn’t tell, until the cock within him seemed to thicken, seemed to tug at his sensitive skin as it thrust in and out of him. Cas slammed into his body and realization crashed into his awareness.
The strap on had an inflatable knot.
Cas thrust so hard he grunted, tried to pull out and couldn’t, Dean’s body unable to spread widely enough to allow the withdrawal of the weight spreading him, and with a sighing whimper, Dean came.
“Such a good girl,” Cas whispered tenderly. Dildo trapped within Dean, shifting with every slight movement, Cas incrementally moved their bodies until Dean lay on his side on the bed and Cas lay alongside him, embracing him, encompassing him, filling him, satisfying him in every possible way. Hands closed around Dean’s neck, unclasped his collar, lifted the familiar weight from his throat, and tossed it aside.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Was it everything you hoped for?” asked Castiel.
“Yeah, Cas...yeah...everything I needed and more…”
“Should I schedule another breeding session?”
Castiel sounded so hopeful, it was adorable, and a wonderful reminder that Dean’s dom, his master, loved this play as much as Dean did.
“Maybe at least wait for ‘your’ knot to go down, Cas,” Dean joked.
“Of course, I mean…” The hope faded and Dean felt a twinge of guilt.
“Cas! It’s fine,” he laughed.
“I can’t wait,” Dean promised.
“Me neither,” breathed Castiel.
Heartbeats syncing, breathing syncing, warmed and satisfied and proud and pleased, Dean fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, ass clenching around the thick knot yet spreading him.
...I love this…
...that warm feeling from before...that was love…
...I should tell him…
...maybe after next time…
...because seriously - I can. not. fucking. wait. until I…until we…can do this again.