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Not As Expected

Chapter Text

Dean looked up at the building above him, trying to reconcile the glass and marble with the flyer in his hand.

The flyer was simple. No nonsense. Labor for cash, standard deal.

All offers accepted. $350,000 guaranteed.

Dean had done the math. Three fifty was a good number, thirty or forty years of minimum wage labor, paid out in advance. He was going to be a slave anyway; might as well capitalize on it.

He was halfway up the steps when the doorman moved, blocking the ornate doors.

“You’ll be wanting the side door, then, sir,” the man said, glancing meaningfully at the flyer in Dean’s hand. Dean relaxed somewhat. That made more sense.

He nodded and turned, slipping into the alley and the significantly less distinguished entryway. There were a couple guys milling around, and they gave Dean a nod when he passed.

He held the flyer tighter.

The side door was locked, but it clicked open instantly when he pressed the buzzer. Inside, a woman in heavy makeup regarded him from a glassed booth.

“I’m here to see Crowley?” he said, holding up the paper by means of explanation. “I’m Dean. Winchester. I think I talked to you on the phone?”

“You brought all your paperwork?” she asked, tapping the desk in front of her. He nodded, slinging the ratty knapsack off his shoulder. It was all there.

He shuffled it together and slid it through an opening in the glass. Birth certificate, driver’s license. Social security card. Documentation from the county medical center, certifying that he was able bodied and free from any bloodborne or infectious diseases.

It had been a bitch to get. The birth certificate wasn’t even original- he’d had to go down to the county clerk and get a copy made. The original was probably lost in the fire, and god knew John had never bothered to get a replacement.

Dean watched the receptionist as she flipped through the files, trying not to think about his dad. John didn’t know he was here, of course. John was opposed to the whole idea of slavery. The closer Sam got to eighteen, the more vocal he got.

“Mister Crowley can see you now,” the receptionist said. She buzzed another door open, and Dean ducked quickly through.

Instantly, the decor changed. Crowley’s office looked like he was used to meeting with the people who came in through the front entrance. There was dark paneling and green glass lamps and an honest-to-jesus globe. The room was dominated by a large mahogany desk, and seated behind that desk was the man himself.

“Have a seat, mister Winchester,” Crowley said. It came off as an order, rather than an offer. Dean hurried to comply, sitting straight in one of the chairs across the desk from Crowley.

“We’ll get right to it then,” Crowley said, shuffling some papers in front of him. “Your application looks good, and based on what you’ve told me, I don’t think we’ll have any trouble placing you at all.”

“Thanks, sir,” Dean said, nodding. He knew his chances were good. He was young, and healthy, which meant a good value for the money. He had no criminal history, which meant he was a low risk. He had no real skills of course; but then again, people with skills could usually make their own way in the world.

“The law says you’re entitled to an attorney for this process,” Crowley said, and Dean shook his head. He didn’t have money for a lawyer- in any case, he’d already researched what he wanted to know.

“I don’t need one,” he said, and Crowley grinned a little. He slid a piece of paper across the table toward Dean.

“That’s the waiver of your right to counsel,” he said.

The pen on the desk was coated in some kind of black silicone, butter-smooth. The ink dried almost instantly on Dean’s signature, and Crowley whisked the paper away.

“Good. Now. The do-gooders in congress say that I need to give you a speech before we get into the real negotiations here.” Crowley ticked off items on his fingers. “Indentured servants retain a number of fundamental civil rights. The servant quarters must have posted contact information for the department of chattel services. Chattel services will intervene in the case that someone is deprived of life or limb. Sign here to indicate that you’ve received this information and you’re aware of your rights as chattel.”

Dean skimmed over the list, learning almost nothing new. Slaves couldn’t be confined in solitary for more than six days, they had to be fed, watered, and housed, and any corporal punishment could not significantly interfere with the functioning of the body.

He checked off each bullet and signed the bottom of the page.

“Right!” then, Crowley said, clapping. “On to the good part.”

The ream of paper that he removed from his desk had to be forty pages long.

“This fine beauty,” Crowley said, dropping it onto the table in front of Dean, “covers for every eventuality discovered in the system in the sixty years since indentured servitude began. It states that you agree to trade a lifetime of labor for a payment of no less than three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, after taxes, paid to a benefactor of your choice-”

“My brother,” Dean said quickly.

“Lovely,” Crowley said, obviously irritated at having been interrupted. “Like I was saying. Paid to a benefactor of your choice. You give up the right to free movement insofar as safety permits. You may not earn or possess currency of any kind, and in exchange, your patron will provide for your material needs from now until the time of your sale or death.”

“And Sam gets the money immediately,” Dean pressed.

“Of course,” Crowley answered. “That’s one of the services my fine business provides. Your full contract value is paid instantaneously. In the event of a conflict with your patron, my firm will negotiate a new contract value, with a new patron. Your beneficiary is left fully out of the process.”

Crowley flipped the packet open, pointing to a block of words somewhere in the middle.

“The only caveat is if you’ve somehow misrepresented yourself- falsifying medical records is a big one. If we find out you’ve got end stage brain cancer-”

“I don’t,” Dean insisted. He wasn’t lying. As far as he knew, he was perfectly healthy. John had done them the favor of smoking his marlboros on the back porch, so Dean didn’t even have a nicotine addiction to kick.

Dean gave up reading after the first two sentences. He was no good at legal mumbo-jumbo. Sam was the brains of the operation, always had been.

Dean grinned, scrawling his initials at the bottom of each densely worded page. This money was going to put Sam through college. College and law school, easy. He’d be able to focus on school instead of worrying about money or rent or- anything, really.

Sam would be able to go to school and he was going to do great. And when he graduated and got a job making real money somewhere... he’d come find his brother. Dean was sure of it.

He scrawled his signature across the bottom of the last page, writing out the date.

Sammy’s eighteenth birthday.

Dean smiled despite himself.

“Janine here will help you with the rest of the interview process,” Crowley said, pressing the buzzer on his desk. Instantly, a well-dressed woman appeared through a door to the side of the office.

“Thanks,” Dean said, nodding to Crowley.

“Thank you,” Crowley replied, grinning.


“Do you want your clothes sent to your next of kin?” Janine asked. It took Dean a second to realize what she was asking.

“No, uh... no. You can just trash them, I guess,” Dean said. He’d worn disposable clothes on purpose. Even the knapsack was trash. There was nothing of value inside- just a bottle of water and an old burner phone. Everything Dean had, he’d left at the house they’d shared until today. Where Sam could find it if he wanted it.

She led him down a hallway, industrial concrete and pretty clearly part of a basement. White doors lined either side, and when she pushed one open, Dean realized they were made of plastic.

“There’s no limit to the hot water,” Janine said. “Put your belongings in the chute and wash as well as you can. There are replacement clothes on the bench. I will meet you here when you’re finished.”

Dean stepped into the tiny room, frowning. He’d already taken a shower this morning. He turned back to ask Janine if he was supposed to take another one, but she was already engrossed with something on her phone.

Dean shut the door and stripped, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to just follow directions, even if it was a waste of time.

He balled up his shirt and opened the door to the trash chute, staring down into the darkness. There was probably an incinerator down there, ready to disintegrate the remnants of his previous life. Not that there was much to disintegrate. He’d dropped out of high school and spent the interim years forging John’s signature to make sure Sammy didn’t do the same. He’d picked up a couple seasonal jobs, but really, his full time occupation was making sure John didn’t leave the stove on and finish the job some sicko had started when Dean was four.

He dropped the shirt into the chute, listening for the sound of it hitting the bottom. Nothing came.

He shimmied out of his pants, holding them over the abyss.

At the last second, he pulled a length of cord out of his pocket, leaving it on the bench next to his new clothes. They were a neutral gray, mass produced and wrapped in plastic. The bright green cord stood out in contrast.

Dean turned on the water, which instantly ran strong and hot. Despite his earlier reservations, he stayed in longer than he needed to, enjoying the heat and pressure. Their house had neither of these, and he suspected his new home wouldn’t have them either.

There was a washcloth neatly folded on top of the soap dispenser, and Dean killed some time scrubbing down, trying to be as thorough as possible. Not that it really mattered. He could lift and carry and follow directions and that’s what his new owner would care about. Not whether there was dirt behind his ears.

When he couldn’t procrastinate any longer, he shut the water off and toweled himself dry, dressing quickly in the soft cotton scrubs. They fit well, and Dean wondered if they’d been chosen specifically for him.

He shoved the cord into the pocket of his pants, and looked around for shoes. His sneakers were still sitting on the floor, but he wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to put them back on.

They looked ratty next to the rest of his clothes, and so he took a wild guess and dropped them into the chute.

Janine didn’t comment on his bare feet when he stepped back into the hallway. Instead, she turned and led him further down the corridor.

“The interview doesn’t start for another hour, so you’ll have to wait for a while after they’ve finished with you,” she said. Dean raised an eyebrow.


She sighed.

“Yes, finished. Crowley has an image to uphold, we don’t send our merchandise into their interviews like.... that,” she finished, gesturing to all of him.

“I’ve taken two showers today, what’s ‘that’ supposed to mean?” Dean asked. Janine only rolled her eyes, and gestured to another doorway.

“If I don’t see you again, good luck,” she said, not sounding at all like she meant it. Dean considered flipping the bird to her retreating back, but decided against it. There might be cameras, and he didn’t want to get a reputation as being difficult to manage. For all he knew, this entire thing was a test to see if he would follow stupid orders.

He shivered at the idea that there might have been cameras in the shower cubicle with him. Crowley did kind of seem like the kind of guy who would record that.


He pushed the door open to reveal another white and concrete room. This one, though, had a bunch of chairs in it. A couple other people were already there, getting... haircuts?

“Oh, goodness me, did you do that yourself?”

It took Dean a second to realize that he was being addressed. A tall, thin man had come up beside him, and was surveying Dean like a doctor might look at a burn victim. Without asking permission, the man stepped forward, running his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean resisted the urge to jerk away.

“Don’t worry hon, I can fix this,” the man said, taking Dean by the arm and leading him to one of the white chairs. Dean tried not to look miffed. He’d thought he did a pretty good job, considering that he couldn’t see the back of his own head.

Apparently it was longer than he’d thought, judging by the thick clumps that soon littered the floor around him. The stylist (he never did introduce himself) kept making comments about the need for a conditioning regimen and berating him for washing his hair with bar soap. Dean mostly tuned out and wondered what Sam was up to. He was probably on a bus by now.

Dean could just picture him, a lanky kid in too-short jeans, hugging a duffel bag to his chest, sitting on a greyhound bound for California. California, where Sam was going to go to Stanford.

Dean grinned, momentarily overwhelmed with pride, and then someone took his hand.

A young woman was there, already deftly filing the edge of Dean’s index nail.

“You don’t have to do that,” Dean said quickly. She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, honey,” she said, and then went back to filing.

Dean wasn’t quite sure what to do with that. Or with any of this, honestly. Slaves like him were bought in bulk, that’s why buyers skipped over all the haggling and offered a take-it-or-leave-it rate. Who was he supposed to be impressing with all this?

The man ran his fingers through Dean’s hair again, letting it fall into spiky chunks. Dean wrinkled his nose at himself in the mirror, and the stylist popped him on the shoulder with a comb.

“First impressions are important,” the guy said, and Dean didn’t push it.

He was glad he didn’t, because it meant all his protests were saved for a minute later, when someone came at him with a powder-puff covered in makeup. He had to stave them off with only one arm, because the woman to his side had traded her file for a buffing block and she was busy shining Dean’s nails to a dull sheen.

“Why does any of this matter?” he asked when she switched sides. There was dirt under his nails and she made quick work of it.

“Someone’s going to spend a lot of money on you,” she said, not looking up at him. “It’s our job to help convince them that it’s worth it.”


“Think of the labor inertia project as an investment,” Meg said. Castiel didn’t meet her eyes, instead preferring to focus on the glossy pamphlets in his hands.

This was a nightmare. He never should have come in here. He was just curious, he’d wanted to see what the place was like, and now he was trapped in this very nice office with this very pushy saleswoman, and escape did not seem likely.

“I understand your hesitation, many people have doubts about the ethics involved,” Meg said. “But the project really is the only opportunity for low-potential earners to make something of themselves.”

Castiel kept his eyes on the pamphlets, looking over stock photos of smiling slaves engaged in various menial tasks. He pictured someone like that in his own home and cringed.

Meg switched tactics.

“Castiel, you’ve worked hard for what you have. Not just to earn your income, but to better yourself. To really contribute.”

Castiel nodded, trying to imagine what this had to do with slaves.

“Not everyone has the willpower- or the desire- to do that. Some people are content learning the minimum and staying there, and your participation in the program allows them to do that. To stay at a skill level where they are content, without constant financial worry hanging over their heads. Do you understand?”

Castiel wasn’t sure he agreed with her, but he wasn’t about to start an argument in a public place. He nodded, folding the brochure in half and twisting it between his fingers.

“I’m just not sure- I’m very particular about who I- who I spend my time with,” Castiel explained. He was understating his condition somewhat and he hoped Meg wouldn’t press.

“We do a thorough background check on all our applicants, Mister Novak,” Meg said, her smile widening. “We don’t offer third strikes, here.”

“That’s not really what I meant,” Castiel said, but Meg was already rising.

“We have a showing going on right now. Why don’t you just come and look? No harm in looking, right?”

Castiel was almost sure that she was on commission, and he felt bad wasting her time like this. He opened his mouth to say so, but Meg was already propelling him across the marble floor to the showroom.

It was very dark, and Castiel instantly felt more comfortable. There were other potential buyers milling quietly about, but Castiel could barely see them. In turn, it meant that they could barely see him.

The darkened figures moved between points of light- tall glass cases, each containing a potential applicant. They were dressed in identical grey scrubs, tailored to their individual physiques. They looked otherworldly, brightly lit from both above and below, almost motionless in their straight-backed stances.

“Can they see me?” Castiel whispered to Meg. She shook her head.

“It’s one way glass. They can’t see any of the potential buyers. It’s utterly discrete.”

Castiel felt better then, stepping closer to the glass to see the man on the other side. He was in his late twenties, and looking at him, Castiel remembered the last time he’d perused a collection of slaves.

He blushed deeply, grateful for the darkness as his cock began to swell in his pants. He couldn’t imagine telling Meg that he’d been interested in... that kind of slave.

“The opening bids begin at three-fifty,” Meg said. “Though they very rarely sell for lower than seven hundred.”

Seven hundred thousand dollars, Cas thought. That’s how much it would cost to have the dark-haired man in his bed.

He wondered how much extra it would be to have the slave altered, but had to clamp down on those thoughts before his arousal became visible through his pants.

He stepped away, turning his attention to a blonde woman. She was pretty enough, but not at all what Cas was interested in.

Meg stayed a few steps behind him, and Castiel moved quickly from one brightened case to another. He would look at all of them, and then tell Meg that he hadn’t liked any of them. And then he could leave.

It was a perfect plan, until he got into the far corner.

At first he thought the case was empty, but when he got closer, he saw a man sitting on the floor. The case wasn’t quite large enough for the man to stretch his legs out, and so he was sitting cross-legged in the corner, playing with something between his hands.

“I’m sorry for this,” Meg said, trying to step in between Castiel and the case. “I don’t know how he got in here, I’ve never seen such disrespect-”

“Beautiful though, isn’t he?” someone said, far too close to Castiel’s ear. He jerked away, looking warily at the man who had spoken.

“Hello Michael, back again, are you?” Meg asked. There was a note of familiarity in her voice. Michael gave her a wide smile.

“Oh yes. The last one is on medical leave after Saturday’s show. You know how it is.”

The way he stressed the ‘you’ made Castiel think there was a story there. He tried to ignore their conversation, instead focusing on the man in the case.

Stretched between his hands was a green cord, looped over and over around his fingers in increasingly complex patterns. Castiel watched as the man’s hands moved deftly, pulling at the strings until a picture emerged. A tree, Castiel thought.

The man’s hands relaxed and the tree vanished, and for the first time, he looked up. Castiel almost gasped.

His eyes were the same brilliant green as the cord.

“That one,” Castiel said, interrupting Meg. “I want that one.”

Michael raised an eyebrow.

“You can certainly bid,” he said, looking Castiel over. “But I have to warn you, I’m rather set on having him myself. He’s got a disrespectful streak that I look forward to... remedying.”

“Michael makes training videos,” Meg explained. “He has a full series devoted to subjugating difficult cases.”

“If you’re willing to wait six months, I can personally guarantee he’ll be a work of art when I’m finished,” Michael said. He was very proud of himself, and Castiel suddenly felt very silly. He knew he looked out of place here, his bulky coat standing out among the tailored clothes of the people around him.

He looked back to the man in the case, already resigned to waiting six months before seeing him again.

“How do you train them?” he asked. He’d never looked into it himself and he suddenly felt very stupid when Meg chuckled.

“Role reinforcement techniques, mostly,” Michael answered. He removed a slim phone from his jacket pocket. “I did this one last week.”

Castiel looked at the screen, taking a moment to puzzle out what he was seeing.

It was a man, kneeling naked on a plush carpet. Metal bands encircled his wrists and knees and throat, keeping him on all fours. Michael himself sat in a chair beyond him, his feet resting on the man’s back.

“His role is... furniture?” Cas asked. Michael shrugged.

“It’s whatever I decide that it is. The point is that they do what I tell them.”

“What happens if they don’t?”

Michael grinned, and Meg let out a giggle.

“You can come see for yourself, if you’d like,” Michael answered, removing a business card from his phone case. “I run a club down on fifth. Show them that card, and they’ll let you into the VIP room. Tonight’s entertainment is a sassy little redhead who’s getting some tattoos.”

Michael took his phone back, locating another photo and showing it to Castiel. Again, Castiel had to take a moment to recognize what he was seeing.

The word slut was printed in thick block letters across what appeared to be a human tongue. Castiel blinked.

For some reason, the image repulsed him. He had no grounds to protest, but the idea of the man in the case being subjected to that... made him uncomfortable.

He wanted Michael to leave. As soon as the shrewd-faced man was gone, Castiel was determined to put in a bid.

Michael was still talking and Castiel realized that he might never leave, that he might stay until the end of the auction and Cas would never get the chance to bid in private.

His stomach twisted at the idea of having to contradict Michael’s wishes in front of him, and he suddenly felt like he was going to be sick. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears, and more than anything, he wanted to rush out of the showroom and hide in the alley until his driver came to get him. He could go away from all this and not have to deal with these people.

Instead, he turned back to the glass pillar. The man inside was making the shape of an eye with his cord. He kept making some kind of error, causing the whole thing to devolve into a shapeless knot.

“Can’t you make him stand up properly?” Michael said to Meg. Castiel could hear her earrings jingle as she shook her head.

“They aren’t indentured until a buyer signs their contract. They’re free agents until then. But I will be having a talk with admissions. This is unacceptable.”

Castiel found that he liked the way the man was sitting. He looked relaxed. At ease. Not like the others.

Castiel never quite knew how to act around slaves. They always seemed to be waiting for orders, and he never knew what to tell them. It was alright when they were personal attendants who accompanied Castiel’s friends or family members... but Castiel was always uncomfortable being alone with them.

Never in his life had he imagined purchasing one of his own... until a little over two years ago.

Castiel’s boss, Balthazar, had insisted that he take a few days break from work. He’d bought Castiel a day pass at some absurd full service resort, and Castiel had seen an altered slave for the first time.

He still couldn’t get the image out of his mind. The man’s smooth, hairless body, the way he offered himself to Castiel...

Castiel hadn’t been able to go through with it. But if the man ever lost interest, it didn’t show. Couldn’t.

The man inside the case dropped a loop again, and pantomimed a sound of frustration. Castiel could hear nothing from outside the box.

In fact, he could hear nothing at all. He realized that Michael and Meg were now looking at a slave several meters away.

Quickly, Castiel moved to the keypad directly beside the glass case, punching in his identification number and bid. The screen flashed green and then darkened, indicating that he was currently the highest bidder.

Nervous, he stepped away from the panel, glancing to see whether Michael had noticed. The man wasn’t storming over to shout at him, at least.

He exhaled a long sigh of relief. He hadn’t gotten caught.


Inside the mirrored box, there was no way to tell what time it was. Dean thought he remembered Janine saying that the interview started in an hour, and it had to have been at least two.

Dean sighed, fiddling with the cats cradle, and waiting.

Why couldn’t they just have a waiting room like everyone else? Staring at his own reflection in silence for this long was starting to wig him out.

He tried to picture what the interview might be like. What do you ask someone you’re buying for menial labor? ‘What do you bench?’

The door rattled and opened, Janine’s face appearing in the darkness outside.

“Well done,” she said absently. “Come on, your buyer wants you checked over before he finalizes the sale.”

‘Being checked over’ turned out to be way more of a process than Dean would have predicted.

Janine brought him to a little white room with a big mirror, where he was poked and prodded and swabbed and a guy with a stethoscope listened to his heart and his lungs and then rapped on his liver for some damn reason.

Nobody would tell him anything about who’d bought him, or why they’d decided to skip the interview.

They took two vials of blood and made him piss in a cup, and then the doctor vanished for a very, very long time. A worryingly long time. Long enough that Dean started to have doubts.

What would he do if they found something? He’d put every dollar he had into the savings account he set up for Sam.

They’d gone out for a celebratory dinner yesterday. They were long done arguing over whether Sam should leave. They both understood that he’d be out the door at the crack of dawn- probably forever. That didn’t need rehashing. Instead, Dean had handed over a debit card for the account he’d opened. There was a little under two hundred dollars in there. Not much, but enough to get Sam started, hopefully.

Of course, the real balance would be deposited today. Today, when Sam was eighteen and the account was undeniably his and there was no possible way that John could ever get his hands on it.

Sam would be pissed, but he would get over it. Dean was betting on it. Because Sam was his ticket out of here.

The door opened again and Dean’s heart nearly stopped. The doctor was coming to tell him that he had brain cancer or a heart defect and he wasn’t eligible for servitude-

“Put this on,” the doctor said, handing him a thick black band. Dean stared at it.

“Around your eyes,” the doctor clarified. Dean frowned.


“Because your contract was signed fifteen minutes ago and because I said so,” the guy snapped.

Dean pulled the black band over his face, trying to block out the look of surprise.

He’d been indentured. It was really happening. Sam had enough money to get through law school.

He’d done it.

Blindfold aside, it was a pretty good day.


Castiel’s hands shook as he watched his slave pull the blindfold on.

This was a mistake. This was such a huge mistake.

The doctor turned back to the one-way glass, giving him a little salute. Castiel saluted back, and then realized the man couldn’t see him. At least there was no one else on his side of the glass to witness what an idiot he was.

Castiel ducked out into the hallway, cautiously opening the door to the exam room and stepping inside.

The slave- Dean, his paperwork had said- turned toward him, tilting his head to catch the sounds.

Castiel was sure that he was going to pull the blindfold off, and he froze, not sure whether he should run back out into the hallway or try to find a hiding place inside the room.

He didn’t want Dean to see him right now. He wasn’t ready. He knew he looked stupid, with his messy hair and too-big coat and the dark circles under his eyes. It was so hard to dress and act and make facial expressions that people liked, but it was so easy to find ones they hated.

Castiel was sure that Dean would hate him, and he just wasn’t ready to be inspected, just yet.

Instead, he shuffled toward where Dean was leaning against the edge of the examination table.

Very slowly, Castiel reached out, his fingers brushing against the hem of Dean’s issued shirt.

Dean’s brow furrowed in confusion, but he said nothing.

Castiel let his fingers slip beneath the fabric, a thrill running up his spine when he realized he was touching someone.

It was okay, he reminded himself. It was okay. He was allowed to do this. He was in control of this situation.

He brought his other hand up, letting both palms slide up Dean’s sides. Dean’s hand twitched, like he was about to react and stopped himself. Castiel almost pulled back, but he took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was allowed.

He raised his hands more, lifting Dean’s shirt and baring a strip of his belly.

I bought this, Castiel realized, a thrill running through him. I bought this. It’s mine.

He pushed higher, revealing ribs and dusky pink nipples, hard in the cool air.

“Put-” Cas said, but his voice caught and he had to clear his throat. “Put your hands up.”

Dean raised his hands to shoulder height and Castiel pushed them higher, until he could get the shirt over them and off.

There were freckles on Dean’s chest.

Castiel hadn’t been able to see that, earlier.

He leaned in, inspecting the fine hairs and imperfections dotting Dean’s skin. He watched Dean’s chest expanding and contracting and he realized that he was going to spend hours like this. Just looking.

Right now, though, he didn’t have time. Meg was waiting for him and he had to make up his mind about what to do with his new purchase.

Blushing and with a stomach full of butterflies, Castiel let his hands drop until they rested on the waistband of Dean’s pants. Slowly he slid them down, baring the smooth expanse of Dean’s belly, his hips-

“Gettin’ a little low, there,” Dean said. He sounded like he was kidding, but Castiel still froze. Was Dean telling him no? That wasn’t how this worked, that wasn’t why they were here-

“Don’t talk, please,” Castiel said, and to his relief Dean didn’t protest. He did let out a little sound when Castiel continued undressing him. The waistband caught on the mound of his cock, and Castiel almost lost his nerve.

With one last jerk, the pants dropped to the ground, puddling around Dean’s ankles. Castiel dropped to one knee, tracing the tawny hair on Dean’s belly. It darkened as he got lower, forming thick tufts around his soft cock.

Castiel took Dean in his hand, lifting his cock to see behind.

It was about what he’d expected- red, wrinkled skin, covered in coarse hair.

Castiel closed his eyes, remembering the man at the spa, the way his groin had been smooth and hairless. Clean. Beautiful.

Dean could look like that, all Castiel had to do was ask for it.

He just had to be sure.

His face was burning so hot he was sure that Dean could feel the heat of it, but Castiel was determined. He hefted Dean’s cock in his hand and leaned in, letting his tongue flick across the slit.

Dean hissed and it gave Castiel confidence to try again, letting his lips close around the head. Almost immediately, Dean began to swell and harden. Castiel took him deeper, careful of his teeth.

Dean moaned, and Castiel felt fingers in his hair. His heart raced, but Dean wasn’t pushing him away. This was okay. This was good.

He stroked Dean the way he liked to be stroked, quick and firm, still mouthing at the head of his slave’s cock. With his other hand, he reached between Dean’s legs, hesitating before cupping his balls.

It took Dean a very long time to orgasm. Castiel didn’t know if something was wrong, or if he was even more unskilled than he’d worried, or what the problem could be. He kept trying, growing more and more disgusted with himself at each new failed technique.

All the reasons he’d never taken a lover, all the things he’d worried about- and he’d been right all along.

Dean finally came, his muscles taut and shaking, his body covered in a sheen of sweat. Castiel caught it in his mouth. It was bitter and salty and he hated it.

He stood and turned, wiping his mouth and leaving without a word.

In the hallway, Meg was waiting for him. He froze, looking back at the door.

“I was just-”

“It’s fine,” she said, smiling. “Everything in working order?”

“I just wanted to see if I liked it,” Cas said, still desperate to try to explain why he’d just had oral sex in Meg’s place of business. If anything, her smile grew wider.


He shook his head.

“I don’t.”

“It’s not for everyone,” she said placatingly. “Will you be keeping him on as a manservant, then?”

“No, I, um...” Castiel blushed. Bad enough that she knew what he’d done, dow was he ever supposed to tell her what he was planning to do?

“Ah. Paramour then. Well, then, on to my favorite part of the sale.”

Meg walked down the hallway toward her office, gesturing to Castiel to follow her.

“Which is?” Castiel prompted.

“Accessorizing!” Meg said, sounding happier than he’d heard her in the hours they’d spent together.

She opened the door, and removed a thick black binder from a bookshelf before sitting down. She gestured for Castiel to take a seat.

She opened the binder to the first page- a table of contents.

“First off, would you like any tattoos for him? He’ll have to have the barcodes on his wrists, but would you like anything personal? Your initials, maybe. Something to highlight a feature you enjoy?”

Castiel thought of the freckles on Dean’s skin, the even dusting of them across his chest and shoulders.

“No, thank you,” he said, shaking his head.

“We also offer branding.”

“No,” Castiel said, shivering. He glanced at the table of contents, wondering if they even offered the kind of alteration he was interested in.

“Alright. What about piercings? We offer a full line of microdermals, barbells, and posts, all coordinated to match.”

Castiel paused, considering.

“Maybe his nipples? Can you pierce nipples on men?”

“Of course!” Meg answered, turning instantly to a page a quarter of the way through the binder. Castiel was impressed. The page showed a slave a little younger than Castiel. His hands were laced behind his head, and there were small gold barbells through each of his pert nipples.

Castiel licked his lips.

“What else can you do? Other than piercing?”

“Anything you want, babe,” Meg answered, giving him a sly wink. Castiel blushed.

“Could you... I saw once...”

He couldn’t say it. This was humiliating. Meg was going to be appalled and throw him out of this place.

“Can you make him... smooth?”

“Hair removal or castration?”

Castiel balked. She’d said it out loud.

“That... that last one?”

Though now that he thought about it, the first one didn’t seem like that bad of an idea.

“We have a couple options for that, depending on the effect you’re trying to achieve.”

She flipped some pages again, and Castiel blinked.

She had photos. And she was just... pointing to them.

“This one is the simplest and the least expensive. The technician puts a rubber band around the top of the scrotum. The patient only has to be restrained for a few hours- after that, they can go back to work.”

Castiel gaped. The picture was a close up of... exactly what she was describing. A rubber band around the top of a scrotum. The man’s balls were already turning a dark red color.

“It’s that easy?” Castiel asked. Meg nodded.

“We have a team that does these on an assembly line. Last week we had a whole factory’s worth of men brought in. They had a lot of problems with fighting, so they did the whole crew.”

Castiel looked down, trying to conceal how much the thought excited him. How many had there been? Two dozen? A hundred? He was too embarrassed to ask.

“There’s other options, too,” Meg said, turning the page. Castiel choked on his breath a little. The page was covered in photos of different modifications. Genital pierced, shortened, even completely removed. Hesitantly, he tapped on a photo of a man who had been completely nullified.

“Can you do that?”

“The surgeon comes in tomorrow,” Meg answered. “You just have to tell us how you want it done.”

Castiel frowned.

“How? There’s more than one way?”

“There’s dozens of ways,” Meg said. Castiel bit his lip. Meg leaned forward, closing the book. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about this, you know. I’ll have this conversation ten times this week.”


“Absolutely. Castration is a very common procedure for the newly indentured. It improves their temperament, but more than that, it helps them come to terms with their new station. Why do you think so many masters put their initials on the people they buy?”

Castiel didn’t guess. He’d always just assumed that the answer was vanity.

“A physical reminder of ownership drops the likelihood of placement rejection by more than sixty percent,” Meg carried on, apparently not waiting for an answer. “The more conspicuous the alteration, the quicker the indentured accepts their new role. I’ve been here for six years, and I have never seen a castrated servant run away.”

Castiel thought back to the look of Dean’s face, sitting inside the glass case. He’d seemed content.Certainly more so than he’d looked when Castiel had undressed him. Castiel knew he wanted Dean nullified for his own benefit- he hadn’t considered that it might also be beneficial for Dean.

“Not to mention- you’re planning to use him in a sexual capacity, I assume?”

Castiel blushed, but nodded.

“I don’t know if you checked his paperwork, but Dean identifies as heterosexual. It would probably be very uncomfortable and distracting for him, if he were say... worked up during your activities. And even if he decided he did like it- you want him focusing on your pleasure, not his.”

Castiel had to admit that there was a draw there. But still...

“He wouldn’t be able to come, at all?”

“If you removed the penis? No, it’s unlikely.”

“I feel a bit guilty,” Castiel admitted. “It seems like a big step.”

“It’s a very big step,” Meg agreed. “But certainly one worth taking. Now, here’s the first decision: do you want him to be told about it in advance?”


“I want to see Crowley!” Dean yelled. He slammed his fist against the door of his dorm, yanking at the handle for all he was worth. “Dammit! Open up, I want to see Crowley!”

“Will you shut up?” someone grumbled from two bunks over. “Some of us have work in the morning.”

“Are you gonna lose your dick in the morning?” Dean screamed back, his voice cracking. “Because if not, I don’t wanna fucking hear it!”

The door clicked open and Dean was through like a shot. The guard on the other side grabbed him by the lapel, yanking him back.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I want to see Crowley,” Dean demanded. “This is not what I signed up for.”

“I very much doubt that,” the guard said, his voice tired. “Crowley’s in the penthouse. I’ll take you up. But he’s not gonna be happy.”

“That makes two of us,” Dean grumbled.

It was a long elevator ride to the penthouse, and an even longer time in the foyer. The guard left Dean alone, confident that the elevator couldn’t be called again without Crowley’s code.

Finally, the doors opened, revealing a gold-painted nightmare.

“Speak of the devil,” Crowley grumbled. A tall, dark-haired man passed Dean, looking him over as he left. Dean ignored him, instead stalking up to Crowley’s desk.

“Who the hell has my contract?” Dean demanded. “This isn’t what I agreed to!”

“I assume you’re referring to the alterations your owner has scheduled for tomorrow,” Crowley said. His tone was bored and Dean had the urge to shake him.

“Yes, it has to do with the fact that my buyer wants to literally cut my balls off.”

“You didn’t put provisions into your contract,” Crowley said, shrugging.

“I thought that’s what you got paid for!”

“No, I get paid to broker your contract so that you don’t have to find a buyer yourself. I offer convenience, nothing more.”

“Then put me somewhere else,” Dean demanded. “Destroy the contract and put me in a labor gang somewhere. I didn’t sign up to play house with some pervert.”

Crowley ran his finger around the edge of his glass.

“There’s going to be a sizable penalty for breaking that contract, Dean. Not to mention, my ten percent is nonrefundable.”

Dean ran a quick calculation, then shook his head.

Inside, he was kicking himself. He should have done more research on this. He assumed the point of going to someone like Crowley was that he wouldn’t have to. Thirty five grand, gone, just like that. And he’d have to pay another thirty five to be sold again- this time after reading the damn contract.

“Thirty five thousand for you- how much do I owe the buyer?”

“Thirty five?” Crowley said, incredulous. “No, three-fifty was your opening bid. You, my pretty-mouthed little treasure, sold for two and a half million.”

Dean’s mouth went dry.


That was... that was too much money. There was no way he’d sold for that much. That was... unthinkable.

“My clients have exacting tastes- they want what they want, and they can pay for it. Well, pay for the closest thing and fake the rest.”

Dean’s mind raced.

“But it was an auction, right? That means there’s a next-highest bidder? Sell me to them.”

Crowley groaned, rubbing his temples.

“Look. The law says you have twenty four hours to back out of a servitude agreement. But you went for so much because there were no stipulations in your contract. Limit yourself to labor positions, and you’re going to be lucky to top three seventy five.”

Dean closed his eyes. Three seventy five wouldn’t cover the fees it was going to take to break this deal. He was literally and figuratively fucked.

“If you’re determined to break the contract, you’ll have to talk to legal on the ground floor,” Crowley said. He sipped his drink, looking over the edge of his glass at Dean. “Are we done here?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, shoulders slumping. “We’re done.”

He turned and went back through the gold-painted doors, and was a little surprised to see the dark-haired man from before still standing there.

Dean realized he didn’t have Crowley’s code, and was about to turn back for it, when the elevator doors opened. The dark-haired man stepped inside, holding the door.

“I saw you at the auction today,” the dark-haired man said. Dean nodded, not sure what else to say.

“Bid on you, actually,” the man said, looking Dean over. “Shame you got away. You would have done beautifully in my theater.”

“You wanted to buy... an actor?” Dean asked. The man laughed.

“No, I only put on authentic performances.” The man tapped his chin, pondering. “I’d have you in stocks, I think. You have such thick lashes, I’m sure you’re beautiful when you’re sobbing.”

Dean stared.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Me?” the man said, pushing the emergency stop button. The elevator froze, and Dean lost his footing. As he stumbled, the man caught him, shoving him against the wall. “Nothing’s wrong with me. Nothing except I lost out on a wonderful opportunity today and now, unexpectedly, that opportunity has presented itself again.”

Dean felt the back of his head slam against the elevator wall. He gasped, seeing stars.

The man spun him around, shoving him up against the wall. Dean could feel the man’s body pressed against his back. Fingers tightened in his hair, shoving his face against the wall.

“Spread your legs,” the man ordered, shoving at Dean’s pants.


The man slammed Dean’s head against the wall again, and Dean tasted blood.

“You know the drill, now spread.”

The man kicked Dean’s ankles apart, and Dean yelped when he felt a hand squeeze his balls.

“He hasn’t even fucked you yet?” the other man asked, incredulous, his fingers poking at Dean’s hole. Dean whimpered, trying to struggle. The man slammed his head against the wall again, and Dean quit fighting. He held the safety rail, trying to keep from passing out.

He felt the man’s fingertip press into his hole and he groaned.

“Get away from me, jackass” he growled, but the man only laughed.

“You are an insolent one. I was looking forward to having that feature fucked out of you.”

Dean heard a zipper, and then the man was lining up. The head of his cock nudged against Dean’s hole. The man’s other hand reached around, taking hold of Dean’s balls and squeezing.

“Don’t play shy virgin with me,” the man growled, bucking up and shoving against Dean’s rim. Dean yelped, trying to escape the pressure. “I know how pretty little sluts make their money.”

“Don’t,” Dean whispered, but the man was pushing inside him, dry, forcing Dean’s body to accommodate him.

“I suggest you be a little more enthusiastic with your new owner,” the man said, pulling out before slamming inside again. “He paid a lot of money for this tight little hole of yours. Three guesses how he plans to make it back.”

Dean could feel himself bleeding, could feel it drip down his thighs as the man raped him.

He would have given anything not to cry, but it hurt so much, and it was all because he’d fucked up so bad. How could he have been so stupid?

He rose up onto his toes, trying to keep the man from bottoming out inside him. The guy wasn’t having it and yanked down on Dean’s balls, forcing him to meet each thrust.

“Fucking hurts,” Dean gasped. The man laughed.

“Get used to it, sweetheart.”

He yanked Dean’s balls again.

“Get on your knees. I’m going to come in your mouth.”

“No way!” Dean answered. The man gave his balls another yank, slamming Dean’s head against the wall again for good measure. Dean dropped, feeling like he’d been kicked in the groin. He groaned, trying to curl himself up into a ball.

The elevator rumbled back to life and the man huffed. He reached down, tearing off a strip of Dean’s shirt. He quickly cleaned himself off, dropping the bloody rag back on Dean’s huddled form.

“You owe me a blowjob, whore,” he said, straightening his clothes. “I’ll get it- sooner or later.”

The elevator stopped and the doors opened, and the man walked out. Silently, as though nothing had happened.

There was no one there, and when the elevator doors slid closed again, Dean was alone.

He covered his head with his hands, and let himself cry.

Chapter Text

Castiel was quiet for the whole drive home.

Benny hadn’t made a comment when Cas had given him the address for Crowley’s building, and he didn’t make a comment now.

He was long since used to Castiel’s thoughtful silences. It’s one of the reasons Castiel had been able to keep him so long.

It wasn’t until they reached Castiel’s estate that he finally spoke up.

“I bought someone.”

Quick. To the point.

He was afraid to look at Benny- afraid to see judgement in the older man’s eyes. Benny would know what he’d bought Dean for.

You don’t need to worry,” Castiel said quickly. “Or any of the others. I’m not... this isn’t...”

He didn’t know how to finish.

“... this one’s different,” he said finally.

“If you’ll pardon my speaking freely?” Benny said. “It’s about time.” Castiel looked up, catching Benny’s gaze in the mirror.


“You’ve been good to all of us,” Benny said. “Better than most of us had any right to expect.”

Castiel felt his face reddening, and he looked down. He wasn’t good at accepting praise, and it was worse when he didn’t feel he’d done anything to earn it.

“Frankly, I’m glad you found someone to take to bed,” Benny said, laughing when Castiel sputtered. “I’m sure the rest of the staff will be happy for you, too.”

“They all- have you all been talking about this?”

Benny gave a helpless shrug.

“What can I say, boss? You’re a hot topic of conversation.”

“Oh my god,” Castiel groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m selling all of you.”

It was an empty threat. Benny had been with Castiel’s family since his first sale- twenty years old, three convictions for possession. Castiel was ten when his father bought Benny, and eleven when Benny finished rehab.

Twenty years later, Castiel would chew off his own arm before selling his manservant. And they both knew it.

“Should I tell Anna to get the guest bedroom ready?”

“What makes you think he won’t be sleeping in the dormitory?” Castiel asked, climbing out of the car. He’d been about to go survey the ‘guest bedroom,’ as it was called... but now he was thinking he would go by the kitchen first.

“Just a hunch,” Benny answered. He drove off toward the garage before Castiel could protest.

Castiel shook his head, heading toward the front door. It was a big wooden thing, technically two doors, though he only ever opened one of them.

Inside, someone had placed a vase of daisies on the foyer table, and Castiel stoped to look at them.

Yellow and white... maybe he should paint the bedroom. Though yellow and white was a color scheme for a child. What color would Dean like?

Maybe he should just wait and ask.

Or maybe he could go visit Dean at the facility?

Castiel shook his head, trying not to obsess. He’d only seen Dean twice in his life, he could go a little longer without talking to him.

The thought made his stomach twist as he headed for the kitchen.

He had no idea what Dean was actually like. Would he be the talkative sort? Or quiet and subservient.

Castiel found himself imagining taking Dean into the bedroom for the first time, and he was suddenly terrified. He didn’t know how to have sex with a slave any more than he knew how to make love to a free person. Was he supposed to undress himself? Or was Dean supposed to do it? Was that part of foreplay? Did slaves even have foreplay with their owners?

The uncertainty must have been showing on his face, because the moment he got to the kitchen, Jody dropped what she was doing and started making soup.

“Am I that obvious?” Castiel asked, hopelessly.

“You are to me,” Jody answered. She found a bread roll and popped it in the oven to toast. “What’s the story today?”

Castiel took a seat at the kitchen table, tracing over knife marks in the wood as he considered.

“I bought someone new,” he said eventually.

That got Jody to pause. Like Benny, she’d been purchased by Castiel’s father. In the years that she’d worked for the Novak family, Castiel had never personally bought anyone. Benny was the functional head of staff, and when positions needed to be filled, it was Benny that made the call. Castiel knew the names and faces and stories of everyone he employed- but they were under orders to leave him alone, and he liked it that way.

“Not a new cook, I hope,” Jody said, and Castiel could hear the curiosity behind the joke.

“No, no, this one is... he’s for me,” Castiel finished. Jody nodded, emptying a can of chicken noodle into a pot. She could make it from scratch, of course, but Castiel had a fondness for a certain grocery’s house brand.

“He is, hmm?” she asked. Like Benny, she didn’t seem at all surprised that he’d bought another man. Castiel didn’t keep his sexuality a secret, but he liked to think he’d been... discrete. Evidently, he’d failed.

“Should we get the guest bedroom ready, then?” Jody asked, and Castiel scowled, throwing up his hands.

“Why does everyone assume he’s going to be in the guest room? Why wouldn’t he be in the dormitories?”

“Didn’t mean anything by it, kiddo,” Jody said. The soup was hot and she poured it into a bowl, dropping the toasted bun directly on top. She put it on the table in front of Castiel, and he immediately began poking at it with a spoon, trying to submerge the bread.

He’d been eating this dish since he was a teenager. He sprouted up like a weed and for about five years, everyone joked that he must have a hollow leg.

Today, it was tasteless. He was too distracted.




“What do you want me to do?”

“Ugh... will he hold until the morning?”

“Maybe. I can put him first on the roster, that might help.”

Dean blinked, the bright room going fuzzy. He hurt all over.

He tried to remember how he got here. He remembered being carried from...

The elevator.

The whole nightmare came screaming back and he groaned, trying to turn on his side.

His belly ached, protesting being asked to function. Dean let out a huff.

“Oh, you’re awake,” someone said, and Dean recognized the voice as Crowley’s. The man’s head appeared above Dean’s face, blocking the light.

“I hope you’ve learned something here,” Crowley said. Dean’s brow furrowed. Everything was still too bright.

“I won’t bother guessing your end game, trying to ingratiate yourself to Michael,” Crowley continued. “But knowing him fondly, I’ll tell you that you got off easy.”

“What?” Dean asked, frowning.

“If Michael had been the one to buy you- or had somehow gotten you out of Castiel’s contract- you’d be worse off. Trust me on that.” Crowley shivered a little bit. “The other new sales are sleeping now, and you could be with them. Instead, you decided to damage the goods, and now that’s my problem.”

“I didn’t...”

Dean tried to sit up, only to realize that he was strapped down. Whatever he was laying on was soft, covered in some kind of vinyl.

A man Dean didn’t recognize stepped into his vision, and Dean could do nothing but watch as the man applied more straps. Soon, both of Dean’s hands were completely immobile, palm-up on the table.

“Here’s how this is going to go,” Crowley said, gesturing to a woman with dreadlocks. “You’re going to get your barcodes, and then you’re going into surgery.”

Dean’s face paled, and he tried to struggle. Crowley reached forward, pinching one of Dean’s nipples between two fingers. Dean looked down and realized he was totally naked.

“Shut up!” Crowley barked, and twisted. Dean yelped in pain and someone slipped a gag between his teeth. It went down into his mouth, forcing him to open wider to accommodate it. Crowley yanked, forcing Dean to arch as much as the straps would allow.

Stop,” he tried to say, but the gag reduced it to nothing but a groan. He heard a buzzing sound, and a second later felt a burn, like a bee had stung him. Crowley let go and Dean looked down to his wrist. The dreadlocked woman was marking his skin in patterned black lines, imprinting a bar code directly into his flesh.

“At no additional charge to your owner, we’re also going to be adding flight risk markings to the backs of your hands,” Crowley said. Dean shook his head, groaning out a wordless protest.

“We’re also making a slight change to your schedule,” Crowley went on. “Your owner wanted the entire nullification procedure done under general anesthesia. You’ve just lost that right.”

Dean’s eyes widened and he screamed, thrashing uselessly against his bindings. Crowley kept talking, undeterred.

You seem to be under the impression that you’re in charge here. That this is a negotiation. It is not. And if this is how you have to learn, then so be it. God knows you won’t be the first.”

Dean could feel himself crying again, and the anger he felt made the reaction worse, rather than better.

The woman finished with his barcode and moved to the other side of the table, instantly laying the stencil for the second, identical barcode on the other wrist. The man from before stepped forward, unstrapping Dean’s finished hand. Dean yanked at his arm, but the man’s grip was like stone. He didn’t even seem to notice Dean’s struggling, and soon had his hand pinned back to the table. This time, it was palm down.

Dean looked down, staring at the black lines being permanently marked into his wrist. He remembered just a few hours earlier, the relief and excitement he’d felt at being accepted into the indenturement program. Now, he felt nothing but numb.

He stopped screaming and just watched, transfixed, as the woman made line after line.

When she was finished, she began adjusting the machine she was working with. Dean watched, paying attention to her so that he wouldn’t have to notice his other hand being flipped over.

She brought over a small lamp, flicking it on just as the other man switched off the main lights. The lamp let out a deep blue light, lighting up the white collar of the woman’s scrubs- and the glowing tip of her needle.

Carefully, she inked three parallel lines onto the back of each knuckle. It was followed by a line of dots along the back of his hand.

“We’ll re-do this again before you leave,” the woman said, switching to the other side. “It will be barely noticeable in the daylight. Under an ultraviolet light, it will shine like the sun.”

Dean nodded, watching as she made identical markings on his second hand.

“Pay enough,” she said, “and you might find someone willing to remove your barcodes. But not these. This ink will only darken if you try to remove it. Do you understand?”

Dean nodded again. The woman wiped the excess ink away with a towel. There were dark smears across it, where she’d wiped up Dean’s blood along with the ink.

Dean wondered how much he would bleed when they-

The woman bandaged his hands and wished him luck, turning the lights back on as she and her assistant left.

Dean wasn’t alone long. Within a couple minutes, three more men arrived. The first one, the youngest of the three, stopped dead when he saw Dean.

“Oh, jesus, another one of these?” He looked to one of his assistants. “Check the restraints. I don’t want another repeat of last time.”

Dean silently begged the man as he approached, but it had no effect. He did nothing but tighten the restraints around Dean’s hands and chest. There was a brief moment of hope when he loosened the strap around one of Dean’s legs, but it collapsed almost instantly.

Gesturing for his partner to help him, the man quickly lashed Dean’s ankle to the side of the bed, just below his thigh. A second strap was quickly added, encircling his bent leg and preventing him from straightening it.

When they loosened his second leg, Dean was ready. Unfortunately, they anticipated his struggle and compensated. Soon his other leg was also bound, folded. Dean groaned, his legs already growing uncomfortable in the awkward position.

They still weren’t done with him, though. From somewhere they produced a thick pole, and quickly had the ends bound to Dean’s knees. As he watched, one of the men twisted a thickened section in the center. The pole increased in length, forcing Dean’s knees further and further apart. When he was certain that the tendons in his thighs were about to snap, the man stopped, leaving Dean panting on the table.

“Ooooh, someone did a number on you,” the younger man said. He stepped between Dean’s legs, and Dean winced when he felt a gloved finger probing at his hole.

Get off!” he screamed, but of course, the words were muffled and lost. He could do nothing but wait, his face burning with shame, as the man probed at the damage.

“You have to prepare yourself better than this,” the man said. “Your owner won’t always have time.”

Dean closed his eyes, trying to take himself away from this. The pain and violation only increased when the man slid his finger past the ring of muscle, probing the inside.

“I think you’ll be alright,” he concluded eventually. He removed his finger, leaving Dean empty while he switched his gloves for a fresh pair. “It’s going to be sore for a few days, but think of it as a reminder to prep next time.”

Dean bit into the gag, having no obvious effect. He heard the young man rummaging in his bag, and he tried to focus his breathing. He pictured the man pulling out a huge pair of shears, and he couldn’t hold in a gasp when the man actually did pick up a pair of scissors.

He screamed and thrashed, only stopping when the man leaned forward and slapped him.

“I’m just cutting the hair off. Quit screaming.”

Dean couldn’t help trembling, his breath coming in quick bursts. Each time he heard the scissors closing, he imagined that he was about to feel them cutting into his balls. He kept looking down, watching closely as his groin was sheared.

“The next step is a razor,” the young man said, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “So don’t flip your shit when I pull it out of the bag.”

Dean imagined a huge straight razor, but instead, the man removed a purple plastic disposable one. Dean looked down at it, blinking.

One of the assistants came forward with shaving cream, squirting a mound of it onto Dean’s lower belly. Moving quickly, he worked it into a lather, spreading it over the short patch of public hair still remaining. He was thorough, coating the base of Dean’s cock, his balls- even the hair growing around his hole.

To his humiliation, Dean felt his cock beginning to harden as his genitals were massaged. He clenched his eyes shut, ashamed when the feel of the razor only made it worse.

He realized that this was probably the last erection he was ever going to get and he panicked again, screaming into his gag and fighting against the bar keeping his knees apart. If he could just close his legs-

Something sharp dug into his arm and he opened his eyes, just in time to see one of the assistance empty a hypodermic into the inside of his elbow. He stared up at the man, questioning.

“Crowley said not to do that,” the other assistant said. The young man shrugged.

“If he can’t hold still then I can’t operate. Anyway, it won’t knock him out. It’s just going to calm him down a little.”

Dean stared down at him, watching as he quickly toweled the last bits of shaving cream off of Dean’s junk. His cock looked huge without the nest of pubic hair, and Dean could only imagine what his balls looked like.

Something cold touched his balls and Dean flinched.

“Just some betadine,” the young man said. “This isn’t the part that’s going to hurt.”

“This is the part that’s going to hurt,” one of the assistants said. He was holding up a tiny rubber donut. Dean stared at it, trying to figure out what the hell it’s purpose was.

He realized a moment later, when the young man removed a complicated metal device from his bag. He slipped the rubber donut onto a pointed end, and then used a pair of handles to ratchet the end apart. It broke into four distinct prongs, the donut stretched around them.

It was a tourniquet. A tiny, rubber tourniquet.

Dean could feel himself detaching from the situation, seeming to watch from above his body while the young man slipped his balls between the prongs. The rubber circle surrounded them like a noose.

And then the prongs closed.

Dean cried out. The feeling was like getting kicked in the nuts, but the pressure never let off.

“One more for a failsafe,” someone said from somewhere far away. Dean shook his head, violently, begging them not to do it again. It was all in vain, because a minute later, he heard the tool ratcheting and another band closed around his ballsack.

“It’s going to take about six minutes for those to die,” the young man said, and Dean sobbed, shaking his head slower. His thighs were shaking and straining as they tried to close, but it was useless. He couldn’t budge even an inch.

“I’ve left a fair amount of skin here,” the man said. He was speaking to his assistants and it seemed like his voice was coming from far away. Dean healed in a breath, trying to focus on the air filling his lungs, and not the incredible pain between his legs.

Gradually, it ebbed, almost all feeling receding as his balls went numb.

Or so he thought. The young man had Dean’s balls in his hand, and though he moved gently, each motion felt like he was squeezing and yanking.

“They’re cold and blue now, which means the blood supply has been cut off. It’s safe to remove them.”

He held a pair of shears in one hand, the blades slightly rounded like pincers.

“Eventually they’d fall off on their own, but Crowley insisted.” The man opened and closed the shears, and Dean could hear the sharp blades sliding together. “He also insisted that you watch.”

One of the assistants took hold of Dean’s hair, forcing his head up until he was staring down at his crotch. His balls were purple and blue, hanging limp beneath his cock. The other assistant took hold of that, holding it out of the way so that Dean could see the tiny bands around his scrotum.

“Lots of slaves get into this thinking that it’s not real,” the young man said. Dean heard a low keening noise as he lowered the shears, closing the pincers loosely around the top of Dean’s sack. “This is the fastest way I’ve found to help them understand otherwise. Your body does not belong to you any more. You do not control it. Your consent does not matter. Do you understand?”

Dean shook his head, protesting into the gag.

“You will,” the young man said, and closed the shears.

Dean’s back arched off the bed, his vocal cords shredding as he screamed into the gag. The pain was unimaginable, made all the worse by the disbelief. He’d seen it with his own eyes. He’d seen the blades closing, his skin parting, his balls falling away.

It replayed in his head, over and over, refusing to clarify into something possible. Because this could not have happened.

Dean looked down, to where the assistant was still holding his cock out of the way. A few beads of blood were forming below the rubber bands, but that was it.

His balls were gone.

“Your cock is next,” the young man said, pulling off his gloves, “but we’ll have to use a general anesthesia for that. It’s a complicated procedure and we can’t do it on the conscious, no matter how much Crowley begs.”

No,” Dean whimpered into the gag. “Please not both. Please, don’t take both.”

“Your owner wants you smooth,” the young man said. “And his opinion is the only one that matters. The sooner you understand that, the happier you’ll be.”

Happy, Dean thought. Like he could ever be happy with this.

He’d never even met his owner- what kind of sadistic fuck would do this to him? Why?

They left Dean there, strapped to the table with his knees forced apart. The sedative was taking effect, and he could feel himself drifting in and out of reality. He kept snapping back awake, convinced it had all been a dream- but the pain between his legs wouldn’t let him keep up the illusion for long.

Before too long, other people showed up- men and women in scrubs and face masks. One of them gave him a gas mask to breathe into, and everything, finally, went dark.




The guest bedroom wasn’t really a guest bedroom.

It was actually more like a courtesan bedroom, and it had never been used. Not since Castiel had taken up residence in the master bedroom, anyway.

The house hadn’t been chosen for its layout. In fact, Castiel hadn’t even looked at it before buying it. His employer at the time had required him to move to California. Tax reasons, they’d explained.

The house selection had been made by a computer algorithm, one Castiel had written himself. It worked with satellite imagery and integrated survey maps to triangulate buildings which were a specified distance from power lines, airports, highways, manufacturing compounds and, most importantly, neighbors.

The house hadn’t been for sale, but Castiel had made a compelling offer.

And that’s how he ended up with a master bedroom that connected directly into an adjoining room.

Apparently, the former owner had been an older gentleman with a bit of a romantic flair.

Opening the door for the first time since he’d moved in, Castiel was surprised to find Anna in the middle of making the bed.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Getting ready for company,” she answered, tucking the sheet beneath the memory foam. Castiel nearly threw his hands into the air.

“How do you all spread gossip so quickly? Please tell me. If I could get network integration that worked with your efficiency I’d be famous.”

“It’s good news!” Anna protested. She returned to her cart, fetching a blanket from the lower storage area. “All the bedding is blue, so if you’re going to paint, I’ll need to know the color so I can order more.”

“I’m not going to paint!” Castiel exclaimed. “He’s going to sleep in the dormitory with the rest of you!”

Anna froze, dropping the blanket mid-tuck.

“Wait,” she said, staring at him. “Balthazar said you picked this one out.”

Balthazar knows?” Castiel groaned. He was suddenly glad he’d set his phone to silent. “Good god, the news has escaped the estate.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Anna said, abandoning the bed. “Did you pick this one out yourself?”

“Not that it matters, but yes,” Castiel said. He avoided looking at Anna. He could feel her grinning.

“Castiel, half the fun of sex is falling asleep all cuddled together.”

Castiel rubbed his face.

“We’re not having this conversation. This is incredibly disrespectful. I will not discuss this with you.”

Anna shrugged.

She went back to making the bed, and Castiel didn’t stop her.

He’d planned on heading to his bedroom, but the mention of Balthazar sent him into his office, instead.

The light on his phone was flashing, which meant he had a voicemail. A tendril of discomfort settled in his belly, and he sat down in his chair, angling it carefully away from the phone.

He also had email. From Balthazar, unsurprisingly. It was also unsurprising when he received a text message immediately upon waking his computer.

You went shopping without me? I’m offended.

Castiel read it three times. Balthazar was probably kidding, but it was very difficult to tell sometimes.

I wasn’t planning on making a purchase. Call it an impulse buy.

It took less than three seconds to get a reply.

I’ve been telling you to treat yourself for ages. Let’s see a picture.

Castiel read the message and realized with a sinking feeling that he didn’t even have one.

You can see him in six weeks when he’s ready.

This time the reply took longer.

Six weeks? Training him to do something complicated, are they? Kinky.

Castiel chewed his lip. Meg had spoken to him at length about the advanced training that the facility offered. There had been a whole binder, just for that. She’d even offered to have some of the staff servants come in and demonstrate for him- though he’d quickly turned that down. There had been so many options and offers he’d just kind of... shut down.

If Dean needed to learn anything particularly specific, Castiel could always hire a teacher later. It would probably be best not to stress him too much while he was healing.

He couldn’t tell Balthazar that, of course.

Castiel frowned. Balthazar had been the one to introduce him to the idea of nullified slaves. Maybe it wouldn’t be too outlandish...?

He discarded that line of thought. He couldn’t tell Balthazar about Dean’s alteration. If nothing else, it was unprofessional. Just because Balthazar was being cheeky, didn’t mean Castiel had to be.

He decided not to reply at all, and thankfully, Balthazar didn’t insist.

Instead, Castiel opened up his text wrangler, looking over the code he was halfway through writing.

He couldn’t get into the headspace.

He kept thinking about paint.



Dean woke up shivering. He was freezing and he felt like he was being stabbed.

He tensed, trying to make it stop hurting, but he could barely move. His teeth were chattering, and he could feel shivers wracking his whole body.

“Shhhh,” someone said, and something warm was being wrapped around his head. Someone threw a blanket over him. “Shhhhh, hon.”

He realized that he was whimpering. Some low noise coming out with each slow breath.

The blanket was heating up, and he felt warm. The pain was fading away, and instead he could only feel the weight of the heating pads. He was so tired.

Someone was stroking his face, and he let himself fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Dean spent the rest of the day drifting in and out of awareness. He was in a bed, somewhere. There were other beds, but most of them were empty.

Sometimes, someone would come and wake him up. They would give him pills, or made him drink something.

He didn’t remember faces. He remembered voices and a deep, bone weariness.

The ceiling was wood. Sometimes he would wake up and see it, before passing back out.

He didn’t know how much time passed. At one point he woke up and someone was asleep in the bed beside his. It was dark, quiet.

“Sam?” Dean whispered. The figure in the other bed didn’t stir.

Of course it wasn’t Sam. Sam was at Stanford, probably staring at his bank account balance and shitting himself.

Two million. Two fucking million.

Dean felt his eyes begin to burn. He was so stupid.

There was no way Sam was going to be able to buy him out of this. Not now that...

Dean tried to reach down, but his hands were secured with thick straps. He wiggled a little, and found that his waist and ankles were restrained as well.

At least nothing hurt too badly. There was a general soreness between his legs, and in his lower belly, but that was it.

He wanted to feel between his legs, see what was left- but at the same time, he really didn’t.

He lay there in the dark, listening to the sounds of people sleeping around him.

When he opened his eyes again, it was light out. The bed next to his was empty.

It worried him that he didn’t need to pee.

“Hello?” he asked. His voice was raspy. He cleared it, and tried again. “Hello?”

“Need something?” a woman’s voice asked.

Dean looked around, but didn’t see anyone. He rattled the cuffs around his wrists.

“Can I get up?”

“The doc will be up in a minute,” the voice said. There must be an intercom near his head.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, a middle aged woman came into the room. She said nothing, just lifted up the blanket and looked beneath.

“Full emasculation, healing admirably,” she said, making a note on her clipboard. Dean’s heart sank.

“It’s... it’s done then?” he asked. “They did... they...”

“Has nobody been in to explain this to you?”

Dean shook his head. The woman sighed.

“Your owner opted for a custom nullification, which was performed about three days ago. Your balls and most of your cock have been removed. You’re lucky- from the look of it, there will be very little scarring. We’ll give you some cream to help with that.”

“Like I care,” Dean said, looking to the side. “I’m a freak.”

“Hardly,” the woman said. “You pretty obviously don’t come from money, so you’ve probably never seen a bed slave before, right?”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing,” Dean muttered.

“Well it’s not uncommon for them to be castrated or nullified. Guys get too distracted by their own cocks, and forget that they’ve got a job to do.”

Dean let his eyes slide shut.

He had a job to do, of course. Once he met his new owner, he’d have to...

Suddenly he was up against the elevator wall again, feeling Michael shoving into him. He seemed huge, forcing his way into Dean’s body, tearing and bruising as he made room for himself.

Would his new owner give him time to heal?

He felt sick and vague dizzy, no sex sounded good right now- but he particularly didn’t want sex like that. Not that it mattered, now.

“How do I do this?” he whispered, feeling like an idiot. He had one job and he didn’t know how to do it.

“Lift your knees,” the doctor said, and Dean did. He could feel her spreading his ass and probing at his hole. He grit his teeth, preparing for an intrusion.

Instead, she stepped away.

“You’ll learn, but you haven’t healed enough to begin practicing. We’ll give it another week or two, and see where we are then.”

Dean sat up on his elbows, interested.

“I’m going to be here for two weeks?”

“The normal healing period is six weeks. Your owner will take delivery after that.”

Dean tried not to let the relief show on his face.

“Your owner was very rough. Did he do that with his cock, or did he use a toy?”

Dean didn’t look at her.

“He’s not my owner. And he did it with his...”

Dean gestured.

“His cock,” the doctor said again. “You aren’t going to get far using euphemisms and hand gestures. This is your job now. Learn to say it out loud, or you’re going to run into trouble later.”


“So what went up your ass, to cause all that damage?”

Dean exhaled slowly.

“A cock.”

“Good. Since he wasn’t your owner, we’re going to have to run another panel of STD tests before we release you.”

Christ. He hadn’t even thought of that.

Though maybe if he’d caught something, they wouldn’t use him as a... what had she called it? Bed slave.

Dean almost laughed. He’d never hoped for an STD before.

“The good news is, the bruising on your face should be healed before your owner comes for you, so at least you’ll look presentable.”

Oh. That was right. He’d had some intimate run-ins with the elevator wall. That’s why his head was sore.

Dean wished he could see a mirror- and at the same time, he was glad he couldn’t.

The doctor checked his paperwork.

“It doesn’t look like you’re signed up for anything beyond the basics. Too bad. You seem smart enough.”

“Can you just take the cuffs off, please? I want to get up.”

“In a day or two. I don’t want you interfering with your stitches.”

“Please?” Dean whined. “I gotta pee.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Really? Because that would mean that your catheter isn’t in far enough. Which I can fix for you, if you’d like.”

Dean paled.

“No, I was... I guess I was wrong.”

“I thought so.”

The woman made a mark on her clipboard and hung it at the end of Dean’s bed. Then she was gone, and Dean was alone.




Cas’s bedroom smelled like paint.

He’d had the guest bedroom painted and then, after staring at it for two days, had paneling put up around the bottom half of the room, and painted that too. Then he’d gotten distracted by the discordance between his own room and the room next door, and redone his own.

The door between the two had always been kept closed. Now that it was open, it mattered whether the rooms matched.

Castiel even bought new sheets, and then a new coverlet, and then new pillows. They were softer than his old ones, with a subtle striped pattern.

It seemed important that his sheets were clean and nice, when he-

Cas licked his lips, rolling onto his back. He stared at the ceiling, looking through the darkness and seeing Dean’s body again. The way he had looked under the fluorescents, body lithe and responsive.

He’d look even better, now that his whole body was smooth and taut. Castiel felt himself hardening as he imagined laying Dean down on this bed.

Dean was blindfolded, in his fantasy, so Castiel didn’t have to worry about how he looked or whether he was making faces. He could simply lay Dean out on his back and explore his body.

Castiel reached down, stroking himself inside his pajamas as he pictured it. The way Dean’s nipples would harden. The way his belly would stretch and tense. The smooth, clean place between his legs, and how it would turn pink beneath Castiel’s tongue.

Castiel stroked himself faster, thumb sliding over the head of his cock, panting as he imagined going lower. Licking at Dean’s pink, exposed hole. The sounds Dean would make as Castiel opened him. How tight and welcoming he would be as Castiel slid his own cock into Dean’s hole-

Castiel came with a whimper, a wave of impatience rushing over him as he realized he was still alone.

As much as he was excited to have his way with his new slave, Castiel was nervous, too. What would he say? ‘Get on the bed’? ‘Spread your legs’? Would Dean simply know to do those things? Was that part of his training?

Castiel wished he had asked more questions. He considered calling the facility back up and asking, but it was the middle of the night. Anyway, he hated talking on the phone. It gave him the heebie jeebies.




After three days, they let Dean get up out of bed. When the bell rang in the morning to wake everyone up, an orderly came and removed the cuffs around his wrists and ankles. When Dean sat up and obviously wasn’t about to pass out, he was shooed off to the showers with everyone else.

Dean kept his eyes on the floor. With every step, he was acutely aware of what he was missing, and he was sure that everyone was staring.

There was only a short hallway between the dormitory and the showers, and of course- no stalls. It was all one open room, with drains in the center.

Dean tried to at least get a showerhead in the corner, but they were all taken. Glancing over the people around him, Dean realized he wasn’t the only one trying to hide.

He began to glance around, cautiously.

There were both men and women here, showering and going through their morning routines. Nobody touched- for that matter, nobody really talked, either. And nobody was dressed, though some people were drying themselves off with towels.

It didn’t take Dean long to find another castrated man.

He tried not to stare, but it was hard. The man still had his cock, hanging huge between his legs. He had no pubic hair and no balls. As Dean watched, the man ran a soapy hand between his legs, lifting his cock and revealing a long scar.

Dean turned back toward the wall, finding an empty spot and turning the water on. It was instantly hot and he shoved his face into the spray, letting the water run over his head.

He could feel it running over his belly and between his legs, in the places where his hair had been removed. Cautiously he glanced down.

Instantly, he felt sick.

Everything was just... gone. Cock, balls, and bush. He looked like a Ken doll.

He braced an arm against the wall, breathing.

“You good, man?”

The guy next to him was giving him a look, and Dean nodded, rubbing at his face.

“Yeah, yeah. I just need a minute.”

The guy hummed and shut off his own water, moving away before the conversation could progress. Dean was grateful. He would have preferred to do this in private, but obviously that wasn’t going to happen.

He got a couple pumps of shampoo off the dispenser in the wall, using the foam as and excuse to close his eyes. He didn’t want to look at anyone else.

Once his hair was clean and he’d given the rest of his body a once-over, he shut off the water and looked around again.

People were getting toothbrushes out of a dispenser by the sink. They were cheap, single use things, bristles pre-coated with powdered toothpaste.

Dean stuck it in his mouth, and accidentally looked at himself in the mirror.

His hair was too short. They’d cut it before the auction and now it looked wrong. There was a purpling bruise around one eye, and a cut on his lower lip. It stung when the toothpaste began to foam.

Dean spat it out and stood back up, resolving not to look at his groin in the mirror.

He failed, and for a second, he thought he might be sick again.

His thighs and lower belly had fading bruises, and there were two vertical lines of stitches running down his groin.

A second bell rang and everyone began moving again. Dean dropped his toothbrush into the trash and looked around for towels. People were tossing them into hampers, but he couldn’t see where anyone was getting them from.

The room had halfway emptied out by the time he found the rack near the showers, and it was mostly empty before he was done drying off.

He followed everyone else out of the room, keeping his eyes down.

The next room had lockers full of clothes. Some had street clothes, some had what looked like yoga pants... in the corner, a woman was quickly dressing in what looked like a net made out of belts.

Dean looked around. There was no indication of where he should go.

Grimacing, he approached the man who had spoken to him earlier.

“How do you know which one is yours?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too much like an idiot.

“What’s your number?” the guy answered. Dean shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

“Go check,” the guy said, pointing to an alcove near the wall. Dean hadn’t noticed it before. As he watched, someone else came out of the shower area and headed for it, scanning the bar code on their wrist.

Dean copied them, and a small red 28 appeared on the readout.

Sure enough, there was a locker 28, and when Dean opened it, it was full of clothes.

... kind of.

There were no shoes, only a loose gray shirt, a loose pair of gray pants, and... a pair of pink cotton panties.

Dean stared at them, feeling his throat beginning to close.

This wasn’t fucking fair.

He shoved the panties back into the locker, pulling the shirt and pants on without any underwear.

It felt awkward, and he could feel the soft cloth directly on his skin- he hadn’t realized how much his hair had buffered his skin.

People were leaving through a door on the far side of the locker room, and so Dean closed his locker door (leaving the panties in the dark), and followed them.

There were a couple other people dressed like him, he noticed. All men, as far as he could tell. They were grouping together, and so he joined them. People seemed to be congregating with others in matching clothes.

Fortunately or unfortunately, everyone else in gray looked exactly as lost as he was. Some of the other colors seemed to know each other, or seemed to know where they were supposed to go.

Dean didn’t say anything.

“You’re with me,” a middle-aged man said, gesturing to the group. “How many? Six? Good. Come on then.”

Dean looked at the others. None of them seemed to have a protest, and so they followed the older man down the hall.

They ended up in a completely normal looking classroom. There was only one row of chairs, and Dean took the one at the end.

“Alright, I understand you all are still recovering, so we’re going to do this quick and then you can get back to the dormitory for the day.”

The man didn’t introduce himself, Dean noticed. For some reason, it made him uncomfortable.

“You all are here, because your owners have had you emasculated.”

Someone down the row made a sound. Dean didn’t look. The teacher raised an eyebrow, and then moved to a podium near the front of the room. A projector above their heads clicked on.

“I’m going to assume that none of you have any experience with bed slaves?”

“I have!” said a man two seats down from Dean. This time, Dean did look. The guy was even younger than Dean, with short blonde hair. And he was grinning.

“For the sake of your classmates, I’m going to carry on,” the instructor said dryly. “‘Bed slave’ is a transparent euphemism for an indentured person whose primary purpose is sexual intercourse. In all likelihood, that’s you.”

The projector flickered, but no image appeared.

“There are a lot of different kinds of bed slaves, with a lot of different duties. You men are lucky. Your scope of responsibilities will be much smaller than the slaves who still have working cocks.”

Dean stared, his jaw hanging open. Was this guy serious?

He glanced over at the blonde kid, who was beaming.

“To be perfectly blunt, gentlemen,” the instructor carried on, “I’m here to teach you how to get fucked. Because you’re going to be getting fucked a lot.”

Dean’s stomach sank. Was this happening now? In front of all these people?

“But first,” the teacher said, ignoring the ripples of distress moving through the room, “some basic anatomy.”

The projector flickered, bringing up a sex-ed diagram of the male reproductive system. A little red dot appeared on the picture, and Dean realized that the instructor had an honest-to-jesus laser pointer.

“This is you, before,” the teacher said. “You’ve got your cock and balls and prostate and anus, like this. So far so good. Now, in most cases, owners will be happy with simply removing the balls. It limits aggression, makes slaves feel more content, and usually removes the sex drive. Castrated men will see their cocks shrink, and their body hair will thin. They will no longer be able to become hard, though they may still ejaculate.”

More content, Dean thought wildly. What a load of bullshit. He almost started laughing, but managed to keep it in.

The picture changed, and the diagram was replaced by a photograph. It was a young man, his balls removed and only a small lump where his penis should be.

“Some owners choose to remove only the head of the penis. If your owner opted for this method, you might still be able to get a small erection. Sensitivity will be greatly decreased, but you’ll still have something for your owner to play with. Most of the time, you’ll probably be kept in a decorative chastity device, so be ready for that.”

The picture changed again, and this time, the young man in the photo was utterly smooth. A thin red scar ran down the center of his groin.

“This is what a healed nullification will look like. The cock and balls have both been completely removed. If your owner chose this for you, you will receive little to no sexual pleasure and will be unable to come. You’ll also have to sit down to pee. There’s a strong chance that your owner is into feminization play, so while you don’t have to worry about chastity devices, you’ll probably be dressed in a lot of lingerie.”

The projector flicked off.

“All of you will be losing your body hair. To help that process along, you’ll probably be receiving laser treatments several times before you go home. Now, for the hands-on portion of the class.”

The man reached below the podium, bringing out a box.

“We aren’t going to be covering oral sex in this class. There’s another session for that, later on, that I’m sure you’ll all be attending. Your owners may or may not be interested in having their dicks sucked, but they’re almost definitely going to want to fuck your hole. As a bed slave, it’s your responsibility to keep yourself clean, wet, and ready for them.” He held up a rubber plug, flared and a little bigger than Dean’s thumb. “For the rest of the time you’re here, you’ll be wearing one of these. It will help remind you of your responsibilities. They also vibrate at random intervals. As bed slaves, you need to be able to focus, without being distracted by your own pleasure.”

“What pleasure?” Dean asked, his voice much higher than he would have liked. “We’re missing our dicks, isn’t that the whole point of this bullshit? That we don’t get pleasure?”

The teacher shook his head.

“Thank you for volunteering. Up here, please. Strip down to your panties.”

Dean paled.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t-”

Now,” the teacher said. Dean stood, moving quickly to the front of the room. He pulled off his shirt, and then hesitated.

“I don’t have panties,” he said quietly. The instructor blinked at him.

“Weren’t there any in your locker?”

“Yes, but-”

“Did they not fit?”

“I don’t know.”

“You chose not to wear them, even though you were clearly meant to?”

“Panties are for girls!” Dean yelled. He was instantly horrified with himself.

“The clothes in your locker are for you,” the instructor said quietly. “Tomorrow, when you get dressed, you will wear exactly what has been provided for you. Is that clear?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, looking at the ground.

“Yes, sir,” the teacher said. “Free people must always be addressed as sir or ma’am. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now take your pants off and face the wall.”

Dean froze. The instructor knew damn well he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. And he really wanted him to...?

Now,” the instructor repeated. Huffing out a breath, Dean shoved his pants down. At least he was facing the wall, so he didn’t have to watch everyone staring at him.

“Good. Now, lean forward, put your forehead against the wall, and spread your cheeks.”

Dean closed his eyes tight, trying not to let tears form. This was all worth it, if it gave Sammy a future, but he didn’t want to think of Sam. Not like this.

“Legs wider,” the teacher ordered. Dean adjusted his stance, wincing when he felt his stitches protest.

“Good,” the teacher said. “Now, everyone pay attention. You’ve all had your hair removed, but until your treatments are complete, it will still grow back. It is your responsibility to ensure that you do not have excess hair or stubble around your holes, as is is uncomfortable for your master’s cock.”

The teacher stepped forward, probing at Dean’s ass.

“You haven’t been shown how to clean yourselves out yet, so I won’t test for that. Instead, I’m going to show you how to lubricate yourselves. This is a lubricant applicator- yes, you may turn to look at it.”

Dean turned despite himself, trying to look only at the thin tool in the teacher’s hand, and not at the faces of anyone beyond. He quickly turned back, leaning his forehead against the wall.

“You will want to err on the side of caution. It is better to use too much than too little. If you are not properly stretched and lubricated, your hole will be uncomfortable to use, and you may tear. I see you’ve already found that one out the hard way. Not very obedient, are you?”

Dean grit his teeth and didn’t answer. Everyone could see what Michael had done- and they all thought it was because Dean was too stupid to do his only job right.

He felt the end of the applicator slide into his ass, and a moment later, felt the sticky wetness of the contents coating his insides.

“This beginner plug is small enough that you should be able to accommodate it without extra stretching. Try fitting fingers or additional toys in beside it, if you feel you’re ready. At five weeks, you’ll be tested to ensure that you can take an average-sized cock without hurting yourself.”

The blunt tip of the toy pressed against Dean’s hole and he twitched reflexively, trying to keep the plug out of him.

“Relax, or you’ll hurt yourself again,” the instructor said. He let his hand rest on the small of Dean’s back, rubbing gently. “Relax and let it in. It’s not that big.”

Dean took a deep breath, trying to make his body stop fighting. He had one job. He could do it.

The toy pressed harder and Dean yelped, jerking his hips.

“I’m sorry,” he said, spreading his legs until his stitches protested.

“It’s not unusual for this to be difficult at the beginning,” the teacher said. He continued to rub the toy gently against Dean’s hole, while he directed the other men to begin practicing.

Dean could hear them talking, but he refused to turn around. The humiliation somehow got even worse when he was the only one who could not force his body to accept the toy. Every time he tried to relax, he kept thinking of the elevator and how badly it had hurt.

“I think I know what you need,” the teacher said. “Leave your clothes. We’re going to a different class.”

Chapter Text

The instructor lead him down a hallway to a door, which he opened without knocking.

“That didn’t take long,” someone inside said. The instructor nodded, grabbing Dean by the arm and pulling him into the room.

“There’s one in every class,” he said. “This one’s...”

He paused, turning to Dean.

“What’s your name?”

“Dean,” Dean answered quietly. He didn’t give a last name; he’d lost that when he became indentured.

“Why are you here, Dean?” the person inside said. Dean glanced up at him. He was a middle aged guy, another teacher by the looks of it. His students were a mixed lot, men and women, and they were all dressed in normal clothes. Dean was the only one in the room who was naked.

“Answer him,” Dean’s teacher ordered. Dean’s mind raced. Why was he here? What did that mean?

He looked imploringly at the teacher, who held up the silicone plug.


“I can’t, uh... I can’t make my ass relax. Sir.”

Dean cringed.

“And?” the teacher asked. Dean blushed, glancing out at the class. There were probably ten people there.

“I didn’t wear the clothes I was supposed to,” Dean added.

“If you aren’t grateful for the clothes you’re given, then you don’t get to wear any,” the new teacher said amiably. Like he was discussing the weather.

“So for failing your duties and being ungrateful, you’ll be taking part in this class, instead,” Dean’s teacher said. He gave the new teacher a small bow, and left without saying anything further.

Dean looked to the teacher. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to introduce himself or take a seat, or what.

“Normally I’ve finished the introduction before someone volunteers, but since Dean is already here, I’ll hurry it along,” the teacher said. “Now, as heads of staff, you’ll be in charge of a lot of things; possibly the most important of which is discipline. Here, we have a slave who has erred. What do we do with him?”

Dean paled. He did not want to know the answer to this question. Why hadn’t he just put on the panties? Why couldn’t he do a single god damn thing right?

The teacher lifted a thick leather paddle off the desk. Dean hadn’t even seen it sitting there.

“Most households will have one of these. It’s not a whip or a flog or a riding crop- those are used for the simultaneous infliction of pain and pleasure. This is not an erotic tool. It is used for discipline, and to teach those under you the error of their ways.”

The teacher stood up, gesturing to the desk.

“If you would please, Dean.”

Dean blinked at him. He wasn’t serious?

Slowly, Dean made his way toward the desk, letting his hands rest on the top.

“Dean has obviously never been punished before. You’ll encounter some of these.”

The teacher moved closer to Dean, letting his hand rest on the back of Dean’s neck. He pushed down, forcing Dean to lean forward over the desk. Dean went down, until his chest was flush with the top surface. He turned his head toward the front of the room, not wanting to see the people watching.

“Cross your hands at the small of your back,” the teacher ordered. Dean obeyed, feeling very vulnerable. He felt the paddle nudging at his thighs.

“Now, Dean has had his balls removed and this will make the lesson quite a bit easier. With intact men, you will usually want to have the balls pulled out of the way. You can use an athletic cup, or instruct the man to hold himself. Or, if his offense is particularly egregious, you can let them hang. You’re unlikely to damage them with a simple paddle. Now, watch closely.”

Dean heard the impact before he felt it- a sharp crack that cut through the air. A second later, his ass cheeks burned. He felt his muscles tensing, trying to relieve the pain.

“Notice the location of the red mark. Always aim for the bottom of the ass cheeks, and try to angle upwards. Watch again.”

Another crack and Dean whimpered, tears filling his eyes. It hurt so bad.

“Are you sorry for being disobedient, Dean?”

“Yes,” Dean whimpered. He tensed, waiting for another strike from the paddle.

“It’s important to reinforce lessons while administering discipline. Simply inflicting pain will do nothing but foster resentment. The slave you’re disciplining must understand what they have done wrong, but more importantly, how to improve.”

The paddle hit him once more, and he rose up onto his toes. His nose was running but he didn’t dare wipe it.

“Are you going to wear your panties tomorrow, Dean?”

“Yes!” he cried. Anything to make this stop.

“And you’re going to plug yourself without any trouble?”

“Yes,” Dean repeated. He didn’t know how, but he would figure it out.

“Good. Now, students, form a line, please. You’re each going to give Dean two strikes with the paddle. One for being disobedient, and one for being ungrateful.”

“Please, no,” Dean pleaded. He stood unsteadily, bracing himself against the table as he turned to face the teacher. “Please, I’m sorry, I’ve learned, please-”

The teacher sighed.

“Who knows what to do in this circumstance?”

Silence from the assembled group.

“Do we suspend punishment?”

Dean looked to the group for the first time, his gaze moving from once face to the next. They were shaking their heads ‘no.’

“Good. At least you know that much. Now pay attention. A slave who begs not to be punished, is a slave that still thinks that their servitude is a negotiation. It is not. A volunteer, please?”

The teacher stood, moving closer to Dean and pushing him back down onto the table. Dean went, trying not to resist. His body tried to fight and he tried to force it not to. He didn’t want to be in any more trouble than he already was.

“Normally, slaves who negotiate are gagged, but that won’t work in this circumstance. Bind his hands, please.”

Dean heard something jingling, and he tried to turn to look. The student was fastening leather cuffs around his wrists, linking them together behind his back. The teacher was holding up a short, thick leather belt. He leaned forward, buckling it around Dean’s throat.

“Notice the ring, on the desk? This is invaluable when it comes to disobedient slaves.”

The teacher leaned forward, linking the ring to what Dean now realized was a collar.

“Now, Dean. Do you feel powerful?”

“No,” Dean said quietly.

“Address me properly,” the teacher said.

“No, sir,” Dean corrected himself. He pulled at the cuffs a little bit, testing his range of movement.

“Thank Chris for helping you see your place.”

Dean turned his head a little, looking to the student who had cuffed his hands.

“Thank you for helping me, Chris,” he said quietly.

“Good. Chris, you may go back to your seat. I’d like everyone to take a look at this position. Dean’s ankles are not secured, but if they were, he would be almost utterly immobile. This is a situation of pure helplessness, which is why we use it for punishment.”

Dean felt the paddle prodding against his sore ass, and he let out a little sob.

“In this position, the person being punished is forced to expose their most private parts. This is true for both men and woman. They are put in a place of not only physical, but emotional and sexual vulnerability, as well.”

Dean’s face burned as the paddle poked at the cleft of his ass, riding against his hole.

“Sexual punishment will have very little effect on a bed slave like Dean, but you may want to incorporate it into your methods for other members of the household.”

The paddle withdrew, and Dean cringed, waiting for it to come whistling back. There was nothing.

“Getting back to the hands-on portion of the class, everyone line up please. You’re each going to give Dean two strikes of the paddle. After the first one, I’ll evaluate your form, and then you may try again.”

Dean heard chairs pushing back, and footsteps approaching. A moment later, the paddle landed against his sore ass.

“Apologize for being ungrateful,” the student said, and Dean didn’t even hesitate.

“I’m sorry for being ungrateful, ma’am.”

“Try hitting a little harder next time,” the teacher said. “It seems counter intuitive at first but you really can hit much harder.”

The second blow was much harder, striking Dean’s ass with a loud crack.

“I’m sorry for being disobedient, ma’am!” Dean said. He had to pause for breath in the middle of the phrase, but he got it out.

The students went one by one, and Dean apologized to each of them. By the end of the session he was sobbing, tears running down his face, his bare ass squirming from side to side to try to avoid the paddle. It did no good.

After what seemed like an eternity, the blows stopped. Dean lay nearly silent, crying silently against the desk. It was only his first day, and already he felt like he could barely take any more. How was he supposed to do this the rest of his life?

The teacher kept talking but Dean wasn’t listening. He didn’t hear his name and so he drifted off, floating in a state of half-asleep that kept the pain at bay. Eventually, he was uncuffed and the collar was unclipped from the desk. The teacher helped him to his feet; he didn’t dare try to sit down.

“Come on,” the man said. “We’ll get you back to your cot and you can sleep for a while.”

Dean nodded. He raised his hand to unbuckle the collar, but the man caught his wrist.

“You leave that on,” the man said, grinning a little. “I think it’ll be good for you.”

Dean was too tired to argue with him.

The path back to the dorms seemed longer than it had that morning. Dean was out by the time his head hit the pillow.

Chapter Text

Dean was determined to stay in bed until someone dragged him from it, but eventually his hunger overrode his sullen resentment, and he got up.

There were a couple of people milling around, and Dean very seriously considered wrapping a sheet around himself. It seemed somehow wrong to be walking around with no clothes on. Probably because, in any other circumstance, it was nudity that would get him in trouble.

He took a deep breath. This wasn’t every other circumstance. He was a slave now. And the people in charge of him, wanted him to be naked. So... he would just have to be naked.

He looked around the dormitory, trying to figure out where he was supposed to go. There was a door marked showers, that he’d gone through that morning. Another was marked as a fire exit. Two more were unmarked, and the fifth was marked ‘cafeteria.’

Taking a deep breath, Dean stood and walked, naked, across the dormitory toward the door. He could feel a hundred eyes on him, but when he glanced up, no one was actually looking.

Bracing himself, he pushed the cafeteria door open.

It was... actually kind of nice. The lights mimicked daylight, and the color scheme was warm and inviting. Looking around, Dean could see a salad bar and a couple food stations. There were a lot more people here, so it must be something like lunchtime. Maybe closer to dinner.

He looked around trying to figure out where he was supposed to go.

In one corner, a group of people in street clothes were sitting in chairs, patiently feeding morsels to slaves kneeling beside them. A little beyond that, a group of people were arranging finger foods on a table, using a prone woman’s body as a tray.

Dean wasn’t in either of those classes, apparently.

“First time?” someone said, and Dean flinched. The lady was really close.

“That obvious?” he asked. She laughed. She was carrying a huge stack of plates.

“New people always are. You all wander around like duckings for a week, until you get your bearings.”

“You’ve been here a while, then?”

“Kitchen staff,” she said, pointing back toward the back of the cafeteria. “I’m on prep right now, but with any luck I’m going to move up to sandwich artist soon.”

“Any chance I can get a burger?” Dean asked, without much hope.

“Sure. Hot food is along the wall, it’s build your own but I’m sure you can manage.”

“God, I could use a hot meal,” Dean groaned. “They’ve been bringing me these packaged salad things-”

“Post surgery, yeah. I probably made them,” the girl said. “Definitely not as good as a burger.”

She set the plates down on a shelf beside a number of others. Dean hadn’t noticed them before.

“Eat whatever you want, drop your dirty dishes off over there, and if you’re on clothing prohibition, lay down one of those mats on the chair, before you sit down.”

Dean blushed. For half a second, he’d forgotten he was naked. He almost apologized, but she was already headed toward the kitchens again.




Cas watched his cursor blinking.

Directly above it was the exit code for his most recent application.

Right above that was the 5,619th iteration of a printed error code. He’d expected to see it twice.

Castiel was a big believer in the theory that any error code was good. An error code told you how your program was failing. If you knew how it was failing, you could fix the problem.

Having a program that looped infinitely when you expected it to loop twice was an easy fix.

Or at least, it would be an easy fix, if he could stop daydreaming and fix it. Instead, he was watching the cursor blink for fifteen minutes at a time and wondering what he was going to do with Dean when he showed up.

Benny usually handled orientations but... for some reason, Castiel felt like he should do this one himself. Not that there would be a lot to cover. House, kitchen, bedroom, bed.

There had to be more to it, though. Dean would have a lot of downtime. Maybe not at first, but-

Castiel blushed.

He picked up his phone and almost texted Benny. Then he almost texted Balthazar.

Finally, after going back and forth a dozen times, he hit the phone icon and reluctantly called his brother.

Lucifer picked up on the third ring.

“This is unexpected. Did your house burn down? Do you need somewhere to stay?”

“I need some advice,” Castiel mumbled.

Silence on the line.

“From moi?” came Lucifer’s reply. His voice was dripping with mock disbelief. “Finally decide to quit being such a geek?”

“I’m not a geek and do you have any idea civilization would collapse if-”

“- if any of ten thousand integrated systems failed to communicate at any given time, I know. Spare me, little brother. What do you need?”

“Can I come over?”

“I’m in my car at the moment, but I can meet you in an hour.”

“You’re not supposed to talk on the phone while you’re driving.”

“And you’re not supposed to keep that stick jammed up your ass.”

Lucifer hung up before Castiel could say anything.

He was still mostly sure that the meeting was on.


Sure enough, an hour later, Lucifer pulled into his driveway. Castiel was already waiting, his car idling because he refused to ring the doorbell until he knew his brother was home.

Lucifer left his engine running, and a slave quickly came scurrying out of the house to park it. Lucifer knocked on Castiel’s window, peering through the glass at him.

“It’s safe to come out, Castiel. My staff won’t try to make small talk with you, I promise.”

Castiel scowled, refusing to acknowledge that this was the exact reason he’d been waiting in his car.

He left the keys in the ignition, and followed his brother inside.

“So what portion of my massive expertise are you hoping to draw upon this evening?” Lucifer asked, pushing the front doors open.

There was already a drink waiting for him on the entryway table. Castiel was suitably impressed.

“I bought a new slave,” Castiel said quietly. He looked around, making sure that no one was around. “I’m not sure what to expect.”

“Why would this one be different from the others?”

“I bought this one for... me,” Castiel said quietly. Lucifer raised an eyebrow, and then understanding began to dawn on his face.

“I see! Popping that cherry at last, are you?”

Castiel scowled, but didn’t protest. He followed Lucifer down a hallway, and into a study.

“Can you help me or not?”

“Ohhhh, there’s no helping you. But I can tell you what to expect.”

Castiel relaxed. His brother gave him a hard time about a lot of things, but he was knowledgeable about a variety of subjects.

“He’s coming home in a little under six weeks.”

He?” Lucifer asked. Castiel raised his chin.

“Does that make a difference?”

“No, but I did just win a bet with Gabriel.”

“I could be bisexual,” Castiel pointed out. Lucifer smiled and tipped his head, and Castiel scowled.

“Can you just tell me what to do with him? Please?”

“I think there are some picture books we could look at together-”

“I’m being serious here,” Castiel said. He hated that he sounded so desperate. “I’ve never had a slave like this before. I have no idea what to expect. Help me. Please.”

Lucifer let his arms rest on Castiel’s shoulders.

“Listen. You call the shots here. You tell them what to do. You tell them what not to do. And if they disobey, you send them down to the staff dormitories and have them paddled. It’s that simple.”

“But do I have to tell them... exactly what to do?”

Lucifer sighed. He crossed the room to his desk, pressing a button on the phone.

“Can I get Ruby up here please? Thank you.”

“Who’s Ruby?” Castiel asked, not certain that he wanted to know.

“Ruby is the most recent of my acquisitions. She’ll give you the closest approximation of what a new slave will act like.”

“I’m not sure that this is a good-” Castiel started to say, but he was interrupted by a knock on the door. A moment later, it opened and a young woman with dark hair stepped inside. She was dressed in a simple blouse and skirt, and Castiel could see that she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath it.

“Yes, sir?” she asked. It was directed toward Lucifer, for which Castiel was grateful.

“Castiel’s never fucked a slave,” Lucifer said, gesturing. Castiel stammered, but really had no rebuttal for that. “Fix it for him, will you?”

“Yessir,” she said, nodding. She turned to Castiel. “Desk or floor, sir?”

Now?” Castiel hissed to Lucifer. His brother was standing right there.

“Desk please, Ruby,” Lucifer said, waving. She nodded and then, as Castiel watched, she went and bent over the desk. She hiked her skirt up, until Castiel could tell that her panties matched her bra.

Lucifer sat on the desk beside her.

“I’m assuming you went to Crowley’s? They have the best stock there. Take a look.” He cupped her pussy, letting a finger slip inside her. “See how wet she is? Yours will be like that too. They keep themselves prepped so you don’t need to worry about foreplay.”

“Oh,” Castiel said quietly. He’d actually been looking forward to foreplay. Was that not a thing that was done with slaves?

“What about... what do they do when they’re not... um...”

“Fulfilling their primary duties?” Lucifer answered, grinning. Castiel nodded. “Well, I like to keep Ruby under my desk.”

“Why under your- oh,” Castiel said, realizing. “All the time?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes.

“Clearly you have been deprived of the finer things in life, Castiel. She’s not blowing me all the time. She just keeps my cock warm.”

Castiel blushed. He was glad that Ruby couldn’t see him turning red.

Personally, he had doubts about how this ‘cock warming’ was supposed to work. He shivered, imagining sitting at his desk with Dean underneath... his mouth around Castiel’s cock...

He was definitely going to get hard in that circumstance. He was one thousand percent sure of it.

He was getting hard right now just thinking about it, and that was something he wasn’t sure he wanted to do in front of his brother. Even if Lucifer was being grossly cavalier about it.

“You don’t have to keep them under your desk, Castiel. You’re the equalitarian type, right? Have him service the rest of your staff, when you’re not using him. It keeps him in practice and it’s a nice perk for the rest of them. Keeps morale high.”

Castiel let his eyes glaze over. He was blindsided by a mental picture of Dean in the sunshine, on all fours in the grass, while two groundskeepers had their way with him. They’d be muscular and dark from the sun, dirty from a day’s work. Dean would be stretched between them, sun kissing his golden skin as he eagerly took their cocks-

A snapping sound brought him back to reality.

“I see you’re a fan of that idea,” Lucifer said, glancing meaningfully down. Castiel cleared his throat, looking back to Ruby. She hadn’t moved this whole time. He frowned. In his mental picture, Dean had been enjoying himself. Ruby was... still. Like a statue. No... like a tool. Ready to be used and put away.

“Do they, um, react? Or will she just... stay there?”

Lucifer shrugged.

“Depends on how good an actor they are. If you want the pornstar experience, I’d suggest having Crowley’s place train him for that. Usually they can’t handle much more than gasps and whimpers on their own. But they can be taught to beg for it, if that’s what you’re interested in.” Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “You’re not looking for the boyfriend experience, are you, Castiel?”

“No!” Castiel exclaimed. He couldn’t have a boyfriend. That’s why he’d bought a slave in the first place. Because the idea of trying to meet and date and please another person was enough to make him hyperventilate. He was lucky that his professional reputation preceded him- even the idea of a job interview scared the hell out of him. He could not, in good faith, present himself as someone that another man would want in their life. As a boyfriend and a lover, he was woefully unqualified.

“Tell Crowley’s place to give him the pornstar playbook then,” Lucifer said. He gave Ruby’s bare ass a slap, and she shuddered.

“You know what it does to me,” she murmured, looking up at him through hooded eyes. Lucifer gestured to Castiel, and Ruby turned her sultry look on him. “Would you like to spank me, sir? Nothing gets me wet like a good spanking...”

She tipped her head and arched her back, presenting to him.

“Please, sir? My pussy is so empty...”

She rocked against the table and Castiel looked away, blushing. For some reason, he had trouble imagining Dean talking that way.

“If you want my advice?” Lucifer said, pinching Ruby’s ass, “Go to one of those pet outfitter places. The good ones. Look around there, see if they’ve got anything that tickles your pickle.”

“You’re disgusting,” Castiel told him. Lucifer shrugged.

“I’m also not wrong. You’re asking me what to expect, and I can’t answer because you’re going to be calling the shots. Try LaFrey’s, on ninth? Go in, ignore the clerk, and look around. It’ll at least give you an idea of the kind of shots you’ll be calling.”

Castiel knew the place. He’d never been in there, and he got a little thrill at the idea that he now had a reason to.

Chapter Text

Dean kept expecting someone to yell at him.

He ate a cheeseburger and a massive pile of fries and a cookie with macadamia nuts in it. Nobody sat next to him, but he wasn’t really in the mood for company, anyway.

When he was done, he went back to the dormitory and just sort of... waited.

There were clocks, which he didn’t expect. He read somewhere that prisons didn’t have clocks, so everyone just had to exist in a state of perpetual ‘now.’

According to the clock on the wall of the dormitory, it was just after three in the afternoon. He was naked and by himself and he was sure he was supposed to be doing something.

There were other people around, though, napping or sitting around talking. Some guys in the corner had a pack of cards and were in the middle of what looked like a very low-stakes game.

One woman even had a pair of headphones and what looked like an ipod. Dean really wanted to ask where she’d gotten them, but she was staring at the ceiling in a way that didn’t indicate that she wanted to talk.

Dean meandered back to his own bed, wincing as he sat down. He pulled the sheet over his lap, giving himself at least that modicum of privacy. His stitches were sore and he could feel his heartbeat in the strap marks across his ass.

Whatever happened tomorrow, he’d have to do a better job than he’d done today. He couldn’t take another paddling. He was sure of that much, at least.

He’d just had that thought when the doors opened, and the blonde man from Dean’s class came strolling in. He was still dressed in the loose gray clothes that they’d been given that morning, and Dean wondered if he still had his panties on underneath.

The guy was looking around the room and Dean, against his better judgement, waved. The guy grinned, heading in Dean’s direction.

“Hey,” Dean said, trying not to look as miserable as he felt. The guy gave him a sympathetic look.

“Looks like you really got it bad. Should have seen that coming, man.”

“Got a lot to learn, I guess,” Dean said. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Dean.”

“I’m Pepper,” the guy answered, giving his hand a shake. “You should really get that looked at.”

“What?” Dean asked.

“The paddle marks. I mean, you probably can’t feel them because of the meds, but they’ll heal faster if you get them treated.”

“... what?” Dean asked again. The paddle hadn’t broken the skin, which meant it would be sore for a few days and then go away.

At least, that’s what happened when you got hit with a belt.

Dean figured it was probably about the same.

He paused, rewinding in his head.

“What meds?”

“The painkillers?” Pepper asked. He tilted his head. “Haven’t you been taking yours?”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to get any,” Dean admitted. Pepper gasped.

“Oh, hon! Oh, come with me.”

He grabbed Dean by the arm, pulling him up off the bed with a surprising amount of strength. The sheet fell to the side, and Dean instinctively tried to cover himself. Pepper didn’t even glance down. Somehow, even though Dean was standing there naked, it still seemed like Pepper was the one being weird here.

Their bare feet were silent on the linoleum as they went through one of the unmarked doors. There was actually a set of two doors, probably for climate control, because the air on the far side was warmer. It was humid, too, and it smelled like the produce aisle at the grocery store. It was done up in high-contrast white stone and dark wood. Dean got the idea that there was a very large space on the other side of the wooden screens.

“They’ve got a great post-op facility here, one of the best,” Pepper said. He was still holding onto Dean’s arm.

“How do you know all this? Was there some orientation I missed?” Dean asked. Pepper slapped him on the shoulder, laughing.

“We toured here, silly! My master and I looked into probably two dozen locations, but this one was definitely my favorite.” Pepper waved to a red-headed woman. “Charlie! Look who I found!”

The woman- Charlie, Dean gathered- gave them a smile and a wave.

“Hi Pepper! Who’s your friend?”

“This is Dean. Dean hasn’t been taking his meds.”

“I didn’t even know this place was here,” Dean said. He wasn’t sure if it was an apology or an explanation.

Charlie took hold of his other arm, and the two of them excitedly manhandled him over toward the wall. There was another barcode scanner, like the one in the locker room, and Dean let them scan his wrist.

“You weren’t kidding!” Charlie said, looking over the readout. “Come on, we’ll get you fixed up.”

There was a big area behind the dividers, but as far as Dean could tell, it was broken up by more screens.

The place they eventually ended up had a wide table, covered by a white sheet.

“Alright, up you go,” Charlie said. She was rummaging in a small cabinet, eventually coming out with a bottle of water and a small sachet of pills. Dean looked at them warily. He didn’t want to get near the bed, either.

“What’s wrong?” Pepper asked. Dean looked at him incredulously.

“Are you kidding? Last time I was on a table like that, they...”

He trailed off. Pepper gave him a sympathetic look.

“Yours was a punishment, then?”

“I don’t know!” Dean burst out. He didn’t realize he was backing toward the wall until he was pressed up against it. “Do they do that?”

“Sometimes, but you’d have to mess up real bad,” Pepper said. He was looking at Dean closely. “Did your master not talk to you about it, before he brought you here?”

“I’ve never even met him,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I don’t know why he’d want me like this.”

It wasn’t exactly the truth. Something had happened in the examination room. Dean was blindfolded and... well. Sucked off, not to be blunt about it. Some guy with a deep voice and stubble that had scraped against Dean’s thighs.

It hadn’t been a particularly good experience for either of them, and Dean still hadn’t run across that guy again. But if his owner had found out about that... maybe it had something to do with his decision.

Dean would just have to ask him when he met him. If he was allowed to talk, that is.

“I’m not going to do anything like that,” Charlie said. She passed him the water and the pills and completely ignored the fact that he was having a minor panic attack in her workplace. Dean liked her immediately.

“What are these?” he asked, gesturing to the pills.

“Tylenol and ibuprofin,” she answered. “And I need you to drink the whole bottle of water.”

Dean considered for a second before downing the pills. If she was lying, he’d probably end up taking them anyway. It was safer to just follow orders.

He took a big swig of water, not realizing how thirsty he was until it hit his tongue. He downed half the bottle without stopping. Charlie looked pleased with this.

“If I promise not to cut anything off, will you get on the table?” she asked. Dean felt like he should be disgusted, but mostly he just felt comfortable with her. Way more than with Pepper, anyway.

He climbed onto the table, wishing he had another sheet to cover himself with. He wished it even more a second later, when Pepper leaned over him.

“He didn’t do a full emasculation,” Pepper said, sounding unaccountably disappointed. “Master and I decided on a full penectomy. If you’re gonna do it, do it all the way, right?”

“Wait, you decided?” Dean said, sitting up. “Why would you ever agree to this?”

Pepper shrugged.

“Master kept me in chastity for a while, but we couldn’t find anything that would work for us long-term. It was very difficult for me to keep from coming- and now I don’t have to worry about it any more.”

“Why do you care, that you couldn’t follow his bizarro rules?”

“Because I love him,” Pepper said bluntly. Dean felt like he’d been hit with a brick.

How could anybody love someone who owned them?

“Can I have you spread your legs for me, Dean?” Charlie asked. Dean considered protesting, but honestly, he was glad for the change of topics.

He spread his legs a little, feeling only slightly more exposed than normal.

“I’m just going to put some scar cream on here for you,” Charlie said. “Sorry if it’s cold.”

It was cold, and Dean flinched when he felt her fingers on his skin. She didn’t press too hard, though, and after a few seconds he was able to relax.

“I’ve got a phantom limb,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands. “It feels like you’re touching my dick.”

“I kind of am?” Charlie said. He finger stroked along the center of his groin. “This used to be part of your penis. It shouldn’t take long for your brain to re-map the nerves, don’t worry.”

“Wait, part of it is still there?” Dean asked. He twisted around, trying to see. He couldn’t, of course.

“Part of the shaft and head are still present, yes. They did a really good job of it, too, by the looks of it.”

“Does that mean I could get it fixed? Later, I mean?”

Pepper laughed, and Dean felt his newfound hope deflating.

“There’s not much left except skin,” Charlie said. She traced the lines of stitches. “Looks like they wanted to preserve sensation, not function.”

“Why would they do that?” Dean asked, dejected. Pepper gave him a sympathetic look.

“When you get home, you and your master need to work on communication. He clearly wants something that you’re not giving him.”

“I’ve never met him,” Dean said, collapsing back onto the table. “I don’t know anything about any of this.”

“Roll over, please, Dean,” Charlie said. Dean did it without protesting, happy for the excuse to hide his face.

“Ohhh, that looks sore,” Charlie said, and Dean grumbled.

“My master and I talked about going your route,” Pepper said.

“Massage oil,” Charlie explained, as something warm dripped onto Dean’s ass. A moment later her hands were on him, kneading gently.

“Being nullified took a lot of play off the table,” Pepper kept going. “Weights are definitely a no-go now, but you should still be able to use clamps, probably. Do you know if he’s into piercing or needle play?”

Dean felt the need to press his knees together. What if his owner was into that stuff?

Dean didn’t think he’d be able to hold still for that. Would they tie him down, like they did when-

His heart was going too fast and he couldn’t breathe. He jerked away from Pepper, realizing too late that the table wasn’t wide enough to accommodate that action.

He hit the linoleum hard, the air rushing out of him.

“He can’t do that,” Dean gasped. “I don’t want that, please, please don’t let him-”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Charlie said, kneeling down beside him. She wasn’t touching him, which was good. Dean didn’t think he could handle being touched. He scrambled to his knees, then to his feet.

He had to get out of here. These people were crazy.

He bolted back toward the dormitory. The emergency exit. There was an emergency exit.

He could get outside, find some clothes-

He didn’t even make it to the dormitory. Two big guys appeared out of nowhere, grabbing him by the arms and shackling his wrists together. Dean writhed, screaming, trying to get out of their grasp, but there was nothing he could do.

He was trapped.

Chapter Text

“Whenever you’re ready, chief.”

Castiel was not ready.

He’d had the whole drive here to psyche himself up, and it was not enough time. He couldn’t get past the fear that he’d walk in and everyone would turn and just... know. They’d know he was faking it. That he wasn’t buying a slave as a recreational sort of sexual adventure- he was buying a slave because he couldn’t satisfy a real partner.

They’d know and they’d all just stare at him until he dropped the pretense and went home.

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Castiel asked for the thousandth time. Benny shook his head, grinning.

“To tell you the truth, I’ll admit a certain curiosity as to what they’ve got in there.”

Cas cut his eyes toward his manservant.

“Can I ask you something personal?” he asked. Benny leaned back in his seat, looking out the windshield. He didn’t look toward where Castiel sat, in the passenger seat, fiddling with his seatbelt.

“Shoot,” Benny answered.

“Do you ever... I mean, I know some people have rules and I don’t, but do you... the staff I mean... are you ever...”

“You asking if we’re getting busy down there?”

Castiel coughed. It was enough of a response.

“Yeah, sometimes. Ain’t much of a point making a big deal about it, though. Not like we can get married, start a family. No illusions there.”

Castiel thought of Dean again, naked on the grass of the lawn.

“If there was someone whose... whose job it was? To provide that service? Would you...?”

“Yeah, probably. Why, we getting a Christmas bonus this year?”

“Lucifer said something about having a use for Dean in his downtime. When I’m not... when I don’t require his attention.”

“Mighty generous of you,” Benny said amiably. “I’ll admit to a curiosity about the boy that finally broke through your reservations.”

Me too, Castiel thought. He took a deep breath and opened the car door.


The door did not have a bell, and when it opened, nobody turned around.

It was bigger than it looked from the outside, and there were more people than Castiel would have predicted.

To his left, everything was pink. To his right, everything was black. He decided to stay in the middle, for now.

Right inside the door, things seemed innocent enough. There were racks of standard slave clothing, but when Castiel ran his hand across the fabric, it seemed softer. Still mass-produced, but certainly of a higher quality than Castiel had seen elsewhere.

Several signs offered tailoring services.

Castiel passed through the racks for now. He wasn’t sure what Dean would like to wear, and it would be easy enough to get him clothing after he was home.

Past the racks of shirts and pants, though, Castiel found himself surrounded by undergarments. He took a half-step back, only to be stopped dead by Benny’s solid mass.

“You’re gonna want to go that way, boss,” Benny said, pointing toward the left side of the room. The mannequins on that side were more masculine, the fashions cut to flatter a wider build. The closest mannequin wore a pair of black bikini panties. As Castiel circled around, he saw that there was a heart-shaped cutout in the back.

He could see Dean wearing something like that.

Castiel circled the display four times before an associate approached him.

Lucifer had said to ignore them, but Castiel was slightly concerned that he might get stuck in a permanent orbit around the panty display.

“We can custom order other colors or styles, if you don’t see what you’d like,” the young man said, giving Castiel a little bow as he approached. “Do you have any questions?”

“Actually yes,” Benny said, before Castiel could decline the offer. “My friend here just bought his first pet and he’s not really sure what to expect.”

“Imported or domestic?” the man asked, addressing Benny rather than Castiel.

“Domestic,” Benny answered.

“Crowley’s,” Castiel added. “Do you know the place?”

“Trained there myself,” the young man answered, smiling. “First class, if my opinion counts for anything.”

“It was alright, then?” Castiel said quickly. “They were good to you, there?”

“Still miss the food sometimes,” the young man said, leaning in for a conspiratorial whisper. Benny laughed.

“So my friend’s in good hands, then?”

“The best,” the young man assured them, nodding. “What are you planning to do with them?”

Castiel opened his mouth but couldn’t make the words come out.

“What’s the normal setup for a bed slave?” Benny asked. “He’s not the overly adventuresome type.”

“Most people really aren’t,” the young man said. He gestured to the display. “Lingerie is a good first step. Are you interested in a collar to match?”

“A collar?” Castiel said quickly. He hadn’t considered a collar.

The young man nodded.

“We have more advanced pet play toys- paw mitts and ears and tail plugs and the like- but collars are a lot more mainstream. Especially for new slaves, a collar reminds them that their owner is proud to have them.”

“I think a collar would be nice,” Castiel mused. The clerk smiled, gesturing to a display near the wall.

“We have an extensive collection to choose from and of course, if you don’t see what you like, it can always be ordered. Do you need it to attach to other restraints?”

Castiel shook his head. He didn’t want to have Dean restrained. At least, not at first. Maybe when they were more comfortable with each other?

“Simple leather will probably be the most comfortable then. Speaking of comfortable- from the display you were admiring, I’m guessing your slave is the masculine type? Will you be needing a set of dilators for him?”

Castiel frowned.


The clerk nodded.

“So that he can prep for you in advance and be ready when you want him. Unless you aren’t planning on using his hole?”


Castiel could feel himself turning red. Dilators. Of course. He was talking about plugs.

“Yes, I think- I think I’ll need some of those,” Castiel said. The clerk gave no indication that he noticed Castiel’s embarrassment.

“We have a couple individual ones, but most of them are sold in sets. Do you have a preference?”

The clerk kept talking as he lead them over to a glass case. Inside were several sets of gradated anal plugs. They ranged from straw-thin to one almost as big as Castiel’s hand.

“Do you know his minimum size?” the clerk asked, and Castiel had to shake his head. Maybe he should call the facility and ask? Is that something they would know?

“If you don’t know the minimum, you should at least be able to figure out the maximum. If you’re into size kinks, well, the sky’s the limit. But if you’re just looking to prep for sex, you want one that’s slightly smaller than you are. That way he will still be tight for you, but it won’t be enough of a stretch to hurt him. Unless that’s what you want?”

“No!” Castiel said- maybe a little too quickly. He had no intention of trying to hurt Dean, particularly not during sex. Though by the look of the leather tools on the far wall, there might be other patrons here whose plans differed. “No, I’d like it to be enjoyable for- for both of us.”

As enjoyable as he could make it, anyway.

“You might be interested in this set, then,” the clerk said. He laid a leather case on the glass counter, unrolling it so that Castiel could see the contents.

There were five plugs, each longer and thicker than the last. Castiel picked one up, admiring the whorls of sparkling grey in the clear acrylic. The surface was lightly pebbled.

“These are plexiglas, so they can be worn long-term without worrying about the material degrading,” the clerk said. “If you want to keep him consistently plugged, the medium sized ones are designed for constant wear. And he can use the larger ones to stretch himself beforehand, or you can do that yourself, if you prefer.”

Castiel could picture Dean spread out on his bed, holding his knees up, freckled cheeks turning pink as Castiel worked the plug into him.

“Do you sell lubricant here?” he asked suddenly, and he could feel Benny laughing. Immediately he felt stupid. Of course they did.

The clerk didn’t comment, though, he just launched into an explanation of water vs silicone based lubricants and the many varieties available for each. Apparently, it came in flavors.

Castiel could imagine using those, too; using his fingers and tongue to open Dean up until he was wet and loose and begging.

According to the doctor Castiel had spoken to, Dean should still find it pleasurable to have his groin licked and stroked and played with. When Castiel was inside him, it would create friction against Dean’s prostate as well as the remaining parts of his cockhead. In theory, Dean should still be able to orgasm from being penetrated- and only from being penetrated.

Castiel had to close his eyes and concentrate, willing his hard on to go away. He was in public, dammit.

“Pick your three favorites,” he said quickly, interrupting the clerk. He’d been here a very long time and he wanted to go home. He still didn’t really know anything about having a bed slave, and this place wasn’t giving him any answers. It was just working him up.

He’d call Crowley’s and get Dean’s measurements, and then he’d come back again.

Maybe it would work better next time.




There was one very small, very dim light. Dean thought it might be an LED, but it was too dim to really tell.

His eyes had long since adjusted. The room was small, more or less empty, and the door was locked.

He had a cot, and a toilet, and a sink. And nothing else.

The walls were soft, coated in some kind of foam.

And there was no sound. Dean tried talking to himself and eventually had to stop. His own voice didn’t echo. It wigged him out.

Around dinnertime, someone brought him a tray of food. It didn’t come through a slot in the wall- the door actually opened and a woman handed him a tray. Salisbury steak, potatoes, corn. It wasn’t half bad.

The lights didn’t turn on.

Dean drank water out of the tap and eventually had to take a piss. Sitting down.

He was glad it was dark, because he got that much privacy, at least.

He took a piece of toilet paper and dabbed between his legs until it felt dry. He could feel a little slit that he assumed was his piss-hole, now.

He didn’t investigate too thoroughly.

Time passed and he assumed it must be getting late. He sat on the floor, his back to the soft wall, facing the door.

The light stayed exactly the same.

There was no sound.

He thought he might be dozing off, or maybe his mind was just wandering. He couldn’t tell daydreams from sleeping dreams. No one came to collect the tray.

Time passed.

Dean wondered if they’d leave him here for the next month. Or maybe they were calling his owner now, telling him to come pick Dean up early. What had his name been? Crowley had said it. It started with a C. Charles? Something weird. A foreign name, maybe.

Boy, was he in for a disappointment. He’d probably come to Crowley’s looking for someone like Pepper.

Dean scowled. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know about any of this shit. God knew Dean’s family was never rich enough to afford personal slaves. Well. Hadn’t been rich enough.

Sammy could probably buy one or two, now.

Not Dean. Not any time soon, anyway. Not after somebody dropped that much money on him.

Dean wondered what Sam was up to. If he’d checked his bank account balance yet. It had only been... what, four days? Since the money was deposited. Sam might not even know yet.

John might know. Probably not. Four days wasn’t long enough for the Winchester patriarch to sober up and come looking for him. John probably assumed that Dean was at work. And Sam was at school.

Dean laughed. He wouldn’t be wrong.

John would probably figure that Dean had run away. He’d rage around town for a couple days, maybe make a police report. The police would be able to tell John where he’d gone. The minute they searched for Dean’s name, the sale record would come up.

And John would be pissed.

But, like everything else about this hellscape of a situation; it was too late now.

Dean leaned his head back against the wall, looking up at the dim light. It was behind some kind of plastic dome, barely bright enough to stand out from the wall around it.

His eyes opened.

He hadn’t realized they’d been closed.

He felt like he might have drifted off. He was tired now, and he groggily hauled himself to his feet and got into bed. It was a solid block of memory foam, and there wasn’t even a sheet.

Dean curled himself into a ball. He wasn’t cold, or hot. He just wasn’t used to sleeping without a blanket.

He thought maybe he was drifting off, but he couldn’t tell. He was still tired, so he probably hadn’t slept too long.

Maybe it was morning, and he couldn’t sleep because he already had.

He closed his eyes again, counting silently in the darkness.

Eventually the door opened again. Dean expected someone to drop a food tray and leave, but instead, the lights brightened.

Dean sat up, blinking at the man standing in the doorway. The man was looking down his nose at Dean. Dean looked at the floor, unable to meet the man’s gaze.

“I see I have a lot of work to do,” the man sighed. “On your knees. Now.”

Dean slid off the bed, scrambling into a kneeling position. The man sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s a start.”

He crossed the room in two steps, his fingers knotting in Dean’s hair and pulling until Dean’s back was arched.

“Eyes down, and lace your hands behind your neck. Knees shoulder width apart.”

Dean shifted, hurrying to do what he was told. The man let go of his hair.

“Better,” he said quietly, looking Dean over. “Well. Introductions.”

He crouched down, raising Dean’s chin with one leather-gloved finger. Dean let himself be moved, but kept his gaze down.

“My name is Arthur Ketch. I’ll be your trainer this week.”


Chapter Text

Dean tried not to move, keeping his eyes down even as Ketch lifted his chin. The trainer turned Dean’s face back and forth, looking at him from both sides.

“I see why you went so high. Lots of potential here.”

People kept telling him that, but Dean didn’t feel like it much right now. Though traditional wisdom did say that the only place to go from rock bottom was up.

“I’ve noted in your file that you had a sub drop, rather than an escape attempt. Don’t make me regret it.”

“What’s a sub drop?”

The words were out before Dean even knew they were coming.

Jesus. Fifteen seconds in and he’d already blown it. Dean braced for a slap. Or maybe Ketch would strip his belt off and whip him.

“A sub drop is a dramatic change in body chemistry brought on by the end of an intense scene. It can cause people to act... out of character.” Ketch forced Dean’s chin higher, until Dean was meeting his eyes. “That was out of character for you, Dean, wasn’t it?”

“Yes sir,” Dean answered. He really hadn’t meant to run. He’d just been so scared-

“Good. Now we’re going to leave here. You’re going to follow me two steps behind and one to the left. Clear?”

“Yessir,” Dean answered. He could do this. Ketch let go of him and turned, not waiting to see if Dean was following. Dean scrambled to his feet and dropped into position. Two behind, one to the left.

He kept his eyes down, watching Ketch’s feet and not looking at anyone they passed in the hallway. Dean had no idea where they were going, and he was only a little surprised when they ended up back in the dormitory. Ketch didn’t stop, though. He carried straight on through to the locker room, which was mostly empty.

Dean realized there weren’t any windows. He had no idea what time it might be.

“Your first priority is to be presentable,” Ketch told him without turning around. “Every morning, you’re going to wake up, bathe, and clean yourself. Understood?”

“Yessir,” Dean said before he’d even really processed what had been said. “Aren’t bathing and cleaning the same thing?”

“No,” Ketch answered. Apparently, he already knew Dean’s number, because he went straight for locker twenty-eight. When he opened it, there was another set of neatly folded clothes, and what looked like a rubber hot air balloon. “Bathing is external, cleaning is internal. You’re to brush your teeth, use the toilet, clean out your hole, and then shower, washing every part of yourself. Is that clear?”

Dean swallowed, and nodded. Ketch handed him the rubber balloon.

“There are instructions on the wall of the lavatory. When you’re done, I want you to dress, come to my office, and kneel on the pillow beside my chair.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean answered. He wanted Ketch to leave so he could do this whole humiliating thing in private.

Fortunately, Ketch didn’t seem interested in the show. He turned on his heel and left.

Dean went through the door to the toilets, which thankfully included stalls. The stalls were wide, and each one had a sink. Above the sink were instructions on how to use the balloon, just as Ketch had said.

Awkwardly, Dean filled the bulb with warm water. He could already feel his ass refusing to cooperate.

He reached between his legs, probing tentatively at his hole. It wasn’t a body part he’d ever taken the time to really familiarize himself with. There hadn’t been a reason, until now.

He pushed a fingertip inside, a little surprised at how easily it went. The nozzle on the bulb was longer, but thinner... fuck it. He’d force it if he had to. He was done being awful at this.

He lined up the nozzle and pushed it inside, wincing in expectation.

It didn’t hurt.

He cramped a little when he squeezed the bulb, but the water was warm and it... wasn’t bad, actually.

He could hear water running somewhere, but he felt relatively confident that nobody was going to burst into his stall.

He emptied the water and then filled the bulb again, rinsing himself out a second time. This time it was even easier.

There was a soap dispenser by the sink and Dean washed the bulb and his hands, shaking his head a little.

It figured that out of all the things he’d fucked up so far, washing his own ass was apparently the one skill he did have. Better than nothing, he supposed.

He ditched the bulb back in his locker and grabbed a toothbrush from the dispenser. He carried it to the showers and brushed his teeth under the hot water. The water pressure here was good- better than it had been at his house.

Dean figured that he was going to have to make a habit of appreciating the small things.

He washed his hair and scrubbed down the rest of his body. He was starting to grow stubble on his belly and thighs and groin... he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to shave it or something. There weren’t any razors anyway so he left it alone.

If he was supposed to do something about it, he was pretty sure Ketch would say something. The guy seemed pretty straightforward- Dean liked him more than anyone he’d met at the facility so far. He didn’t play games. He gave orders.

Dean was good at following orders.

When he was clean and dry, he went back to his locker.

The panties today weren’t pink cotton. They were black and slinky and edged with lace. Dean imagined that they’d be pretty, on a woman. He turned them over in his hands, feeling the fabric. It was soft- softer than the cotton boxers he was used to.

He put them on quickly, glad that no one else was around to see how perfectly they fit.

There was a mirror in the corner, and Dean was careful not to look at it.

There was a plain cotton v-neck and a pair of soft cotton pants, black instead of grey today. Dean pulled them on and was about to close the locker door when he saw something else laying at the bottom.

He picked it up, looking at the label to verify that it was what he thought it was.

Lip gloss. Pale pink, with glitter.

Dean stared at it. This had to be a joke. Some prank- maybe Pepper had put it in there. There was no way he was supposed to wear friggin lip gloss.

Dean looked at the tube and felt tears welling up in his eyes. He angrily wiped them away.

It wasn’t a prank. This was here for him, and he was supposed to wear it.

He went over to the mirror, watching his own mouth in the mirror as he carefully applied the makeup. There wasn’t much of a color to it. Mostly it was just shiny. It made his lips look wet.

As he watched in the mirror, his tongue flicked out against his lower lip. It tasted like bubblegum.

His lip trembled and for a second, he thought he might smash the mirror from the sheer frustration of it.

But he didn’t smash the mirror. He put this lid back on the tube and put it back in his locker, and he went down the hall to try to find Ketch’s office.

It wasn’t hard.

The door was open and just like Ketch had said, there was a pillow beside the chair.

Dean knelt and waited for orders.

He was waiting a long time.

At first, Ketch didn’t even acknowledge the fact that Dean was there. There’s no way he didn’t notice; but he didn’t react. He continued writing on the same piece of paper he had been working on when Dean entered.

It was a relief, if Dean was being honest. He knew he’d done everything exactly as Ketch had ordered. He was exactly where he was supposed to be. If Ketch had any more instructions for him, he could follow those too.

For what felt like an hour or two, he was confident. He was still a little sore and he started thinking about trying to track Charlie down for another couple of pills- but that could wait until later. For now, he could stay here.

“Look at me,” Ketch said, and Dean was so startled that for a second he didn’t realize that Ketch was talking to him. It only lasted a second, though, and then he looked up. For the first time, he met Ketch’s eyes.

Ketch was looking at his mouth. He caught Dean’s chin, rubbing the pad of his thumb across Dean’s lower lip. He pushed further, smearing sticky-sweet across Dean’s tongue.

“You’re getting better at following directions. Suck.”

Dean closed his lips around Ketch’s thumb, doing as he was told. Ketch’s hand was big- there was no pretending that Dean was with a woman, even if he closed his eyes.

“Your owner hasn’t asked us to train your mouth. It’s too bad,” Ketch said. He pushed his thumb a little further along Dean’s lip, then drew it back. “You’re made for it. And I would have loved to break you in.”

Dean blushed, but he could feel his eyes sting. He didn’t want to cry, not in front of Ketch, but... he couldn’t imagine doing that. Not to Ketch, not to his new owner... not that he’d have a choice.

“Stand up, Dean. And push your pants down. You may keep your panties where they are.”

Dean opened his mouth, letting Ketch’s hand fall free. He stood, and only hesitated a second before pushing his pants over his hips. After being naked all day yesterday, being only in his underwear seemed like it shouldn’t be a big deal.

Ketch pushed his chair back from the desk, beckoning Dean closer.

“Lay across my lap. Face down.”

It felt weird to basically be laying on another full-grown man, and it didn’t help that Dean recognized this position. He was going to be spanked.

He grit his teeth, glad that his face was at least hidden. Ketch caressed his ass through the silk, pinching the skin where his cheek met his thigh.

“I’m going to give it to you bare-handed this time. I want you to know what that feels like.”

The first slap landed, and Dean whimpered. He was still sore from being paddled yesterday- though this wasn’t nearly as bad as that had been.

Ketch hit him again, and Dean felt a tear drop from his eye. It created a dark spot on the carpet, and Dean watched it absorb into the fibers as Ketch continued to spank him.

“I’m sorry,” he moaned when he felt he couldn’t take it any more. “I’m sorry, please, I’ll do better.”

Ketch’s hand landed softly on the curve of his ass, stroking the reddened skin beneath Dean’s panties.

“You’ve done wonderfully for me today. Why are you sorry?”

“For whatever I did,” Dean said. He didn’t want Ketch’s hand to make his sore ass feel better- but it did. “Whatever I’m being punished for.”

“This isn’t a punishment, Dean. This is called a maintenance spanking. You’ll be receiving one of these every day, whether you’ve misbehaved or not.”

Dean tried to sit up, but Ketch held him down with a hand between the shoulder blades.

“That’s not fair!” Dean protested. Ketch slapped him again.

“It doesn’t have to be fair. ‘Fair’ is a concept reserved for free people. Are you a free person, Dean?”

Dean felt Ketch’s hand slide beneath his panties, pushing the silky garment down his thighs.

“No,” Dean murmured. He closed his eyes.

“What are you?”

“A slave,” Dean murmured. Ketch’s hand vanished, and Dean could hear him opening a desk drawer.

God, he hoped Ketch wasn’t getting a paddle. He couldn’t handle a paddle on top of everything else.

Dean turned, looking to see what Ketch was holding, and he almost cried in relief when he saw a lubricant applicator instead of a paddle. He collapsed against Ketch’s thighs, letting his head hang.

The applicator didn’t seem as large as the one that the teacher had used in the classroom- and the lubricant itself was room temperature. Dean could feel it slicking his hole when the applicator was removed.

“I understand you had some resistance to wearing your plug yesterday,” Ketch said. He reached into the drawer again, and this time Dean didn’t turn around.

“I couldn’t make myself relax,” Dean admitted.

“Let me ask you a question,” Ketch said. Dean felt something rubbing against his entrance. “Whose hole is this?”

“My owner’s?” Dean guessed. Ketch laughed.

“You’re getting the hang of it. For now, let’s just assume you’re being loaned.”

“Yours,” Dean said, more confidently. “Sir.”

“Good,” Ketch said, and Dean felt something breach him. He hissed, expecting the pain to come- but it didn’t. The plug pushed a little further, met resistance, and withdrew.

“You’re not tightening as quickly, now,” Ketch said. He pushed the plug back into Dean, and then withdrew it again. “Your hole stays open even when it’s empty.”

“Sorry,” Dean murmured.

“It’s a good thing,” Ketch told him. He continued working the plug into Dean, pushing it in and retracting it, twisting it, getting Dean used to the idea of being filled. “It’s attractive to have a hole that’s open and wanting.”

Open, maybe. Dean couldn’t imagine being wanting. Just because Ketch wasn’t hurting him, didn’t mean he was ever going to enjoy this.

The plug was a cone shape, stretching Dean’s rim wider the deeper it went. And then, abruptly, it narrowed. Dean could feel himself tightening, the widest part of the plug trapped inside him.

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No, sir.”

Ketch stroked Dean’s ass, his hand trailing down Dean’s thigh. Dean tensed.

“Can I ask a question?”

His voice was small in the large room.

“Anything,” Ketch answered. He continued stroking, as though Dean hadn’t said anything.

“Are you going to... I mean...”

“Don’t waste my time, Dean. Say what you have to.”

“Are you going to have sex with me?” Dean blurted. He couldn’t think of a better way to phrase it.

“No,” Ketch answered. “I enjoy my work, but I’m not here to take advantage of you.”

Dean breathed out a sigh of relief. He’d been spanked and had a toy up his ass, but he wouldn’t be getting fucked. At least not here.

“You did well for me this morning. Would you like some lunch?”

“Yes, please,” Dean answered. He hadn’t realized he was hungry until Ketch mentioned it.

“Kneel back on the pillow,” Ketch said. “I’ll have food brought in.”


Chapter Text

Dean was fed one bite at a time. He got the impression that he wasn’t eating, so much as learning how to be fed. He sucked at Ketch’s fingertips, learning to press his tongue against the pad of each finger.

Ketch made no secret of the fact that it turned him on. With Dean kneeling beside him, the bulge in his slacks was at eye level. Dean felt safe ignoring that, though. Ketch had said that they weren’t having sex, and he didn’t strike Dean as a liar.

When they were finished, and someone had come to collect the tray, Ketch turned back to his work.

“When I have no use for you, your job is to sit and wait,” Ketch said, not looking away from his desk. “Do not speak, and do not fidget. If you need to use the toilet, you may excuse yourself, but do not dawdle. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said.

It was easier said than done.

Dean wasn’t used to kneeling for this long. The tendons in his thighs soon began to protest, and he found himself slumping. He tried not to.

Finally, he got up and went to the bathroom, more for a chance to stretch his legs than through any real need.

When he came back, Ketch did not acknowledge him.

Dean knelt back down, and did not sulk.

What was this supposed to be accomplishing? Who the hell wanted to buy a person to kneel next to them all day? Was it some kind of power trip?

He really wanted to ask, but Ketch had told him not to talk. Presumably, that meant no questions.

Was this going to be his job? Just... sit, all day? Sit and wait for his owner to get horny?

That couldn’t be all there was to it.




“I just want a copy of his measurements,” Castiel said into the phone.

He hated the phone. For the kind of money that went through Crowley’s place, Castiel felt like he should be able to text someone. Or email them. Anything but a phone call.

“We can certainly provide that, sir. Do you have a fax number or an email, or would you like me to read them off?”

Oh, good, so they could email people then. That information was good to know.

Castiel read off his email address, barely having to wait twenty seconds before the alert appeared in his inbox. He took note of the originating address. He was going to hoard that information like dragon gold.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?” the woman asked, and Castiel almost said no.

“Maybe one other thing,” he heard himself saying, and he was too excited to panic and back out now. “It’s been two weeks... how is Dean doing? The slave, I mean. I haven’t heard anything since I bought him.”

“Apologies, sir,” the woman said. “You should have gotten a status update three days post-op. I can look into it for you and see if I can get some information on his progress?”

“I’d appreciate it,” Castiel said, and ended the call.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Barely an hour later, he received another email. This one was from Crowley himself.

Deepest apologies for our lack of communication,’ it read. ‘For the inconvenience, we’ve provided a complimentary photo shoot. Please let me know if there is anything else we can do to ensure your satisfaction.’

There was an attachment, which downloaded in seconds, expanding automatically once it was complete.

Castiel clicked on the first photo and nearly had a heart attack.

It was Dean’s face, and he was wearing a black blindfold. This one was lacy and translucent, enough that Castiel could see a green sparkle beneath the fabric. He was staring up at the camera, his chin raised to show off the line of his throat.

The next shot was zoomed out to show the rest of Dean’s body, kneeling on what appeared to be a plush white rug. He was shirtless, his hands behind his back, dressed in a pair of tight black pants. They were unzipped, showing a smooth, hairless expanse of Dean’s abdomen.

Castiel clicked through the photos, getting more and more distracted when he saw the thick leather cuffs binding Dean’s hands together. They were unclasped, and then Dean was on his back, back arching as he pushed the pants over the curve of his ass. He was still looking into the camera, biting his full lower lip as he did. He rolled onto his stomach, his ass in the air as he removed a pair of lacy panties. They joined the blindfold in being cast off to the side, and then-

The final picture was Dean, fully naked, his fingers digging into his ass as he spread his own cheeks wide. There were only thin red lines where his cock and balls had once hung, and Castiel wanted desperately to rub his hands along that long expanse of skin. The only thing more distracting was the clear plastic toy holding Dean’s ass open. Inside, Dean was red and wet and ready, and Castiel was about ready to cream his pants.



No!” Dean screamed, louder this time. He pulled his knees to his chest, trying to hide himself from the other people in the room. The leather cuffs were still around his wrists. The jingling of the clasps seemed to call out the fact that they were the only thing he was wearing. He could feel tears running down his cheeks, and he hated that he was crying, now, on top of everything.

“I’m not going to ask you again, Dean,” Ketch said sternly, and it only made Dean cry harder, because he knew what that voice meant.

“Why would he even want that?” Dean asked. His voice broke halfway through.

“It doesn’t matter why. Your place is to obey, not understand,” Ketch said.

“Shot’s ruined anyway,” the photographer said. He was screwing a lens cap back onto his camera. “Once they start crying, you can’t do any more face shots and that kinda defeats the purpose.”

The light guy started packing up his gear, too. Dean could see Ketch was angry with him, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

He buried his face in his arms and sobbed.




They put him back in solitary.

He didn’t know how long. Days, maybe? The scheduling was inconsistent down there. They’d bring you breakfast three times in a row. He was pretty sure they weren’t spaced like regular meals either, but he had no way of knowing, obviously.

They kept the lights dark. There was nothing to do, and no way to do it. He couldn’t even kill time by showering or brushing his teeth.

By the time Ketch came for him, Dean barely even felt human.

The second the door opened, Dean dropped to his knees.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he pleaded. “Forgive me. Please. Please.”

“Are you ready to follow directions, now?”

“Yes sir,” Dean answered. He was, too. When Ketch had first ordered him to take the toy out and finger himself, the instruction had come as a shock. He couldn’t touch himself like that- it was gross, for one thing. And on camera.

“Yes, sir...” Dean whimpered. “I... practiced. Like you told me.”

In the dark, it had seemed safer. Like he was allowed to mess it up.

“How many fingers?” Ketch asked.

Dean felt his throat get tight.

“Three, sir.”

“Good. Clean yourself up and come to my office.”

Ketch didn’t wait for a response. He turned and left, and Dean stayed on his knees until the footsteps had retreated. Then he climbed shakily to his feet, and made his way to the showers.

He took his time, washing himself out until he was sure he was clean, before getting into the shower and turning the water to hot. There were other people in the showers with him, but he didn’t speak to them. No one acknowledged each other. There was no point making friends, here.

He washed himself down and went back to his locker. He was eager to wear clothes again, even if it meant the fancy lace panties that the facility seemed to prefer.

Except they weren’t there.

Dean rummaged around the tiny locker, pulling out his standard black shirt and pants. There were no panties. And perhaps even more distressingly, there was no plug.

Dean had been given a plug every single day of his training, ever since Ketch had slipped the first one inside him.

The absence was noticeable as Dean walked down the hallway. The cotton pants seemed to cling to him, and he was certain that it was obvious that he was wearing nothing underneath.

More worryingly, when he got the Ketch’s office, his pillow was not on the floor.

Dean would have knelt anyway, right there on the carpet, but Ketch was already standing.

“Good. Come with me.”

Dean followed with his eyes down, two steps behind, one to the left. He was very good at keeping pace with Ketch’s gait, now. He was so focused on maintaining his position that he almost didn’t notice when they got to a classroom.

There were at least fourteen people here- men as well as women.

Dean froze, his heart beating faster. Was he going to be paddled again?

“Into the chair, Dean,” Ketch said. Dean looked around, trying to figure out what he meant.

There was a short, padded table, similar to the one he had been castrated on. There were stirrups, too, which meant...

Dean didn’t think about it, he just went. When he reached the table, he looked to Ketch, who nodded.

Dean peeled his clothes off, and sat on the table.

“Dean is going to be so kind as to demonstrate for us,” said a man’s voice. “Ideally, you should be at least somewhat prepared in advance, but if that’s not possible, you will need to open yourself manually.”

“Three fingers,” Ketch ordered. Dean didn’t pretend he didn’t know what that meant.

“May I use lubricant, please?” he asked quietly. In solitary, he had been forced to spit on his fingers- here, perhaps they would take pity on him.

“To your left,” the teacher said. Dean looked- sure enough, there was a bottle of it there. It had to be at least quart sized, with a pump lid,

Dean took enough to liberally coat his fingers and then, exhaling, put his feet in the stirrups.

In a kinder world, the table would have allowed him to lay flat on his back. But this was a punishment- he sat upright, folded nearly in half, forced to meet the curious gazes of the students.

“Dean has been nullified, but this is a technique that does not change between sexes,” the teacher explained. Dean rubbed his fingers over his hole, getting it slick and ready. He didn’t want it to feel good, but somewhere along the way, it had started to. He was able to slide his first finger in almost immediately, burying it to the second knuckle before he was unable to go further.

He kept it inside, using a second finger to circle his rim. He was quickly able to slide that one in, as well.

He knew his face was flushed, and his breath was coming heavy, but there was nothing he could do to hide it. He tried not to moan as he twisted his fingers, stretching his hole further.

Soon, he was able to slide the third finger in.

The teacher said nothing, and Ketch did not offer additional orders, and so Dean simply held the position, working the digits in and out of his hole.

“Use both hands,” Ketch said suddenly. “Spread yourself open.”

Dean had to reach under his thighs, his fingertips barely even able to reach. He turned his head, burying his face in his shoulder.

“Hold,” Ketch said, and Dean did. He could hold for a long time, and he preferred it to being asked for something else.

He could feel his fingers sliding a little, his hole stretching open more just from the strain.

“This is the quick-and-dirty method,” the teacher said, crossing the room. He held up a thick silicon plug. “Most of your masters will be about this size, and with Dean stretched the way he is, this should fit inside him easily.”

For a heartstopping moment, Dean thought he was going to demonstrate. He grit his teeth and winced, sure that the massive toy was about to be shoved inside him.

Behind his eyes, the elevator doors were opening, eyes meeting his and widening as he bled on the floor. They’d known. Instantly, they’d known.

And now again, the pity and disgust as he was torn open-

“You may get dressed now, Dean,” Ketch said. Dean opened his eyes, looking around the room. The plug was sitting innocently on the desk of one of the students, who was examining it.

Dean scrambled off the table, eager to have his clothes on again. The lube between his legs was slippery and wet, and he wished he had a pair of cotton panties to contain it.

He kind of hated himself for the wish.


Chapter Text

“Did my owner like the pictures?” Dean finally asked.

Ketch hated it when he insinuated. If Dean couldn’t say it plainly, he wasn’t supposed to say it at all.

“He hasn’t commented one way or another,” Ketch answered. “Though I assume that if he disliked them, we would have heard something about it.”

Dean looked down at his knees. He was getting used to kneeling on the floor next to Ketch’s chair. Sometimes it actually felt nice to have a place, somewhere where he could just sit, and not have to worry about where his dad was or whether there was anything for Sammy’s lunchbox tomorrow.

“Do you think he’ll want me to do things like that very often?”

Ketch turned to Dean, considering him.

“If he does or doesn’t, what difference does it make to you?”

“None, sir,” Dean answered dejectedly. Ketch was right, of course. He just wished there was some clue about what his life was going to be like.

“You’ve been very good for me, Dean. If you’re concerned about being pleasing for your owner, I don’t think you have grounds to be overly concerned.”

Dean looked up at him, feeling a burst of satisfaction that he couldn’t quite justify. He didn’t want Ketch’s praise to make him that happy- but he couldn’t deny that it did.

“Thank you, sir,” Dean said. Ketch’s face was unreadable, and Dean was just about to drop his gaze again when Ketch leaned forward.

The kiss was unexpected, but not as unwelcome as Dean might have predicted. He worked on impulse, his tongue darting out against Ketch’s lower lip. There was stubble along his cheek, taking Dean’s breath away.

When Ketch pulled back, Dean looked up at him, wide-eyed.

“What does that mean?” he asked. It wasn’t precise, but his brain was firing a little slower than usual.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Ketch answered. “I wanted to do it. And I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t fight me on it.”

Dean’s heart was racing, and he couldn’t figure out why he wanted Ketch to kiss him again.

Was that a thing that happened? Did owners kiss their slaves?

Of all the things that Dean had pictured about being a bed slave, somehow, kissing had never come into the picture.

“I’m having a hard time with you, to be honest,” Ketch said, and Dean felt his good mood deflating. “Not because of anything you’ve done. Your owner is unusually uncommunicative regarding the outcome he’d like for me to reach.”

“What’s the usual outcome?” Dean asked. He kind of didn’t think he was supposed to ask, but his curiosity outweighed his caution.

“There’s no usual. If your owner wanted a toy, I’d be size-training your hole and teaching you to deep throat. If he wanted a trophy, I’d be teaching you forms and positions and a more respectful tone of voice. If he wanted to be dominated, I’d be teaching you how to wield a cane.”

Dean blushed. It hadn’t occurred to him that his owner might want Dean to spank him.

“What did he ask you to teach me?” Dean asked. Ketch scowled.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing, beyond the default skills that we teach to every outgoing slave. He’s put in no specialization requests whatsoever, and to be honest, I don’t know what to make of it.”

Dean suspected he knew what to make of it. When he’d applied to become indentured, he had to provide his education records, and presumably his owner had seen them. He knew Dean was a dropout with a low GPA- ‘dumb as a stone,’ as John liked to put it.

Dean wouldn’t waste time trying to teach someone at stupid as him, either.

He didn’t volunteer this information to Ketch. He was pretty sure that it wouldn’t end well for him. And he liked that Ketch thought Dean could be taught. It was nice to live in that fantasy for a little while.

Ketch was looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“He wants something from you that the average street worker is unable or unwilling to provide. If my past experience is anything to go by, I predict your owner is somewhat of a sadist.”

Dean almost rolled his eyes. Of course the guy was a sadist.

“He had my dick cut off,” Dean said sullenly. Ketch shook his head.

“No, he had you altered. A lot of painplay involves the penis and testicles. Removing them fully takes that play off the table. Altered the way you are, your penis is available for his use, but not yours.”

“Next you’ll tell me that I’m pretty when I cry,” Dean said, scowling. Ketch nodded.

“You may not like it, but that is very much the case. I suspect you’ll be ordered to do a lot of things that you will find both painful and degrading. The best I can do, is make sure that you’re able to obey those orders.”

Dean looked down. ‘Painful and degrading.’ That sounded about right. It certainly described his run-in with Michael.

“What if I can’t obey?” Dean asked quietly. He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Then you’ll be punished,” Ketch said brusquely. He looked down, noticing Dean’s dismay. “It’s a shame- you try so hard to be good. Don’t think I don’t notice. But sometimes you’ll be set up for failure.”

“Maintenance discipline,” Dean said darkly.

“And not an ideal sort, for someone of your temperament,” Ketch added. “You just have to accept that sometimes, pleasing your master means that you must fail.”

Dean nodded, looking down. He wished he’d never started this conversation.

Ketch was looking thoughtful.

“It’s been almost three weeks since your operation. I’m going to send you back down to the spa to have your hair removed. When you return, I’m going to have something new for you.”

Dean didn’t like the sound of that at all, but he didn’t argue. Instead he stood and nodded, giving Ketch a small bow as he left.

He really hoped that Charlie was on duty at the spa, and he was thrilled when he found here there- and Pepper nowhere to be seen.

“They finally let you out of solitary, huh?” Charlie asked sympathetically. She led him to a different room this time, though the decor was mostly the same. There was another long padded table, and Dean lay down without being asked.

“I was only in for a couple days. I’ve been busy with a trainer,” Dean answered. ‘Busy’ probably wasn’t the term. Dean spent most of his days sitting still and being quiet. Still, it occupied his time.

“Which one?” Charlie asked. She handed him a pair of sunglasses and gestured for him to pull his pants down. Dean wrinkled his nose at the glasses.

“Ketch. And who wears sunglasses inside?”

“People who don’t want their eyes damaged by lasers,” Charlie answered, donning her own glasses. “I know Ketch. He’s good. You like him?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered. He was being honest about it, too. “Is this really a laser?”

“It’s a really bright light,” Charlie admitted. “Not exactly a laser.”

She shook a can of shaving cream and laid a line down Dean’s belly.

“You can do that in the dark?” Dean asked, a little nervous as she ran a safety razor across the growing stubble.

“Not always,” she answered. “But you’re pretty easy.”

It took him a second to work out her meaning. He was easy- because he was smooth. It only took a few strokes of the razor before she was done. Dean looked down- he couldn’t help the curiosity.

With his incisions mostly healed up, he had to admit that there was... a little bit of appeal. His belly flowed into the mound over his pubic bone. It was very... touchable. Which he supposed was the point.

“You probably don’t remember from last time, but this is going to be very warm,” Charlie said. She dragged a huge machine over to the table, removing what looked like a barcode scanner. She pressed it against his belly. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Dean said, nodding his head.

From his conversation with Ketch, he honestly expected it to hurt. Charlie moved the scanner quickly across his skin, leaving a trail of heat behind it. It got hotter the further down she went, and by the time she was between his legs, he was struggling to hold still. It felt like he was being stabbed with tiny, red-hot needles.

She repeated the whole process on his thighs, taking everything above the knee.

“Why stop there?” he asked. He wasn’t angling for more, he was genuinely just curious.

“It doesn’t matter as much. It’s softer anyway, not as dark. And if you have stubble, it doesn’t interfere with most of the things your owner will want to do.”

Whatever those are, Dean thought darkly. Charlie didn’t ask him about it, for which he was grateful.

“Last part,” Charlie said. “Turn over.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised. And honestly, it shouldn’t embarrass him any more.

It still did, especially when Charlie asked him to remove his plug and hold his cheeks apart so she could work. Dean kept his eyes closed, trying not to think about the incredibly sharp blade sliding across his most vulnerable parts.

“You’re healing well,” Charlie said after a moment. “There’s no sign of the paddling, and the marks around your hole are almost totally gone.”

“Nobody’s shoved anything big up there for a while,” Dean grumbled.

“Lucky you,” Charlie said. She genuinely sounded glad for him. Dean suddenly wondered what Charlie’s story was. Did she have an owner? Did the facility own her?

He didn’t ask. Honestly, he didn’t really want to know. Charlie was such an upbeat presence- he didn’t want to know if it was all a front for something darker.

“Gonna be hot,” Charlie warned, and Dean winced as she moved the scanner over his skin. Fortunately, there wasn’t much surface area, and she was done quickly.

She looked away while Dean re-inserted his plug.

“Do you want another application of the scar cream?” she asked, when he was done.

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all!”

She sounded like she meant it, too.

“I can do it myself,” Dean said apologetically. “You don’t have to touch me.”

“If you don’t want me to do it, say so,” Charlie said, looking over at him. “But I’m a physical therapist. I touch people all day long. I’m not perving on you.”

“Can you...” Dean felt stupid even asking- like she’d opened up to him and he was going to sully the whole exchange. “Can you rub my back again? Like you did the first time I came here?”

Charlie smiled.





Castiel clicked back and forth between the pictures.

He’d looked at them a hundred times in the last week, fluctuating between terror and enthusiastic anticipation.

These two, though. There was something different about these two.

For most of the stills, Dean was either blindfolded, or facing away from the camera.

In these two, though, he was looking straight into the lens.

And there was something that Cas couldn’t... quite put his finger on.

He was probably being stupid. Dean was a sex worker, Castiel knew that. There wouldn’t be genuine arousal on Dean’s part, just carefully constructed acting. It was the most Castiel could expect to hope for, and he didn’t hold that against Dean.

But there was something on Dean’s face...

Castiel was probably imagining it. He wasn’t good at nuanced facial expressions on the best of days. It was why he preferred to do most of his communication via text. So whatever he thought he saw on Dean’s face, it probably wasn’t there.

He was probably projecting, imagining that Dean looked as nervous as Castiel felt.

He clicked between the pictures again, zooming in on the bright green of Dean’s eyes.

Castiel bit his lip.

He should just delete these two. There were a dozen more in the folder, and every single one of them was a work of erotic artwork. Exactly what Castiel had expected when he bought a slave to take to bed. A part of him knew- had known going in- that there would be moments when the facade would slip, and the slave’s indifference would shine through.

Dean was his property, not his lover. It wouldn’t do him any good to forget that.

Castiel closed out of the folder. He had work to do.




When Dean returned to Ketch’s office, he felt much better than when he’d left. His muscles were loose and relaxed, and his skin still smelled lightly of Charlie’s vanilla massage oil.

She hadn’t been lying about perving on him. It wouldn’t have occurred to Dean that a naked massage could possibly be nonsexual and yet... there it was.

He wished he had something he could do for her in return, but everything he owned came out of a numbered locker.

Dean got to Ketch’s doorway and froze. He’d completely forgotten that Ketch was going to have something ‘new’ for him.

The ‘something new’ was an upright cage in the center of the room, exactly large enough for a single person to stand in.

“Sir?” Dean asked. He didn’t want to get closer to the cage.

“Good, I’m just finishing,” Ketch said. There was a worrying amount of wire spread across his desk. “Come here.”

“What is that?”

“That’s just a cage. Don’t worry about the cage. This, on the other hand,” Ketch lifted a handful of wire. “This is an electronic stimulus unit, and it’s going to hurt.”

Dean’s stomach turned to ice.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing. Take your clothes off.”

Dean’s throat tightened. It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t done anything wrong- and Ketch had even said that maintenance discipline wasn’t good for him. So what the hell was this?

He stripped his clothes off, glowering at the cage. As soon as he was finished, Ketch handed him a slim metal plug.

“If you would,” Ketch said, nodding toward Dean’s midriff. Dean gaped.

“You can’t be serious!”

“Question me again, and the duration of this lesson is going to double,” Ketch said. He didn’t make eye contact with Dean. He removed a handkerchief from his desk and handed it to Dean.

Closing his eyes, Dean crouched down and removed his plug, wrapping it in the handkerchief and replacing it with the thin metal one.

“Into the cage, then,” Ketch instructed, and Dean went. It was just tall enough to contain him, to narrow to even turn around.

“Hands,” Ketch ordered. Dean held out his wrists, and Ketch shackled them together with wide leather cuffs.

“Are you going to be photographing this?” Dean asked nervously. He recognized those cuffs.

“I haven’t decided,” Ketch answered. He pulled Dean’s hands forward, securing them to the top of the cage. When he was satisfied, he closed the door with a clang.

Dean suddenly felt very alone.

Ketch circled the cage, applying stickers to Dean’s body. They felt wet, and they had wires leading off of them. He reached between Dean’s legs, connecting a thin wire lead to the plug, as well. Dean tried to hold as still as he possibly could, unsure of what would trigger whatever device Ketch was setting up.

He got stickers on the inside of his knees, his inner thighs, his groin, his belly, and his underarms. Ketch went back to his desk and retrieved three wired claps. He affixed two of them to Dean’s nipples, and then gestured for Dean to open his mouth.

Dean felt himself tearing up as the tight clamp closed on his tongue.

He could feel himself shaking, each sensation horrifically magnified as he waited for the torture to start.

Ketch circled to the back of the cage, crouching down behind Dean.

“On your toes,” he said, and Dean obediently rose up onto the balls of his feet. He could feel Ketch’s hands moving over his heels and ankles, but he couldn’t look down to see what was happening.

“This is a contact pad,” Ketch said, as though he’d heard Dean’s confusion. “When your heel touches the ground, it’s going to complete a circuit and you’re going to receive a shock. The distribution is random- you might get tongue or thighs or nipples or all three. No way to tell.”

Dean whined, rising further onto his toes.

“Listen, because this is important. The scene will be over after fifteen shocks. If it takes an hour or half a day- fifteen shocks. But.” Ketch paused here, making sure that Dean was paying attention. “If you drop when I instruct you to, it will count as two. So if you can obey orders, you can get out of this with as few as eight actual shocks. Do you understand?”

Dean nodded. He didn’t want to talk with the clip on his tongue- he knew it would sound ridiculous and he didn’t want to add insult to injury.

“Good,” Ketch replied. “Do it now.”

Dean’s heart pounded faster. He tried to look down at his feet, and couldn’t see anything, so he looked at his hands, instead. The thick leather kept them utterly immobile. There was nowhere he could go.

He held his breath, and dropped.

Instantly, pain bloomed across his thighs and he screamed. He yanked himself back up, his hands holding tight to the bars above his head.

The current had lasted less than a second, but for that second, he was sure he was burning. He looked pleadingly up at Ketch. He couldn’t do that seven more times.

“That’s two,” Ketch said. He nodded, satisfied, and went back to his desk.

Dean waited, sure that any second Ketch was going to come to his senses and come disconnect the electrodes. This... this was torture. They couldn’t do this.

He was starting to feel it in his calves, up the back of his legs. He tensed his biceps, trying to keep himself off the ground. He wouldn’t be able to hang off his arms for long- that much was obvious.

He looked back to Ketch, desperate for an order. He was going to slip- and soon. He couldn’t let it count as one, he needed the extra.

Ketch didn’t so much as glance at him, and Dean buckled. His heel hit the floor and pain exploded across his chest. He couldn’t tell if it was under his arms or on his nipples, or both. He screamed, trying to curl himself around the pain and not having the room to do so.

“Again,” Ketch said. He was looking now. Dean met his gaze, wide-eyed. He shook his head wildly, his resolve utterly gone. He couldn’t do it again. Not so soon.

Ketch was insane.

Already, Dean’s calves were starting to cramp again. He let out a sob, his fingers tightening on the bars of the cage.

Please,” he begged, Ketch shook his head.

“There’s one way to get out of this faster, and you already know what it is. You are at three.”

He went back to his work. Dean slammed his fists against the bars, using his teeth to push the clip off his tongue.

“Why?” he demanded. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you still think that’s a question you’re entitled to ask,” Ketch said evenly. “And the only thing I can do for you, is break you of that misconception.”

“I hate you,” Dean hissed. The arch of his foot cramped and his heel went down again, sending waves of electricity across his belly. He screamed, as much in rage as in pain.

“I did not volunteer you for this, Dean. I did not put a gun to your head and demand your submission. You did that. My only job, is to ensure that you’re able to deliver what you promised.”

Dean hung his head. He could feel tears running down his face. He had no argument for that.

Ketch wasn’t doing this to him. His new owner wouldn’t be doing it to him, either.

He’d done it to himself.

“Again,” Ketch said, and Dean went.

Chapter Text

“I want to talk to him,” Castiel said.

Benny looked into the rearview mirror.




They were driving back from Castiel’s bi-monthly visit with his mother. It had not gone well. It never went well, but this time it had been particularly bad.

Naomi was talking about grandchildren again. Particularly Castiel’s children because heaven knew Lucifer wasn’t owning up to his. If he had any, which he vehemently denied.

Castiel had never been able to explain to her, in a way that her generation could understand, that she was not going to get any grandchildren from Castiel. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find a wife- it’s that he wasn’t looking for one.

The sixth time Naomi mentioned her wonderful new friend from book club who oh by the way had a lovely daughter and wouldn’t Castiel like to come have supper with them some night Castiel had given up and blurted out that he had bought a male slave.

Naomi had gaped and frowned and gone silent, and puzzled it through in her head, and for a moment, Castiel thought that she might finally understand.

And then she came to some conclusion in her head and explained that Rachel’s daughter wasn’t anti-slavery and so there was no reason that Castiel couldn’t bring his new acquisition to supper if he so chose.

Castiel was very very tired and he wanted to go home and look at the photos of Dean and take a nap. But the photos had taken a sour tone for him. He couldn’t shake off the look on Dean’s face and it was bothering him.

“Can I send you there? With a phone?” Castiel asked. Benny looked like he was going to turn around in his seat.

“You must be really gone on this guy if you’re gonna make an actual phone call.”

“I was planning on texting him.”

“And you don’t think Crowley’s place would get him a laptop if you called and asked?”

Castiel frowned. They might. But then, the laptop would belong to the facility. And there might be someone else there in the room with Dean, telling him how to answer- if it was even Dean on the phone at all.

Castiel was aware that he was being rampantly paranoid. He had a tendency to do that sometimes and back when he’d gone to a therapist, it had been something they’d worked hard to overcome. Castiel went through the facts in his head. Crowley’s facility had an incredible reputation. He’d heard nothing but positive things from other owners- as well as people who had trained there. The staff seemed well-informed regarding their stock, and the slaves themselves looked healthy and well cared for.

In Dean’s photos, he didn’t look malnourished or sickly. There were no bruises or lacerations that would indicate that he was being abused. His hands were cuffed- but only for the photo shoot. And the cuffs looked comfortable and well-fitting. And Dean wasn’t being asked to do anything particularly strenuous or painful. There was a toy in his anus, but it didn’t look particularly large.

In short, there was no reason to assume that Dean was being mistreated. And furthermore, there was no reason to believe that the facility would intentionally try to hide the mistreatment from Castiel.

“I want you to go over this afternoon,” Castiel said. He could feel Benny struggling not to say something. He knew about Castiel’s paranoia, and he’d called it out before.

This time though, it seemed he was willing to humor his owner.



Dean was spacing out on his pillow when he got the summons.

Immediately, he was gripped with terror. Ketch had dropped the maintenance spankings in favor of random and increasingly painful scenes. Dean never knew when they were coming or what they would be- only that complying made Ketch happy, and disobeying made him angry.

Dean couldn’t help but glance over at Ketch- but his trainer seemed as surprised as he was. He gestured with his hand, giving Dean permission to go.

The woman who had come to fetch it didn’t provide any additional information- just led him down a hallway and into a small room. It was dimly lit with floor lamps, and contained a number of upholstered chairs.

Seated in one of the chairs was the largest man that Dean had ever seen.

Dean faltered, but quickly regained his composure. He scanned the room and located a thick pillow just to the side of one of the chairs. He knelt down on it, nodding to the man in the chair.

“If you need anything else, I’ll be just outside the door,” the young woman said. Then she retreated, leaving the two of them alone.

“You’re Dean?” the man asked. He was older than Dean- in his late forties maybe. He had some kind of accent but Dean couldn’t place it yet.

“Yessir,” Dean answered. He didn’t look up. He wasn’t supposed to look at owners unless he’d been invited to do so. This guy looked like an owner, even if he wasn’t Dean’s owner.

Dean’s owner would know what he looked like- right? Had the guy bought him sight unseen?

“Yeah, that tracks,” the guy said. Dean could feel the guy looking him over. He still didn’t look up.

It occurred to him that this might be another one of Ketch’s tests. That this guy might order him to strip and bend over one of these chairs. It didn’t take a genius to realize that Dean was terrified of being raped again. It would probably be in Ketch’s best interests to make sure he wouldn’t freak out the minute it looked like he might get fucked.

“Here,” the guy said. Dean glanced up. The guy was holding out a cell phone. Slowly, Dean took it.

There was a single text message on the screen.

Hello Dean.

Dean glanced up at the guy.

“What do I do?”

“Say hello, probably,” the guy said. He looked like he was watching a toddler learn to walk. Dean scowled. He knew how to text people- he just wasn’t sure why this guy wanted him to.


Instantly, the phone indicated that the other person was typing.

How are you?

Dean had no idea how to answer that. How was he? Been better, if he was being perfectly honest.

Who are you? he typed instead.

Castiel Novak. I bought you. Did they not tell you my name?

They did. I just wasn’t expecting to meet you via text message.

I’m sorry. I’m bad on the phone and I wasn’t sure I could justify a personal visit.

Dean frowned at the phone. Couldn’t justify a personal visit? What the hell did that mean? The guy had more money than god. If Dean had two and a half million to blow on getting laid, it wouldn’t even cross his mind to justify anything to anyone, ever.

Dean did not say this.

He stared at the phone, questions running through his head. Was the guy really a sadist? Was Dean going to spend the rest of his servitude in a basement rape-dungeon somewhere? Ketch was careful never to leave marks on him- was that a universal thing? And why, why had he bought someone like Dean, only to have him emasculated? Was it a punishment? Had he heard about the incident in the elevator?

Dean did not ask these things. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know the answer. He took a deep breath. What would Ketch tell him to say?

What can I do for you?




Castiel stared at the phone, his stomach turning around in knots.

His slave was nothing but polite- if confused about the purpose for the conversation.

Castiel bit his lip. What had he pulled Dean away from? Dean was still recovering from surgery- had he been resting? Had Castiel pulled him out of class? Was he even taking classes yet, or was he still on bed rest?

Castiel did not ask these things. He was painfully aware that these were things he probably should know.

What can I do for you?

Castiel wasn’t expecting that question. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected at all. For Dean to fall at Benny’s feet and beg for rescue?

There was some small part of him that was certain that Dean would be arrogant, resentful. That the moment Castiel made contact, Dean would scream at him that he was a monster; that he had no right.

I wanted to check on you, Castiel said truthfully. He didn’t have the ability to play games or make innuendo. Is your recovery going well?

As well as can be expected. I hope you’re happy with the result.

Castiel had no doubts there. What he’d seen in the photos was more than enough to reassure him.

Are you taking classes yet?

This time the response took longer to come. Castiel started to worry that he’d said something wrong.

I have a personal instructor. He seems confident that I’ll be able to do what you want.

I have no doubt, Castiel said honestly. They seemed very competent when I toured the facility the day I bought you. It seems like a nice place.

Food’s good, came the replay. Castiel smiled. He wondered what kind of food Dean liked. He’d have to let Anna know immediately.

Do you want anything? he asked. He was sure that the facility provided for all of Dean’s needs, but there might be something he wanted once he came home.

A date with the masseuse they’ve got working here, Dean said. It took a long time for him to type. Castiel smiled. Dean was joking, of course, but the fact that he was comfortable and happy enough to do so meant that Castiel had been paranoid after all.

I’ll see what I can arrange, he typed back. Give the phone back to Benny.

Will do.

No more messages came through, which meant that all had gone well for Benny, in getting in and out of the facility. Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been imagining all the trouble after all.

He didn’t like the thought of Dean being mistreated- even the thought of his own preferences gave him a twinge of guilt in his belly.

He’d always assumed that they would be impossible- that anyone as beautiful as Dean would have to have restrictions on their contract. No sex. No modification. Castiel had stayed out of facilities like Crowley’s for years, in part because he was certain that he would be met with a wall of judgement and denial.

And then to find someone like Dean, the first time he’d looked.

Castiel smiled, and went back to his work.




Dean wasn’t sure what to expect when he got back to Ketch’s office. He entered without knocking and went quickly to his pillow.

Ketch almost immediately turned his attention to the kneeling slave.

“What was that all about?”

“I guess... my owner wanted to talk to me,” Dean said. Ketch’s eyebrows went up.


“He asked me how I was doing,” Dean said, frowning. “And apparently he only talks via text message.”

Ketch leaned back, nodding.

“He may be hard of hearing. Many of our older clients are. It’s usually not much of an issue- he didn’t buy you for the conversation, after all.”

Dean looked down. He tried not to think about how old ‘Castiel’ might actually be. The name sounded archaic. What if the dude was like ninety years old?

“He asked me if I wanted anything,” Dean added, remembering suddenly.

“What did you tell him?”

“I said I was doing alright,” Dean said. He relaxed further back onto his heels. “I mean, I didn’t complain or anything.”

“Good,” Ketch said. “I know you have a difficult time with your training on occasion, but everything we’ve done falls within the constrains of both the law and your personal contract.”

“I know,” Dean said quickly. He didn’t want to hear this lecture again. “I didn’t tell him about what we’ve been doing. I mean, I said I had a trainer but I didn’t mention the stuff that you’ve been introducing me to. I know you’re going out on a limb with it, as it is.”

“I appreciate that. Many owners enjoy the ‘firsts,’ as it were... but they also have a higher rate of placement rejection. The line I walk is a narrow one.”

Dean said nothing, not quite having it in him to commiserate with Ketch’s professional woes.

He had problems of his own.


Chapter Text

Tears streamed down Dean’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Ketch said evenly. “Do better.”

“I’m trying, I’m sorry.”

The cane landed again, and Dean screamed.

“What did I just say?” Ketch asked. Dean opened his mouth to apologize again, and snapped it shut before the words could escape.

“I’m trying, sir,” he corrected.

“Good. You only have another two weeks and if you can’t get this under control, you’re going to be utterly useless.”

Ketch slipped the plug back between Dean’s cane-striped cheeks. Dean didn’t react. He just stood, trembling, dreading the order that he knew was coming.

“Wash your face, you look horrid,” Ketch said. “Then come back and try again.”

Dean nodded and went into the bathroom, grabbing the wet washcloth and scrubbing like he could make the redness and misery disappear with the tears.

It wasn’t that hard, he told himself. He could do this.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the bathroom door open and walked back into the adjoining bedroom. He didn’t look toward the fireplace, where Ketch was sitting and watching. Instead, he headed for the bed.

The nightstand had a small drawer, and Dean removed his plug and placed it on a small tray inside. There was lubricant there, too, but Dean knew better than to try to procrastinate with that again.

Instead, he turned his attention back to the bed. It was a king size, done up with blue sheets and a dark gray comforter that was still wrinkled from Dean’s last attempt.

Keeping his eyes on the pillows, Dean climbed onto the bed on all fours. He didn’t need to look back in order to see the stainless steel contraption, the brushed-chrome arm holding a thick rubber cock at just the perfect height.

Dean positioned himself on all fours, his eyes fixed ahead, his knees spread wide and his back arched. This was the position that Ketch had taught him to take, and they’d perfected it by the time the doctor cleared Dean for full service.

Dean leaned back, feeling the head of the dildo brushing against his ass. He froze, unable to move further.

“Fuck yourself,” Ketch instructed. There was no trace of impatience in his voice, nothing to give away the punishment awaiting Dean if he failed again.

Dean pushed back against the dildo, feeling it shove against his hole, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He could see the white lights of the elevator, feel Michael’s breath on the back of his neck.

Dean collapsed forward, dry-heaving over the side of the bed. His knees curled under him, protecting his ribs and belly from Michael’s boots and fists.

Ketch sighed loudly.

“All fours,” he said, and Dean whimpered.


“There’s no ‘please’ that will get you out of this, Dean. You have to learn to do this. And if you won’t, then I have to punish you. All fours.”

Dean rose onto his hands and knees, his head hanging as he presented his sore ass for punishment.

Ketch took the paddle hanging from one of the bedposts, making sure Dean could see it.

“Five strokes, and then we will try again.”

Dean barely felt the paddle hit- it was the cane marks that lit up in hysterical agony, drawing a scream from his throat. He felt like Ketch was hitting him with piano wire. There was a deep, throbbing ache underneath the sharper lines of pain, and Dean didn’t think he’d be sitting for a week.

Despite all that, the thought of that rubber cock scared the hell out of him- more than the pain he was currently experiencing, and apparently more than the fear of future pain.

The agony barely spiked when the paddle came down, it was only a temporary change on the ongoing inferno that was Dean’s ass. It wasn’t until Ketch cleared his throat that Dean realized the punishment was over.

“I’m trying,” Dean said weakly.

“I can see that,” Ketch answered. “What I don’t understand is why you’re failing. Is it because you still picture yourself as straight? That shouldn’t be an issue. Your sex and orientation have both been utterly negated.”

Dean’s eyes burned, and he shook his head. “Straight” wasn’t an option for him anymore.

“I keep remembering... the last time. When I first came here.”

Ketch nodded, thinking.

“Your tryst with Michael, I remember. It didn’t end well for you.”

Dean closed his eyes tighter. He felt Ketch’s hand land on his lower back, stroking him absently.

“You’re going to get a twenty minute break while I assemble my gear,” Ketch said, still petting him. “I’m going to put you in a sensory deprivation hood. You’ll be strapped onto a breeding bench, and when you’re completely immobile, I’ll have the machine penetrate you without your participation.”

Dean felt the blood draining from his face.

“Let me try again, I can do it, sir-”

“Obviously you can’t,” Ketch interrupted. “But I think after a couple hours of training, you’ll have a better idea of what to expect when you can.”

Dean felt like his heart had stopped. He couldn’t use the toy to fuck himself, but being held down while it was forced into him was worse. So much worse.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “Please don’t do that, sir, please, let me try-”

“I don’t have time for you to be apologetic,” Ketch said. He stood, heading for the door. “Twenty minutes. I suggest you drink some water and use the toilet.”

Ketch shut the door behind him and Dean was left lying on the bed. His ass throbbed. He didn’t want to sit up. He definitely didn’t want to walk down to the cafeteria and get a drink- but Ketch had given him an order.

Gingerly, Dean rolled into a sitting position, trying not to look in the direction of the stationary fucking machine. He knew what it looked like- or knew what the important part looked like. Seven inches long, at least five in diameter, the shaft ribbed with thick veins and the head realistically detail. It was soft rubber molded around what felt like iron but was probably hard plastic. It drooped a little, and it had some give to it.

Dean felt tears rising in his eyes and he stood quickly. He wanted to get dressed before he left this room. There was no rule against walking around naked, but he didn’t want the other slaves to see his cherry-red ass. Being a fuckup was bad enough; he didn’t need everyone to know.

He pulled on his panties- lemon yellow cotton today, with just a little frill around the waistband. His cotton shirt and sleep pants were both black today, and he was grateful that they covered the yellow.

There was a knock on the door and Dean’s heart leapt into overdrive. It couldn’t have been twenty minutes already- he was about to protest the timing when he realized that Ketch never knocked.

The door opened and Dean recognized the same woman that had come to fetch him before.

“Another phone call?” he guessed. He didn’t think he was allowed to leave without Ketch’s acknowledgement.

The woman gave a small shake of her head.

“Someone’s come to collect you.”

Dean frowned.


“Not my position to ask. I’m just here to get you.”

“My trainer isn’t here.”

“I see that,” she said dryly. Dean scowled.

“I mean, I don’t have permission to go.”

“Yes you do,” she said. “Your trainer will be notified. Now move.”

Dean wasn’t fully on board with this plan, but he didn’t really have an excuse to protest, either. Anything that delayed Ketch’s next lesson was a win in Dean’s book.

He wasn’t surprised when they took a new turn, ending up in a large glass foyer. The same huge man from before was waiting there, leaning easily against the reception counter. A nearby security guard looked like he’d like the man to leave.

“Here he is, sir,” the woman intoned. The man nodded to her and she vanished.

“You got all your shit?” the man asked Dean. Dean blinked.

“There’s nothing of mine here,” he said slowly, trying not to sound argumentative. “They uh, they disposed of it all while I was being processed.”

“Course they did,” the guy grumbled. Dean felt a flicker of nervousness. Was he going to have to leave the clothes here? The big guy didn’t have anything on him, and Dean’s current clothing belonged to the facility. Walking around naked inside was one thing, but when Dean looked out the front windows, he could see a sidewalk, and traffic passing by.

With a jolt, he realized that this was the front door- the same one he’d been turned away from the first time he came here.

“Can somebody get my boy here some shoes?” the big guy yelled at no one in particular. Dean flinched. The receptionist flinched, too, before turning back to the computer and typing quickly.

It took less than a minute for someone to show up with a pair of plain black slip-on shoes. They handed them to Dean and scurried off.

“C’mon then,” the big guy said, turning toward the door.

Dean followed him- two steps behind and one to the left, just in case. He didn’t ask the guy’s name. The guy clearly knew his, and hadn’t made an effort to introduce himself. It wasn’t until they got to the car that the man spoke again.

“Front seat. I’m driving.”

The car was a sedan, modest exterior but leather interior. The moment they got inside, the dashboard chimed and flickered to life. Dean watched a screen in the center show a quick animated view of the car, distracting himself from the soreness of his ass on the seat.

“I hate this thing,” the guy grumbled. He glanced over to where Dean was fastening his seatbelt. “Name’s Benny, by the way.”

“Good to see you again. No cell phone this time?”

Benny shook his head.

“That held Master over for about twelve hours. He’s been antsy since he bought you and to be honest, that conversation didn’t help much.”

“I didn’t say anything that made him angry, did I?” Dean asked. He’d chosen his words carefully- maybe not carefully enough.

“Not angry, no. Castiel...” Benny paused here, as though deciding whether this was a conversation he wanted to have. “Master fixates on things sometimes. He takes a bit of getting used to.”

Dean tried not to laugh at that. The building horror in his gut helped him keep it in.

His new owner was crazy. Not just old and sadistic but full-on nuts.

It occurred to Dean that he might be able to ask this guy for help. Benny seemed like the reasonable sort- maybe the sort to pull over on the side of the road and let Dean just... get out of the car.

The thought passed as quickly as it had come. People looked for escaped slaves. The state put a bounty on their head, but even worse than the bounty hunters were those looking to find a person outside the law. Someone no one would miss.

Everybody knew the stories about the guy who fronted as an abolitionist- took escapees in, offered to remove their tattoos- and then chained them up in his basement. Or did medical experiments on them. Or just killed and ate them. The tabloids gleefully reported another psycho every month.

Even if Dean could get some money together and try to get over the border, the smugglers wouldn’t treat him better than this Castiel planned to. Just six months ago, the coast guard found a shipping container full of fleeing slaves- rather than delivering them into Mexico, the sailors had locked the container and pushed it overboard. Nobody survived.

Anyway, Dean had one more card to play. Castiel had already had him castrated. He’d already been paddled and flogged and caned. He’d already been raped. Dean had already been through the worst of what Castiel could do to him, and come out the other side. And if he could put up with it for long enough, Sam would find him and get him out. Dean was sure of that.

If he vanished into a foreign country, he’d never see Sam again.

Dean sighed. He was trapped between a rock and a hard place and trying to figure out the softer option was giving him a headache. He looked sideways at Benny. He had a ton of questions about his new owner, but he didn’t really trust Benny to tell him the truth. After all, he was more likely to be on Castiel’s side than Dean’s.

Benny himself gave Dean a little hope, though. Benny was big, in a way that indicated a penchant for both hard work and good food. He had a touch of grey in his hair and beard- and he had a beard, Dean realized with a start. Which meant that Castiel wasn’t in the habit of emasculating all his slaves.

Dean couldn’t help wondering if Benny still had his balls.

He tamped down on that question before it had a chance to fester. It wasn’t his business. It wouldn’t help him either way.

“Where are we going?” he asked instead. They were merging onto a highway, headed out of the city proper. Dean had kind of imagined that Castiel would live on the top floor of a high-rise somewhere, in an apartment decorated in nothing but shiny white plastic.

“Bout an hour and a half from here,” Benny answered easily. “There’s a house on a couple acres, I’ll show you around when we get there.”

“Nowhere near the city, then,” Dean realized. Benny shook his head.

“No. Not enough privacy.”

Dean shivered. What did ‘privacy’ mean?

He suddenly had a vision of being strapped to a table again, some octogenarian leaning over him to cackle ‘no one can hear you scream.’

Some hysterical noise bubbled up in Dean’s throat and he choked, trying to tamp it down before Benny could hear it escape.

“We’re out in the middle of nowhere, then?”

“Yep. Just us and the house and the grounds. It’s getting into winter here, so there ain’t much to do outside, but the rest of the guys will keep you busy if you get bored.”

“You think uh... Castiel will be giving me a lot of down time?” Dean asked in disbelief. The last five weeks had been a pretty constant cycle of obedience training, punishment, and recovery. Dean had been a lot of things, but bored was never one of them.

“Eventually, sure,” Benny said. “Nobody can keep it up forever.”

The double entendre was obvious. Dean felt himself flush red. So Benny did know what Dean was going to be used for.

He didn’t ask any more questions after that.




Castiel sat in front of his computer and tried not to puke.

He couldn’t remember the last time he was this nervous.

He realized he’d been reading the same paragraph of API documentation for the last five minutes, and still hadn’t managed to absorb any of it. Scowling, he tabbed over to the security system.

Benny had to be back by now.

Sure enough, the sedan Benny had taken was back in the garage. The front and back lawns were both empty. Castiel didn’t have cameras in any of the bathrooms or in the staff dormitories, and so he cycled through the library, the gym, and the kitchen.

Jody was in the latter, making a batch of apple fritters. She was grinning, and Castiel felt his mouth water. He tried to remember the last time he’d eaten. Maybe early this morning- or late last night. He’d been up past four AM, wrestling with the decision to collect Dean early. Crowley had advised him against it, but Castiel wanted Dean home. It felt... off, having him trained when Castiel didn’t even know what he was being trained for.

Castiel cycled through the hallways until he caught sight of Benny’s familiar build and holy shit they were right outside the door.

The realization sent Castiel into a panic and he dropped, banging his elbow on the table on the way down. He scuttled under the desk and curled into a ball, wishing he had some way to turn the lights off.

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Air in, air out.

There was a knock on the door and Castiel was distantly aware of the fact that he was hiding under the furniture like a child from a boogeyman.

The door opened and Castiel clapped his hand over his mouth, trying not to breathe. His heart raced inside his chest and he was worried that he might be having a heart attack.

“Master does most of his work in here,” Benny said. “It’s totally off limits to everybody. A new guy straightened his desk one time and it took me two hours to talk him down off the roof.”

Castiel’s indignation momentarily overrode his fear. It had not been two hours. Twenty minutes, at an absolute maximum.

The door closed again and Castiel could hear Benny talking about the available technology as the two of them retreated down the hallway. Slowly, his heart rate went back to normal.

He slumped down into his seat and took slow breaths. This wasn’t going to work. He was never going to be able to use Dean’s services if he was terrified into a panic attack every time he thought about having a conversation.

Castiel closed his eyes. Best case scenario. Visualizing best case scenarios was a classic coping strategy for him. Best case scenario.

He took a deep breath.

In a best case scenario, Castiel is in his bedroom. He calls for Dean, and Dean comes through the door. Dean does not think he is skinny or pale, and does not get uncomfortable because Castiel can’t meet his eyes.

In a best case scenario, Dean lays on the bed beside Castiel. They are very close. Castiel is allowed to touch Dean’s skin, and Dean is not annoyed by him and does not want Castiel to hurry up and get to the sex already.

In a best case scenario, they kiss. Dean touches him gently and they undress one another. Dean lays on his back and Castiel blankets him, exploring his body and learning what he likes. Dean is not upset that Cas is going slowly. He does not push Castiel’s head toward his cock. He is not angry when Castiel hesitates.

Castiel’s stomach turned. This wasn’t a best case scenario. He’d lost it. His mind was playing tricks on him again.

He breathed in and out.

Good things. Best case scenario.

Best case scenario, Dean lays on his back and lets Castiel take care of him. He lets Castiel lick and suck and play with the smooth place between his legs. He spreads his thighs and Castiel licks at his hole. Castiel’s fingers slide inside and he plays with Dean’s sensitive rim. He can feel where the doctors put the head of Dean’s cock, and when he strokes against it, Dean arches and moans.

Castiel opens him up and when Dean is ready, Castiel slides easily into him. Castiel’s forehead rests against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean strokes his hair. Castiel’s body feels good to him. He comes.

Castiel’s pants were getting tight. The panic attack was officially over.

Turning back to his computer, he tabbed into the security system again. His bedroom was empty. He quickly went through the hallways. They appeared clear.

He ducked silently out the door, making his way quickly back into his own room. As soon as the door was shut behind him, he let out a sigh of relief.

Something moved in the room next door. Dean’s room.

Castiel crossed to the doorway in record time, twisting the lock on the doorknob. It felt horrifically insubstantial. Castiel knew that was the paranoia speaking again. Dean wasn’t going to force his way in here. Probably.

Castiel sunk down to the floor, his back against the barrier between their rooms.

He was so fucked.

Chapter Text

It took six days for Castiel to finally call for him.

Dean spent most of the time in his room.

Everyone in the whole damn place knew his name, and what he was here for. And they all knew he hadn’t been doing his job. It made things awkward, to say the least.

Out of everybody, Dean liked Jody the best. She made damn good sandwiches, and she didn’t look at him with pity. Or curiosity. Or even worse, amusement.

He tried to keep his questions about Castiel to a minimum. Everybody seemed to be generally positive, which Dean figured probably boded well.

When Benny finished his original tour and left Dean alone in his room, Dean was expecting a summons at any second. Some anonymous messenger telling him to come along and don’t bother bringing his clothes. But nothing happened. At some point, something thumped against the door and Dean’s heart jumped into his chest... but that was it. Nothing else happened.

Dean looked around the room, trying to get an idea of what he was supposed to be doing.

It wasn’t red and there weren’t rings drilled into the walls. So that was a good start. There weren’t whips or chains hanging from the ceiling. The bed was a regular old bed. Not even a waterproof liner. It was hardly a torture dungeon.

He opened the closet and found a distressingly normal collection of clothes. Jeans. Button down shirts. Flannel.

There were no panties, which Dean was thankful for.

He pulled on one of the flannel shirts. It fit him perfectly, which meant that Castiel probably had his measurements.

He put the shirt back and went to the dresser.

The top drawer had Dean’s heart sinking. There were the panties- plus an enema bulb and a collection of plugs. Dean figured he was used to taking one the size of the middle one. The biggest one looked distressingly large. Dean took a deep breath.

It was going in him, one way or another. He could do it gently, or his new owner could force it in.

He picked up the second-largest and the bottle of lubricant. It was new- Dena had to peel the foil off before he could dribble some out onto his fingers.

He lay down on the bed, grateful for the privacy, at least. At the training facility, he’d done this on his bunk. He covered himself with a blanket but... everyone knew.

Carefully, Dean rubbed the plug against his slicked hole. It wasn’t nearly as big as the rubber cock he’d been facing earlier. And he didn’t need to fuck himself on it. He just needed to get it in.

He made sure he was nice and slick and just... pressed. He could feel it entering him, and as soon as he realized that he panicked and cramped.

Immediately he felt like hurling the stupid thing across the room. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t do it! He didn’t ask Michael to fucking terrify him!

He didn’t throw it across the room. He tried again.

And again.

And again.

And he eventually got it.

Six days later, the phone buzzed.




Castiel made sure the door was unlocked and the bed was made and the floor was clean and then he changed his clothes again.

He told himself it didn’t matter because he wasn’t going to be wearing them for very long anyway but then he had this vision of the zipper on his slacks getting stuck and having to disentangle himself from Dean and the blankets in order to get it fixed.

When he calmed down from that, he changed in pajama pants. It didn’t really help, because it was about two in the afternoon and it wasn’t right to wear pajama pants at two in the afternoon, and so Castiel changed back into jeans- but a different pair, an older pair that he was more comfortable in. The zipper had proven it’s worthiness in years of dutiful service and Castiel had full faith in it.

He stared at himself in the mirror and tried to guess what kind of first impression he was going to make. He had that wide-eyed shocky look that he got when he was nervous sometimes. And the shirt he was wearing had pills on the elbows. Not a lot, but some. Not enough to really bother Cas, but, it was a first impression.

He decided to ditch the shirt and go for a different one- the blue one, the light blue one. He liked the light blue one, but he couldn’t find it. By the time he’d searched through his drawers and dug it up, he’d gotten himself worked up so bad that he’d decided to just call the whole thing off. He’d sell Dean and-

No, he couldn’t sell Dean. For some reason, that thought scared him more than anything else he’d considered so far. He couldn’t sell Dean.

He went and took another shower.




Dean stared down at the phone.

It was more like a pager, or something- he didn’t even know if it could make calls. It sure got texts, though. By the time Dean had figured out how to turn it on, he was already in about four group chats- Jody letting people know when food was ready, Anna telling people to use their damn hampers, Benny setting up impromptu sports matches or card tournaments.

And now, Castiel.

Wash up and come to my bedroom, please.

Dean didn’t know what ‘wash up’ meant. He cleaned himself every morning, before putting in his plug, and it wasn’t even four PM.

He erred on the side of caution and went back to the bathroom. He showered off and used the enema bulb and then replaced his plug, using copious amounts of lubricant.

He brushed his teeth and tried not to wonder whether he’d be asked to suck Castiel’s dick.

It didn’t matter, if he was told to, then he would. Never mind that he didn’t know how. Castiel could have had someone teach him, and he hadn’t, and that was on him. Not Dean.

Dean went back to his room. There were three text messages waiting for him- all from Castiel.


I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t already clean. I’m sure your grooming habits are exemplary. If you’ve already showered today you can just come in now.


Never mind that last message. I assume you’ve already gone to take a shower and didn’t take your phone with you. That’s fine. I showered twice today too. I suppose it would have made more sense to bathe after intercourse. Three in one day seems excessive.


Of course, the obvious solution would be to have intercourse *during* a shower. That sounds like it might be fun.


Dean read the messages with an increasing degree of nervousness. What the heck was Castiel talking about?

It didn’t matter. He was clean and that meant he needed to move to the next part of Castiel’s original order. He slipped his phone into his pocket, and knocked on the door between their rooms.

A few seconds later, his phone buzzed.

You can come in.

Dean stared at it. It occurred to him that maybe Castiel couldn’t talk. Maybe he was one of those people that smoked all through the 60’s and had to have their voice box removed.

It didn’t matter.

He squared his shoulders and pushed the door open.




The door swung open, letting the light in, and Castiel’s heart went into overdrive. It was so bright in Dean’s room. Was it too dark in here, now? He’d dimmed the lights, aiming for ‘mood lighting’ but now he was afraid he’d overshot and it was awkwardly dark in his bedroom.

Dean didn’t seem to mind one way or another. He walked with a sureness that Castiel envied, headed straight for the bed. He didn’t even look at Castiel- which honestly suited him just fine.

Castiel watched as Dean undressed, stripping off his shirt and jeans and leaving them folded beside the bed. Then, to Castiel’s surprise, Dean bent over the bed and reached between his own legs. He hadn’t been wearing underwear, and so when he moved, Castiel could clearly see the plug nestled between his cheeks. Dean whimpered ever so quietly as he drew the plug out.

He turned to the nightstand, and for a second, he looked puzzled. Like he was expecting to see something that wasn’t there. Then he opened the top drawer and placed the plug inside.

He didn’t seem to notice the stack of magazines that Castiel stored in that drawer, and for that, Castiel was grateful. If he had known that Dean planned to go through his drawers, he would have hidden them more carefully. Everyone else on the staff knew not to go into Castiel’s drawers. Anna changed the sheets, and no one else came in here.

No one but Dean.

Castiel stood up, stepping closer to the bed. Dean was being very quick about all this, but now that he was naked, he would look for Castiel. The whole process wound begin.

Only Dean didn’t look for him. Instead, he climbed up onto the bed, positioning himself in the center. He was on his hands and knees, his back arched and his ass in the air. He was so gorgeous that Castiel almost gave up and quit.

He frowned. This wasn’t a best-case scenario, but it wasn’t awful, either. He undressed, keeping his eyes on Dean. His cock perked up and showed some interest, but it was difficult to keep because Dean just... wasn’t moving.

Carefully, Castiel got onto the bed behind Dean. He was close enough that he could see the fine hairs on his calves, the shimmer of lubricant on his pink hole, and the faint scars over his groin. Castiel licked his lips, taking in the whole picture.

He reminded himself that he was allowed to touch. He wasn’t going to get in trouble for this- there were no unspoken social rules that needed to be adhered to. Dean was a professional. He was used to selling his body and he was here because he’d sold it to Castiel.

Carefully, Castiel reached out, palm up, cupping the smooth soft flesh of Dean’s mons.

Dean flinched and Castiel pulled his hand back, clutching it to his chest like he’d been burned.

“Sorry,” Dean said. “Sorry, I was just startled.”

Castiel opened his mouth, maybe to reassure Dean that he hadn’t meant to scare him, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead he leaned forward, letting his hand rest on Dean’s shoulders. His hips brushed against the back of Dean’s thighs.

Dean didn’t flinch again, but he was moving.

“You’re shaking,” Castiel realized. Instantly he kicked himself for saying it out loud. But it was true- Dean’s whole body was trembling, like he was fighting to keep from collapsing. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, sir” Dean said tersely.

“... can you stop?” Castiel asked.

Dean made a disbelieving sound.

“I don’t think so,” he answered, and something in his voice had Castiel’s cock wilting instantly. This was something he had not anticipated. Maybe Dean was cold? The temperature in the bedroom seemed fine to Castiel. He sat back, fishing for the throw blanket at the end of the bed. He pulled it over his shoulders, and then leaned forward over Dean. He wrapped one arm around Dean’s chest, reveling in the warmth of the younger man.

“Is that better?” Cas asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean answered. His voice was tense. “Just, do what you’re going to do, okay?”

Castiel pulled back, taking his blanket with him. This wasn’t a best case scenario. This wasn’t even a worst case scenario. This was an unforeseen scenario.

Castiel wrapped himself in the blanket, suddenly uncomfortable with his own nudity. Dean still didn’t move. Castiel could see his hands bunched in the blanket.

Castiel grabbed his phone and retreated to the master bathroom, locking the door behind him and sitting with his back to the door.

Trying to keep his voice down, he called Benny.

There’s something wrong with him,” he hissed, the second Benny picked up the phone.

“I can be there in two minutes,” Benny said. Castiel hung up. He didn’t need to tell Benny what he needed. Benny just knew.

Sure enough, minutes later, he heard the bedroom door opening. He could hear Benny talking to Dean, and Dean saying something in return.

A second later, there was a knock on the door. Benny didn’t try to open it.

“You okay?” Benny asked. Castiel nodded, then realized Benny couldn’t see him.

“There’s something wrong with him,” Castiel said. He wasn’t coming out of the bathroom until Dean was gone. He didn’t need to tell Benny that.

“We’re going,” Benny said, and Castiel nodded again.


Chapter Text

Dean stared at the back of Benny’s head and tried to keep his position. Two steps back. One to the left.

They were headed down the hallway toward the dormitory and Dean tried not to think about paddles.

“Out!” Benny barked, pushing the door open. Two women were sitting on their beds reading, but they took one look at Benny’s face and decided to take their recreation elsewhere.

Dean kept his gaze down as they slipped past him, raising eyebrows at him as they went. He wished he had his shirt, but Benny had hurried him out of Cas’s room too fast to grab it. Frankly he was grateful to have his jeans.

Benny beckoned him into the room and Dean went, freezing just inside the door. Benny sat down on the nearest bunk, crossing his arms.

Dean went limp, dropping to his knees and lacing his fingers behind his back.

“I don’t know what I did!” he exclaimed. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll do better, but I don’t know what I did!”

“What happened?” Benny asked.

“Nothing!” Dean protested. “I didn’t do anything!”

Benny’s eyebrows went up and he pulled the blanket off the bed, handing it to Dean. Dean didn’t know what to do with it, and that just made everything worse.

“I didn’t fight him, sir, I swear,” Dean managed.

“Call me ‘sir’ again and we’re gonna have trouble,” Benny said. Dean whimpered. “Put that around your shoulders, you look like you’re about to go into shock.”

“I held, though!” Dean protested. He dropped the blanket, suddenly frustrated. “I don’t know what else he wants from me!”

“Neither does he, most likely,” Benny mused. “What do you mean ‘held’?”

“I mean I kept my damn ass in the air and I didn’t struggle!” Dean said. “I didn’t even bitch!”

“Do you usually?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Not usually,” Benny answered, stroking his beard. He was looking Dean over like he was deciding which part would be easiest to electrocute. Dean groaned.

“I’m doing the best I can,” he said dejectedly. There was no way he was getting out of punishment for this one. “You want me over the edge of the bed?”

Benny gave out a little huff.

“Sure, but now isn’t a good time. I still want to know what went wrong upstairs. Start at the beginning and tell me what happened. I want details.”

Dean sighed.

“He texted and told me to clean up and come to his bedroom. I took a shower. I prepped myself. I went to his room. I knocked and he texted to tell me to come in.”

Benny rolled his eyes, but smiled. Dean kept going.

“I went in and it was dark. I took my clothes off, took the plug out, and-”

“Plug?” Benny asked, frowning. “He told you to put in a plug?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, looking away now. “At Crowley’s, they said I had to wear one all the time so I’d always be ready.”

“That just ain’t healthy,” Benny remarked. Dean felt his throat get tight.

“It wasn’t my idea,” he snapped. You think I want to go around with this big fat thing up my ass all the time?”

Benny blinked.

“How big?”

Dean held up his fingers and Benny whistled.

“Wait... you ain’t wearing that acrylic one that was in your room, are you?”

“Not... I mean, not right now,” Dean said. “But usually, yeah.”

“Jesus wept,” Benny said, rubbing his face. “That’s not what those are for.”

“Nobody told me!” Dean protested.

“I’m telling you now,” Benny answered. “Quit wearing that thing all the time.”

“Fine by me,” Dean answered. “You want me to keep going or have you got anything else you want to yell at me about?”

“I’m not the enemy here,” Benny said quietly. Dean scowled.

“So I took out the plug I shouldn’t have been wearing in the first place, I put it in the drawer-”

Castiel’s drawer?” Benny asked. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Who else’s?”

“Why would you open his drawer?”

“Because that’s where it goes!” Dean said. He gave up with the kneeling and sat back on his ass, looking up at Benny. “I put it in there, got on the bed, got on all fours-”

“What’s in the drawer?”

“I didn’t look. You’re the one who lives up his ass, don’t you know?”

“Castiel could have the lost treasure of El Dorado in that drawer and I wouldn’t know,” Benny said.

So I got on all fours,” Dean said, desperate for this interaction to be over, “and he got on the bed behind me, and then he freaked out and went to hide in the bathroom and that’s when you showed up.”

“Did he say anything when he freaked out?”

“He wanted me to stop shaking. I guess he thought I was cold?”

Benny paused.

“You were shaking?”

Dean looked to the side. He’d gotten caught up in the minutia of the story and almost forgotten that they were talking about Castiel fucking him in the ass. Talk about missing the forest for the trees.

“A little, yeah,” he admitted. “But not bad. Nothing that would keep him from, you know. Doing his thing.”

“Why were you shaking?”

“Cuz some guy was about to tear me open with his dick?” Dean answered. He shouldn’t be sarcastic, he was just making his eventual punishment worse. He knew that and yet, out the sarcasm came.

Benny shook his head.

“Castiel wouldn’t do that. He don’t get off on hurting people.”

Dean snorted.

“I dunno how to break it to you, guy, but that’s the whole reason I’m here.”

Benny was giving him an odd look now.

“Is that how your customers usually treated you?”

“I never had ‘customers,’” Dean said, scowling. “I—”

He stopped. He didn’t really want to talk about it. Everyone else seemed to think that Dean had hooked up with Michael on purpose. The last thing Dean needed was Benny thinking that Dean had tried to cheat his boss.

“I’m a little nervous, okay? But I wasn’t stopping him from doing whatever he wanted to do.”

Benny shook his head.

“Castiel ain’t the sort to use somebody who’s terrified. There’s some out there... but not Castiel.”

Dean took a deep breath.

“You could... take me back to Crowley’s,” he said slowly. God, he didn’t want to go back there, but he didn’t see another option. “Ketch- my trainer- he had a machine that would like...” Dean mimed a thrusting motion. “He said it would get me used to it. So I would quit being such a baby.”

Benny gave him a long hard look, and Dean didn’t look back. He shouldn’t have left Crowley’s before his training was done. He was so useless.

“That ain’t a bad idea,” Benny said slowly. Dean exhaled slowly. Ketch was going to be pissed.

“I’ll get my shoes,” he said quietly. Benny held up a hand.

“Hold up. You dead-set on going back to Crowley’s place?”

Dean opened his mouth, then shut it. He wanted nothing less than to go back to Crowley’s, but he didn’t have any other choice.

“What are you asking?”

“I was thinking maybe you want to do your training here,” Benny said, giving Dean a slow up and down. Something clicked in Dean’s head. Oh.

“With you?” Dean asked. “You want to... uh...”

“I’ll take you back if you want,” Benny said, shrugging. “But I can make it a hell of a lot better than any machine. That I’ll promise you right now.”

Dean hesitated, considering. He could use this. Go big or go home.

“Deal,” he said. “But you gotta let me off the hook for everything that just happened.”

“You weren’t on a hook,” Benny said, confused. That was good enough for Dean. He wasn’t gonna spell out all the reasons he’d earned himself a caning.

Exhaling slowly, Dean turned and leaned over the edge of the bed. He pushed his pants down around his thighs, then pillowed his head on his arms.

Better or worse, here it came.

“Mother Mary,” Benny said.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Dean sniped.

“Who did that?” Benny asked. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Who do you think? Mister ‘kind and gentle’ up there.”

“Dean... I...”

“Hurry up before I lose my nerve,” Dean interrupted.

“Hold on,” Benny said. “Get dressed and wait for me on the bed here.”




It wasn’t long before Benny was back, a tall woman in tow.

“Dean, this is Pamela,” he said. “Do you mind if she takes a look at you?”

“That’s not funny,” Pamela said. She was smiling like Benny had made a joke. Looking closer, Dean realized her eyes were closed. There were scars across her cheeks.

“Sure,” Dean muttered. “Get the whole gang in here.”

“On the bed,” Pam said, patting the sheet. Dean shifted, making a sound to let her know that he was already there. She reached out, her hands running over the denim of his jeans.

“I’m not usually this forward, but I need your pants off, hon.”

“You’re exactly that forward,” Benny said, rolling his eyes.

“True,” Pamela acknowledged. “But in this case, I am being a professional.”

Dean lifted his hips, shimmying out of his clothes. He didn’t need to look at Benny to tell the man was staring.

Pamela’s hands ran up Dean’s thighs and over his groin, feeling at the scars.

“Yep,” Pamela said. “That’s pretty standard. Healing good, though.”

“That’s what they tell me,” Dean griped. “Is there a reason for this?”

“Pamela used to work at a brothel,” Benny explained. “She has experience with... injuries... like yours.”

“Do they do this to all the sex workers?” Dean asked, sitting up on his elbows.

“Usually not this, no,” Pamela said. “May I?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, and regretted it a second later when a slim digit pushed into his hole. In retrospect, he should have considered the implications of the question more-

Ah!” Dean gasped, bucking his hips.

“Thought so,” Pamela said. “What does that feel like?”

“Good,” Dean said weakly. Pamela smiled.

“You get scar tissue build up there, there’s a 50/50 chance of increasing or decreasing sensation. Looks like you got an increase. There’s hope for you yet.”

“Cool,” Dean said weakly. Pamela was rubbing against his inside walls, and she felt way different than the plug had. He felt his face heating up as she found some other internal structure and began exploring.

It’s because it’s a girl, he told himself. I like girls, not things up my butt. This is an anomaly.

“You’re one of the lucky ones,” Pamela said, brushing against something that made Dean gasp. He made a disbelieving sound.

“Yeah, I won the fucking lottery,” he griped. Then he thought of his sale price, and how much Castiel had paid to make this happen and... yeah. He kinda had.

“They give all sorts of excuses for doing this,” Pamela said, pulling her hand back. Benny handed her a towel. “Sometimes it’s a punishment. Sometimes it’s because they’re sadists. Sometimes guy ask.”

“Bullshit,” Dean said, thinking of Pepper. “Who would want this?”

“Guys who don’t want other guys to make them hard,” Pamela said evenly. Dean looked away, but didn’t say anything.

“None of that explains this,” Benny said, gesturing to Dean. “Pam, you know Castiel. Maybe it wasn’t him, maybe somebody else gave the order.”

“We’re not talking about Castiel right now,” Pam answered. “We’re talking about Dean, and what we can do for him.”

“There’s nothing to be done,” Dean muttered. “There’s no fixing this.”

“But we can minimize it,” Pam answered. “Benny will get you to a doctor and get you replacement hormones. That ought to keep your body from changing too much.”

She skimmed her fingers up his sides, letting her palms rest on his chest.

“They didn’t give you tits, so you have that to be grateful for.”

“They do that?” Dean squeaked. Pamela raised an eyebrow.

“They do everything,” she said slowly. “Things you wouldn’t believe.”

“I wouldn’t have believed this,” Dean said quietly.

For a moment, none of them spoke. Then Pamela clapped her hands.

“Right. Onwards and upwards. Sex work 101.”

“I already had that,” Dean said. “And look, I get that you’re trying to help. And I appreciate your optimism. But I don’t have a pain kink. I just need to... I dunno. Force it until I get used to it.”

“If that’s how you’ve been trying to do it, then that’s why it isn’t working,” Pamela said sternly. “Are you attracted to men, at all?”

Dean shook his head, and then realized she couldn’t see him.

“No,” he answered. He tried not to look over at Benny.

“Alright then,” Pamela said, and promptly stripped her shirt off. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Dean tried not to openly stare at her chest.

“Um,” he said. Pamela didn’t answer, just stood up and kicked out of her pants.

“Um,” Dean said again.

“Nothing five hundred guys haven’t seen before,” Pamela said. “We’re doing the crash course, so you’re just going to have to bear with me here. Benny, you’re up.”

She climbed onto the bed, nudging Dean to the side.

“You’re here, on me,” she said, guiding him into place. He ended up straddling her, his hands on either side of her shoulders. She ran her fingers over his chest.

“So far so good, right?” she asked. “Like what you see?”

“Yeah,” Dean admitted. She had a nice body, and a nice smile, and her hands were keeping busy.

Unfortunately, they weren’t buys enough to distract Dean from the fact that Benny was positioning himself on the bed as well. Dean leaned down over Pamela, arching his back and burying his face in her shoulder.

“Be quick,” he whispered. He could feel himself starting to get scared again.

“Ain’t gonna hurt you,” Benny answered. His hands rested on Dean’s back, rubbing slowly. “No rush. Just gonna make sure you’re ready. You talk to Pam.”

“This isn’t how I pictured my first threesome going,” Dean admitted. Pamela laughed. She took his hands, putting them over her breasts. Dean pushed them together, enjoying the way they moved. He ran a thumb over her nipple, and she smiled.

Dean leaned down, kissing them one at a time, trying to distract himself from Benny’s hands on his ass. Any second now, Benny was going to ram his way home, and Dean would have to focus on not biting Pam.

There was no way that this couldn’t hurt. Best case scenario, Benny was going to tear him open in slow motion. And then he’d go back upstairs and Castiel would do the same thing.

Dean whimpered.

“Just get it over with.”

“You’re with me, Dean,” Pamela said. Her hands were on his shoulders, rubbing his arms. “Benny’s gonna use one finger, okay? You can do that.”

Dean nodded, bracing, but it didn’t hurt when a single thick digit slid inside him.

“Palm down,” Pamela instructed, and it took Dean a second to realize that she wasn’t talking to him. “Rub against the inside. It should be obvious what you’re looking for.”

Benny pressed against that same spot inside Dean, and Dean hissed in a breath.

“Too much?” Benny asked. Dean shook his head.

“It’s good.”

“It’s gonna stay good,” Pamela said. “Trust me, I’m an expert. Benny, you can add another finger now.”

Dean almost protested, but Benny was already pushing his ring finger in beside the first.

“You’re really loose,” Benny said. “That’s good.”

“Mmmm,” Pamela agreed. She snaked her hand between them, rubbing her palm against Dean’s groin. He bit his lip. The sensations were coming from so many places now, it was almost overwhelming.

“Think he’s ready?” she asked, and Dean heard Benny hum an affirmative.

He didn’t protest. Instead, he grit his teeth and spread his legs, bracing for the pain that was coming.

“Nice and slow,” Benny said. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Dean felt the head of Benny’s cock press against his hole, and he couldn’t help letting out a whimper. Benny hesitated.

“Keep going,” Pamela said. “Nice and easy.”

Dean could feel Benny sliding inside him and he stayed tensed, ready for the last violent push that would leave him bruised and bleeding.

It didn’t come.

Instead, Dean felt Benny’s thighs against the back of his ass.

“That’s all there is,” Benny said quietly. Dean let out a breath.

“I... I can do that,” he breathed. Pamela smiled.

“Of course you can. Told you you could.”

Benny pulled out a little, then pushed back in. When he did, he rubbed up against that place inside Dean, making him shiver.

He looked down at Pamela- her narrow waist, her full lips, the swell of her breasts.

That’s why I like it, he told himself. It’s just my brain confusing signals. I’m not gay. This is not me being gay.

Benny pushed into him again, slower, and Dean couldn’t contain a sound of relief.

He could do this. This was easy. Nice, even. Pamela was still stroking him and while he was nowhere near what he’d call aroused, he could see himself enjoying this at some point.

All he needed to worry about now was Castiel. Would he be more like Benny, or more like Michael?

Benny didn’t think Castiel got off on pain- but then again, Benny didn’t think Castiel would ever have someone castrated. So Benny might have some issues being objective.

For the moment, though, this was something Dean could do.

He let his head hang, and took it.


Chapter Text

Castiel sat on the edge of his bed. He was still dressed in the clothes he’d put on to meet Dean- not that it had mattered. Dean hadn’t even glanced at him. Strictly professional.

He didn’t know why he felt so disappointed. He wanted Dean to be a professional. That’s why he’d bought... well. A professional.

There was a knock on the door and Castiel looked up just in time to see Benny come in.

“Was he sick?” Castiel asked. “He was shivering when he was in here, and couldn’t seem to stop.”

“He’s been castrated,” Benny said. Castiel looked to the side, his face coloring.


“By you?”

“By Crowley’s facility, at my request, yes.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done,” Benny said evenly. It was a condemnation, not a question. “How old is he? Twenty? Not even?”

“He’s twenty-two,” Castiel muttered. “And he agreed to it. And in case you forgot, I bought him. He’s mine.

Benny hit him. He used an open palm, but the blow landed hard enough that Castiel was knocked to the side. He looked incredulously up at his slave. Benny stared back. At his full height he was shorter than Castiel, but he was standing and Castiel was not. It created an illusion of a power imbalance the polar opposite of the one that existed in reality.

“He was scared,” Benny said. “He was shaking because you terrify him. Fix it.”

Castiel frowned. Why would Dean be scared of him? They’d only been in the same room together twice, and neither time had Castiel done anything harmful.

He’d simply have to explain.

Not tonight,” Benny hissed. “He’s downstairs with Pamela and with any luck, she’ll be able to get him to sleep. Tomorrow you’re going to get a doctor in here who’s going to prescribe him hormone replacement.”


This is not a debate!” Benny roared. “Tomorrow, you are going to get a doctor in here.”

Castiel scowled. He remembered Meg talking him through the benefits of castration for male slaves— all the benefits that Dean would no longer have.

“Make the arrangements,” he said. He could see Benny nodding in his peripheral.

“One more thing,” Benny said. “I know I can’t stop you from fucking him. You’re right. He is yours. And you have that right. But do this wrong, and you will break him. Understand?”

Castiel nodded. He kept nodding while Benny left and he kept nodding even when Benny was gone.

He understood now.

Free people didn’t want to be around him. He made them uncomfortable and he had trouble relating to them- and vice versa.

He thought he’d be able to circumvent the problem by simply buying someone. Someone who didn’t like him, but who might be able to fake it, under the right circumstances.

But he was wrong. People couldn’t even fake wanting to sleep with him.

He sighed, falling back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. He’d castrated Dean to make the performance easier- and it was still impossible.




Castiel didn’t go to check on Dean.

He thought about it, constantly. Thought about bringing him food or clothing or even liquor, striking up a conversation... but he could never figure out how that conversation would go.

The truth of the matter was, he didn’t know anything about Dean. He didn’t even know if he was sleeping in his room, or if he’d moved permanently down to the slave dormitory. Castiel had always intended to move him down there eventually anyway, so it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Except that it was.

He didn’t realize how much of a big deal until four days after his horrific failure of an attempt at sex, when he woke up in the morning and heard Dean singing to himself through the wall.

Castiel froze, listening. He was trying to place the tune, and it didn’t take him long to recognize the opening chords of ‘smoke on the water.’ Castiel smiled, looking down at the ground. He hummed along, but stopped before Dean could maybe hear him.




Dean lay on his side, looking at the sunset light coming through the little orange bottle on the bedside table.

Synthetic hormones.

Little blue pills which apparently did the same thing that his balls used to.

Kind of.

He still hadn’t gotten the urge to jerk off. It had been five days since his experiment with Benny, and four days since he started taking the pills. So this might be the longest no-orgasm period of his life, since he hit puberty, at least.

He sat up and ran his hands through his hair.

There was a knock at the door.


Benny usually came in with that acknowledgement, so when the sound of the door opening didn’t immediately follow, Dean turned his attention.

There was another knock. Lighter. More cautious.

From the other door, Dean realized. The door between his room and his owner’s.

Quickly he stood up, straightening his clothes. It probably wasn’t Castiel, because why would an owner knock on a slave’s door? Let alone knock twice.

Dean opened the door and had to adjust his gaze. He’d been looking up. For some reason, he expected someone taller than him.

The guy on the other side was about two inches shorter than him, maybe one inch if you counted the spikes of unruly hair toward his total. And below the hair were a pair of the most startling blue eyes Dean had ever seen.

“Hello, Dean,” the guy said, and Dean instantly recognized the gravelly voice as Castiel’s.

“Hello, sir,” Dean said weakly. “Did you need something?”

“Oh,” Castiel said, stepping back a half pace. “Oh. No. Not need, no. I have... I was wondering if you would join me.”

Dean swallowed.

“I haven’t prepared, sir, if you give me half an hour—”

“Not for, um,” Castiel was looking at the ceiling now, and Dean had to resist the urge to follow his gaze. “That won’t be necessary.”

Dean’s blood ran cold. If Castiel wasn’t going to fuck him, that meant he was going to do something else. Dean knew he was off the hook with Benny for last week’s fuckup, but the bargain he made with Benny didn’t extend to Castiel.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. Whatever it was, he was going to grit his teeth and bear it. He had a job to do.

“Sure,” Dean said. Castiel grinned, nodding energetically.

“Good. Excellent. Come through here. I have, um, I have two chairs, you can have whichever one you want. I usually sit facing the door but you can have that one, um, if you want.”

Dean took the other one. This seemed like it might be a test, but he’d be damned if he could figure out what kind. There were two completely-normal looking chairs across from each other. Between them was a perfectly-normal table. It seemed like a weird set of furniture to have in a bedroom but hell- the room was big enough, so why not?

Castiel looked relieved when he realized Dean was in his least-preferred chair.

“Good. Do you want a drink or anything? I can call down... I mean, I know you can also call down, from your room, but maybe...”

Castiel trailed off. Dean was at a loss for what to do in this situation. For a moment he almost missed Ketch. At least his orders had been straightforward.

“I’m fine, sir,” Dean said evenly. Cas made a very complicated motion with his hands, and then shoved them in the pockets of his slacks. “Can I ask what you need me to do?”

“Oh! Right. Yes.”

Castiel went around the side of the bed and came back with a bucket. Dean kept his eyes fixed on it while his owner crossed the room and unceremoniously upended it onto the table.

It was puzzle pieces. Small ones.

Hundreds of them.

Now it was Dean’s turn to say “um.”

“I’m not quite sure what the picture is,” Castiel said, sounding apologetic. “It came in the bucket.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. This was some sort of trick, he was sure of it now. Castiel noticed the look and kept talking.

“It came from my brother. My brother Luci. Lucifer. Family name. Um. Anyway. I called him and asked for advice and he sent me.... this,” Castiel trailed off, gesturing to the puzzle.

“What did you ask for his advice on?” Dean asked. He actually had several questions about Castiel’s statement, but this one seemed the least likely to make things worse.

“Getting a new slave,” Castiel answered, nodding to himself. Dean frowned.

“There are like... fifteen people who live here. At least. And everybody but you has a barcode.”

“Oh!” Castiel answered, dropping into the other chair. “Yes. Those are Benny’s. I mean. They’re mine but, really, Benny runs things. I just make the money.”

“So Benny’s your wife,” Dean said, immediately wishing he hadn’t. This was not a good venue for jokes.

Castiel laughed anyway.

“Yes. Except, we’ve never been intimate. That’s why I bought—”

He stopped abruptly, looking up at Dean.

“Me,” Dean finished. “You bought me. And then asked your brother what to do about it.”

“And he sent me a puzzle,” Castiel said gesturing to the pile of cardboard pieces. He frowned. “I originally thought it was a metaphor but now it occurs to me that he may have been mocking me.”

“I think that’s a safe assumption,” Dean said. He picked up one of the pieces, flipping it over until the colored side was facing up. It was a stripe of very bright green, running through dark purple.

“I have problems telling, sometimes,” Castiel said. “Most of the time. All the time. I am very bad at subtext.”

Dean flipped over another piece, and decided to take a gamble.

“What kind of advice were you hoping to get?”

“Some kind of rulebook, maybe,” Castiel said, sighing. “I don’t think such a thing exists, though. There are so many conventions and they’re all just sort of... inherent.”

“Things you’re just expected to know,” Dean muttered, thinking of his contract.

“Right,” Castiel added. Then he frowned again. “Benny says you’re afraid of me. You don’t seem afraid.”

Dean froze, one hand reaching across the table.

“Benny told you that?”

Castiel nodded, still engaged in the task of flipping over puzzle pieces. “He said that last time I called you in here, you were shaking because I frightened you. But we’re sitting here now, and you don’t look frightened at all.”

“You’re not trying to fuck me right now,” Dean pointed out. He was trying to be casual, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off Castiel’s face. If his owner had a tell before he got angry, Dean wanted to know about it now.

“No, right now we’re doing a puzzle,” Castiel agreed. His middle finger tapped twice against the table. “Why does that have anything to do with being frightened of me?”

Dean felt his heart drop. How was he supposed to explain this?

“Have you ever... I mean... with a guy... have you ever done... what you wanted me to do?”

Castiel shook his head. “No, I have no interest in that. But I’m familiar with the concept. Not as familiar as you, obviously, but—”

Obviously,” Dean mimicked. “So what, Michael’s a friend of yours or something? You send him to break in the merchandise for you?”

Castiel looked up, his brow furrowed. “Michael? Who’s Michael?”

The look of confusion on his face was so transparently genuine that Dean didn’t doubt him in the least. He deflated in his seat.

“No one. Michael’s no one. But I left Crowley’s early and didn’t get to finish my training and the idea of having... doing... makes me nervous, okay? And I don’t want to hear any shit about it because you don’t like it either.”

Halfway through this verbal avalanche, Dean’s inner voice started screaming for him to shut up. It was an excellent idea and he ignored it. Castiel looked genuinely shocked.

“Isn’t that what you do, though?”

“No!” Dean groaned. “Why does everyone think I used to be a sex worker?”

Castiel blinked.

“At Crowley’s... well. Not just there. In my research on the subject, most people with blank contracts originate in sex work. Being a bed slave is better financially. And it’s protected by the law.”

“So you were looking for a live-in hooker,” Dean said with a wry smile. Castiel blinked, turning his head to the side.

“Was that not obvious?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, dude, but nothing about you is obvious.”

“You either,” Castiel said, with a small smile. “It’s why I picked you. You don’t act like the others.”

“I wasn’t applying for the same job,” Dean admitted. He flipped over some more pieces. There was a lot of purple, but he was finding orange and yellow now, too.

Castiel was sorting out pieces with straight edges.

“May I ask you a personal question?”

Dean looked up. “You own me. You can ask me whatever you want, it’s part of the package.”

“But you have no reason to respond honestly.”

Dean bit his lip.

“True. Alright. You ask one if I get to ask one. No lying.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Castiel said, looking up to meet his gaze. Dean had another thought.

“And you aren’t allowed to punish me if you don’t like my answers. Or my questions.”

Castiel shook his head.

“That would be counterproductive to the purpose of having a discussion in the first place.”

“Only if you actually cared about the answers,” Dean pointed out.

“Of course I care.”

Castiel was staring at him with such intensity that Dean had to look away. He fiddled with an orange piece, trying to find a matching color.

“What was your question?”

Castiel made that gesture with his hands again.

“If you weren’t a sex worker before, and you don’t have a criminal record, then why sell yourself?”

“For the money, obviously,” Dean said. Castiel rolled his eyes.

“That’s not an answer and you know it.”

“Yeah.” Dean paused, considering for a second. Is this something he really wanted to tell Castiel about?

He snapped two pieces together. What the hell. It’s not like he had anything left to lose.

“My little brother left,” he said, then winced. It sounded like some kind of weird euphemism. “I mean, he left home, to go to college. Without him to look after, there wasn’t really any point to me being there.”

“Don’t you have family? Parents?”

“My turn to ask,” Dean said. Castiel leaned back.

“Of course. I apologize.”

Don’t apologize. Do better.

“Are you really a sadist?” Dean blurted out. The look on Castiel’s face was so shocked that Dean would have laughed if he weren’t so terrified. Immediately he could hear Castiel answering why don’t I show you and that’s when he’d drop this stupid helpless-puppy act and break out the whips.

“No!” Castiel protested. “No, I’m not- no! Who told you that?”

“My trainer at the facility,” Dean answered. “He said you didn’t give him any training instructions which meant it didn’t matter if I had no skills- you just wanted a punching bag. Or like, a pincushion or something. I don’t know.”

Castiel looked thoughtful.

“I didn’t realize I was supposed to give instructions. The woman I worked with- Meg- she was... I did not like talking to her. And the decision to purchase was made... we’ll say, without adequate planning. I only went in to look and then...” Castiel glanced up at Dean. “I saw you.”

“And you bought me on a whim,” Dean deadpanned. “Two and a half million on a whim.”

“Plus some for customization options,” Castiel confirmed, nodding.

Why?” Dean asked.

“I believe it’s my turn,” Castiel said. Dean got the distinct impression that he was avoiding the question. “I want to know if you have any other family. Besides your brother.”

Dean considered lying. But Castiel had his name, and money to burn. He’d probably done a background check, which meant he probably already knew.

“My dad,” he said. “For what he’s worth. He probably hasn’t realized I’m missing yet, unless Sam told him, which I doubt.”

“He... travels?” Castiel guessed. Dean laughed, shaking his head.

“He drinks,” Dean said evenly. Castiel looked surprised, then embarrassed.

“Yes. That... makes sense,” he said quietly. “I’m sure that was not easy for you.”

“It hasn’t been great,” Dean confirmed. He slid a clump of edge pieces to the side, connecting them to one of Castiel’s clusters. “Without me or Sammy around, he’ll probably lose the house. It’s been years coming but... still. Kind of a bummer.”

“What about your mother?”

“Died in a fire when I was four. By all accounts, my dad was a half-decent human being before that. Quit stalling. I want to know why you got me fixed.”

Dean suspected that the answer to this question was going to make him angry. If he didn’t know the reason, he might be able to assume that there was a good one. He couldn’t imagine what a good one might be, but he could tell himself that it existed.

“I... saw some men who had been smoothed. At a resort, several years ago,” Castiel said. His eyes were fixed downward now, focused on a hangnail on his left hand. “I’ve never been able to get the picture out of my head. I find it very... erotic.”

“So it’s just a kink?” Dean asked. Sure enough, he was getting angry. “You did it for a kink?”

“Meg said that it was a beneficial procedure,” Castiel protested. His shoulders were curling inwards. “She said that male slaves had difficulty accepting their new role, and that this helped.”

“She wasn’t wrong,” Dean said coldly. “I thought my brother would graduate and get a job and buy me out of whatever workhouse I ended up in. I went into this thinking it was temporary. So thank you, master, for so benevolently teaching me otherwise.”

He stood up, turning on his heel, and went back into his own room, slamming the door. He could feel tears rising in his eyes, and he didn’t want to do that in front of Castiel.

Ketch was right. He was just a sadist. He’d put on this whole innocent show just to fuck with Dean’s head. To prove to Dean that he was a thing, here. Like a puppy to be trained.

He flopped down onto his bed and buried his face in his pillow, so Castiel couldn’t hear him scream.

Chapter Text

Castiel sat at the table, moving pieces around. He didn’t put the puzzle together- he didn’t want to work on it without Dean. It didn’t seem right to finish it himself, after they’d started it together.

So he moved the pieces, and thought.

Because... something was wrong here.

Something was wrong.

I wasn’t applying for the same job.

What job was Dean applying for, then?

Castiel exhaled... then stood and went into his office. He didn’t pass anyone- or if he did, he didn’t notice. He was focused on his computer, and not because he was four days away from missing a production deadline.

Opening up a new tab, Castiel tried to remember the full name of Crowley’s business. What was it they’d called the facility? Staffing Solutions?

Castiel tried it, typing Crowley’s Staffing Solutions into the search bar. Instantly, he was greeted with a full page of results. Crowley’s own page, of course- Castiel had already been there. He’d browsed the page a hundred times before deciding to actually make the trip.

Below that there were a few links for affiliate companies- places looking to earn commission fees by helping to move Crowley’s stock. There were a couple of yelp pages, some reviews, some articles by people who had been there...

Castiel frowned at it. These sites were all from different people, but they all had one thing in common. They were aimed at reaching owners, people looking to buy.

Where did Crowley get his stock from?

Castiel went back to google. This time, instead of using the facility’s name, he typed in the address.

Once again, the top result was the facility’s own website. Most of the sites that followed were the same, until the second page. There, Castiel started seeing message boards.

That gave him an idea.

He went back to google a third time. This time, instead of simply typing the address, he added an n-dash followed by “staffing solutions.”

This time, the selection of results was completely different. More message boards, blog posts, and incidental mentions.

Looking to get indentured/sold.

Anybody know who’s buying?

Need an indenturement fast it’s an emergency.

This is where Crowley’s place was being talked about.

Castiel clicked on the one marked ‘emergency.’ It was three years old. The opening post was from a young woman. Her sister was pregnant and she needed to come up with some money for a place for her and the new baby to live.

The first place recommended Crowley’s.

They’re always looking, the poster wrote. They’ll take anybody, 375k minimum.

A few other people recommended Crowley’s intermixed with different places, but it seemed that everyone in the area had heard of them.

One person listed a contact phone number. Castiel read it over three times, until he was pretty sure it wasn’t the same number listed on Crowley’s main page. He went back and checked. Sure enough, it was a different number.

Castiel scrolled through the message board, looking to see if there was any more information on the young woman with the pregnant sister. Her last post said that she was going to check Crowley’s out, and that she would report back.

Castiel went back and googled the phone number.

The first result was no longer Crowley’s own page. This time, it was to a significantly less dignified page by the name of

Castiel clicked, already feeling suspicious.

The head of the page was simply the number $350,000, written out with all zeroes present. The font was embellished to look like beveled gold.

Castiel scrolled down.

All offers accepted. $350,000 minimum, instant cash delivery! Paying extra for skilled workers!

Factory, labor, farm, and textiles workers needed NOW!

Castiel read through the rest of the advertisement, which promised quick and convenient payment. Workers, the page said, would learn a trade, have opportunities to advance, and be able to live and work without the hassle of bills or bank accounts.

Eliminate the middleman! Have your boss pay your rent!

On the page, a photo showed a young man smiling at the camera. He was picking apples on a beautiful fall afternoon. There was a barcode on his outstretched wrist.

Castiel kept reading. Is this the kind of advertisement that Dean had seen? Did he go to Crowley’s expecting to be put to work on a farm?

There was no mention of private ownership, or sexual duties, or anything of the sort.

Castiel closed the window, thinking.

He should ask Dean about this.

But... Dean didn’t want to talk to him.

Sighing, Castiel re-opened the browser. He had to get to the bottom of this, and he had an idea on how to do it.




Benny raised an eyebrow.

“You want another one.”

“No,” Castiel said, shaking his head. “No, I want... this is difficult to explain.”

“Seems pretty straightforward to me,” Benny said.

“Will you please just drive? I told her that we would meet her at noon and it is eleven fifteen.”

“And she lives twenty minutes away,” Benny pointed out.

“You don’t know that,” Castiel exclaimed. He was having second thoughts about all of this. “Would you please? Just drive?”

He sat back in his seat, fingering the stack of bills in his pocket. It had taken him three days to select this woman, and another four for her to gather the paperwork and put in an application. And today, it had been accepted.

Now he just needed to meet her.

They pulled up to the house twenty minutes later, just like Benny had said. It didn’t matter that they were early- the young woman was already sitting on her porch. Castiel probably wouldn’t have, if he were her. The whole thing looked like it was about to fall off the front of the house.

The minute the car stopped, she was on her feet, walking quickly to the car. Castiel slid across the seat, making room for her in the back.

When she got in, she looked carefully from Castiel to Benny.

“You’re the guy from the forums?” she asked Castiel. He nodded. He withdrew the money from his pocket, handing it over. She didn’t count it.

“That’s fifty percent,” Castiel added. It was probably redundant because that’s what they’d agreed to in their emails. He clarified anyway. She looked nervous and he wasn’t sure what to do about that.

Instead, he took out the glasses he’d purchased on the internet and spent the morning experimenting with. He now had a wonderful audio recording of Benny singing, which he planned to treasure forever.

“The part behind the ear is pretty thick, but as long as you don’t take them off, your hair should cover it,” he said, handing them over. The woman took them, putting them on. “Good. They look perfectly normal. I worried. They don’t look quite so natural on me. Because my hair is shorter, and they made my ears stick out a little. But they look fine on you.”


Castiel’s face colored, and he looked down.

“Please make sure that we see every page. We’ll need them if this is going to work.”

“Yeah,” the woman said, looking from Castiel to Benny and back. “That’s all you want? Really?”

Castiel nodded.

“Do you need a ride?”

“I’ll get an uber,” she said, getting back out of the car. She went back into the house without looking toward the car. Benny turned around in his seat.

“What the hell are you doing, Castiel.”

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?” Castiel asked. Benny rolled his eyes.

“You’re up to something. Why are you sending her to Crowley’s if you were gonna pay her with cash?”

“I have a suspicion,” Castiel said. He rubbed his face. “Something that Dean told me. It doesn’t make sense but... I think that in time, it will.”




Dean laid down another card.

“Black six,” he added, for Pamela’s benefit. She laughed.

“You’re in trouble now.”

“I feel like I’m cheating, here,” he said honestly.

“If you are, you’re terrible at it,” she said, laying down her own card. “This is the fifth time I’ve beaten you.”

“You haven’t won yet,” he pointed out. He glanced back at his hand. He had two more moves, tops, before he was utterly screwed. She was going to win this hand. Again.

“I still feel bad playing strip poker with somebody who can’t see,” he admitted.

“Tell me what kind of underwear I’m missing out on, then, she said, laying down another card. Dean scowled.

“Cotton panties. Green. And I’m taking them off. Happy?”

Pamela made a purring noise and Dean stood up, dropping his cards on the table. He stripped off his underwear and threw them right into Pamela’s stupid, fully-clothed face.

“I’m keeping these,” she announced, stuffing them down her bra. He rolled his eyes.

Why?” he asked. “What benefit could you possibly be getting out of this?”

Pamela gave him a wolfish smile.

I can’t see you, but Jo can.”

Pamela angled her head toward the blonde girl three bunks away. When she saw Dean looking, she ducked her face, blushing.

“I’m guessing there’s something in this for you, later,” Dean deanpanned. Pamela nodded exuberantly.

“Oh yes. In this business, it pays to accumulate favors.”

“How long do I have to stay naked?” Dean griped, changing the subject. “We can’t play any more hands, I’ve got nothing else to bet with.”

“We could pay for favors,” Pamela said, grinning. The scars on her cheeks made long dimples, and Dean found himself wondering again how she got them.

He’d never quite found the right time to ask.

“Heads up,” Jo yelled over to them. Dean looked at her and then followed her gaze to the doorway where Castiel was standing.

Dean panicked and grabbed his pants. It wasn’t until he’d pulled them over his crotch that he realized how pointless it was.

It’s not like anyone living here was modest. People hooked up all the time, they changed in front of each other, the showers were communal- nobody really cared.

If anyone else had walked in, Dean wouldn’t have cared. But it was Castiel, and Castiel was giving him such an openly appreciative look that Dean hurried to put his clothes back on. He shimmied into his jeans, realizing too late that his underwear were still hiding down Pamela’s cleavage.

“Am I interrupting?” Castiel asked. “I need to borrow Dean.”

Dean’s stomach turned to ice. But he had no excuse.

“Coming,” he said weakly, and then winced at his choice of words. “Sir.”

“Meet me in my room, please,” Castiel said, before turning to leave. Dean looked back to Pamela.

“Guess my good luck ran out,” he said quietly. She reached out, squeezing his hand.

“First couple times are always the worst,” she said, too softly for Jo to hear. “You’ll get used to it quicker than you think.”

“I don’t want to get used to it,” Dean said. Pam gave him a smile.

“Doesn’t matter what we want, does it? Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”


Dean pulled away from her and went upstairs. He knocked twice on Castiel’s door, before going in.

“Did you want me to prep, sir? You didn’t say—”

“Not- um. Not right now. Come in though. I have to talk to you.”

Dean stepped into the room. Castiel was in the same place Dean had left him. The puzzle was still there, too. Some of the pieces were still upside down, and Dean realized that Castiel had barely touched it since the last time they’d worked on it.

Now, Castiel started flipping the pieces back over. He didn’t look at Dean.

“I want... I think you’re owed an apology,” Castiel said. He shook his head. “No, that’s wrong. I owe you an apology.”

Dean said nothing. Castiel went on flipping puzzle pieces over.

“I went to Crowley’s because it was very highly recommended to me. I was told good things by people who had gone there to buy, uh... to find...”

“Slaves,” Dean supplied.

Castiel fiddled with two pieces, trying to get them to fit together.

“I’m not very good with people. You probably noticed. And I don’t get... I don’t know how to date people. I don’t even know how to talk to people. I barely know how to look at people. I want to look at you, you have the most beautiful green eyes and the only reason I know that is because I saw them through one-way glass and if that glass hadn’t been there I never would have seen your face.”

Castiel glanced at him now, meeting his eyes for just a second before looking away.

“I think you’re incredibly beautiful, the way you are now,” Castiel said. “And- and that’s not... I’m not proud of that. When I came downstairs just now and you were naked, I realized, that they’ve all seen you down there, and they all know and that’s.... god, that’s humiliating.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean said, crossing his arms.

“I’m trying,” Castiel said. Then he seemed to realize that Dean was being sarcastic. “Oh. The point is... I was a coward. I am a coward. I was told that I could have everything that I wanted and that you would be fine. And that was not the case. I allowed others to speak for you because they told me what I wanted to hear. I was afraid to even let you see me, because I was afraid that if you looked disappointed I’d... I’d have to give up on the whole thing. And I wanted it so much.”

Dean spread his arms.

“Well now you’ve got it. Congratulations.”

No,” Castiel said suddenly. “No, I don’t, that’s the thing, because I can’t do this to you if you don’t want it, if I know you don’t want it. I thought the nullification would make it easier to buy the act, but it’s worse, it just made it worse, and you weren’t acting because you don’t.... you don’t...”

He was making that gesture with his hand again, faster this time, and Dean started getting scared again.

“Listen, if you want me to act, fine, I can do that. I just need a little more practice, let me spend some more time with Benny. I can do it, sir-”

“Don’t call me that!” Castiel near-shouted, and Dean pulled back. He suddenly remembered Ketch, who would never shout but who tended to add five strikes when Dean talked back.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Dean said quietly.

Castiel sighed.

“I want you to want me.”

Dean looked across the table at his owner. The man was sitting, slumped, his face in his hands, staring down at the table top.

Castiel had paid him a lot of money to do a job. And if he couldn’t do it for Castiel, then he was going to go back to Crowley, and Crowley would sell him to Michael, and Michael would-”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, not thinking of fluorescent lights and the taste of blood where he’d bitten his lip. He forced himself to focus on the present, where he had a job to do.

“I could... try?” he said, trying to put hope into his voice. Castiel wanted him to be an actor. He could do that. “If you can be patient with me?”

Castiel looked up, frowning.


Dean put on his best approximation of a casual shrug.

“Yeah. I mean. I was nervous at first? But Benny’s been showing me some... I dunno. Tricks? So it’s not as bad now.”

Assuming that Castiel knew how to fuck a man like Benny did, which Dean doubted severely.

Castiel was nodding now.

“I know it’s not the job you were looking for, but I appreciate you trying to make the best of it.”

Dean gave him a little smile.

“What do you want to do?”

“Can you... can you come over here?” Castiel said, standing up. He took two steps backward, toward the bed, and Dean’s heart skipped a beat.

“I still didn’t prep,” he reminded Castiel.

“That’s alright. I was thinking, actually, it might be better if we went slower?”

Dean hesitated. He sensed a blowjob in his very near future, and he and Benny had never gotten around to practicing that.

God, he hoped he wasn’t terrible at it. He was making a little bit of progress here.

Castiel pulled off his shirt and Dean blinked. The guy wasn’t nearly as pale or skinny as Dean would have imagined. Something about the baggy clothes he always wore...

Castiel was looking at him, and Dean realized he was staring.

“Is this okay?” Castiel asked. He was holding his shirt with both hands, ready to put it right back on if Dean gave the word. He looked as anxious as Dean felt.

Making Castiel anxious was the opposite of his goal here, Dean reminded himself. He pasted on a smile.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. To drive the point home, he pulled his own shirt off, and then they just kind of... stood there. Looking.

“Should we lay down or something?” Dean asked. Castiel nodded suddenly, like he’d forgotten what he was doing. He climbed onto the bed, gesturing for Dean to lay beside him.

They weren’t even touching. Not really. One of Castiel’s shins was pressed against his, and they were making some serious eye contact- but that was it.

Then Castiel reached out, drawing his knuckles across Dean’s jaw. Dean almost protested the intimacy of the gesture, until he saw the look of absolute awe on Castiel’s face. He decided to say nothing, just closed his eyes and let Castiel’s hands wander over him.

“Can I ask a personal question?” Dean asked, looking back at Castiel.

“Only if I can ask one back,” Castiel answered.

“Have you ever done this before?”

It was a dangerous question, and Dean knew it. If Castiel got embarrassed or angry, this situation could go south in a hurry.

“No,” he answered, instead. “I’ve never had occasion.”

“You’re like a bazillionaire,” Dean pointed out. “Don’t people come knocking your door down? Aren’t there like... gay sugar babies or something?”

“I suppose,” Castiel said. “I’ve never met one. Maybe if I was more social? Or showier about my income? I don’t go... out. Much.”

“I picked up on that,” Dean said. “But still. Never?”

“Something always goes wrong,” Castiel said. “I’ve had willing partners, but something has always been... wrong.”

“Fair enough.”

“My turn. Before I bought you, what did you do? What was your job?”

“Taking care of my brother,” Dean answered automatically. Then he winced. “I did odd jobs. Retail. Did some deliveries until my dad crashed the car. That was the beginning of the end, really. Can’t go to work without a car, can’t buy a car without a job. No car, no job, no mortgage payment.”

Chapter Text

“Your father doesn’t work?” Castiel asked, frowning, and Dean shrugged.

“I honestly don’t care. Maybe he’ll finally pull his head out of his ass and get his life together. Nothing I can do about it now.”

Castiel’s face was getting dangerously thoughtful, and Dean struggled to change the subject.

“What about you? Got a trust fund, or what?”

Castiel blinked, and took a second to process. Dean felt like he could see the cogs turning in the guy’s head as he switched focus.

“No,” Castiel said, shifting on the bed. His leg rubbed against Dean’s. “My parents put me through college but, I make my own money.”

“Doing what?”

“Database integration,” Castiel said. Dean blanked out.

“I’m gonna need like six more questions to clarify that. What the hell is database integration?”

Castiel’s face morphed into a grin and he moved closer. Dean tensed momentarily, but his owner didn’t seem to notice. Castiel held up his hands.

“Everyone is starting to digitize all their information and you can use information to get other information if you know how to make data talk to other data in a way that can be replicated.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, but Castiel just kept going.

“It’s all just a matter of answering questions that have many variables. Say you own a website that sells products, yes? And say you have five warehouses. A customer in a zip code orders a product. Now you must figure out which of your warehouses have that product, and which is closest to the destination. This is simple enough but then what if the customer orders two products? Is it cheaper to ship them both from a single destination, or two nearer destinations?”

“Together, right?” Dean asked. Castiel grinned even wider.

“It actually depends. I wrote code that would get the weight and dimensions of products from different warehouses and compare different shipping costs to determine which one is least expensive. It’s tricky because there are only fourteen box sizes, so the shipping dimensions progress in a step rather than linear fashion, and depending on the relationship between the product and the box, you also have to take the cost of packing material into account-”

Castiel stopped suddenly, then sighed and rolled onto his back.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I tend to ramble when I get excited. It’s difficult to tell when people are interested but being polite about it.”

“Honestly it just sounds really complicated.”

“It is,” Castiel said, nodding. “Apparently not many people can keep track of it the way I can. It all comes very naturally to me. Interacting with data is much simpler than trying to interact with people.”

It was suddenly very quiet in the room. Dean felt like he should say something, but he wasn’t sure what.

“I haven’t been able to focus much, lately,” Castiel confessed. “Ever since I bought you.”

Dean saw an opportunity and took it.

“My trainer- he used to have me sit next to him while he worked,” Dean suggested.

Castiel frowned.

“I can’t hold a conversation while I work. And I’m not sure I could provide that much small talk anyway.”

“I wasn’t there for conversation,” Dean said quickly. He could see his owner getting antsy again, and he couldn’t afford to let that happen. “In fact, most of the time he didn’t talk to me at all. I was just there, on hand.”

It wouldn’t be as interesting as hanging out in the common room- but it wouldn’t be as awkward as this, either.

Castiel considered.

“I think I’d like that. If you don’t mind.”

Dean put on a wide grin.

“Course not. Easiest job I’ll have this week.”

And probably for a lot longer, Dean thought to himself. He tried not to let the grin slip, but it must have. He could see the reaction in Castiel’s face.

Castiel reached for him again, his fingers carding through the hair at Dean’s temple. He didn’t go further than that.

“Thank you,” Castiel said. Dean almost rolled his eyes. A ‘thank you’ implied that he had a choice- a say in any of this.

Castiel’s hand trailed down, over his cheek. Dean could feel stubble rasping against his knuckles. He hadn’t shaved, but Castiel didn’t seem to care.

“I knew you were beautiful,” Castiel said. “But I didn’t know you’d be kind.”

Dean looked down. He didn’t have to fake that expression- he was shit at taking compliments, always had been. Especially ones he didn’t deserve. He wasn’t kind.

Castiel bit his lip.

“Can I ask? The surgery… I know it isn’t what you would have chosen for yourself. But have you… I mean…”

His face was turning red, and Dean wished he had some clue as to what Castiel was getting at. He couldn’t let this go south.

You like, it, right?” he asked, hoping it would give Castiel the confidence to spit it out. Castiel nodded.

“More than I could have hoped. When Meg told me what they could do, it was like… I can’t describe it. And then when they sent me the pictures-

Castiel shivered and Dean closed his eyes.

“Would you like to see?” he asked. He tried to make his voice sound seductive.

“You’re not scared?” Castiel asked. Dean shook his head. That part, at least, wasn’t a lie. He was used to being seen naked, now. He didn’t want to think too much about that.

Castiel pulled away, and Dean arched, moving to push his pants down.

“Wait,” Castiel said quietly. “Can I…?”

“Sure,” Dean answered. He didn’t know what the question was, but that was the answer anyway.

Castiel rose up over him, leaning across Dean’s waist. Then he paused, as if he’d remembered something.

“I’m really not a sadist,” he said, looking up into Dean’s face. “The last thing I want is to hurt you. If I overreach… tell me. And I’ll stop.”

Dean nodded, not trusting himself to vocalize an answer.

Castiel raised up onto his knees, his fingers in the waistband of Dean’s pants.

Slowly, almost reverently, he slid them down. He kept his eyes fixed on Dean, marveling at each inch of revealed skin. Dean arched up into it, not looking down when Castiel pulled the clothing off him.

Instead, Dean focused on staying loose and pliant. If he started trembling again, the jig was up.

Castiel’s mouth was surprisingly soft against Dean’s belly. His hands were on either side of Dean’s hips, and he was…

Just kissing him. That’s all.

Dean looked down, to where Castiel was nuzzling into the hollow of his hip.

After all the things that Ketch had put him through, this was… distressingly vanilla.

Dean wasn’t buying it.

He waited for something to hurt, the anticipation strong enough that he almost yelped when he felt teeth on his thigh.

Castiel looked up quickly.

“Was that too much?”

“Just sensitive,” Dean said. It wasn’t really a lie.

Castiel pressed a quick kiss to the spot, then moved on. He was working his way inward and Dean wasn’t looking forward to what would happen when he reached his destination.

Castiel hesitated, looking up as though for permission. Dean gave him a small nod, and Castiel smiled back. He rearranged them until Dean’s knees were bracketing his shoulders, and then he just-

Dean hissed a breath in, resisting the urge to jerk his hips upwards. Castiel had latched his mouth over Dean’s groin and he was sucking, his tongue rough and wet against the sensitive skin.

Fuck, Cas,” Dean gasped. “A little warning!”

Dean’s eyes were closed, but he could feel Castiel’s breath across his skin.

“Apologies. May I do it again?”

Dean nodded.


Even when he expected it, the sensation was no less intense. Dean wriggled a little bit, unable to hold still as he was quickly overstimulated. Cas’s arm lay across his hips, keeping him still rather than holding him down.

The guy was way stronger than his meekness would imply.

Dean wasn’t interested in that, though. He wasn’t interested in how strong Cas was, or the scrape of his stubble, or the deep rumble in Cas’s throat. All those things seemed appealing, but it was only because of what Cas was doing with his mouth.

That was what Dean was actually interested in, and god was he ever interested.

When he got back down to the barracks he was going to kill Pamela for not mentioning this.

Dean looked down, between the V of his spread legs, to the quick kitten-dart of Cas’s tongue. It was hot and wet and Dean had never been so turned on in his life.

Castiel groaned, shifting against the bed, and Dean realized that he was grinding his hips down into the mattress.

Adrenaline sparked up, a sudden fear of ‘what comes next’ that had Dean’s breath coming fast, but even more than that-

Dean gasped, something cresting in his belly. Almost instantly, the feeling of Cas’s mouth became too much. Dean pushed his owner away, fingers carding through Cas’s messy hair.

“Too much,” Dean panted. “Too much, sorry, sorry-”

Castiel ducked under Dean’s knee, moving to lay beside him.

“I think I just came,” Dean whispered.

It was… well, it was different. To say the least. Dean wasn’t sure if there were different muscles flexing or if the hormonal changes had altered the way the endorphins worked or… or what. Right now he didn’t want to think about it. The bed was soft and comfortable and Cas was warm and Dean wanted to enjoy the moment before whatever came next.

“What I did…” Castiel started. “That was good?”

Dean let out a little laugh.

“Yes, Cas, it was good.”

The muscles in his thighs were still twitching. Castiel’s hand rested lightly on his hip- he had to be able to feel the aftershocks.

Dean waited for the command to get on all fours, but it didn’t come. Instead, Castiel only nestled up beside him. Dean could feel the hard outline of his master’s cock, pressing up against his side.

Castiel rolled his hips, rutting against Dean’s bare skin, his breath coming in uneven gasps. Dean could tell the moment when he came- still clothed, without asking Dean for anything at all.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. His hand still rested against Dean’s hip. “For trying it.”

“Wasn’t as bad as I expected,” Dean blurted, He tensed, worried that he’d given himself away. But Castiel only smiled.

Chapter Text

“I hate you,” Dean grumbled, climbing into Pam’s cot. She lifted up the blanket, draping it over him as he nestled in beside her. From two bunks away Benny watched them, trying to gauge Dean’s condition.

“It’s over now,” Pam said. She curled her arm around Dean’s shoulders, letting him rest his head on her chest. With her other hand, she ran her fingers through his hair.

“Did you know I could still come?” Dean asked. Pamela’s hand stilled, then resumed stroking.

“I hoped you could. But I wasn’t sure. Didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“I hate you,” Dean repeated. Pam was a traitor.

“It wasn’t all bad then?” Benny asked, relocating to the bed beside Pam’s. Dean groaned.

“I’m not bleeding, so it’s better than I expected.”

“Oh, chere …”

“He came,” Pamela reported. “That’s a good sign on a lot of fronts.”

Dean balked.

“Yeah, it was totally awesome having a completely unexpected orgasm in front of the social reject who owns me,” he grumbled.

“Careful,” Benny warned.

“Yeah, yeah…” Dean mumbled into Pam’s chest. She scowled at Benny.

“Your unrelenting loyalty to Castiel isn’t part of this,” she scolded. “Dean’s working through some perfectly valid confusion right now. If you can’t be supportive, then leave.”  

“I’m right here,” Dean protested. “I can hear you.”

“I can offer you a lot of things, but privacy isn’t one of them,” Pamela answered. “We don’t get to have secrets any more. Not from our owners, not from each other. That’s a strength, not a weakness.”

“Bullshit,” Dean snapped. “You guys aren’t the ones getting publicly summoned into his damn bedroom. That’s some deeply personal shit.”

Pamela gave him a wry smile.

“Not anymore.”

“Yeah?” Dean said, pushing himself up on his arms. “What happened to your eyes, then, miss I-don’t-care-about-privacy?”

Pam let her hands drop to her sides.

“A client,” she said simply. “He could never get away with doing it to his ex-wife, so he did it to me, instead. It was nothing personal. Could have been any of us.”

“Fuck, Pam, I didn’t mean--”

“He paid my value price and the cost of the emergency care and in exchange, my owners didn’t press charges,” Pam continued. “Within a day they had a new girl covering my regulars. We shared a bunk until I was healed enough to be re-sold.”

Dean tried to look anywhere except at her face. It seemed rude, even if she couldn’t see him do it. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Benny’s eyes.

“It was reported as an accident, so chattel services wouldn’t intervene” Benny added. Pamela nodded.

“Castration is considered cosmetic, but loss of eyesight would have been considered a crime. So-- they covered it up.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Dean demanded. “You could have gotten that guy put in jail!”

Pamela shook her head.

“My owners would have been charged too. The brothel could have shut down, and I didn’t want that. We were like a family. One of the guys managed to get me a couple braille primers, and the new girl- the one that replaced me? She learned it with me so that I had someone to bitch to.”

“So they just got away with it?” Dean protested. Indignation roiled through his belly, hot and thick.

“No,” Benny said. “I bought her. Castiel always had a habit of collecting strays, and we needed a counselor. Pamela here fit the bill. And when Castiel found out what had happened--”

“He made sure that the brothel stayed together,” Pamela finished. “Under new management. No one went to jail, but they are barred from owning slaves again.”

“Seems like they got off easy,” Dean grumbled.

“You’re missing the point,” Pam said. “If you’re looking for ‘fair,’ you’re not going to find it. That was never in the cards for any of us- or you, for that matter. What we can do, is stick together and cope. Take the good when we can get it. And when it’s bad--”

“Commiserate,” Benny finished. “There ain’t a person here who hasn’t been in your shoes.”

Dean looked to the side, raising an eyebrow at Benny.

“Cas never--”

“His daddy did,” Benny said evenly. “I ain’t never told him and you aren’t gonna either. He doesn’t need that.”

“Point is, you don’t need to hide from us,” Pam said. “Your life might be flipping upside down, but we all went through the same thing. We can help.”

Dean collapsed back down onto the cot, letting Pamela pull him close.

“I don’t know how to talk about it,” he mumbled into her shirt.

“Did he hurt you?” Benny asked. Dean shook his head silently.

“Scare you?” Pam asked. Dean kept shaking.

“Now I know that’s a lie,” Benny said.

“I was just being stupid,” Dean mumbled. “He didn’t threaten me or anything. And I wasn’t scared. I just thought something painful might happen, okay? That’s all.”

Benny and Pam exchanged looks, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Can we not talk about it? I’m fine.”

‘Fine’ being a bit of an overstatement. He wasn’t bruised, or bleeding, or burned. Castiel hadn’t electrocuted him or whipped him or even threatened him. In fact, he’d done the exact opposite-- everything he’d done was designed to feel good.

Dean figured that that was the Castiel that people like Pam and Benny saw. The nice one. The awkward one. The one who would never hurt anybody just for the sake of hurting them.

The thought set his stomach roiling. He didn’t know how to make Ketch’s description of his owner match up with Benny’s. And he didn’t know how to make either of those line up with the Cas that he knew.

Anyway, he didn’t want to talk it out with either of them. Right now he just wanted Pam to keep stroking his hair in an utterly platonic way and not have to pretend like it was turning him on.

Castiel stared at the code, running through the processes in his mind. There were fourteen different functions and he’d written all of them. They returned integers, they always had, they always would. There was no reason, logically, to ever deal with numbers as a string and yet--

He ran the code again, mentally willing the error message to vanish.

It didn’t.

Groaning, he slumped back in his chair, tapping his pen against the arm of his chair. Over the screen of his computer, he could see the whole logical structure drawn out on his whiteboard. Complete with returns.

It should work.

“SQL is garbage,” he told Dean.

The slave looked up, nodding.


“You have no idea what I’m even talking about.”

Dean didn’t look up from his own project. He’d acquired a length of nylon cord from somewhere, and was trying to produce a rather complicated pattern with it. Right now, he was picking out a knot the size of a grape. “I know that when somebody makes frustrated noises for forty minutes, you just agree with whatever they start bitching about.”

“I am not ‘bitching’” Castiel protested. Dean raised his eyebrows and nodded.

Castiel leaned back in his chair, working the kinks out of his spine and staring at the ceiling. Having Dean beside him while he worked was a mixed success. He wasn’t sure it was easier to focus- but when he did get distracted, it was for less frustrating reasons.

For now, he let himself just watch Dean. The slave was sitting on the floor at Castiel’s feet, his back against the desk, a pile of pillows beneath him. As Castiel watched, the knot collapsed and Dean began the process of winding the cord through his fingers.

“This code is being unfair,” Castiel told him. “It’s changing my variable type in the middle of a completely unrelated block of commands and I can’t figure out where or why.”

He glared at the whiteboard, daring it to contradict him.

“I’d offer to help, but I don’t know what most of those words mean,” Dean replied, shrugging. He dropped a loop of cord off two of his fingers and pulled it taut. Castiel found himself watching Dean’s hands. When he glanced back to Dean’s face, the slave was blushing.

“Sorry,” Castiel said, looking back at the computer. “I didn’t meant to stare.”

“Nah. It’s what I’m here for, right?”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“What can I say?” Dean asked, shrugging. “Getting openly ogled is kind of a welcome change from the norm.”

“I wasn’t ogling, ” Castiel protested, sitting back. “I was watching your hands, they’re a functional, nonsexual part of the body.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, barely suppressing a grin.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Castiel felt his chest tighten. He was missing something again. Some code or reference that everybody else just knew, that he was failing to pick up on. Did Dean’s cord shapes mean something? Something good or something bad?

Dean could see his computer screen and so he pulled out his phone, holding it in his lap while he checked.

Hand cord shape meaning

The third result mentioned a wedding practice, which gave him a start until he realized it was a catholic thing that usually involved a rosary. Dean didn’t strike him as particularly catholic- and in any case, he was playing the game by himself.

Castiel scrolled a little further until he was satisfied that Dean’s shapes weren’t meant to be some kind of hidden code, and Dean wasn’t calling him an idiot via string.

Dean dropped another loop and groaned, dropping it and once again pulling out the knots.

“I guess neither of us are making much progress today, are we?” Castiel asked. He had no idea how much progress Dean was making on whatever it was he was trying to do- but exasperated sighs were one form of body language he could read. “Do you want to do something else for a while?”

Castiel could see Dean’s expression change, for just a second, but it was gone before he could figure out what it meant- and then Dean was grinning at him.

“Sure,” the slave said. Castiel stood, offering him a hand up. Dean took it. “What did you have in mind?”

Chapter Text

Jo waved as they passed and Dean ducked, giving her a weak salute in return. Castiel kept walking, oblivious to their interaction.

The backyard smelled like mud and impending rain. The sun was just bright enough to make the cool air comfortable. Castiel didn’t pause when he reached the door, just carried straight on outside.

“I don’t have shoes,” Dean pointed out. Castiel stopped, then, looking from the manicured grass to Dean’s feet and then back again.

“That’s all right,” he concluded, and stepped out onto the brick patio.

Dean followed. If the boss wanted muddy footprints all over his house, then that’s what he would get.

The bricks were warm but the grass was still damp, probably from the morning’s early rain. It needed to be cut- but for that to happen, it would have to dry out.

Castiel marched out across the grass, headed in no direction that Dean could see. Dean followed after him, keeping his eyes down.

He’d accepted that Castiel was keeping him as some kind of housepet, rather than a sex toy. It was a step up, and Dean was fine with it, for the most part- in Castiel’s room. Out here, though…

Dean imagined the others watching through the windows, watching Castiel taking him for a walk. Like he was a puppy or something.

He breathed in. It was fine. This was fine. He’d planned on being hung from the rafters and flogged. That was the perspective he needed to keep this in.

“I hate that bush,” Castiel said. Dean looked up just in time to avoid running into his owner. Castiel had stopped dead and was now staring into a corner of the yard.

Dean followed his gaze.

“It’s… a bear?” he guessed. Castiel nodded.

“It’s Anna’s. She wanted to put in a topiary and when she asked me, I told her she could have one.”

“You weren’t expecting a bear?”

“I didn’t know what a topiary was,” Castiel said, shrugging.

“So cut it down. It’s your bush.”

Castiel shook his head.

“No. Oh, no. I should have looked it up before making a decision. I’d have to come up with some kind of explanation and no matter what I said, she’d be mad.” He shivered, and turned away from the ursine foliage. “I’m going to ignore it until one of us dies.”

Dean let out half a laugh before it occurred to him that Castiel was probably being serious. He turned to follow, hurrying to catch up.

“You’re really not good with conflict.”

“As we’ve established,” Castiel said amiably. “It’s easier to just tell everyone a harmless lie.”

“You told me the truth,” Dean pointed out. Castiel faltered, so suddenly that Dean almost ran into him again.

“I suppose I did,” he said distantly. “It seemed appropriate.”

“We’re getting kind of far from the house,” Dean said, changing the subject. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“Of course. I always come this way.”

“Clearly,” Dean responded, surveying the utter lack of path.

The edge of the lawn gave way to pine needles, surprisingly soft under Dean’s feet. Here, he could see where the ground cover had been disturbed.

Dean wasn’t a huge fan of forests, but he could see light up ahead, so he silently followed his owner deeper into the trees.

And then, suddenly, they gave way.

“Wow,” Dean breathed. “I’m not in Kansas any more.”

“You never were,” Castiel said, confused. Dean waved him off.

They stood at the edge of a cliff face, and before them, Dean could see mountain ridges stretching off into the distance. There were houses among the trees, but not many. For the most part, it was all stone and trees.

“Hell of a view,” Dean said. “Now I get why you come out here.”

“It used to be different,” Castiel said. He pointed at one of the ridges, far off in the distance. “The year after I moved here, there was a fire. The whole mountainside went up in flames. The others evacuated, but I stayed to watch.”

Dean nodded silently, looking out over the mountainside. He didn’t remark on the oddity of a master who would send his slaves off alone.

“The ground burned flat,” Castiel said, gesturing with his hand. “Black and white ash, not a thing left alive. And now look at it. Green. New trees are growing.”

The trees on that mountain did look smaller and lighter than the surrounding area.

“Apparently it happens every couple of years,” Castiel carried on. “And it’s been happening that way forever. Some of the trees have evolved to have seeds that will only germinate after a fire. At some point, this mountain will go, too. It’ll all burn down and all grow back, over and over and over again. I find it comforting.”

“Because… life finds a way?” Dean guessed. Castiel turned to him, blinking.

“Exactly the opposite. The life is inconsequential. It’s the mountains that are static.” Castiel stepped closer to the edge, tipping his chin and closing his eyes. The wind rustled through his hair. “When I become overwhelmed with the fear that something will go wrong, it helps to picture the mountains. These stones will still be here when everything about me has been forgotten. It helps me keep things in perspective.”

“Kind of a nihilist, are you?”

“By force more than choice,” Castiel said, shrugging. “Otherwise things become overwhelming. I’m unable to make even simple decisions unless I can convince myself that the outcome is ultimately meaningless.”

Dean heard a ringing noise, and as though the weather was responding to his mood, a cloud passed over the sun.

“That’s how you justify it,” he echoed. “It doesn’t matter how badly you hurt someone, because someday everyone will forget.”

Castiel stepped toward him, eyes widening.

“Dean, I didn’t mean-”

“It must be nice, to just be above the consequences,” Dean snapped. “To be able to look out over people’s lives from up on your mountaintop and ponder how inevitable it all is.”


“Is this the welcome speech that everybody gets? ‘Sorry your lot is to be cut up and punished but hey, the mountains will survive even if you don’t--’”

“I didn’t mean that!” Castiel interrupted. Dean scowled and turned back toward the house.

“Lesson received. Did you need anything else, Master?

“Dean, wait .”

Everything Dean had struggled to ignore the command, to march off through the woods and back into the lavish room that served as his kennel. But even as the ‘ fuck you’ died on his lips, he could feel Ketch’s cane across the back of his thighs, reminding him of what happened to slaves who didn’t obey.

His hands tightened into fists, and he waited.

Castiel seemed almost surprised.

“When I left the office just now… it was a missing deadline that was bothering me. Nothing to do with you. I came here to be reminded that I can be a few days late and the world would keep spinning. I didn’t mean to… I didn’t even think…”

“No,” Dean said. He didn’t turn around to face his owner. “Why would someone like you ever think about someone like me ?”

The silence behind him was loaded, and not for the first time, Dean felt afraid. Castiel was older than him, stronger, he could have Dean pinned in the dirt without much of a struggle.

Dean flinched, even though the touch was expected. But rather than shoving him to the ground, Castiel’s hand only rested gently on his shoulder.

“I know you think I don’t care about you. But when I had you altered, I thought I had your consent. I never would have done it otherwise. I made sure not to take away your ability to or- to come . And I’ve tried to show you that sex can still be enjoyable. With me, I mean. I made a mistake. But I want to be good to you, Dean.” Castiel took a deep breath. “And if you find that you can’t… you can’t… I won’t force you. Crowley will find you another master, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

Dean’s blood ran cold at the threat, and he kicked himself for being so mouthy. Castiel was inconsistent and self-absorbed, but Dean knew who the alternative was. Even if Castiel took him to the ground and raped him right here in the mud, it was still a hundred times better than what Michael would dole out.

Dean had it good here, whether he liked it or not. He had hot meals, a bed to sleep in, clean clothes, nobody hit him… and all he had to do, the single simple thing- was pretend to be appreciative.

He reached up, letting his hand rest over Castiel’s.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. I want to stay, really.”

Castiel made a sound like a sigh of relief, but whatever he was going to say was buried under a crack of lightning. Before the thunder had even finished, the skies opened up and it began to pour.

Instantly, Dean’s clothes were soaked through.

Castiel’s hand slid down his arm, encircling his bicep and tugging gently.

“Come on, let’s get back inside,” Castiel said over the rain.

The two of them hurried back through the forest, mud and wet pine needles squelching between Dean’s toes. By the time they reached the patio, they were both soaked to the bone and speckled with mud.

Castiel kicked his shoes off, peeling off his damp socks and leaving them on the wet brick. Dean looked helplessly at his own feet.

“Told you I didn’t have any shoes,” he pointed out. “My room’s down the hall, I could go get a towel and--”

“You really want to stay?” Castiel asked. It took Dean a second to realize that his owner was referring to their earlier conversation. He fought the urge to shrug.

“Yes,” he said instead. “Yes, I really want to stay.”

More than anything, I really don’t want to be sold to Michael, he thought to himself. He thought about trying to add something else, but there wasn’t time.

Castiel scooped him up into a bridal carry, stepping over the threshold and into the house.

Chapter Text

Dean looked almost as surprised as Castiel felt. Cas tightened his grip, reassuring Dean that he wasn’t about to get dropped.

Cas’s heart was going a mile a second. A few weeks ago he could barely stand the thought of touching Dean’s shoulder, and now, here he was, holding him.

If it weren’t for the importance of his cargo, Castiel might have freaked out. He might not have made it down the hall and into his room. He might have had his minor heart attack on the patio instead of in his bathroom.

He set Dean down and closed his eyes, inhaling deep through his nose and out through his mouth.

“You good?” Dean asked, and Castiel nodded, grinning through his attempt not to hyperventilate.

“That might be the longest prolonged physical contact I’ve ever had,” he said. “And I didn’t drop you.”

“Thanks for that,” Dean said, and Castiel gave him a weak thumbs-up.

And then all the air left the room because Dean was in his bathroom and he had no idea the protocol for this and neither did Dean because Dean was just a guy --

“Hey, hey, chill, you made it, buddy,” Dean said, and Dean’s hand was on his back and this was way too much.

Castiel sunk down to the floor, scooting backwards across the tile.

“I need a second,” he managed to say, and Dean nodded, slow. He held his hands out, like he was trying to calm a wild animal.

“It’s all good. We got caught in the rain, we got muddy, now we’re gonna take a shower. No big deal. Yeah?”

Castiel nodded, still focusing on his breathing.

Very slowly, Dean reached over his head, gripping the back of his collar and pulling his shirt up. The wet cotton stuck to his body and stretched over his skin and Castiel forgot to breathe.

Dean’s eyes stayed fixed on Castiel’s as he balled up his shirt and chucked it in the direction of the hamper. His breathing was slow and even and Castiel found it easy to match.

“Yeah?” Dean asked, and Castiel nodded.

Dean paused a second, like he was waiting for something, and then he reached out and took Castiel’s hand. Cas let him, not sure what Dean was doing, but not having any plan of his own.

One by one, Dean unbuttoned Castiel’s cuffs, before starting on his collar.

Castiel leaned forward before he was aware that he was going to do it. He didn’t quite dare to make contact, pausing when he felt the heat coming off Dean’s skin. Dean shivered a little, and then raised his hands to push Castiel’s shirt over his shoulders.

“You smell good,” Castiel said, and Dean hummed.

“Jo says you like this soap,” he replied, and Castiel shook his head.

“It’s not the soap,” Castiel insisted. He pulled away just long enough to see a blush spread across Dean’s cheeks.

There were so many freckles, Castiel found himself starting, a long time, too long, and when he looked up Dean was looking right at him and for once in his life, Castiel didn’t think.

He leaned forward, raising his hands to cup Dean’s face, pressing his lips to the slave’s.

Under his fingertips, Castiel could swear that Dean’s face heated up as he blushed again. Dean didn’t pull back, but Castiel did, looking for a reaction on the other man’s face.

Dean looked… surprised, if Castiel had to put a word to it. Which made sense, since Castiel was a little surprised himself.

“Is that okay?” he asked quietly. Dean nodded.

“Yeah. All good.”

Castiel could feel Dean’s breath on his wet skin, and for once, he didn’t want to recoil.

“I should turn the water on,” Dean said, pulling away. Castiel nodded, not looking away from the place where Dean had been. He heard the water run, and knew it would be getting warm soon.

When he finally made his eyes move, Dean was stripping off the last of his clothes and stepping into the spray. Castiel wished that he had a camera or, failing that, that he knew how to paint. The water washed over Dean’s smooth, freckled skin, and Castiel was instantly hard.

Beside the shower was a linen stand, and Castiel took a washcloth before stepping into the shower behind Dean. He sank to his knees, sliding the cloth down the length of Dean’s muddy calf.

The younger man stilled, then turned to face his owner.

“Let me,” Cas said, and Dean didn’t respond, just nodded.

Castiel knew that if he looked up, he’d find Dean’s groin at eye level- but he kept to his task. Water dripped across his face and he ignored it, opting to devote all of his attention to Dean.

“Did you mean to leave your clothes on?” Dean asked finally, and Cas’s hair stood on end.

He hadn’t even noticed.


I need your help,” Dean hissed, sliding into the bunk opposite Pam’s. “You gotta teach me how to seduce somebody.”

“Have you tried taking your clothes off?” Pam asked, raising an eyebrow. Dean groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Yes,” he moaned. “And I know he was interested, and then I blew it.”

“Oh, do tell?” Pam asked, dropping her book and turning toward him.

“He- hey, no,” Dean said, leveling a finger at her. “This is not gossip. This is a legitimate crisis.”

Pam gave him an utterly unreassuring grin. Dean sighed.

“Fine. We were in the bathroom. In the shower, yeah?”

“Good start. Hot water is very erotic.”

“Yeah. Except then he gets down and starts washing mud off my legs.”

“Face right where it needs to be,” Pam said, nodding. “So how’d you fuck it up?”

“I pointed out that he was still wearing pants,” Dean said dejectedly. Pam paused, and then broke out laughing.

“He what?”

“Socks, too,” Dean grumbled.

“That’s perfect! Sounds like you had him preoccupied, at least.”

“Yeah, except when I pointed it out, he got so nervous that he left, ” Dean snapped. “Wet clothes and all. Just stalked off into the hall and shut the door and I haven’t seen him since. I had to just… finish showering and walk back to my room naked.”

Pam wasn’t laughing any more.

“He was embarrassed?”

“Yeah? I guess?”

“That’s not good.”

“I know.”

“Embarrassed is the opposite of aroused.”

“I know.

“Okay, here’s your lesson for today,” Pam said, crossing her legs on the bed. “People who like having normal vanilla sex have no problem finding partners.”

Dean scoffed.

“I never-”

“Shut up, we’re not talking about true love. I’m talking about no-name pump-and-dumps for the sheer biological reward. Don’t tell me that you never had the opportunity for another human being to get you off.”

Dean grimaced, but had to admit she was right.

“The folks who pay for it fall into two categories,” Pam continued, not seeing his nod but taking his concession for granted. “The ones who want a clearly defined no-strings-attached relationship and have the money to pay for it, and the second kind; the ones who can’t have boring vanilla sex and don’t know how to communicate that to a partner.”

“Cas is that second one?” Dean guessed.  

Most customers are that second one,” Pam agreed, nodding. “What they’re paying you for- what they’re really paying you for, is to accept their terms and not ask questions. Like Castiel. His mind wanders and he’s so touch starved that you could probably get him off by hooking pinkies. Your job is to pretend like that’s totally normal. Like he’s totally normal.”

“He knows damn well that he isn’t,” Dean grumbled. “He’s gonna know that I’m lying to him.”

“Obviously. But plumbers and pizza men don’t actually accept sexual favors as payment, and yet they keep making the movies. If you can pull off the skirt and pigtails, clients are absolutely willing to believe you’re a babysitter.”

“Why am I the- you know what. Nevermind.” Dean rubbed his hands through his hair, trying to process. Cas wasn’t just weird, he was unpredictable. One minute trying to get on Dean’s good side, the next minute, threatening him with a return to Crowley’s. “What do I actually do? How do I sell this?”

“Whatever he’s, doing,” Pam said, leveling a finger at him, “you act like you’re digging it. Your new mantra is ‘that’s nice, baby.’ Say it.”

“That’s nice? Baby?”

Pam leaned across the gap between bunks and swatted him upside the head.


Pam swatted him again.

“What’s your mantra?”

“That’s nice! Ow!”

“Sell me, slut.”

Dean bit his lip.

“That’s nice, baby.”

“Good. Drill that in the mirror until you can do it without sounding like it’s your first day on the casting couch.”

“That’s it?” Dean whined. “Whatever happens, I just have to pretend I’m digging it?”

“I could tell you stories,” Pam said, rolling her eyes. “I had a guy who could only get off if he fucked me through a stuffed animal. I was pulling polyester fibers out of my unmentionables for days.”

Dean wrinkled his nose. He didn’t think Cas was into anything involving toys. Well… that kind of toys, anyway.

“What about… what if it hurts?”

“Pain faces and pleasure faces look pretty much identical. Close enough for plausible deniability. You just have to make sure that nothing’s actually breaking. If you feel like something’s gonna tear, that’s when things get tricky. You have to get them to stop without killing the mood.”

“Slow down, I want this to last?” Dean guessed. Pam laughed.

“He can be taught.”




Castiel shifted against the damp carpet and realized he should have changed. He was dripping all over everything and god, this was a nightmare.

His computer was trilling out the familiar facetime ringtone and Castiel was half-hoping that Lucifer wouldn’t answer- but he did. There was a blonde woman beside him, peering curiously at the screen, but Lucifer quickly shooed her away.

“You look like a drowned rat,” he said without preamble. “What happened to you?”

“I need your help,” Castiel said miserably.

“And it is high time you recognized that truth,” Lucifer responded. “What do you need? Bail money?”

“It’s Dean. My new slave,” Cas amended when Lucifer gave him a blank look. “We aren’t getting along. Or, we are, we were, but I’m messing it up. He keeps giving me chances and I keep blowing them.”

“He should be blowing you, Cassie, that’s the whole point of your relationship.”  

“I… I don’t think he wants to,” Cas said, looking away from the screen. “I mean… I don’t think he knew…”

“Ahhhh,” Lucifer said, leaning back. Cas could see that he was in bed, surrounded by pillows. There was a handprint on the wall behind him, in what looked like chocolate syrup. “Let me guess. He had a blank contract?”

“Well… yeah,” Castiel conceded. “How did you know?”

“Tell me if this sounds familiar,” Lucifer said. “You buy him, you pay for him, you get him home and suddenly everything changes. He’s not into guys, he’s probably claiming to be a virgin, and he’s making you feel like a piece of shit for wanting to fuck him. He says he volunteered for indenturement to do some other kind of work.”

Castiel felt his stomach twisting.

“Dean’s not-”

“But despite all that,” Lucifer continued, barreling past Castiel’s protest, “he doesn’t want to be sold to a different owner- any other owner.”

“He’s trying to make it work, we’re both adjusting,” Castiel insisted. Lucifer leaned back and laughed.

“Cassie, you’ve got yourself a pillow princess. Oh, I should have known, the minute you said you had a new slave, I should have warned you. You’re too damn precious for this world.”

Castiel felt a familiar burning in the corners of his eyes.

“You think he’s a con artist.”

“Lots of them are,” Lucifer replied, shrugging. “I’ve had three of them try it with me. They pretend like it’s all a big mistake and they didn’t mean to agree to anything- and if they’re lucky, they get someone good hearted and gullible.”

“Like me,” Castiel said darkly.

“Like you,” Lucifer agreed, nodding. “Don’t feel too bad. It’s not personal. And, it’s easy to fix.”

“I sell him,” Cas realized. The twisting in his stomach got worse. Even if Dean was trying to con him, the thought of sending him away seemed worse somehow.

“Or you just make it clear that you expect him to do his job. He knew when he got indentured that his owner probably wouldn’t fall for the con. Now he’s got his hopes up, but it’s not too late. You just need to redefine your terms of servitude.”

Castiel rubbed at his face.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“You can start by punishing him for trying to drown you.”

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious, Luci.”

“Tell you what. I’m going out with a trainer friend of mine for some drinks this weekend. Why don’t you join us? I have to admit I’m curious about the slave that finally got my brother’s attention.”

“Like out out? Like out to a public place?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Castiel. Out in public, with other humans. Don’t worry, the day star will have set. And I’ll do all the talking. Think of it like dinner theater.”

“I hate dinner theater.”

“You’ll like this,” Lucifer promised, and hung up.

Chapter Text

Hello everyone. I'm going to apologize in advance, because this chapter probably isn't what you're hoping for.
I've been having some problems with my thinkmeat, and this week I got approved for ECT, which is going to make me a functional human (hopefully) at the expense of my vocabulary and short-term memory.

As a result; it is very unlikely that this fic is going to be finished. And for that, I am sorry.

What I can do, is give you a rundown of how this fic likely would have ended.


Spoilers ahead.


The club that Lucifer is referring to in the previous chapter is run by Michael. Castiel doesn't recognize Michael when he gets to the club. Lucifer, Castiel, and Michael get a table and have some drinks while watching a live show on the stage. The show is a blissed-out Dean being teased and spanked by another one of Michael's slaves. Castiel enjoys seeing Dean 'enjoying himself' but becomes uncomfortable when Dean is brought to the table and it becomes apparent that he's highly inebriated. Lucifer and Michael urge Castiel to use his 'disobedient' slave, at which point Dean recognizes Michael and becomes hostile.

Dean assumes that Castiel has brought him here so that Michael could rape him again. When he says this out loud, Castiel is horrified, both at the revelation of Michael's actions and the implication that he would condone such a thing. Michael tries to protest that he wasn't out of line, because Dean was a slave and not a virgin, and therefore he hasn't deprived Castiel of any of his slave's value. Even Lucifer isn't buying this line of reasoning, and the three of them part ways.

On the way home, Dean passes out in the car, and Castiel realizes that he might be a trash human being. Dean can't tell he's not a rapist, which means he's done something very very wrong.


Callback to that lady Castiel paid off a couple chapters ago.

Castiel contacts Crowley and says he's thrilled with Dean, so much so that he wants another slave with even heavier surgical alterations. He gives the physical description of the woman he met with.

In this universe, legally, there are certain waiting periods and mandatory counsel that have to be gone through before any slave can sign a contract involving the possibility of sex. (Thank you American Puritan Ethics.) Think American sex ed, where you have to meet with a nurse who tells you that having a contract that allows for sex is the same as being a prostitute and if you sign a contract like that, you will immediately catch Blue Waffle and Die.

Anyway, 98% of the time Crowley's contracts are completely on point and legally bulletproof but lately he's been getting greedy. He's been meeting up with people like Michael who are willing to pay top dollar for young and attractive sex slaves with blank contracts. Blank contracts are rare, for obvious reasons, but Crowley's been keeping an eye out for candidates who don't know their rights, and can be funneled off into the darkness before they can make a fuss.

Dean was originally intended for Michael. Crowley railroaded him into a blank contract because he already had a specific buyer in mind, the fact that Dean ever went 'up for auction' was a total farce. The only reason it wasn't a direct sale is because direct sales are usually things like 'generic farm laborers' and for Crowley to have direct sales of that kind of dollar value would be highly suspicious to say the least.

Nobody factored Castiel into the equation.

So when Castiel calls Crowley back and says, basically, "yes I love my nonconsensual sex slave, I'd like to pay just as much money for another one" Crowley's eyes start flashing dollar signs and he starts keeping an eye out for a woman that matches the description of what Castiel asked for.
Coincidence of coincidences, one quickly shows up and Crowley pulls the same bait-and-switch with her that he did with Dean. Only this time, Castiel's there waiting and it's all recorded.

Everything that Crowley did is crazy illegal and he is definitely going to jail. Very possibly he's going to end up indentured, himself.

Tons of Crowley's contracts get nullified. The slaves that the authorities can find are set free, including Dean.

Castiel's insurance company pays back most of Dean's purchase cost and then sues the fuck out of Crowley's entire business conglomerate. Michael's club is somewhere under that umbrella, and he ends up taking a severe financial hit. No more slaves for Michael.

Sam doesn't have to give anything back.


Dean spends a few weeks back home before deciding that he can't stand living with his Dad's comments. Dean goes and visits Sam at college, tells him most of the story, and gets slapped upside the head for doing anything that risky. Dean is glad to see his brother but Sam is doing fine and doesn't really need looking after. Sam tries to give Dean the money but Dean insists that he keep it. Eventually Dean agrees to take a couple thousand dollars to get himself set up somewhere, but he doesn't know where to go.

He goes back to visit Pam and Benny, and runs into Cas. Cas is shocked to see him there. He says that one of the hardest things about turning the evidence in to the police was the knowledge that once Dean was freed, he'd never see him again. Dean is surprised to learn that Castiel (essentially) freed him on purpose. Castiel says that once he'd realized that Dean's indenturement was involuntary, he didn't really have a choice.

Fucked-up beginnings aside, the two of them realize that they might actually like each other if allowed to explore their relationship in an environment with balanced power dynamics where everything is consensual.

The fic ends with Cas asking Dean out on a date.


- if anyone wants to write this out, be my guest.
- if anyone wants to write out a different ending, be my guest.
- if I forgot to tie up any loose ends, let me know in the comments.

- in retrospect this storyline would have worked better without the castration kink
- it is kind of unforgivable
- hindsight is 20/20
- if anybody wants to rewrite this without the castration, be my guest