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Dean woke abruptly, muscle memory bringing his body up from a prone position and onto all fours before his eyes were even all the way open. This was the norm for him and had been for quite some time. Long ago, waking would have found him with one hand under his pillow, the familiar grip of his pistol in his palm.  Back in those days he’d awakened tense for different reasons. These days, when he jolted from sleep it was with a shudder of pleasure, not fear. The initial sensation of pleasure that had roused him was now subsiding and he arched his back to enjoy the tingling aftershocks that followed. As they rolled over him, his eyes drifted closed again and he pushed his knees further apart on his comfortable mattress. Humming contentedly, Dean began to rock on his hands and knees as a sensual feeling built in his groin and slowly crept out over the rest of his body. Deep in his gut was a curl of anticipation and his body was practically humming with it.

Around him the sounds of others waking teased his eyelids into fluttering back open again. Still groggy from sleep, he blinked rapidly and brought a palm to his face to scrub at his eyes. As his vision began to clear, he could see the rigid lines of the bars on his cage and beyond them. This room, the sleeping room, was long and narrow and contained dozens of cages just like his. In his early days here, Dean hadn’t liked being caged. But he’d eventually gotten used to it. Not only did he not mind being caged anymore, it was how he preferred to sleep.

Looking to his left, Dean could see his friend Benny stretching. The man was quite a specimen. His broad shoulders and strong back were enviable and the narrowing at his waist pulled eyes downward toward his strong glutes. Dean licked his lips as his eyes crept over the man’s naked body. Benny was every bit the bear in his cage, thick muscles tightening as he rocked on all fours just like Dean. Tearing his eyes away, Dean cast a glance to his right where Kevin was already wide awake. The kid was Benny’s opposite, a twink if ever there was one. Young. Delicate. Smooth. He wasn’t on all fours though, he was curled up on his side with his hand cupped over his groin.

It was impossible not to smile as he watched little Kevin moan dejectedly. His dainty little dick was locked away in a cage. Dean could remember the feeling all too well. When he’d first arrived here, he’d been locked away like that too… his body not yet acclimated to the supplements that were used to ramp up his sex drive. He had been far too eager to bring himself off. Those days were in the past though. It had been ages since he’d had to sleep with his cock locked up. Some days he missed the feel of unforgiving metal cutting into his first boner of the day. But, for the most part, he preferred waking hard like he was now. He loved feeling the weight of his manhood hanging beneath him, his crown brushing back and forth on the sheet as he rocked on his knees. But, he could be trusted. He rarely even touched himself in the morning – preferring instead to ride the building lust within him through to his first orgasm rather than try to rush it by jerking off.

Coming fully awake now, he sucked in a deep breath and let it go. There was a palpable electricity in the air as virile, horny men woke all around him and waited anxiously for their first sexual adventure of the day. The scent of musk hung in the air and Dean continued to breath in and take it deep as he stretched his limbs. It didn’t take long for the stirring in cages to bring in the handlers. Turning his body, Dean craned his neck around towards the door where they entered, curious who would be bringing his juice.

He was a bit let down to find Meg approaching. She was his least favorite handler and taking juice from her was irritating. He’d still take it, but much preferred Pam. Pam liked him and would often pet his hair and talk dirty to him as he drank from the bottle. Meg, however, was condescending. She looked down her nose at him as if he were some sort of secondary citizen… some cast off from society rather than someone who had freely chosen to give himself over to a better life.

“Lay down,” she commanded as she stepped up to him. “You get nothing until you’re on your back.”

Making a show of his discontentment, Dean flopped over for her. He gave her an icy stare as she pushed her gloved hand through the bars and put a baby bottle to his lips. A drop had already formed at the tip of the nipple and it wetted his lips even as he opened them to suck it in. As always, the liquid was cool and sweet. Even after he swallowed, he could continue to feel it as the substance moved down into his stomach and beyond.

Empty as his belly was, liquid entering it brought a feeling of expansion to his abdomen. Two ounces wasn’t much, and in a few short moments, the bottle was dry and his sucking brought strange clucking noises from it. Meg smirked as she began to pull it away from him, but Dean held to it obstinately by the sheer power of his mouth’s suction. Staring at her coldly, he held firm and enjoyed the displeasure on her face as she worked to wrench it away from him.

When she’d broken the seal of his lips, she broke eye contact too and walked away. Dean didn’t move though. Instead, he laid there on his back with his swollen cock standing at attention. He didn’t touch it. Instead, he focused on the feeling inside him… the juice doing its job. It remained cool as it slithered through his body and he could feel the walls of his colon responding to its magical properties. Unlike other drinks, this one would never be voided. This one was soaking into him and changing the properties of his very cells. Sadly, its effects would last only for the day. He remained in that position for quite a while as the staff worked their way down a long line of cages and offered bottles to each and every man. By the time the jingling of keys reached his ears, Dean was as wet between his legs as any woman had ever been. His puckered hole, always anxious to be fucked, was now creating its own natural lube and as Dean’s body writhed involuntarily on his bed, a wet spot was forming beneath him. For the first few hours on the juice, Dean’s body would eagerly overproduce the stuff and the effects would leave him literally dribbling like a leaky faucet from his backside. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant at all. In fact, he rather enjoyed the feeling. To him, it was a physical manifestation of his desire. So often in the past he’d slipped his hand down into some girls panties and moaned when he found her wet for him. Now, others could do the same with him.

Anxious and excited in equal measure, he turned over onto his stomach and ground his swollen cock into the sheet to relieve the pressure. It wasn’t easy to be patient and wait for someone to come open his cage, not when he was this horny. Purposefully, he ground his dick into the wet spot on his sheet, humping his bed to keep from losing his mind. Still, he never put his hands to himself or tried to cum.

When Gordon stepped up, Dean clenched his jaw. First Meg and now Gordon. Clearly today wasn’t his lucky day. Still, he didn’t cause any trouble. He didn’t want to take any chances on ruining an entire day of fun by provoking a punishment. He’d learned early on that obstinance was fine; he was free to lip off. But, physically starting a fight was grounds for discipline. So, when Gordon’s rough fingers reached between the bars, Dean leaned into the collar and waited patiently for it to be latched around his neck. He obediently went into his cuffs as well, eagerly scrambling out of his cage when the door was swung open and landing on his feet.

“Well, well, well,” grinned Gordon contemptuously, “someone’s ready for a fuckin’.”

“Keep your jealousy in check,” Dean snarked, “just cause you ain’t been laid since God was a boy doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t enjoy it.”

“Yeah, sure,” Gordon threw back at him, “I’ll try to keep my jealousy in check while you bend over for some rando and take it up the ass.”

As he was being led to the exit, Dean couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, keep telling yourself how demeaning it is, dickwad. You keep on enjoying the occasional six minute fuck and leave the hours and hours of hardcore stuff to the guys like me who can handle it. I bet you’d stroke out if you ever came as hard as I do.”

Moving out into the hall, Dean absorbed a harsh change as he exited the warm temperature and soft lighting of their sleeping quarters. In contrast, the hall was cold and brightly lit. Between his legs, Dean’s gift of a cock was still heavy and plump despite the changes. As he walked, the wetness that slowly seeped from his hole was spreading around between his cheeks. By the time they’d reached the wash room, his inner thighs were moist with slick too. At least here he was finally treated to a handler he liked.

“G’morning, Dean.”

“Hey Cassie, how you doin’?”

“Well, considering I traded out my favorite donut just to be your waxer, I’d say it’s shaping up to be a decent day.”

“Why do you like me so much,” he teased her, giving a flirty smile. “Is it my perky nipples?”

“It must be the stimulating conversation,” she answered dryly. He ducked his head and maneuvered onto her table. Smiling at him, she snapped an anchoring line through the eyelet on his cuffs and ruffled his hair affectionately before snapping his collar into the lock.

“Lookin’ at you for a few minutes will have me rarin’ to go when I get into the rec room,” he grinned. Letting his eyes skim over her cocoa skin, he imagined what she might look like under her crisp uniform. “You’re the sexiest handler by far.”

“Back atcha,” she grinned flirtatiously. “It’s lucky that handlers aren’t allowed to buy time in there. I’d never take a dime home with me.”

Dean relaxed incrementally as Cassie worked on him, losing himself in the predictable steps as she went about her duties. He didn’t miss the way her eyes roved appreciatively over his naked form while she spread warm wax over the traces of his bush and laid strips of paper onto him. Clenching his jaw and closing his eyes, Dean tried not to flinch as she ripped them away because he always wanted her to be impressed with him. He absolutely loved being her favorite.

When she moved up to stand by his head, he turned his face towards her and watched her dark eyes as she covered the bottom half of his face with a warm, wet towel. Then, he listened as she chatted to him about her life while she plucked at his eyebrows, shaved his scruff, and applied a tingling face mask. When she stepped away for a few minutes to let it set, he closed his eyes and drifted off for a bit. Around him were the soft sounds of conversation as other men underwent salon treatments and, though he was resting, his body was far from calm. His cock was plump where it rested and the entire lower half of his body buzzed in anticipation. Between his cheeks, moisture was building and every time his mind flicked forward to imagine what was coming, he could feel his entrance quiver in excitement. Deep within him a dull ache was building and he knew that the sensation would grow much stronger before relief finally came.

When Cassie returned, she resumed light conversation and because he was fixated on her mouth as she spoke, he didn’t miss the fact that her tongue was now stained bright red. She must’ve enjoyed a red soda or perhaps some fruity candy while she’d been waiting for his mask to cure. He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined how she’d look sucking on a lollipop and felt his cock begin to fill.

“Okay Tiger,” she teased, giving his thigh a friendly smack, “it’s time to turn over for me.”

His dick twitched against the side of his leg as he absorbed her filthy words and when he heard the clink of his cuffs and collar being released, he flipped quickly. Lingering on his knees for a moment, Dean took a deep breath and let it go as he processed the slight chill that came with fresh air ghosting between his wet cheeks.

“Boy oh boy,” she crooned as he sank down onto his stomach. “That juice really does the trick doesn’t it?”

“Sure does,” he sighed. Letting his eyes flutter closed again, Dean tried to enjoy the full body buzz he was riding. He’d always loved being waxed, even in the very beginning. No one else really liked it much, griping about the pain whenever the subject came up. It wasn’t that Dean enjoyed the feeling of hair being ripped from his body, but rather that he enjoyed the rest of the experience enough to tolerate the pain that went with it.

He loved the sensuality of being naked in the presence of someone who was fully clothed. Also enjoyable was the feeling of caretaking that came with having someone dote on him. He loved having someone run their fingers over him and look at his nude body with envy and desire. And the sensation of warm wax being slathered on was not to be underrated. He loved the indulgent feel of it.

Even now, with his cock uncomfortably trapped beneath him, Dean sighed contentedly as Cassie spread his butt cheeks apart and bared his hole. He didn’t need to look at her to know that she was smiling down on him. She loved his body and never missed an opportunity to tell him so.

“When your contract is up and you leave here,” she said softly, “come see me and I’ll do this for free.”

“I’m never leaving here,” he whispered, feeling his hole twitch in anticipation as she spread warm wax around it.

Once again doing his best not to flinch, Dean rode out the pain as the last of the unwanted hair was stripped from his body. He basked in her ministrations as she massaged oil into the newly stripped skin. Then, with his ass as smooth and shiny as a porn star, Dean let Cassie lead him over to the adjacent chair. Here, the restraints were optional for Cassie and she left him his freedom as she tipped his head back into the sink to wash and condition his hair. She massaged his scalp with obvious affection and he hummed his appreciation to her throughout.

After, she sat him up and toweled his hair. Using her scissors to trim a few imperfect hairs, she then beckoned him to his feet and over to where the floor dipped down to a drain. He stood there while she used a hand-held shower head to wash him before patting him dry. As always, he grew hard as a rock under her hands, his cock jutting out towards her even as she pushed the fluffy towel between his legs to dry his balls. Dean didn’t miss the way she pressed upward into him, meeting his gaze as she watched him absorb the sensation and smile.

Just then, the harsh sound of Gordon’s voice cut through his euphoria. “Yeah, we get it princess. He’s your fucking favorite. Now, if you don’t mind, get this on him so I can get him to the bidding room. He’s the last one again.”

Dean looked down at Gordon’s outstretched hand and the cock ring it held. Normally, it was the handlers who put on the gear. But Gordon, closet case that he was, pretended to hate the job and almost always deferred to the stylists who worked on Dean.

“Just this?” clarified Cassie as she took it from him.

“Yeah. For today it’s just this.”

Dean shifted his weight to spread his legs apart a bit and Cassie bent down to take him into her palm. She caressed him tenderly as he grew larger in her hand and despite his best efforts, his breath hitched as he felt the cock ring close around his girth.

“Enjoy yourself,” she told him as Gordon tugged him roughly away.

“Always do,” he replied, looking back over his shoulder to wink at her.

The salon was noticeably devoid of naked men when he was led out of it, the only remaining bodies being stylists who were now busily cleaning up in preparation for the next wave of bodies that would soon be brought in. Dean was always one of the last to leave this room – a favorite among most of the stylists. He didn’t think much of it, other than to know that he was an enviable type. Not a twink, but still youthful and fresh-faced; not a bear, but still commanding in presence and formidable in build. He was almost everyone’s type – perfectly proportioned, handsome, confident and proud.

With his hardened cock swaying back and forth as he walked, Dean kept pace with Gordon as he was brought to the gallery. With each step his anticipation revved up and when he looked down there was a small bead of pre-cum forming at his tip. Watching it grow heavy and fall to the floor as he moved, Dean felt his heart rate kick up a notch. He could hear his pulse pounding in his ears as he paused and waited for the door to swing open.

As he usually did, Gordon shoved Dean roughly through the door. This part was likely for show because most of the handlers did it to some extent. But when Gordon did it, Dean fucking hated it. He hated Gordon. Period.

But, nothing could detract from this moment. Naked but for his cuffs, collar, and cock ring, Dean walked into the carpeted room. Applause broke out as he did, and his eyes swept over the gallery. In stadium style seating, patrons watched the main floor where Dean had now joined the ranks of those being offered for sale.

Now, all things being equal, Dean just wanted to get some. His body had been hungry for it since he’d awakened and the slow process of getting ready for it had been like foreplay. But, he did have a type. And though he was technically for sale to the highest bidder, he wasn’t completely powerless in who he’d be having sex with. It was perfectly within the rules of the house for him to work the audience and try to appeal to those he most wanted. Hell, that type of behavior was encouraged and Dean was always a crowd pleaser. He was a big earner, driving up the prices and sometimes causing actual fights between clients as he worked them into bidding wars.

So, as he strode out to the center of the gallery, he exaggerated his usual swagger. Doing so made his cock swing heavily as he moved. Then, turning to face those who would bid on him, Dean scanned the eager crowd and tried to pick out a few that appealed to him. There were some familiar faces, regulars whom he’d serviced before, but most were strangers to him. Some even hid behind masks - likely prominent public officials or celebrities who preferred anonymity here. Dean looked right past them, uninterested.

Settling his attention on a man who reminded him a little bit of his friend and fellow whore Benny, Dean closed the distance between himself and his intended target. Taking measured steps, he kept his eyes locked on the man and licked his lips, throwing out a trademark wink when he reached the glass divider that separated them and could get no closer.

The man’s hand went up repeatedly as their gaze held, continuing to bid over and over as the price was raised. Dean paid no attention to the others who were trying to take him and kept himself focused on the one he wanted – hoping the man would prove to be wealthy. Or at least have plenty of credit.

At the first sign of a waiver from his mark, Dean went to his knees. He could hear an audible gasp from the audience and then a resounding cheer went up as he prostrated himself on the floor. His act of submission was more than a display meant to tempt his target. It was also his own body hungrily offering itself. They’d likely never suspect it, but Dean wanted it even more than these men wanted to give it to him.

He’d spent all night dreaming of depraved things and then all morning trying to be patient as he waited for a chance to live out those dreams. If it was up to him, he’d number these men off in the order that they appealed to him and then take them… one by one at first… and then two or three at a time until he finally blacked out - only to wake up still wanting more and more and more.

But, that wasn’t the job. The job was to command a high price and then satisfy the one who paid it. So, with that thought in mind, Dean looked up from his humble place on the floor and locked eyes with his preferred buyer. Holding the man’s attention, Dean used his body position to make promises to the man. Before long, the ringing of a bell indicated that there was a clear winner.

Rising from his lowly position on the floor, Dean turned to glance at the monitor that displayed the winning bid. “Damn,” he whispered, counting zeros, “that’s gotta be a record.”

Feeling a jerk on his cuffs, Dean’s attention was wrenched away. He tossed Gordon a sour look before putting his attention on his feet so as not to stumble. Then, he turned to the audience and gave a quick bow to the applause as he was led away. Exiting to a long hallway, he was suddenly enveloped in quiet and the sound of his heart jackhammering away in his chest was so loud that he wondered if his handler could hear it too.

His body was tightly wound with anticipation and his cheeks were slippery wet, sliding against one another smoothly as he walked at a quick pace. His asshole was practically dribbling, eager to be speared, and his stomach curled with desire. Behind his eyelids, Dean saw flashes of his Benny-look-alike bending him over and fucking into him, reaching around to stroke him, spanking his ass as he thrust harder and harder. With that fantasy swimming in his mind, Dean hoped that was how things would play out. But honestly, he also kind of hoped that the man would surprise him in some way… introduce him to something new he’d never felt before.

The doors in this hall were all numbered and when they came to the one intended for Dean, Gordon unlocked it with a key card and pushed him inside roughly. These rooms were all similar, tastefully decorated, and containing a bed, a table, and a chair. There were eyelets on all the furniture and walls for restraint and a standard toy chest with the basics arranged inside. When purchased in the gallery, which was always the first activity of a sex day, a man was brought to this relatively comfortable room and bound.

The one who had purchased him would be given the key card and a designated amount of time to play, uninterrupted. There were rules posted on the wall and the winning bidder would have already agreed to abide by them upon threat of expulsion for breaking any. Dean was relatively comfortable in this room, and after Gordon had secured him to the wall by his cuffs, he finally left. Alone now, Dean had only to wait. However, his patience was wearing thin and he wound up pressing his cock into the wall to relieve the pressure building there.

Deep inside him, a dull ache that had been present since waking was growing more prominent by the minute. It was getting harder to ignore. Flexing against his restraints, Dean tried to be patient. He knew from experience that prostate stimulation would relieve his ache. More than anything, Dean wanted a cock in him and the steady leak of slick from his eager hole served as the physical proof of it. When he finally heard the telltale click of the keycard reader, Dean nearly sobbed in relief.

The door opened and Dean’s body tensed. He arched his back and pushed his ass backwards toward the man who would soon fuck him. It was a wordless invitation to defile him. Turning to look over his shoulder, he was thrilled to see the man’s eyes sliding over him appreciatively. Dean rocked back in his restraints and spread his legs farther apart, eager to get started.  

“Oh yeah,” sighed the man, pulling the door closed behind him, “this was money well spent.”

Dean grinned and leaned forward again, pressing his dick against the wall as he waited for the man to come and take what was his. When he didn’t move, Dean looked back again and dared to speak. “I want your cock so fucking bad.”

“I know you do,” reassured the man in a deep voice, “but you’re gonna have to prove it by being a good boy for me.”

Oh great. One of these. Dean hadn’t pegged this guy as one who’d make him wait. Or beg. But he’d been wrong before and he’d be wrong again. Waiting and begging might not be his favorite type of game, but he’d play. He always did whatever was necessary to satisfy his customer. It was an investment, he figured, in future bidding wars. “I’ll be good,” he promised, “cause I want you so bad.”

Dean could feel the man’s presence as he came up behind. He pressed his ass back in the hopes that he’d be able to at least feel the outline of the man’s dick against his crack. Then he’d at least know how big the guy was. Knowing what he had to look forward to might make it easier to get through the inevitable waiting.

“No, no, no,” tisked the man, stepping back to avoid contact. “You’re not gonna get me that easy. A whore like you has to earn it.”

Hearing himself called a whore made Dean’s dick jump a bit. He’d never admit to having a kink for humiliation, but for some reason he’d always been turned on by being called dirty names. Especially ‘cockslut’. Maybe because that one was true of him. Even before he’d come to this place, his mouth had watered at the thought of sucking dick. Hiding his proclivities from his father hadn’t ever been easy. But, once Dean had actually started doing dudes, it was as if a flood gate had been opened. From then on, life with John Winchester had gotten more and more intolerable by the day. He’d simply craved more action than he’d been able to secretly procure.

Granted, the man didn’t seem to mind Dean’s easy hookups in diners and dive bars, as long as his conquests were female. In fact, his father had often seemed proud of his son’s prowess. But, keeping it to just the ladies had grown tiresome after a while – especially with the strong appeal of trying something new when the opportunity presented itself. He’d be lying if he tried to pretend that his father hadn’t been a big part of his decision to commit himself to this place.

The hunting life with John Winchester had been rewarding in many ways. But, much like his brother, Dean had eventually decided that life with their father was too confining. Both brothers were now living life on their own terms, far away from their father. Sammy’s life as a lawyer might be a bit more noble than Dean’s, but he’s not be sorry for whoring himself out. He’d chosen this life for a reason. And that reason hung between his legs now, impatient as it waited for this paying customer to give him what he wanted. Needed.

His cock nearly leapt for joy when Dean finally felt a hand come to rest on his flank.

“Gonna let you out,” said the man behind him, “but only if you be good for me.”

“I’ll be good,” he promised again.

“You want my cock don’tcha little boy?”

Dean almost laughed at that. It’s been a while since anyone talked to him like a twink. He’d come here young enough to still embody that particular fantasy, but he’d long since outgrown it.

“Oh yeah,” he moaned, hands falling to his sides as the man released him from restraints.

“Get on your knees.”

“Yes sir,” he answered as he dropped to the floor.

The man sat down on the bed next to him and said, “Take off my shoes and socks, boy.”

Oh fuck. If there’s a kink Dean doesn’t have, it’s feet.

“Yeah, boy, you know what I want,” praised the man as his ugly feet were bared to the room.

Remembering the way he’d laid himself out on the floor in the gallery, Dean tried to find some way to enjoy what he was doing. Working on someone’s feet was subservient, after all, and Dean liked to be subservient. Hoping for the best, Dean leaned in and licked a stripe up the top of the man’s foot  to his ankle. Hoping that a little tongue tease would be all that was needed, he then pressed upwards and tried to push his mouth into the man’s lap.

“Please,” he whimpered as he made a play for it, “please let me suck it.”

“You gotta earn that,” answered the man gruffly, grabbing Dean by the scruff of his neck and forcing him back down.

At least it was a little scintillating to be shoved down. Dean set to work, tongue tracing the lines of the man’s feet and sucking toes one at a time. When he felt like he’d earned it, he looked up at the man in charge of his pleasure and asked, “Can I finger myself? Have I earned that much?”

“Sure you can,” grinned the man, “put on a show for me while you work.”

The ache inside him was quelled the moment his rim was breached. Quivering with desire, Dean pushed his two middle fingers deep inside and began searching for the good spot. Even as he did so, he was opening up to take the man’s toes back into his mouth. Closing his eyes and trying to be grateful for something to suck on, Dean found the magic place up inside of himself and stroked it to life. A shiver snaked up his spine as the ache of want in him was chased away and he groaned salaciously. Contentedly serving his master now, Dean continued to finger himself rhythmically and tried to make it look as sexy as possible.

It wasn’t easy to find new and unique ways to pleasure a man’s feet, but Dean did his level best. Eventually he felt a heavy hand come to rest on the crown of his head and his heart skipped a beat with the possibility that he was about to change activities. Luckily, he was soon being pulled up by his hair and shoved down on a fat cock. This, he thought, is more like it.

With his jaw locked open wide over a huge dick, Dean hummed happily. When the hand on his head pushed him down hard and held him there, he was further titillated. Impaled on a massive cock, he gagged in the best way and felt tears spring to his eyes. Loving the rough treatment, Dean pushed a third finger into his ass. It was so damned juicy back there that he could hear the squelching of his fingering even over the heavy breaths of the man he was sucking off.

“Got that ass ready for me?” growled the man who bought him.

“Y-yghh,” was all he could grit out around the shaft choking him. But, his cock was suddenly throbbing as his brain processed the idea that he might finally be fucked. Suddenly pulled up by the hair, Dean’s mouth gaped open and he panted heavily as he met the man’s heavy stare. “Split me open,” he challenged, “Make me scream.”

The man slapped his face and rose to his feet while Dean recovered. Then, there were fingers laced into his hair again and an iron grip holding him in place as the man slapped his cheek and open mouth with a heavy, wet cock.

“Oh yeah,” he pleaded, fingers still buried in his ass and working rhythmically to widen his entrance. Being mistreated on his knees like this was taking him back to his days before… back when he’d traveled with his father and would wander into the occasional truck stop bathroom. Naked under his jeans and halfway unzipped, his pants would hang low and expose a sliver of his eager ass. An obvious invitation to all comers.

He’d hoped and prayed back then, as he’d dropped to his knees on a dirty floor, that his father wouldn’t come in and see him down there, gagging himself to tears on the day old cock of some beer gutted trucker. But then again, if the worst were to happen, at least he’d be able to stop pretending to be straight for his old man.

As his mind snapped back and forth between the dick he was currently sucking and the ones of his early days, Dean could feel his body starting to build towards an orgasm. It would be his first of the day, and he knew he’d fucking earned it. He was already getting close when he was roughly grasped and spun around. Grunting as his face was shoved down to the floor, Dean braced himself on his knees and elbows. With his asshole quivering and shiny wet, Dean could only cry out to be filled.

“C’mon man,” he begged, spreading his knees further apart, “fuckin’ tear me up!”

But, instead of being penetrated, he got slapped. Not once or twice but repeatedly. It stung badly, but didn’t dull his arousal. In fact, he rather liked it. It was doubly humiliating to bare his ass and beg and still be denied what he wanted. Needed.

His body rocked under the heavy swats and his cheeks reverberated with each new blow. His ass was on fire already and it clenched in fear of more - even as Dean wondered if perhaps more wasn’t exactly what he wanted. “I’m gonna tear up that pussy, you little slut,” promised the man from above.

“Do it,” he cried, needing a dick in him like he needed air.

“Say my name, whore.”

Everything went white. Panic set in. Dean opened his mouth and tried to pull his mind from the hazy state he’d fallen into as he’d been punished and humiliated. He had no idea what name to call out and he needed to know that name if he wanted to be fucked.

From behind him, Dean could hear the jangle of a belt buckle and the sound of a leather strap clearing belt loops. “Call me daddy if you don’t know my name, little bitch.”

“Daddy,” he called out, hating the sound of it. “You’re my daddy. Fuck me, Daddy.”

“Who’s my boy?”

“I’m your boy,” he called desperately, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. Looking up, he saw the man pulling his belt strap back to dish out a beating with it.  He arched his back and spread his knees apart, opening himself as far as he was able. “Get my hole,” he rasped out, simultaneously fearful and welcoming of the coming pain. Clenching his body in preparation, he took a deep breath. The leather strap missed his entrance when it fell the first time, snapping loudly on his pinkened ass and leaving a stinging sensation that stretched over the full expanse of his backside. The next lash landed unbelievably close to his hole and Dean screamed out in the voice of a girl as he absorbed it. With his face pressed to the floor, Dean called out again, “I need you Daddy, fuck me! Fuck your bad little boy!”

And with that, Dean finally got what he wanted. Pushing back with all his strength, Dean screamed out in pleasure as he felt the blunt head of a cock pressing against his hole and bursting past the rim. He didn’t crumple forward as he was penetrated either. He continued pushing back, rocking from side to side a bit as he was violated, eagerly swallowing up every fucking inch that the man pushed in. He felt the skin around his hole pull tight and begin to stretch. He felt the wide girth between his legs and up into his abdomen, almost as if the shaft was long enough to push up behind Dean’s belly button and bow his stomach.

The relief tied to the action of being mounted was so intense that he continued screaming in pleasure until his partner was fully seated. The man obviously liked hearing him carry on, answering his vocalizations with a husky, “That’s right little boy, I’ll give ya what you need.”

Dean was surprised by the sound of his own voice, coming out high pitched and boyish. Before there was any time to adjust to the sheer size of this man’s cock, it was pulling back out of him. “Tight like a pussy should be,” mumbled the man as he clamped his hands down on Dean’s hips. “You wanted to be split open,” he reminded Dean, “so, you can scream all you like, but I ain’t holdin’ back for you.”

I fucking hope not, thought Dean. He bit his lip to make sure the thought didn’t slip out of his mouth and then he forgot about the pain in his knees and leaned into the first thrust. Grunting with the force of it, Dean reached under his belly and gripped his own cock as the man fucked forward into him. The pullback was even better the second time and Dean could feel his entrance clenching around the man’s shaft, clinging to it and trying to keep it inside him. He groaned in ecstasy when the man’s crown caught on his rim and rested there for a moment. When he plunged back inside, it happened fast. From that moment on, it was all Dean could do to keep his knees under him.

Feeling young now that he’d adopted that persona, he carried on like a teenager and wailed for his ‘daddy’. He continued screaming like a virgin as he was roughly taken, and doing so made Dean’s cock pulse pre-cum steadily onto the floor between his knees. The man plowed into him from behind, holding his hips in a vice grip as he set a brutal pace. Dean, still gripping his own cock tightly with one hand, bore the weight of the man behind him with one strong arm and eagerly rocked along as he was fucked. Loving what he was getting, but still mindful of satisfying his customer, he made sure that his begging was well suited to the man. Hating himself a little for the ease with which he did it, Dean continued to call the man his daddy. In a squeaking high voice, he pleaded that the cock was too big… that it hurt… that his little boy pussy was too small. He was stroking the man’s ego and they both seemed to know it, but neither cared as Dean’s sloppy wet hole eagerly took all it was given.

He was only a heartbeat away from a climax when the man suddenly pulled his cock all the way out and painted Dean’s backside with his cum. It was always hot to have someone shoot it on him like that – to feel it splatter on his overheated skin and dribble sloppily around his hole. He smiled as it happened too, picturing what he must look like. He even twisted around to try and catch a glimpse, then locked eyes with the man as he released his own swollen dick in favor of dragging a finger through the man’s spend, spreading it around a little and eventually bringing his finger to his tongue for a small taste. But, despite his award winning act, he was left disappointed. He hadn’t even come.

His client flopped backwards onto the bed and sighed heavily. “Clean Daddy up,” he ordered.

Pulling himself up from the floor, Dean crawled up onto the bed. At least he was off his sore knees. He did as he was asked and began licking his own slick off the man’s wilting cock. Thankfully, a beeping sound soon signaled the end of their time together. After a few seconds of warning beeps, the door clunked open and Dean was pulled roughly out into the hall.

The gentleman who had purchased him was left to clean up and get dressed in his own time. Dean, however, was led down the hall and back towards the salon. His backside was dripping with cooling cum and his own slick. His cock was still hard in its plastic ring and it ached for a release. His stomach was tight too, still hopeful for an orgasm that hadn’t come to fruition.

As the handler walked him through the door of the salon, Dean’s eyes shot to Cassie’s station. His hopes of being cared for by her were dashed when he saw another man on her table. He was led over to the empty table of a woman named Lydia. She wasn’t as nurturing or flirty as Cassie, but she was attractive enough that he liked having her hands on him. He laid there and tried to relax as she cleaned him up. She gave him a standard mid-day massage which included special focus on his butt cheeks to help his gaping hole regain its shape. He was also given an artful teasing to make sure that he was eager enough to return to his work.

With that short break behind him, Dean was moved once more. This time, rather than the gallery, Dean was brought to the rec room. This was always where the remainder of a sex day took place. Unlike the gallery where everyone was auctioned off, the rec room was accessed by paying a standard fee per hour. Once they’d entered the rec room, customers were allowed to play with anyone in the room for the duration of their time there. Dean liked the rec room.

Upon entering, his handler removed the cuffs and left him in only his collar. He was now free to roam about. The rec room was actually a collection of connected rooms with varying themes. Some areas were more private while others were more public. Some rooms were laden with heavy equipment for dom/sub play and others were full of comfortable furniture and soft fabrics. Other rooms were themed to look like a pool hall, library, or classroom. Whatever environment a customer wandered into, there were places to fuck and be fucked, toys in abundance, and video cameras rolling.

If one were so inclined, they could even purchase a tape of their encounter in the gift shop on the way out. Dean had enjoyed every room in this maze at least once, but he had his favorite places. Heading for one of them now, he kept an eye out for someone to score with.

One of the things that Dean really liked about the rec room was that there were both men and women using it. Today, however, he was in the mood for a heavy handed man so that’s what he hoped to find as he wove his way through to the room in the back that looked like a pool hall. When he arrived, he went straight to the pool table. He would’ve liked to have ordered a drink, but he tried not to think about that particular desire. It’s not like the bartender would have served him anyway. Drinks were only for customers. Besides, no one was allowed to eat or drink on sex days. Anything imbibed might interfere with the drugs they were given or the ‘juice’ that they’d been bottle fed. Not to mention possibly ruining the freshly douched entrances that were offered here.

Since he wasn’t able to partake, it was better to just keep his mind completely off of alcohol. Racking up a game, Dean kept himself focused on pool as he watched and waited for someone to approach.

He didn’t have to wait long. A group of boisterous men entered together, sidled up to the bar and did a shot, and then turned their eyes to Dean’s naked form. He gave them a wink and then bent down under the pretense of lining up a shot. But really, he was just showing them the goods.

His stomach was knotted up tight in anticipation and his balls were aching with the need to cum. His asshole was still leaking slick and when he turned it towards the men gathered at the bar, his puckered entrance was quivering impatiently. Ever hopeful, his dick seemed to agree that a gangbang was just what he needed right now.

“Fellas,” he greeted when they ambled over, “you UP for a game?”

“Oh we’re up for it,” grinned the obvious leader. “I’m Vic and this is Max,” he said, gesturing towards the man next to him.

“And I’m Gavin,” added the third man, who stepped up to shake Dean’s hand as if they were actually meeting in a regular bar.

“Gavin’s gettin’ his cherry popped,” laughed Vic.

“Yeah,” added Gavin, “I just turned eighteen.”

“Well, it’s good to meet ya,” grinned Dean, happy to play along.

“You wanna show the kid how to line up a shot?” asked Vic.

“Sure thing,” he answered with a wink. Turning to face the young boy, Dean signaled him to come forward and then laughed as he told the kid that he just made him come with one finger. It was an old joke, but everyone laughed as though it was the first time they’d heard it.

Taking the pool cue in hand, young Gavin stepped up to the table as if to take a shot at the nearest ball. Dean bent down with him, wrapping an arm around the boy’s waist to reposition his hip. Then, breathing into the boy’s ear as he said it, Dean told him to form an imaginary line between the ball and the pocket he wanted to put it into. “Got your line?” he asked in a husky voice.


“Okay then, get behind it.”

Dean moved with the kid as he shifted to the left and took aim. For a second, it seemed like the boy might actually get off a shot. But, no. Instead, one of their group stepped up to goose him while distracted. The boy practically jumped out of his skin at the unexpected contact.

“Take it easy,” whispered Dean as he leaned in to help the kid recover. “and if it’s easy, take it.”

With that, the young man turned his head and said, “I wanna take you.”

“Well,” he grinned, “I’m easy.”

The pool cue clattered to the floor forgotten as the boy turned to Dean and pushed him forward over the table. Dean smiled warmly, knowing he wasn’t going to get off from this, but oddly happy to be the boy’s first. He let those shaky hands latch onto his hips and when he felt denim behind him, he pushed his bare ass back into it. Around them, the older men cheered for their young friend as Dean rocked from side to side, letting his ass tease the boy with light contact through his jeans.

It didn’t take long for the young man to find his courage. The dusty cowboy music playing didn’t entirely cover the sound of his zipper coming down, or the muffled noise of his jeans as they flopped down to his ankles.

“Oh fuck,” the kid whimpered as his little cock pushed between Dean’s cheeks, “you’re so wet.”

“For you,” Dean goaded, “I’m wet for you. Whatcha gonna do about it?”


“C’mon, man,” Dean pressed, still bent over the pool table, “you know what you want. Take it. It’s yours.”

From behind them, Dean could hear Vic and Max issuing challenges to the boy to get him going. Dean waited patiently, looking over his shoulder and flashing his most adorable smile whenever their eyes met.

He was trying not to get too anxious, but even bending over like this was revving up his motor. And with others watching, his exhibition kink was flaring. “Gavin,” he said firmly, pulling the boy’s eyes back to his face. Then, when he knew he had the kid’s attention, he pushed two fingers into his mouth and sucked them for a second. Gavin looked like he wanted to suck them too. Slowly Dean pulled the fingers from his mouth and moved his hand towards his own ass. With exaggerated sensuality, he drug those fingers down his own crack, a little surprised at how wet he really was.

Pushing through his own slick and down over his puckered hole, he teased at his entrance with wet, shiny fingers and soon felt the boy’s erection bump against him. “That’s right, sweetheart,” he crooned, “It’s for you. C’mon.”

The young man’s prick was small. Childlike. It didn’t stretch him at all, slipping in as easily as a finger would have. The kid moaned aloud as he sank inside, his hands coming to rest gently on Dean’s hips. Dean, wanting to make it nice for the kid, laid his own hands over top of the boys and began to move with him. Slowly and gently, he began a rolling of his hips that soon had the kid breathing heavily and hunching forward over Dean’s back.

Practically panting into his ear, the boy groaned as they rolled together. Soon he began to actually pump. Dean matched his pace and before he’d even had a chance to enjoy their little slow-motion movie-style fuck, the boy creamed inside him. With his body rigid and his mouth locked open in obvious ecstasy, young Gavin lost his virginity to Dean Winchester. In a brothel.

Their sweet and gentle moment was over too soon, the older men shoving forward to congratulate Gavin and then pushing him aside with claims that they’d “show him how it’s really done.” It was almost a little sad. For a minute to two.

Before long, though, Dean was lost in the throes of passion as he was roughly fucked against the side of the pool table by both men in turn. Dean enjoyed it immensely, especially since his rock-hard cock was thumping against the pool table on every thrust. He came quickly and shamelessly, spurting opaque jizz onto the wooden side panel as he was fucked by Vic.

Dean liked the way the men fucked. They both had a certain snap to their hips that tugged at his rim with each thrust. With the glow of his first orgasm still enveloping him, Dean was all too eager to agree when Max suggested they double up. He watched Vic crawl up onto the green velvet table top and lay himself out flat with his legs bent at the knee and his feet dangling over the edge.

Dean hoisted himself up over the man and made a show of situating himself over that big black cock. Then, he slid down nice and easy on him and leaned forward. With his dick trapped between his own stomach and Vic’s, Dean waited patiently for Max to climb up behind him. Then, he arched his back so that Max’s fingers could push up inside him and stretch him over the second cock as it pressed its way in.

Practically vibrating with lust, Dean waited for Max to get fully seated before sitting halfway up and bracing himself on his knees. Then, when Max began to thrust, Dean used his weight to push down on both of them. Spread wide over two big dicks, Dean could’ve wept for how good it felt. Rocking back onto them and feeling himself stretched to his limits, it was impossible to keep silent. He panted and cursed as he impaled himself over and over while his own cock jutted straight out in front of him. Vic’s eyes were locked on it as it bobbed and swayed with Dean’s humping motions and when he took hold of it, Dean lurched under the lightning strike of pleasure that snapped through it. Across from them, Gavin was watching with his mouth hanging open in shock.

Glancing down at Vic, Dean recognized the glassy-eyed look on his face. The man was enjoying this tremendously, but having just come, he’d not be reaching his end any time soon. He was just along for the ride, barely moving. He was groaning aloud each time Max pushed in, their dicks rubbing together sensually while buried inside of Dean.

Max was far more skilled than Vic, and that was saying something. The man was incredible, thrusting with his entire body rather than just his hips. Dean couldn’t believe his luck and he leaned back onto the man, loving it when strong arms wrapped around to clasp his shoulders. Guided by those hands, Dean grinned madly as he was pulled back heavily onto the full girth of two hard cocks. Each dick grew even wider at its base, and with Max pulling him down progressively harder, his greedy hole stretched father with each repetition.

Their pace was increasing and a searing heat built between their bodies as they moved together, towering over Vic who was now gripping Dean's cock as though it were a lifeline. Eventually the sound of skin slapping on skin grew louder than the background music. Dean’s body gave and gave, his hole stretching wider, always wet as his body continually pulsed its own lube from deep inside. The squick of cocks pushing into him and pulling back out was salacious to his ears as he bounced on them and all three men spouted a litany of curse words as they closed in on a second climax together. Onlookers began to gather alongside Gavin to watch and Dean loved how sexy he felt as he put on a show for them.

When he came again, he was looking down at his cock and able to watch as he shot a load from his engorged tip. It spattered across Vic’s chest and as it happened, he felt the man beneath him go rigid. His eyes clenched shut as he came hard into Dean. Then, as Vic was coming down, Max grew erratic behind him. The man dropped his forehead to Dean's shoulder as he shot his second load up into Dean’s eager hole.

The three of them groaned loudly in satisfaction as they peeled themselves apart. Dean scuttled over the edge of the table and balanced himself on weak knees. Between his legs he felt hollow, his hole clenching wildly but far too stretched to hold in the spend of three men. Along with his own juices, it spilled out onto the floor in a splattering mess that he almost didn’t want to look at.

As he was pulled away by a handler, Dean received accolades from the men he’d just banged and a rousing round of applause from the onlookers who’d witnessed his debauchery. Back in the salon once more, he was lucky enough to find himself being ushered to Cassie’s area this time. His over stimulated dick fell slack as soon as his cock ring was removed and he sighed with relief.

“How was it?” she asked as she led him over to the drain in the floor.

“Fan-freaking-tastic,” he told her with eyes closed.

“Good,” she smiled warmly, turning on her little hand-held shower head. Slowly and gently, she washed him with a soft cloth and warm water. He stood with his legs apart so she could douche him and then stayed still to be cleaned fully before being dried off and ushered back over to her table. The recipient of her incredible massage, he found himself fading in and out of a contented sleep while she worked his muscles into relaxation for him. It didn’t take long for him to start waking up again, though. Not once she started in on the butt massage.

Beneath him on her table his dick began to stir. He adjusted himself to make room for his package and even as he was doing that, his puckered entrance was growing moist again. “Mmm” he hummed.

“Turn over for me?”

“Not a chance,” he grinned, “keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Okay,” she said warmly, “You get five more minutes.”

“You’ve got magic hands.”

“Just wait til you turn over,” she teased. And with that said, Dean decided he didn’t want five more minutes of ass massage. He rolled over and grinned at her, his flaccid cock laying there in a heap as it waited for her attention.

She kept him waiting for a few minutes, gentle hands working his pecs and biceps and even his thigh muscles before bringing her fingers to his groin. She teased his dick to life skillfully and then began to stroke his shaft when it lengthened in her hands. Before long, Dean was feeling the familiar tug of the cock ring being guided back into place. For good measure, she stroked him a few more times once it was on him and looked into his eyes as his arousal became fresh and new again.

When he was pulled away from her in cuffs again, Dean sighed wistfully. He’d be returned to the rec room now and had high hopes of his next encounter being with a woman. Hopefully, one with gentle hands and a soft voice. He was now in a mood to pleasure someone with soft curves and voluptuous breasts. Someone who would whisper things in his ear rather than bark curse words at him as they came.

He did get his wish of a female client, though she was far less attractive than he’d been hoping for. At least she had a nice rack. She pushed his head down between her legs under a table in the mock library and to please her, he ate her out for far longer than he really cared to. When she was primed and ready, begging him incessantly, he put her up on the table to fuck her. His eyes had lingered on her bouncing breasts as he sank in and fucked her, his dick pushing into tight, wet heat and eliciting a contented moan. He brought her to a climax before finally allowing himself to orgasm and then he banged another lady after that. It felt so incredibly good to push his dick up into someone, but by this point his asshole had grown envious. It twitched as he thrust to remind him that it was empty and needed filling. As if that weren’t enough, he was still leaking slick the entire time he carried on because there was no stopping that shit once a man had drank the juice. In a perfect world, he’d have been pegged from behind while fucking that second woman. But sadly, his attention hadn’t been split between two partners that time and he had to climax from stimulation to his cock alone.

After that, a trip to the salon had him feeling fresh and clean again. He ventured through the rooms slowly, making himself available. All around him others were lost in various stages of carnal acts and it was quite sensual to walk amidst the clusters of people fucking. Back in the room with the pool table, he let out a whistle to get everyone's attention and then bent over against the bar to make his intentions known. Feeling like he could never be fucked enough to be fully satisfied, Dean took on a chain of men, one right after the other. They lined up for him, each taking their turns while he jerked himself to orgasm again and again. Enjoying the change in dynamic from one man to the next, Dean kept his back arched and his legs spread wide, taking all comers and keeping at it until his knees grew too weak to hold him up anymore.

Gripping the bar rail with one hand, he used the strength of one arm to hold himself upright as he sagged to his knees between fucks. Still wanting more, he kept one hand on his cock and called for two at a time. Taking two cocks at once did the trick - elevating him to a new level of turned on and making it possible to reach his peak a few more times. As he grew weary, though, the climaxes were progressively less powerful and almost nothing was spurting from his tip anymore. Thankfully, his fucked out hole stayed slick as he was tag teamed. Loving what he was getting and unwilling to stop, he grew weaker and weaker until eventually the handlers interceded. He blacked out as they pulled him away and when he woke, he was being positioned on a table in the salon.

Rejuvenation took a long time, fucked out as he was, but the massage he was given was wonderful and he faded blissfully in and out of sleep a few times as his body recovered. Dean's last round of the day was with a regular who came to fuck him often. The guy was overweight with wild eyes and wilder hair. His name was Ronald Reznick and Dean remembered it because the guy always gave both his first and last name like a dork.

Despite being relatively unattractive, Dean liked the guy a lot. He professed to love having his mouth between Dean’s cheeks and was one of the few customers that could be counted on for a rim job. Dean knew the man had a crush on him and he didn’t mind at all. In fact, he frequently went out of his way to make Ronny feel like Dean had a bit of a thing for him as well.

Knowing what the guy liked, Dean led him by the hand to a room decorated like a regular bedroom. He kept his eyes locked on the heavy man as he worked to undress him and then pulled him under the covers.  This was where the man seemed most comfortable and true to form, he was soon guiding Dean onto his stomach. Dean stretched out luxuriously as Ron bent down to lick him out and the man kept at it until Dean was quivering with delight. Turning him over again, Ron grinned when their eyes met and sank down to blow him – the only time all day that anyone had actually wanted to blow him rather than be blown.

Grateful beyond measure for the extended foreplay, which Ron was likely paying a small fortune to provide him, Dean held eye contact as he climbed on top, seated himself on Ronny’s cock, flashed a winning smile and began to ride it. With his eyes wide, Ronny laid there and soaked it up, his hands clutching Dean’s strong thighs as he artfully bounced there, gradually increasing the pace until he’d brought the man to climax. When it was over, Dean found himself pulled into an embrace, Ron hugging him tightly under the covers and whispering that he wished he could take him home for keeps.  

By this time it was late, coming up on four in the morning. The bar-rush was at its end and the rec room was nearly empty. So, with his mind on one last orgasm, Dean rolled them over and wrapped his legs around the big burly man who was obviously infatuated with him. With his legs spread wide, Dean’s wet hole invited him in and Ronny sank inside, slow fucking Dean missionary style.

Pulling the man’s face down, Dean arched his back and practically shoved his nipple into the guy’s mouth, encouraging him to continue sucking there with a litany of debauched sounds and whispered words. He slung his leg up over Ronny’s shoulder and the man responded by repositioning his own legs to fuck in deeper. Dean gasped aloud and fisted his cock, never breaking eye contact as he whispered over and over how badly he wanted to come again on Ronny’s cock.

Eventually he did blow again - on his back with a cock buried deep and his arm muscles burning with the effort of jacking himself off. Ronald watched him orgasm as if he were a gift from the gods and when Dean started to come back down from it, he made sure to give the man a deep kiss filled with emotion. He always tried to give the customers something to come back for, even the ones he didn’t much care for. But honestly, he did have a bit of thing for Ron. The guy was funny and sweet and sincere, his personality going a long way towards compensating for his unfortunate looks.

Dean smiled indulgently as he was cleaned up one last time. Laying down on a table in the salon, he settled in to enjoy his final massage of the day. He was quite satisfied and drifting on a warm cloud when the nurse pushed her computer cart up next to him.  

“Hey Anna.”

“Hi Dean, how was your day?”

“Awesome,” he grinned, remembering the high points as she checked him over and entered notes into the system. As he watched her prepare his injection, she asked him which encounter of the day had been his favorite. Despite knowing that she was just making polite conversation, Dean searched his mind for the most honest answer he could give. As she located his vein and plunged in the needle, he smiled warmly and answered, “The virgin. The one with the tiny dick.”

He watched an answering smile play over her lips as she withdrew the needle. Then she leaned in over him to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Never lose that sweetness, Dean, it’s why we all love you so much.”

Already he could feel the effects of his injection. A moment ago he’d been completely satisfied… one hundred percent fucked out and done. But, just moments after the prick of a needle, he could already feel a heady eroticism building inside him.

Still physically exhausted, he knew he’d sleep and sleep well. But thanks to the shot, he’d be plagued with delightfully dirty dreams all night long.

When prompted, he rose from the table and followed along in his cuffs as he was led to the sleeping quarters. Divine exhaustion sinking into his bones, Dean was asleep before the door to his cage had even been locked.  His dreams mounted quickly, lascivious images flashing through his mind and indecent acts bombarding his subconscious. Upon waking, as expected, he was already half out of his mind with lust, rocking on all fours again and desperate to be fucked.

Chapter Text



Attempting to assuage the burning fire of lust inside without actually putting hands to himself, Dean dropped low to his mattress. Spreading his knees apart, he lowered his cock far enough that its crown skimmed gently over the sheet as he rocked on all fours. He did this almost every morning and so did Benny in the cage beside him. Looking over now, he saw that the man’s eyes were locked on him intently. “Hey Ben,” he grinned, “Gonna do some damage today?”

“Oh hell yeah, brotha. Yesterday they had me in bondage gear. I got stuck dishin’ out punishments to lonely housewives.”

“Not enough action for ya?”

“Naw, man. I’m gonna pound some serious ass today. I’m pent up.”

“Well, if ya see me in the library drillin’ some chick on the table… get up behind me.”

“You know it, brother.”

Just as they were sharing a conspiratorial smile, the doors opened and it was juice time. A new girl named Becky was the one to step up with his bottle. She seemed over-eager and jittery, but Dean was just glad it wasn’t Meg again. He rocked forward and back one more time before laying down and accepting the bottle. Like most of the rest, she didn’t release it into his hands. Rather, she held it for him.

“Do you like to be touched?” she asked. “Some of the girls were telling me that I’m allowed to touch if you want me to.”

“You can touch me,” he said, speaking around the bottle’s nipple. He kept his eyes locked on her as he began to drink down the thick liquid. His stomach, empty from days of not eating, gurgled as it began to fill.

Though she’d seemed eager to put her hand between the bars, Becky wound up looking unsure what to do with that hand once it was actually inside the cage. Hoping she’d stay sweet and not turn into power-tripper like Meg, Dean took her hand in his and pulled it to his cheek. Guiding her gently, he showed her how he liked his cheek stroked. Then, he pulled his hand away and dropped it to the mattress while he continued sucking.

In the few moments they sat together, she grew bold quickly. Her hand slid from his cheek to his neck and then to his shoulder where she traced down around the curve of his bicep. Her fingers soon tickled over towards his nipple and with his juice now gone, Dean pulled his mouth away from the bottle and said to her, “I know what you want.”

She looked like a deer in headlights as she retracted both arms from his cage. “W-What do I want?”

“You wanna be fucked. You wanna be had. It’s all over you.”

“I-I don’t know what you –

Cutting her off, he added, “M’just sayin’, sweetheart, be careful. The handlers here get no action. If I were you, I’d re-think the career path.”

“Are you saying that I should become a -

“Yeah, sweetheart, that’s exactly what I’m sayin’.”

“I’m not a whore,” she told him firmly, swiftly backing away from his cage.

“Yeah,” he grinned, “you keep tellin’ yourself that.”

Her face went white as she turned away from him and he couldn’t help but chuckle. From his left, he heard Benny joining him in easy laughter.

“C’mon Winchester,” he chortled, “give the new girl a few days to find her sea legs before you start in with that shit.”

“That girl? No way. That one’s gonna be in a cage before the week is out. I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

“Care to put some money where your mouth is?”

Still on his back, Dean rocked his hips from side to side and watched his swollen cock tipping back and forth like a metronome. “I’d put a cool fifty on it,” he answered slyly.

“Fifty that she’s under contract by this time next week?”


“I’ll take that bet,” grinned the big ox from his cage.

While they were speaking, Pam stepped up. She was giving them a stern look and twirling her key-card lanyard on her pointer finger. “Dean Winchester,” she barked roughly, “I sent the new girl to one of my favorite guys and you ran her off? You’ve got me questioning my own damned judgement.”

“She’s in the wrong department,” Dean answered firmly. “Move her. She’s meant to be a workin’ girl.”

“Her daddy, who works here by the way, would beg to differ,” spat Pam. “Next time I’ll send her to Benny. You’ve got my back, right Big Ben?”

“You know it,” he assured her with a wolfish smile. “Send me all your little pretty things… I’ll take real good care of ‘em.”

“I bet you will,” goaded Dean, moving towards Pam so she could cuff and collar him through the bars.

“Hey,” retorted Benny roughly, “I toldja you were too rough on that girl.”

“This from the guy who’s plannin’ to dish out a good pounding today,” laughed Dean, springing from his cage the moment the door was opened.

“More than one, brother, more than one.”

Dean was still chuckling when Pam led him into the salon. He wound up with Lydia today and since she didn’t linger with him or give any special treatment, he was one of the first done for a change.

Entering the gallery was the same heart pounding experience it always was, and as he scanned the room looking for someone who piqued his interest, Dean’s eyes wandered slowly over the crowd. There was a man who caught his attention sitting near the back. He was obviously trying to blend in and doing a terrible job of it. Practically swimming in an oversized trench coat, he looked nervous and ready to bolt for the door the moment that Dean locked eyes with him.

He chuckled under his breath as the man scuttled back in his seat and tried to break eye contact by looking away. Dean stood his ground as he considered the man, and when the guy glanced back, he seemed mortified to find Dean’s eyes still resting on him.

Some people were downright skittish the first time they came to a brothel. The fact that prostitution had been legal for almost a decade didn’t seem to matter to some folks… especially the church-going types. Those that found prostitution to be immoral always took a few visits to warm up to things. In Dean’s experience it seemed safe to say that those who spent their lives judging others, always tended to feel like they were being judged. Even when they weren’t.

The man currently cringing in the back was quite handsome – at least, what Dean could see of him. He had vibrant eyes and a rough five o’clock shadow, both attractive qualities as far as Dean was concerned. But, he wasn’t in the mood to waste his first and best fuck of the day on a man who would be too nervous to really perform. So, he gave the man a trademark wink and then turned his gaze to the rest of the crowd.

He made a play for a chiseled specimen in the front row that looked like he was up for a rough ride. But sadly, the winning bidder in today’s auction was a heavy-set woman in a leather bustier. Her breasts were mushrooming out of the top along with a generous roll that went all the way around. Dean flashed her a wicked smile as a way of masking his disappointment.

To his surprise, she was actually pretty cool. They shared some laughs and had a good time. She had consented when he asked, so he’d gratefully selected a vibrating butt plug from the assortment of provided toys. She watched him closely as he put it in. Then, her eyes went wide as he groaned in pleasure at the feeling of it buzzing deep inside him. It wasn’t the same as a real cock - not even close. But, it took the edge off of his need and allowed him to enjoy their session far more. Hell, he even managed to climax once. By his count, she came five times before the warning beeps began to signal the end of their time. He was still mounted and pumping into her when the door clunked open, a plug buzzing away between his butt cheeks and his customer pleading for him to never stop fucking her.

Sadly, the handler who came to retrieve him was Gordon. “Don’t you ever take a day off?” Dean grumbled irritably as he was pulled out into the hall.

“And miss seeing this?” he cajoled. “No way. Man, I gotta say it Winchester… you sure earned your commission today.”

“I’d rather get a commission for fucking than be earn a blue collar salary for walking people around all day.”

“At least I have my dignity.”

“Yeah. Sure you do,” chuckled Dean as he was brought to an empty table in the salon.

“Boy-oh-boy,” sighed Charlie as she clinked the lock on his cuffs, “you’ve sure got a hate-on for Gordon.”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

She shrugged as if the matter wasn’t worth any thought and then the two of them sank into conversation. Sadly, they didn’t get much time together because he didn’t need much to get him in shape for the rec room.  

When she was otherwise finished with him, Charlie leaned in over the table and let her long fiery locks tickle over his thighs as she gripped his shaft and began the standard tease that would prepare him to resume his duties.

“What’s it like?” he suddenly thought to ask her.

“What’s what like?”

“Having hot dogs in your hand all day when you’d prefer a taco?”

“Ew,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes. “Call it a taco again and I’ll wax your eyebrows off.”

“Seriously. I wanna know. You only dig the ladies, right?”

“They call us the fairer sex for a reason, my friend. We’re just more appealing. So, do I love jacking you off every time we speak? Not so much. But the trade-off is… three quarters of my clients every day are goddesses.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize there were so many.”

“Oh yeah, the demand for ladies is much higher. There are actually three buildings for the women and only one for you men.”

“I had no idea.”

“Yep. I like you, Dean, so I don’t mind tuggin’ you back to attention. But the highlight of my day happens in a whole different room.”

“Got a favorite over there in the girls’ section?”

“Don’t say ‘girls’,” she snapped, her hand ceasing movement on him entirely. “That makes it sound creepy and pedo. Say women or ladies, please.”

Dean grinned widely at her. “Whatever keeps your hand pumpin’, sweetheart.”

“And yes,” she added, now stroking him again, “I do have a favorite. Her name is Gilda, and putting body glitter on her is my second favorite task of any given day.”

“Do I even need to ask which task is the best?”

“Nope. You’ve guessed it, I’m sure.”

“You live to finger her, don’t you?” he teased with a genuine smile.

“I’d lick her if it wasn’t a termination offence.”

Dean could picture two women together easily enough in his mind, and the visual stiffened him further under her hand. But then the image of her face popped up to ruin the fantasy. No matter how he tried, he simply couldn’t think of her that way. She was a sister to him. In fact, it was almost weird to have her touching him at all. But, despite her preferences, she was deft at her duties and his cock liked her hand on him, even if his brain didn’t particularly enjoy it.

Without the vibrating plug, the ache of need inside him was once more growing intolerable. His prostate was absolutely desperate for genuine stimulation and his entrance was dripping wet and waiting, not so patiently, to be roughly taken. Now that his cock was back to full attention, Dean was raring to go.

It was just as he was getting to his feet that a company messenger stepped up. Gordon was waiting nearby to attach a lead to his collar, but the messenger stepped between them to deliver instructions. “There’s been a last minute change and the boss wants this one for a private party.”

“Where do I take him?” asked Gordon.

Paused mid-stride, Dean waited expectantly. A private party was a rare treat these days. He didn’t do nearly as many as he used to, now that he’d grown into his adult body. Sadly, twinks were the most commonly requested ‘type’ for parties.

Unlike the auction winners who were confined to one small room for a relatively short amount of time, members of private parties were treated to a luxe affair. The attendees of these events ranged from bachelor/bachelorette parties to members of kinky clubs or even corporate executives. Each party was unique, its clientele able to select decorations and themes as well as the number of entertainers and what they wanted to do with them. Everything right down to the food and drinks were chosen ahead of time.

Dean had done a few events that were just plain weird, like the one where everyone had been costumed in medieval garb, eaten sloppily with their hands, and fucked like rabid animals. Or the one that plagued his memory as the single worst party ever. It had been thrown by a group of vampire enthusiasts. They’d been dressed in black cloaks, though some had worn bondage gear underneath, and they’d drunk what appeared to be blood from martini glasses. The sex workers had been laid into specially made wooden coffins which had holes cut out in strategic places. The holes allowed the guests who were role playing as vampires to walk around and touch the bodies inside. Talk about morbid entertainment. Ugh.

Early on, Dean had been a good sport. In fact, it had been a bit erotic to lay inside the coffin in the dark and feel unpredictable hands on his body. However, he’d been unable to roll over or even bend his knees in the cramped space and that had soon presented a problem - no anal stimulation at all. His body, having been chemically enhanced, was teased all over and repeatedly jacked off for hours on end with no regard for the gut-wrenching ache deep inside of him or the relentless throb from his untouched rim. He’d laid there half out of his mind, quivering in a puddle of his own slick for far too long.

He’d practically been sobbing by the time he was pulled from his coffin. At that point he’d been unable to even stand, crumpling to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Miserable and nauseous he’d begged through tears to finally be fucked. Never in all his life had he been as desperate as he’d been in that moment. Even now, his memory of the scene was distorted because it had all been witnessed through tears. Around him, several other men had been in a similar state when pulled from their coffins and the entire room had descended into madness.

On the one hand, being mounted and roughly taken by a room full of strangers never felt quite so good. On the other hand, his sorry physical state had left him nearly indifferent to his own well-being. He’d barely noticed the multitude of teeth that had punctured his skin. He also hadn't realized he was growing weak or lightheaded with the subsequent blood loss. The wounds being opened on him had barely even registered as he'd writhed wantonly in the center of a giant fuck-pile. But, despite how it may have felt to him in the moment, what happened in that room had been more than just a dark and depraved gang bang.

Dean and all the other whores working that party had quite literally been fucked into a bloody mess on the floor. They'd all languished beneath an unholy tangle of depraved men and women, all of whom had been caught up in the theatrics of the moment, and the handlers watching over them had been slow to realize the danger. Whenever he thought back to that event, Dean tried to keep in mind that he too had been slow to understand what had been happening to him. In the moment, he'd felt like a dog in heat, as though he'd never be satisfied no matter how roughly he was used. He'd screamed and begged for more until he was hoarse so there was no point in pretending he hadn't wanted the things that had been done to him. But, in hindsight it had been easier to see that he'd been pushed too far. Beyond his breaking point, he had not been rational. Not at all.  

In the aftermath, gossip and stories had spread. It was said that the handlers had been inadequately prepared for the unique hazards of that particular event. By the time they'd begun to intercede, things had gone way too far. Eventually they’d succeeded in pulling the costumed ‘vampires’ off of their victims, but because they'd been slow to react there were injuries. Additionally, every single sex worker had suffered excessive blood loss.

The rumor-mill implied that the resulting mess had been horrific. Apparently everyone, whores and customers alike, had been completely covered in blood. And, with the deep red liquid puddling in the carpet and splattered onto the walls, the scene had been so macabre that some of the cleaning staff had vomited upon entering the room. That's what he'd later heard, anyway.

Though thinking back to that time left him feeling cold and a bit sickly, Dean readily acknowledged that there had been a bright spot. That party was how he'd really gotten to know Benny. The two of them had been in recovery together for over a week as their blood loss, bite marks, lacerations, and subsequent infections were tended to. Having never had a close friend before, the early days of their friendship were special to him and he remembered those days fondly.

To this day, he had no idea what it may have cost that group to throw their authentic vampire party. But he knew that his own portion of the commission had been equal to about six weeks of regular pay. And regular pay was nothing to sneeze at. The funds had been hard-earned, but even factoring in the the recovery time which was unpaid, Dean still felt he’d been adequately compensated for what had been done to him.

Extreme incidents like that aside, private parties were normally a treat to join and paid handsomely. More often than not, they boiled down to a group of men, occasionally men and women in mixed company, who had reserved a private space and a group of young whores for the purposes of unbridled drinking, drugs, and debauchery. These were the kind of parties Dean would have thrown if he’d had the imagination for it… and the cash.

The sudden brush of cold metal on his skin and the click of a latch brought Dean back from his memories and into the present. Gordon was pulling him away towards the hall. Looking back at Charlie he gave her a wink and a smile before exiting. Heading in the opposite direction of the rec room, they walked towards the wing where private parties were held. Thankfully, Gordon was quiet for the first time as far as Dean could remember.

As they drew closer to their destination, the décor changed from clean and minimalist to colorful and downright luxurious. There was thick, indulgent carpet beneath his feet now where there had been tile moments ago. There was soft lighting too, similar to the sleeping quarters. Music was playing.

Ushered into a prep room, Dean got his first inkling of what this party would be like. Similar to the salon he’d just been rejuvenated in, the prep room was equipped with everything that could possibly be needed. It was smaller though, set up to serve half a dozen rather than twenty or thirty. Already present were several others who would be the center of attention at this party and Dean’s hole quivered eagerly between his legs as he noticed Benny among them. He was being fitted with bondage gear. Dean wasn’t necessarily a fan of heavy gear, but he liked it a little. For example, the leather bands around Benny’s chest were sexy as fuck. But, if they put a hood on him, Dean would be less inclined to enjoy it. He didn’t like it when the Doms were too scary looking. His fear during scenes with those kinds of costuming tended to be a bit more real than he could actually enjoy.

Kevin was also here, but he was wearing knee socks and a tiny skirt. He seemed to be enjoying himself, twirling around and looking in the mirror with another twink whose name Dean didn’t know. He felt a small pang of jealousy as he watched them and realized that he’d never again be able to pull off feminine like that. Right now he was kind of missing how it used to feel when he’d be bent over in a short skirt and subjected to spankings in front of a group of onlookers. Seriously. Being spanked… being fingered… being blown… being fucked… it was never better than it was in a skirt.

But, on the upside, Kevin would likely be unable to work tomorrow - confined to the medical room with his ass bared to the ceiling and covered in balm. Dean, on the other hand, would probably wake up ready to get laid again.

Led over to a station, he sat quietly as his hair was fixed and minimalist makeup was applied. When prompted, he stood to allow several handlers some elbow room as they worked him into a cock ring, a black G-string, and honest-to-god leather cowboy chaps. Digging how he looked when led to a mirror, Dean smiled widely as a cowboy hat was placed atop his head. The finishing touch seemed to be a bandana around his neck, the only other thing he was wearing as he was handed a set of boots to step into.

“Damn I like this get-up,” he grinned into the mirror.

“It suits ya, brother,” said Benny, stepping up behind him. “Hope I get a chance to bend ya over in those chaps, man, it’s all I can think about since they put ‘em on ya.”

“Dude,” Dean replied, turning to face his friend, “I think this is gonna be one helluvah night.”

“Bet yer ass,” he laughed, giving Dean a playful swat.

“Alright, alright, alright,” barked a commanding voice. Turning to face that voice, Dean saw that the owner of the brothel had come to speak to them. This was rare. Mr. Crowley’s name was on everything from the company uniforms to the sign out front. But it was exceedingly rare to see him in person. As the room quieted for him, the firmness in their boss’s voice grew playful. “This party is special, my kittens. The guest of honor is a dear, dear friend of mine. As always, there are rules and since all of you are contracted workers, you know them well. There will be an abundance of handlers to assist with any unexpected events, but please, give leeway where you can and do everything in your power to make this night unforgettable for everyone in attendance.”

“We always do,” hollered someone from the back.

Dean nodded along, knowing it was true. This was the best job he’d ever had and he was paid very well to do it. He owed this man his loyalty and he’d give it. Hell, he’d give more than loyalty. Crowley wasn’t bad to look at and had the swagger of a man blessed with three inches more cock than could ever be needed. Dean would service Crowley fully and fervently if ever given the chance.

Locking eyes with Dean, as though his private thought had been heard from across the room, Mr. Crowley cut through the bodies to approach and practically purred as he said, “Well, well. Hello Cowboy. You ready to be rode hard and put away wet?”

“You joining the party?” he dared to ask.

“Mmm. Temping,” smiled the man, leaning in to run the back of one finger down Dean’s newly oiled chest. “But I’d hate to be greedy. We all have work to do, after all. And for tonight, your duty is to my friends who have paid handsomely for your time. But, feel free to imagine that it’s me bending you over, stud. In fact, call out my name while they’re fucking you. I’d love to see the look on their faces if a Freudian slip like that were to occur.”

Dean smiled at the man’s twisted humor and leaned into his touch. A moment later the spell was broken and it was time to get down to business. To a swanky tune, they all formed a line and entered the party room to a round of boisterous applause.

As Dean had assumed would be the case, the entertainment staff numbered more than the guests when handlers were added in. For now, the handlers stood around the edges of the room in a relaxed posture. If things went well, that’s how they’d stay. Dean followed along in a sort of sexy conga line, swaying his hips to the beat as they moved out into the midst of the guests. They were all sprawling on comfortable furniture with drinks in hand. Around the opulent room were trays laden with food and fountains that bubbled champagne and dribbled chocolate.

Experienced in parties, Dean made a full circuit of the room and watched the faces of each guest before settling on the one that seemed to covet his attention the most. Grateful for his bowed legs, Dean made a show of approaching the man in a cowboy’s gait. Then, he kicked up a booted foot and swung one leg completely over the man’s head in a show of dexterity before coming to rest effortlessly in his lap.

Immediately there were hands on his bare ass and Dean felt a shiver of delight snaking up his spine. He had to wriggle to get the leather chaps to sit right over his hips, but he’d soon settled into a slow grind to the music. The man’s hands on him squeezed and kneaded the meat of his ass as Dean’s customer stared enviously at his swiveling hips and shiny, bare chest. Between his cheeks there was moisture already starting to gather, despite having just been wiped down after the chaps were put on. The party had barely started and already his greedy hole was juicy and clenching - dying to be fucked. Behind him, he felt the ghost of a touch, rough fingers sliding over his back. Turning, he saw that it was Benny brushing past him. He watched for a moment as his friend led a man away from the group, already playing the part of the heavy bear and Dom that he was clearly meant to embody. The client was practically giddy as he followed his rented Dom, obviously excited for whatever was about to happen.

Returning his attention to the John he’d been riding in slow motion, Dean saw that his eyes were dilated to the size of dinner plates. He was on something good. As Dean rolled his hips sensually, his engorged cock swayed tantalizingly in front of him. The man was staring it at and his eyes were clouding over with lust.

“Can I touch it?” he whispered in a husky voice.

“You can do whatever you want, partner,” grinned Dean. “It’s your rodeo.”

With that said, Dean pressed his weight down on the man, finding a decent sized cock trapped under his blue suit pants. Having already been kept waiting for far too long today, Dean was practically panting to be fucked and his body spasmed as he heard the man groan from under his shifting weight.

Arching his back and pushing his meaty ass into the man’s hands, Dean tipped his head back and hoped the guy would suck a nipple or grab his cock, anything really.

A firm hand coming to rest on his shoulder snapped his attention to someone who had come up behind him and he craned his neck around to see who it was. To his surprise, his gaze came to rest on Mr. Crowley. The man was intriguing and Dean secretly hoped to one day hear the ten little words that had been rumored to mean getting some action: ‘Mr. Crowley would like to see you in his office.’

“Enjoying yourself Mr. Whitman?” asked Crowley over Dean’s head.

“Yeah,” husked Dean’s first john of the day, “you sure know how to throw a party.”

“Well, this young man is one of my best,” praised Mr. Crowley, “he frequently sets new records in the auction house and I know he’ll give you the ride of your life tonight. Isn’t that right Dean?”

Flattered that Crowley knew of his achievements in the bidding room and thrilled by the personal attention, Dean felt his chest swell as he gave an exaggerated nod. Then he returned to the slow grind of hips that allowed him to feel a hardened cock against his damp crack.

It was easy to tell when his boss had moved on because Dean’s customer, Mr. Whitman apparently, dropped his eyes back to Deans naked skin.

“What’s your best trick, cowboy?” he asked playfully.

“Riding your cock,” he answered with a raised chin.

“How ‘bout you blow me first,” challenged the man. The line would’ve been better delivered while shoving Dean to the floor, he thought, but it wasn’t his job to judge. It was his job to please. So, without hesitation, he scuttled backwards and dropped to his knees on the carpet.

“You got a name?” he asked as he pushed between the man’s knees and began unzipping his pants. “Or should I just scream out ‘Whitman’ when I come?”

“As long as you scream, it’s all good,” reassured the man. “But if you must know, it’s Alex.”

“I might come just from blowing you,” grinned Dean, enjoying the banter that seemed to come easily for them.

“You really want my cock, don’tcha?” he teased as Dean pulled him out of his slacks. “You wanna ride it don’tcha cowboy.”

“You know I do,” he whispered, his voice probably lost to the background music as he leaned in. Alex’s dick had felt larger through his pants. But, that was actually okay with Dean. No one cares to get down on a tiny cock, but the more average-sized ones are definitely easier to blow. Another bonus to the average sized cock? Not much prep needed. When it’s time to fuck, they slide right in.

Closing his eyes to enjoy it, Dean sank down on the man and put his entire body into the blow job. He loved sucking cock. Exuberant and pulsing with lust, he hoped others were watching and found himself quickly picking up speed the moment his cowboy hat was plucked from his head. Moving freely then, he rocked his entire body as he bobbed his head on the man’s plump dick, pushing his bare ass up in the air as an invitation to any party-goer. In fact, if some Good Samaritan would just come along right now and plunge a cock into him, Dean thought he might faint with relief.

With Alex’s hands combing through his hair, Dean pulled out all his best tricks. He varied his pace as he moved artfully up and down on the shaft, pausing frequently to devote his tongue to the crown or base. He cupped the man’s warm balls and rolled them, using the fingers of his other hand to simultaneously tickle the taint. It was a sacrifice to fully devote his mouth and both hands to the client when a hand on his own cock would have delivered such sweet relief. But, Mr. Crowley was likely watching and Dean wanted to show off his utter devotion to the job, not his selfishness.

Thankfully, his sweet ass hadn’t been on display for too long before someone noticed it and came to enjoy. The feel of hands spreading his cheeks apart and tearing his G-string brought a curl of anticipation to his gut. When a thick finger slid down over his pucker, Dean pushed back onto it eagerly. Moving sensually as he gave head, he rolled his hips and artfully fucked himself onto that single digit and soon it was two, then three.

Deep throating Alex, Dean grinned around his mouthful when he felt the awkward shuffle of limbs behind him that indicated his newcomer was getting to their knees behind him. Empty for a moment, his entrance seemed to twitch and spasm as it waited for the inevitable push of a hardened dick.

When the moment of penetration came, the man’s girth was surprisingly wide and didn’t easily breach his rim. Grabbing Dean’s shoulder and pulling back, the man forced himself to burst past it. His breath hitched as it happened and a shiver of delight snaked up his spine. Being pulled back had brought his open mouth away from the dick he’d been sucking, and Dean was now gulping in breaths as his body tried but failed to adjust. The cock he’d been speared with was simply wider than he’d been prepped for.

The man seemed to be giving him a much-needed moment, so Dean used it to his advantage. He closed his eyes and made a conscious effort to relax his anus. With his eyes shut it was easy to imagine what he must look like from behind... chaps lining his hips, G-string torn and dangling, ass cheeks split apart, and his pink hole stretched wide around a mighty cock.

He knew he’d been riding at least three fingers while he’d been sucking Whitman's dick and a fluttering feeling of excitement stirred in his chest as Dean imagined how big that cock must really be if three fingers had left his hole so inadequately stretched. Suddenly wondering if perhaps this newcomer was actually Benny, Dean opened his eyes and peered over his shoulder. Nope. Not Benny. A big, hulking specimen though. For sure. Dean barely noticed the guys beer gut and neck beard because the handsome face and steely look in his eyes made up for a lot.

“Get back to it,” growled Whitman, grabbing a fistful of Dean’s hair and shoving his head back down. Titillated by the rough treatment, Dean’s pulse revved up and he opened wide over that average sized dick to take it deep. Behind him, Mr. Beer-gut with the broad shoulders and hard eyes was gathering Dean’s hips between his palms. Knowing he was about to take a much-needed pounding, he gave himself over to it. As the thrusts began to rock him, Dean’s body was heaved forward onto the cock in his mouth over and over. He wasn’t using his muscles for this at all - instead he just remained pliant and let the man behind him do all the work involved in giving a killer blow job. Seriously. All he had to do was keep his throat open and his lips curled over his teeth.

Doing exactly that, Dean let his mind go fuzzy as he enjoyed the ride. The force of the thrusts from behind sent him forward hard enough to bruise his throat on the cock he was sucking and with each repetition, the beast of a man behind him would haul Dean back by the hips and hold him as he withdrew his dick almost all the way. Every time the tip caught on Dean’s rim, he’d get inch closer to orgasm. Then, as the burly man barreled into him again, Dean would snatch a quick breath before being heaved forward onto that wet cock again. As he was impaled simultaneously from both ends, he was also absorbing a jolt of pleasure from the sweet spot deep inside him. His entire body was humming with pleasure and he might’ve screamed for how good it felt - if his mouth hadn’t been so blessedly full.

Despite the abundance of slick that his body was pumping out, Dean’s hole was suffering as it was stretched to its limits. Beyond. His rim was burning but at this point it still felt good. The hours he’d been been waiting to actually get some cock had felt like an eternity. And now he was actually grateful to be getting horse-fucked.

He felt so libidinous that he couldn’t possibly hold in all the lust. It surged through his veins. The pressure inside was like boiling water pushing up and out of an unwatched pot. He had an overwhelming urge to just tip his head back and scream. That exact moment was when Dean finally came. Hot cum shot from his dick as he was wildly fucked, and because of the motion, ribbons of it arced through the air. Some of it splattered up onto his own chest and some decorated Alex’s olive skin. Dean didn’t see it because of the explosions of white light going off behind his eyelids. He only saw the aftermath, when the powerful feeling had waned enough that he could open his eyes. His body was still being flung forward and pulled back over and over as the man behind him chased his own end, but Dean’s eyes took in the mess he’d made as well as the blissed out expression on Alex Whitman’s face.

Having just survived a mind-blowing orgasm without stroking out, Dean returned his attention to giving sensational head. The man was bucking up into his mouth now, ready to come, and Dean sucked hard on his tip every chance he got. When Alex came, the thrusting from behind stilled, likely because the big bear of a man was watching it happen. Dean clamped down and smiled around the load as it pumped into his mouth. Swallowing it down, he continued to milk the man until his cock was spent. Then, he glanced up at the man’s face and smiled into it when Alex leaned forward to try and kiss him, perhaps wanting to lick the taste of himself from Dean’s tongue. But, just then, Dean’s power top started thrusting again. With Dean now being roughly fucked from behind, they kept missing when they tried to kiss and ended up breaking into laughter. .

“I’m gonna ride you next,” promised Dean, ready to crawl into the man’s lap and get started. “It’ll take you forever to come a second time and I’ll fuckin’ love every minute of it.”

“Maybe later,” shrugged Alex nonchalantly, “Right now, I’ve got a better idea.” With Dean still taking thrusts from behind, his first john rolled out from under him and moved away. Following the movement, Dean saw him heading to a nearby chaise lounge where the twink whose name Dean didn’t know was being spit roasted between two dudes. With his skirt thrown up over his back, the youngster’s cock cage was visible and inside it, the soft flesh of him was a bright cherry red.

Dean paused a moment to ease himself down over the couch and into a similar position before he encouraged Mr. Beer-gut to continue. For a while, he watched Alex. The man approached the twink and then shoved up behind him. With hardly a word to any of them, he pushed his wet cock right into the boys hole along side the one already pumping. The young boy screamed out around the cock in his mouth but he never faltered. He took it like a champ. A champ in a dainty skirt.

Rocking with Mr. Beer-gut now, Dean continued watching the twink as he humped his way to another climax. The boy was incredible to watch, his own pleasure strangled by the metal cage that kept his dick small. A string of precum was hanging from that little cock though, and Dean felt himself grow harder as he watched the boy be fucked within an inch of his life.

Behind him, Dean felt his giant finally starting to reach his peak, thrusts growing shorter and more abortive before he finally pushed forward one last time and came with a shudder. Dean could feel the way the man’s penis twitched inside him as it pulsed cum into him. The man’s body was slumping onto him now as it rode out the aftershocks of a strong orgasm. At this point, it was clear that the ride was over.

When the big man pulled out he did it slowly, probably because he wanted to watch his load ooze back out of Dean’s abused hole. After the man rose and left, Dean got to his feet. He could feel fluids running out of him and tried to clench his cheeks together but they wouldn’t cooperate. Knowing he was far too stretched out and used up to be appealing to anyone, he walked over to a handler and pleaded battle fatigue.  

He was led, staggering, back to the prep room where he flopped onto a table. The moment his cock ring was removed, he groaned in relief. Laying there, breathing heavily, he was given a calming massage. Then, he stood on shaky legs to be washed and douched. By the time he was being patted dry, he could once more control his butt cheeks. They clenched at his command now and the attendant working on him smiled approvingly. Back on the table, his backside was expertly massaged, special attention being paid to his fucked out rim. Intermittently, he felt a cool, wet cloth being dabbed on his sphincter and recognized the familiar scent of witch hazel. Soon enough, he was being massaged again. Tingles began to gather around his hole as the elasticity returned to it and soon he was clenching, already feeling a new wave of eroticism descend on him.

“Well,” hummed his attendant, “I think you’re just about ready for round two. How do you feel?”

“Awesome,” he grinned, favoring her with a smile before turning over to show her his flaccid cock. “Now, how ‘bout we pay some attention to this little guy?”  

“Little?” she teased. “Not for long.”

He sighed contentedly when she took him in hand and felt his body coming to life as she stroked him back to hardness. When the cock ring tightened around him once more, Dean knew the TLC was almost over.

“You ready to get back in there?” she asked him.

“Unless you’re gonna give it a kiss, yeah.”

“Would if I could,” she lamented, probably to stroke his ego.

“You sayin’ my dick ain’t worth gettin’ fired over?”

“Sorry, but no,” she answered warmly. “There are a few in the next room that have paid a small fortune for it though. Maybe you should go indulge them.”

“Think I will,” he nodded, getting to his feet. She and the handler helped him into a fresh pair of leather chaps, brown this time, and left him comando beneath. His cock jutted straight out in front of him as if it really meant business this time.

Stepping into boots, he then looked back at her once more so she could drop a new cowboy hat on his head. Glancing at her name tag for the first time, Dean addressed her directly as Kim and teasingly said, “what, no bandana?”

“I’m fresh out. Honestly, I’d like to give you the gold star of a lawman, but what the hell would I pin it to?”

Mirroring her impish grin, Dean was ready to go now. He turned his attention to the waiting handler but before stepping away from Kim, he turned back to her and said, “Thanks for takin’ care of me.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Escorted back into the big room, he was stunned by the display of debauchery before him. Unsure of where to even start, he began to saunter through. Clearly this party was some kind of reward to the board of directors of a very profitable corporation. Each had likely supplied a list of items to be indulged in during the party and the result was a discordant array of costumes and kinks. If was utter chaos.

Dean’s eyes roved over a couple of young girls in cheerleading costumes. They were tag teaming a fat man in a pinstripe suit that probably cost five grand. There was no way that man was leaving without buying a souvenir video. In a dark corner nearby, Benny was bringing pleasure and pain to a man of small stature and also providing entertainment for several onlookers.

Both twinks were noticeably absent from the room, likely being cleaned up at the moment, and, between two couches, there was a pulsing, writhing orgie happening on the floor.

To his right, Dean saw that food had been shoved aside on one of the tables and there was now a man splayed out over it with a naughty nurse tending to him. Wondering what she was doing to him, Dean edged closer to get a look and was immediately sorry. She was giving him an enema. He tried to keep his poker face on, never wanting to grimace and cause shame to someone else for their own unique kinks. He’d have done so even if it wasn’t one of the standard house rules. He was just turning away from them when Dean suddenly recognised the nurse as Lisa.

Feeling obligated to at least say hello, he stepped up to her side. Not wanting to interrupt if he was unwelcome, Dean used only his eyes and the tilt of his head to ask her if it was okay to speak. She gave him a wide smile and broke the silence by saying, “Well hello, cowboy.”

“Oh yeah,” echoed the man on the table, “Hello cowboy.”

Smoothly avoiding any view of Lisa’s hands or the clients ass, Dean looked only at the man’s face as he smiled flirtatiously and said, “Hello yourself.”

“That’s one corn-fed cock you’ve got there, cowboy.”

“Whatcha wanna do with it,” he replied, hoping for the least gross option.

“I wanna suck it,” the man said firmly. Dean was immediately relieved.

“It’s yours buddy,” he grinned, using two hands to guide it gently into the man’s mouth. Then, he tipped his head back to enjoy the sensation for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, Lisa was staring at him.

“That look suits you,” she said with a genuine smile.

“I could say the same,” he smirked, letting his eyes roam down over the tight white nurse’s dress and the silky stockings that clipped to a garter and left the skin of her thighs exposed.

Pulling off Dean’s dick for a moment, the client on the table lifted his head to bark at Lisa, “Gimme another one.”

Plastering on a fake smile for him, Lisa reached into a nearby medical bag and pulled out another kit. She took her time, lubing and prepping him as if he was to be fucked, basically making it good for the guy, and then eased a new tube upside him.

“Gimme a three count before you squeeze that bottle sweet-cheeks,” he commanded, once again abandoning Dean’s blow job to order Lisa around. He almost felt sorry for her now, knowing she wasn’t enjoying this at all and that she was likely aching between her legs with the need to be fucked. He stood there and let the rich man blow him as Lisa prepared to shoot saline up inside him. Again.

Dean could hear her counting off and when he knew she’d done the deed, he reached out to comb his fingers through the john’s hair. Begrudgingly, he had to give the guy credit because even when he moaned sensually through his enema, he never faltered on Dean’s cock.  

“Come on my face,” he urged, pulling off only long enough to speak, “give that whore nurse something to clean up.”

Like she hasn’t had enough already , he thought wryly.

Staying to finish with the client was his duty so Dean stayed. But, if he was to hold out any hope of being able to blow cum on this guy’s face for him, he knew he’d have to conjure up a pretty good fantasy.

While mentally perusing his spank-bank arsenal, Dean tried to single out a person he was attracted to… that way he’d have someone good in mind as he played out a kinky scene in his head. Oddly enough, the image that kept coming to mind was of the shy guy who’d been avoiding his gaze in the gallery that morning… the nervous dude with the frumpy trench coat and ruggedly handsome face. Sure, the guy was good looking. But he was timid and shy. Not really Dean’s type. Preferring someone more exciting to fantasize about, Dean tried to discard the man’s image and move on to someone else. But, oddly enough, he couldn’t. So, even though it was a bit odd to be fixated on someone this way, Dean decided to just go with it and see where a fantasy of this man might take him.

Still petting the head of his customer as he was blown, Dean kept his eyes shut and let his mind wander for a moment. Soon he was smiling. He was in his father's ‘67 Impala. Younger in his daydream, Dean was still hunting with his dad and had left the old man back at their hotel to make a food run. Relaxing into the scene, Dean saw it play out like a movie behind his eyelids. Cruising down a dark country highway on a moonlit night with his windows down and a warm breeze in his hair, he was listening to Zep on the radio when out of nowhere a hitchhiker came into view. The man was walking along the side of the road in a billowing trench coat. Dean let his foot off the gas and rumbled up beside the stranger. Leaning out the window he hollered, “Ya need a lift?”

Wordlessly, the man turned to him. Even now, in a fantasy of his own making, Dean was surprised by the intensity of those eyes. Deep and magnetic, they held his own with ease and wouldn’t allow him to look away as the man nodded in the affirmative. Watching as the guy climbed in, Dean suddenly realized that the dude was naked under his coat. Unable to control his wandering eye, Dean took in the man’s hairy legs and his milky white neck. Trying not to stare, he wondered if there was hair on that chest, even as the man cupped himself though the coat and slid closer to Dean.

“Thanks for the ride,” whispered the stranger, breaking his silence for the first time as he pulled Dean’s hand down into his lap.

“You don’t have to,” his imaginary self whispered, wanting to reassure this man that sexual favors were not expected in return for a ride.

“Want to,” the man breathed, pressing Dean’s hand down as he pushed his package up into their palms.

“This is my dad’s car,” Dean added, knowing his old man would recognize the scent of sex and the appearance of dried cum.

“Then don’t come,” his mystery man said, breath ghosting over Dean’s ear. Then, he bent over and shoved his head into Dean’s lap. Unzipping him with clumsy fingers, the stranger pulled him out as they accelerated down the highway. Having a warm mouth sink down on him in fantasy and in real life at the same time was doing something for Dean.

As he was sucked off by a random john at this private party, he was also being blown in his dad’s car, young and horny and still secretly experimenting with dudes whenever he could.

His fantasy guy was good too, moaning on his cock and taking him deep. He had to stop the car or he was going to crash. Pulling over into a roadside motel, Dean suddenly realized that he’d inadvertently driven back to hotel where he’d left his father. The idea of being blown in such close proximity to John Winchester was scintillating and Dean felt a swell of carnality rising up in him as he watched himself put the car in park. His eyes immediately gravitated towards the window of his father’s motel room, but his hand came to rest on the back of the head that was blowing him.

Sitting behind the wheel of his dad’s car, Dean rolled his hips into that warm and welcoming mouth. He felt his tip brush the back of the guy’s throat and he groaned aloud. In the real world, his groan was wasted on a client but in his mind, it was given to a mysterious stranger. A light flicked on in the motel room and Dean sucked in a ragged breath. “Get off,” he barked to the man, “I think my dad’s comin’ out.”

The man didn’t relent though, only sucked harder on his tip and hummed as he did so. “C’mon man,” he whispered in his fantasy, “my dad’s gonna see us.”

“Don’t care,” the man answered, the words sounding muffled as they were whispered over his dick. “Let him see.”

“Yeah,” agreed Dean, lost in his pleasure, “let him see. Let him know. I am what I am and I’m not gonna hide it anymore… I’m a cockslut… a whore… I fuck and get fucked… and I like it best with a man… watch me dad… watch me fuck this dude… watch me daddy…

Suddenly swept up on a heavy wave of carnal lust, Dean felt himself racing towards an orgasm. Coming to his senses just in the knick of time, he opened his eyes and pulled his cock from the business man’s mouth. Then, with the image of bright blue eyes floating in his mind and the word ‘daddy’ slipping from his mouth, Dean painted the man’s face with splatters of his cum.

Stunned by how quickly his fantasy had gone awry and how fast it had brought him to orgasm, Dean opted for pushing the entire thing out of his mind for now. The ramifications of what his imagination had created were more than he could handle at the moment.

Focusing on the customer, Dean cupped the man’s cheek and ran his thumb through his own spend. “Like that?” he sighed, hoping to end their exchange.

“I liked you callin’ me daddy,” he answered with a lewd smile. And then Dean watched his eyes shift. Following the gaze, he turned to see that one of the twinks was back. Not Kevin, but the other one. The boy’s hair was so blonde that it was white and he wore a cut off t-shirt to display his flat stomach. A short pleated skirt swished around his legs as he sashayed into the room.

“You can fuck off,” the customer, shoving Dean way from him and getting up from the table.

Watching him go, Dean and Lisa moved to stand with their shoulders touching. “Sorry ‘bout him,” he said to her.

“Not one of my favorite tricks,” she admitted.

Glassy eyed, the two watched as the john that neither of them liked stepped up to the young boy, shoved him to his knees, and said, “Call me daddy.”

“We should probably make a round,” he sighed.

“I need it bad, Dean.”

“I know. Me too,” he told her. “Let’s go get some.”

And with that, they parted company. As he walked a circuit around the room, Dean saw that the orgy on the floor was still going. There was a man passed out on one of the couches and Benny had someone down on the floor licking his boots as he tapped a riding crop on their bare hole.

With his cock still a bit wet from his last exchange, Dean walked slowly looking for someone who wanted him or for someone he wanted. Preferably both.

“Hey cowboy,” called a vaguely familiar voice. Turning, Dean’s gaze fell on Whitman, the dude he’d blown while getting horse-fucked. “If you still wanna go for a ride, I’m up for it.”

“I s’pose,” he grinned as he approached. Then, gesturing down towards his chaps, he added, “I mean, I’m already dressed for it.”

As his eyes slid down Dean’s body, Alex smirked and shot back, “You’re a real slut for cock, aintcha?”

The words were harsh, but there were delivered in the fun and teasing tone that the two had been sharing earlier. Besides, being called filthy names had always sent a shot of arousal straight to his groin, why bother pretending not to like it? There was a cheerleader blowing Whitman as he engaged Dean, but he pushed them away as Dean stepped up to him and said, “C’mon down here, cowboy. Show me what’cha can do.”

Compared to the enema dude… Alex was movie-star hot. Dean found himself wearing a genuine smile as he swung his leg up and over. With his cock jutting out in front of him, he eased himself down. Once seated, he adjusted his chaps and then reached back to pull his cheeks apart and tease the man’s dick with his juicy, wet entrance. Whitman’s package was still sopping wet from having been blown and it was cool against his overheated flesh where it came into contact with his crack. As Alex was pulling Dean’s chest closer to his own, another party-goer was stepping up to claim the spurned cheerleader.

This was going to be good. He’d needed a fuck desperately, and could already tell that this was going to be a damned good one. Ready to enjoy it, Dean reached behind himself, gave Whitman’s cock a few strokes, and then pushed two fingers into his own entrance. Working himself open, he tipped his head back and let out an indulgent sigh as lips pressed to his clavicle and began working their way down. Kisses turned to nibbles and nips when those lips reached his nipples and, yeah, Dean was practically purring. He’d not even noticed the man’s arms twining around him, but when another set of fingers pushed into his eager entrance to tangle with his own, Dean’s body buckled from the jolt of pleasure that shot through him. Two sets of fingers, bending and twisting discordantly inside him, combined with the erotic tease of teeth on his nipples soon had Dean bending and flexing with the effort of containing the wild lust that churned within him.

“I’m gonna ride your cock so hard,” Dean promised breathily. Letting his own fingers slip back out, Dean used both hands as he rose up to reposition himself. Alex left his fingers buried deep inside him, though, and as Dean began to sink down onto the man’s shaft, those fingers pulled gently to open him as wide as possible.

As he eased himself lower, Dean’s could feel that the man had left one finger still sheathed inside of him and his gaze flicked up to meet the other man’s eye. He was smirking and fuck if that wasn’t a turn on.

Feeling himself filled as he bottomed out, Dean let out a guttural moan and then arranged his knees on the lounge chair. Starting slow and steadily picking up speed, he relished how sensual it was to actually ride a cock while outfitted as a cowboy. With one hand on his hat and the other gripping his own dick, Dean rolled his hips artfully as he rose up and then plunged back down. The ache of want in him was quelled as he bore down on the cock buried inside him. Each time he sank down, it lit up the sweet spot deep inside him to deliver a small burst of pleasure and escalate the humming sensation in his lower body. Still feeling sexy, Dean used his hat as a prop and posed as he rose and fell, impaling himself rhythmically. He loved the raunchy sound of his wet hole squelching natural lube and the feel of his weighty cock slapping down on his partner’s stomach each time he bottomed out.

“Wanna see me shoot, Alex?”


“Wanna see this cowboy come on your cock?”


As he began to jack himself with a heavy hand, Dean said, “I tasted you when you came in my mouth. You gonna taste me when I come on your belly?”

“Yeah,” panted Whitman.

“I love ridin’ your dick so much, I might come twice.”

“Fuck yeah.”

Watching his own hand as he jacked himself in time with his bouncing, Dean’s chin dropped when he felt a climax coming. Keeping his eyes on his own tip, he grinned when he both felt and saw the first spatters of jizz shooting out. Keeping his eyes open was impossible though, and he wound up with his mouth open and his eyes clenched shut as he faltered in his thrusting to enjoy the orgasm.

The minute he was done pulsing, he was moving again. Already feeling a building pressure in his groin, Dean picked up the pace even as he watched Whitman keep his promise and drag a finger through the jizz on his abdomen and lift it to his lips.

“That’s hot,” Dean whispered, letting go of his dick just so he could watch it bounce between them.

“You’re hot.”

“I am hot,” said Dean with a tip of his hat and his most adorable smirk. With that, Whitman came. He clenched Dean’s hips as he pumped his spend up into him and then went lax. It was almost comical the way the man was wilting like an un-watered plant on a hot summer's day.

Dean was only halfway to his next orgasm when Whitman’s cock flagged. Dean got up when he felt it slip out him and took off his hat again. Holding it over his heart as he bowed to Whitman, he gave the guy a quick peck on the cheek. It was meant to be his graceful exit and when he turned away, Dean was already looking for someone else to fuck.  

Around him, the party seemed to be dying down. There were now two dudes passed out on couches and the crowd observing Benny had dwindled as they’d traded in a live show for the real thing. But, off by himself was a man Dean hadn’t actually noticed yet. Walking towards him in a bowlegged cowboy gait, Dean saw that the man’s cock was out of his pants and hard as steel. He stepped up and said, “What can I do for ya?”

“You can fuckin’ blow me,” said the man. “Or ride me, if you want, but I’ll never be able come.”

Bending down to climb into his lap, Dean noticed his eyes and the burning hot temperature of his skin. The dude was coked out of his mind.

“Suits me just fine,” Dean replied honestly. He slid gracefully down onto the man’s dick and started to move. “I feel like I could come on your cock a hundred times and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

“I’d like to see that,” the man grinned.

Dean was sweating inside his chaps and the leather squeaked with each thrust, but he didn’t give a fuck. Impaled on a cock that was just the right size and his for the taking, he just went to town. Bouncing faster as he jacked his own dick, Dean was lost to the world as he began approaching another climax.

“Fuck,” he cursed aloud as the feeling bubbled up inside him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’ve got a nice cock.”

A spatter of opaque cum landed on the man’s rumpled suit and he smiled like he’d lick it up if he weren’t having more fun watching Dean get off. Slowing for a moment to enjoy the waves of euphoria that were rolling over him, Dean was surprised to hear a new voice from behind him. Apparently another party-goer had been watching and was pleased with what he saw. He was quite handsome for an older dude. Dean liked his grey beard and mustache which were artfully trimmed and groomed..

“Got room for one more?”

“Fuck yeah,” he groaned, sitting forward a bit on his coked out executive. The man slid up behind him and all three of them rearranged themselves a little to find a comfortable place for everyone's knees. Reaching behind his own back, Dean pulled his cheeks apart. His puckered hole was tight around the cock he’d just cum on, but there was wiggle room. The older man didn’t waste time. He put fingers on the other man’s shaft and skillfully worked them up into Dean right along with it.

“What’s your name?” he asked the guy.

“I’m Cain,” the man answered as his fingers began stretching Dean’s rim. “I’m the top dog in this pack. And I’m gonna make you my bitch.”

“I can’t fuckin’ wait,” he snapped, pushing back a little to emphasize his need. The Cokehead, who seemed to follow the conversation but choose to remain excluded from it, began to roll up his sleeves. As that was happening, Dean was feeling the blunt head of a second cock push up against his hole.

Eager and sopping wet, he pushed back into it until he felt the crown pop through. Then, he  began sinking down and moaned sensually as he felt himself spread wide and filled deep. Now speared by two cocks, Dean began a slow grind. It tugged on his hole in just the right way, emphasizing the wide girth of his double penetration. Soon Cain was moving too, humping from behind and while Dean remained anchored by the weighty shaft of Mr. Cokehead. Sweat was gathering in the small of his back and on his upper lip as he rode out the thrusts. Surprising him completely, the cokehead reached up with both hands and began tweaking Dean’s nipples. The added stimulation really skyrocketed Dean’s experience and he fisted his cock as he quickly came again. With the man behind him cursing and laying into him hard, Dean kept still for a moment to enjoy being fucked through his orgasm and then immediately began pursuing another one.

His cock was heavy and bouncing with him, and he grabbed it again, sweating and grunting from the exertion as the feeling of building pleasure became a physical weight in his belly. He wasn’t feeling like a cowboy anymore, he was feeling like a wild, bucking bronco.

“Yeah,” he growled to Cain, “I’m your fucking bitch. Give me all ya got.”

Dean’s heart was a jack-hammer in his chest as Cain reached around to fist Deans cock at the exact same time he pushed another finger up into his hole.

“Oh yeah,” Dean called out, “Fuck your bitch. Fuck me. Fuck me.”

Euphoria swept over him like a wave. To the guy working his nipples, Dean growled, “Pinch ‘em. Yeah, like that. Fuckin’ hurt me, man.”

With his nipples and his cock being worked over, his asshole stretched over two cocks and a finger, and a voice in his ear reminding him what a shameless whore he really was, Dean came long and hard. No cum leaked from his tip anymore, but his back side was soaked and sloppy. Racked with sobs of pure pleasure, Dean felt himself blacking out. No, not yet, he thought. Lemme just get one more.

Today it would seem, was his lucky day. A loud crack of sound caught his attention and his eyes snapped open as he was startled by it. The pain became recognizable a moment later… he’d been spanked harshly on his left butt cheek.

“Again,” he called, “Keep me goin’.”

A few droplets of cum spurted out from his tip as he was struck again, and his body seemed to shift into overdrive. Fucking with everything he had, Dean felt the churning in his lower abdomen that signalled the approach of another orgasm. From behind him, Dean absorbed the stinging sensation of a hand laying siege to his ass cheek. The pain aroused something deep inside and it rose to the surface along with the crescendo of an orgasm.

This one was weaker than the last but he clung to the buzz it created under his skin and screamed out for more as he lost control of his senses completely. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed, but he couldn’t see. He couldn’t hear either… no sound reached him except a stranged high pitched keening. Suddenly, he felt like he was falling, his body tumbling and twisting is it went down but never actually hitting the ground. Suddenly full of fear, he tried to scream. No sound came out and all there was left to do was fall.

The next thing he felt was a hand on the small of his back.

Feeling anchored by it, he summoned the will to open his eyes. Blinking against harsh fluorescent light he managed to croak out, “Where am I?”

“You’re in the medical wing,” answered a familiar voice. “Don’t worry Dean, I’m going to take good care of you.”


“Yes. Just rest okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed. And as he laid there, he noticed that one by one, his faculties seemed to be returning to him. He could see, though the bright lights made him want to keep his eyes shut. He could feel too. The bed beneath him cradled his body. He wasn’t falling anymore - he was perfectly fine. His ears were still ringing a little, but he could hear Anna speaking with the handlers and could make out bits and pieces of what she was saying. She was advising them not to return to him to the party after rejuvenation.

“No,” he murmured, summoning the will to open  his eyes, “No, Anna, I’m going back to finish the party.”

“It’s almost over anyway,” she told him, smoothing her hand over his forehead reassuringly.

“It’s my job,” he said with determination, “and I like it. I’m fine now, I really am. I think I just came so hard that I blacked out. It happens.”

“I know it does sweetie, but you’re body is exhausted. Are you sure you don’t want to just get some rest?”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” he said firmly.

Then to prove his point, he sat up. He’d already been cleaned up while he was out. So, after some TLC in the prep room, Dean was able to return to the private party. From across the room, he locked eyes with Benny. Presently the man was flogging someone on a crux decussata and he’d paused. Since he had no memory of leaving this room, Dean had no idea what Benny had seen but he’d obviously been worried. Giving the man a reassuring nod, Dean then turned his attention to everyone else in the room.

The twinks were missing again, and so was Lisa. Most likely they were being cared for in the adjacent prep room. Anna had been right. This party was nearly over. Sadly, he’d already been artfully teased, the dull ache of want in his gut pulled forward by skilled hands and directed to his cock. Now, even though there were more men passed out than awake, Dean needed to get off. There were a few still awake but they were listless and uninterested, most of them already fully satisfied or tripping balls from five worlds away.

Hearing a familiar tune being whistled, Dean turned to Benny and saw that the man was trying to catch his eye. Ambling over, he stopped on the periphery of Benny’s little corner and requested permission to approach with his eyes.

Given a nod, he came forward and Benny quietly whispered, “You in a hard way?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Whatcha ya need, brother?”

“Man, I don’t even know.”

Benny appeared to give the matter some thought, his eyes resting heavily on Dean as he considered things. After a  long moment of deliberation, he said, “I could use a cockwarmer.”

“Sounds great.”

Dean sank to his knees, buzzing because he was horny and Benny had a very enviable dick, but also feeling a connection of friendship and commiseration between them. Benny was cautious as he pulled himself out of his leather costume and gently guided himself to Dean’s lips.  When he felt the first touch of silky skin to his tongue, he instinctively pulled the weight of it into his mouth with the power of suction and latched himself to the man like a Chinese finger cuff. Looking up, Benny’s blue-grey eyes held a warm smile for him even if it didn’t reach his lips. Having a cock in his mouth was quickly returning Dean to his normal self. Sucking contentedly, he kept his ministrations languid rather than trying to get his partner off. Feeling a bit more himself now, Dean began to look around and stole a glance at the man Benny had just taken down from the cross.  He was young. Sweet looking. He didn’t fit in with the group he’d come to party with and Dean wondered idly if he might be an intern. Regardless of his position or rank with these customers, he was one of them. And, since he’d requested it, Benny had put through his paces, testing his limits and challenging him at every turn. The skin on the kids back was bright red and so were his ass cheeks.

“You’ve been a good boy for me Alfie,” praised Benny. “Are you ready for a reward?”

The man whimpered with hope and Benny replied by saying, “I’ve got somthin’ you’re gonna like, Cheri.”

Dean’s eyes were resting on Benny heavily as the man spoke and his friend bent to look him in the eye as he addressed his Sub from a few paces away. “My cockwarmer is also a good boy. He’s got the second finest ass you can buy.” Dean grinned up at his friend when he added, “Mine’s number one, of course.”

“Now, Cheri, if I said you could do anything you wanted with him, what would you choose to do?”

Glancing Dean’s way for a beat, the young man’s eyes returned to their master before he answered, “I’d fuck him, sir.”

Dean’s cock twitched hopefully between his legs, still thick in his cock ring. He nodded immediately when Benny looked to him questioningly and he knew he could trust his friend to look out for him. Secretly, he hoped he’d get to continue suckling on his friends dick as he was taken from behind once again.

“C’mon and get a piece then,” he heard Benny say with a dark chuckle. Extracting himself from between Dean’s lips, Benny led the way towards a large cushion on the floor. It was the only soft place left that didn’t have some corporate fuckwad draped over it. A few hours ago, there had been a steaming orgy on this mat, but now it would just be the three of them. Benny stepped onto the cushion first and situated himself in the center of it. When his friend motioned him forward, Dean joined the man and eagerly took that chubby, wet cock back into his mouth.

Letting his eyes slip closed contentedly, he rolled it around in his mouth, enjoying it for a while before finally letting the weight come to rest in the center. Cradling it on his tongue, Dean let his mind go fuzzy and just enjoyed the sensation as he gently sucked and swallowed around it. When hands grasped him from behind, Dean relaxed into the touch because he knew that Benny was orchestrating the entire exchange. Pliant and trusting, he let himself be repositioned, his knees and elbows now under him and his ass guided upwards.

Quivering with desire, he spread his legs a bit further so that his cheeks would pull apart and display his puckered entrance. Groaning on the dick in his mouth, Dean enjoyed the feeling of fingers tracing his crack. He was floating on a cloud as teasing fingers played with his eager hole and it thrilled him when a wide, rounded crown pressed up against the ring of muscle and began to gently force its way inside. It just never got old, that feeling of being mounted, and as he pushed back into it, a steady build of eroticism began deep inside him. 

Dean opened his eyes for a moment, looking to Benny with a silent question in his eyes. When the man gave him an affirmative nod, he began working in earnest. Transforming himself from sleepy cock warmer into active dick sucker, Dean grinned around the girth of the man proudly as Benny gently patted Dean’s head encouragingly. All the while, Alfie was fucking into him from behind and with his own cock swinging heavily between his legs, Dean grew increasingly exuberant. A cockslut at heart, he relished the ongoing job of delivering a top-notch blow job even while being fucked. He bathed the man’s shaft with his tongue, sucked at the tip and teased the slit, then pressed his nose into damp flesh so he could take balls into his mouth and hum on them, suck on them and swallow around them before returning to the shaft so he could repeat the entire process again only with more urgency.

Alfie seemed to be enjoying the encounter, humping feverishly now behind Dean. With his head spinning in ecstasy, Dean pushed backwards into the boy and met his thrusts eagerly, but didn't rush through the act in his haste to get off. Actually, he couldn't remember having been this patient before and wondered if the difference was to be found in Benny’s ability as a Dom, his own enjoyment in the role of sub, or simply his body having already been so heavily used. Regardless, he had to admit to really enjoying this encounter. 

Eventually, the euphoria and eroticism built to a climax and as the feeling swelled in him, he rode it out quietly, moaning for how good it felt to softly pulse a small puddle of cum down onto the pad beneath him. When Alfie came, he pumped a heavy load up into Dean. It was the culmination of a night spent eagerly waiting to orgasm.

When he’d finished, he pulled Dean down onto the cushion with him and they laid on their sides together like two spoons in a drawer. Benny moved too, wrapping them up in his strong arms. The three laid there until handlers came to pull Dean from the room. Since Alfie was Benny’s customer, the big bear of a man was able to stay with his charge and provide aftercare. Sadly, as a worker, Dean had no excuses for staying with them. His part of the job was finished and, for him, the party was truly at its end.

As they were leaving, they stepped around the carnage of an epic party. Most of the guests were sleeping where they’d fallen  – all obviously satisfied. Dean felt like them; relaxed and content. He had his friend to thank for that - and he knew it. Back in the prep room he reveled in his massage and soaked up the ministrations of his attendant while he was prepared for the sleeping room, fading in and out of consciousness several times. When he was roused to his feet, Dean asked where he was being taken.

“Sleeping quarters,” answered the handler.

“No, I haven’t had my injection yet,” he countered.

“No injection today,” replied the man firmly, “tomorrow is a resting day for you.”

“No it’s not,” he insisted, “I get one more sex day before I rest.”

“Sorry,” answered the man, sounding like he meant it, “but you’ve been on for three days. No one gets more than three days without a rest.”

“I wanna see the nurse,” Dean pressed, trying to control his anger.

“She was just here.”

“Get her back.”

With a sigh, the man allowed him back to the massage table while he stepped out for a moment. Left with only the staffer who had rejuvenated him, and likely because the exchange had seemed like an outburst, Dean felt himself being secured to the table by his cuffs and collar.

“Dean,” said Anna softly when she came to his bedside with her computer, “what’s the matter?”

“I think there’s been a mistake,” he told her calmly, “I’ve been on for two days but they’re telling me it’s been three.”

“Sweetie, it’s been three,” she said imploringly. “I’ve got it right here. Today is Saturday the nineteenth. You had a private party all day today.” Giving him a smile she added, “and half the night.”

“Yeah, and yesterday I did the foot guy and then hit the rec room. The day before that was a resting day.”

“I’m sorry but no. The day before that was Thursday the seventeenth and you began the day with an auction. Your high bidder was a young man in his early thirties. I can’t give you his information, but I can tell you that when prompted about your time with him, you responded that things had gone well and that you’d be willing to entertain him again in the future. It’s all right here in your chart, Dean.”

“Oh, okay,” he relented. It was odd to not recall even a single detail about the encounters he’d had on Thursday, but given the number of encounters he usually had in a day, and the vague description that Anna was allowed to give him, it probably shouldn’t surprise him that there were some fucks that didn’t stand out enough to be remembered.

“Chalk it up to a senior moment,” she teased him. “I get them all the time.”

“I’m not old enough to be having senior moments,” he grumbled.

“Neither am I,” she grinned, obviously trying to get him to smile, “but it happens to the best of us.”

Letting his head fall back on the cushion, Dean closed his eyes. “Thanks Anna.”

“You’re welcome,” she said warmly, leaning in to peck his forehead. “Sleep well, Dean.”

Then, to his attendant, Anna said, “You can unlock him. He’s fine. Just tired.”

She was right too, he could barely keep himself upright as he staggered to the sleeping room. Crawling into his cage, Dean curled onto his side. “You look pretty shot out, man,” said the handler. “You want a comfort object?”

“Sure,” he said. “why not.”

“Any preference?”

“The bear.”

He closed his eyes as he waited and a few moments later found himself being roused from sleep. “You still want this?” asked the handler. Peeling his heavy eyelids open, Dean came face to face with the familiar shape of a small brown teddy bear. It was wearing a t-shirt that proclaimed, ‘I Wuv Hugs’.

“Fuck, man,” he grumbled, “I don’t need that shit.”

“Oh, I thought you wanted it,” said the handler. “Tell ya what. I’ll leave it just in case.” The man then left him and Dean laid there looking at the little stuffed bear for a long time. Strangely enough, a thought crossed his mind that the bear might feel rejected if he didn’t cuddle with it. With a strange desire to soothe and care for it, he reached out and pulled it to his chest.

Hours later, after a deep and restful sleep, Dean drifted slowly into consciousness. Around him was the din of many men, restless in their cages and a suckling sound that reminded him of nursing infants. He stretched and looked around. To his left, as always, was Benny. The man was on all fours with his forehead resting on the bars. Between them Pam had her left hand snaked into his cage and was stroking his hair as he drank from the bottle she held in her right. On his other side, Kevin was just finishing his. He turned a circle on his mattress the way a dog would do and then laid down. With his knees drawn up to his chest, the boy with the big soft eyes looked over at him and said, “Yesterday was awesome, right?”

“What was –

“That party. I wore a skirt, remember.”

“Oh yeah,” nodded Dean as the memory came floating back to him. “Figured they’d blister your hide and send ya to the infirmary.”

“I took a few swats,” he stated proudly, “but mostly they wanted me to dance, suck, and fuck.”

“I don’t even remember seeing you.”

“I saw you. You were doubled up with a couple of dudes. They pinked your ass.”

From behind him, Dean heard Benny’s voice. “You feelin’ alright this mornin’ brother?”

Dean smiled genuinely and answered in the affirmative.

“You fuckin’ rocked those cowboy duds,” Benny added. The man was up now and rocking, his huge cock swinging beneath him like a pendulum. Though Dean felt warm and fuzzy about their romp the previous day, he felt no desire whatsoever to have sex. He was completely and totally satisfied just to lay on this mattress and wonder what he’d do today.

He was one of the last to be taken from his cage, but he felt no impatience. It was Pam who came to retrieve him and Dean blushed when she saw the bear in his cage.

“Rough day yesterday?” she asked as she clipped his collar and cuffs into place.

“Not really. Don’t know why the dude put that in here with me. I didn’t need it.”

“Oh, well I’m glad. You hungry?”

Even as she said the words, Dean suddenly felt a cramp seize his abdomen. Realizing he was ravenous, Dean responded with a resounding yes. She led him down the familiar hall and to the salon. Once he was bathed, he was given a deep tissue massage and, by the time it was finished, a young nursing tech was pushing a cart up to him.

“Good morning Mr. Winchester,” she greeted, verifying the number on her computer screen with the one on his collar.

“Where’s Anna today?”

“Well, she was on till four am,” said the girl. “If I was one to place bets, I’d say she’s home. In bed.”

“Oh, okay,” he mumbled as he looked for her name tag. It said Darla. He held still as she pricked his finger, swabbed it, and then collected a drop into a tiny little tube. Watching as she dropped it onto a testing strip, he looked to her questioningly when the little card turned a pale green rather than blue.

“Oh my,” she said softly, “it looks like you’ve caught a little something.”

“What did I catch?”

“Nothing a shot won't clear up for ya.”

“I thought everyone who came through the door was tested before being allowed inside?”

“Oh they are,” she reassured, “but there’s a small margin of error with tests and some sexually transmitted diseases have an incubation period that can lead to a false negative. But, it’s not to worry about. There’s nothing you can catch that we don’t have the cure for.”

“Alright,” he nodded, watching as she pulled a syringe from the top drawer.

“This one’s not even injected into muscle,” she said conversationally as she swabbed his arm with alcohol. “We put this one into fatty tissue, so you won’t even be sore after.” Even as she said it, she was pinching a bit of fat on the back side of his arm and pushing the needle into it. He barely felt it.

“So that’s that?”

“That’s that,” she beamed. She gave him a reassuring smile as she left. His attendant stepped forward then with a large soft cloth that he knew well.

“I fuckin’ hate this part,” he told her.

“You get at least one injection a day and this is what bothers you most?”

“It’s a damned diaper,” he growled as he laid back on the table.

“No, it’s a containment pad. And if you want to eat breakfast, it’s a necessity.”

“Yeah sweetheart, I get it. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Try to squeeze in a nap today,” she told him as she put her hands on his hip and rolled him onto his side, “it will help you feel a little better.”

“I feel fine,” he snapped, “except for the fact that I have to wear a fuckin’ diaper.”

“It’s not that you need a diaper. You’re not a child. Some incontinence is an unfortunate side effect of the juice. It generally only lasts a few hours, a day at the most, but that’s long enough to merit a containment pad. You want to eat, don’t you?”

Fuck. Hell yeah he wanted to eat. “Just do it,” he grumbled, hating the way he had to spread his legs for her to wrap it around him.

When she’d finished, she helped him slide into a pair of elastic trimmed plastic briefs that went over the diaper. Containment pad. Whatever.

When Pam came to retrieve him, he was wearing a soft cotton bathrobe embroidered with his name and a pair of soft slippers. He was Hugh Heffner. But, yeah. In a diaper. She was grinning as she stepped up. “Know what time it is?” she prodded.

“Time to eat,” he said, finally letting himself enjoy the fact that he’d be able to do that today.

“Damn straight,” she said as she took his lead, “and I heard that there’s going to be three kinds of pie at dinner tonight.”

His mood improving now, Dean walked with her to the cafeteria. It was a long walk, probably part of the design layout; best to keep the scent of food far away from those who can’t eat, right? The staff took all their meals here, but the escorts only ate on resting days so staff outnumbered the escorts in the cafeteria nearly three to one.

Dean let Pam carry his tray for him. It had taken him a long time to get comfortable doing that with his handlers, but if he was honest, his body was so weak and tired that not carrying the tray made a huge difference. The food smelled amazing and as he moved into the line circling the breakfast bar, he shoved an apple into his mouth. Sinking his teeth into the crisp, sweet flesh of it was invigorating and he began zealously piling up an ambitious breakfast plate. He slid it onto the tray with two cartons of chocolate milk and then followed Pam to a table.

“You not eating?” he asked when they seated themselves at a table.

“I’m not feeling like breakfast food. But, when you hit the lunch line, I’ll be right there with you.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, digging into his eggs, “I’m gonna get a big fat burger.”

“Me too. With bacon.”

“So much bacon,” Dean added, grabbing a slice and shoving it in his mouth.

“Whatcha gonna do today?”

“Well, I’m gonna charge my phone so I can check it. Maybe hit the library if I have any emails I need to answer. Call my brother and check in. Maybe some TV later… is there a good game on today?”

“Probably. But we both know you’re going to watch Dr. Sexy reruns so you may as well cut the shit.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I forgot who I was talkin’ to for a sec there.”

“You’ve got some catching up to do,” she teased with a smile, “Dr. Sexy got suspended pending investigation.”

“Over that patient that died?”

“That patient he killed.”

“He didn’t kill her,” Dean insisted firmly, “sometimes people just die, Pam.”

“Sure,” she agreed playfully, “but if I die with some doctor’s scalpel in me, I should hope someone would care enough to sue.”

Dean hadn’t even gotten through his eggs when the first cramp hit him. Grimacing, he hunched forward over the table and clenched his eyes shut as he rode it out. Relief only came when he’d filled his diaper.

“It’s okay,” said Pam, already sensing his embarrassment, “it happens to absolutely everyone and there’s no way around it. C’mon, we’ll get you cleaned up.”

He followed her to the adjacent changing room and grumbled, “I can do it myself.”

“No, I’m required to do it.”

“Why the fuck is that a rule? Why can’t I just shower off?”

“Because I need to check your stool.”

“Every damned time?” he barked.

“Yeah sugar, every damned time.”

Hating that it was necessary, but not wanting to piss her off, he climbed up onto the changing table as soon as the door was shut and gritted his teeth.

She took off his underwear and opened his diaper, pulling it from him and setting it aside. Next, she took warm wipes from the dispenser and gently cleaned him up. At first it was gross, of course. But, as the process neared its end, it got better. She was running warm, wet towelettes over him, dragging slowly over his crack, his balls, his taint, and his flaccid cock. It was actually quite sensual. She looked at him like she secretly enjoyed doing it too. Sadly, Dean had to admit that if the soiled diaper wasn’t such an embarrassment, he could probably get over being treated like a toddler and enjoy doing this.

Dean pretended not to notice that while he was washing up his hands, she was checking his stool, probably for blood and foreign objects. After, he waited while she washed up too. Then, as if nothing had happened, they returned the table and he resumed eating breakfast - because even a dirty diaper couldn’t kill an appetite three days in the making.

He had to be changed once more before his body finally remembered how to pack away his food rather than let it slip through him. After that, the day became far more enjoyable. He ate until he was stuffed and then Pam escorted him to his locker. There they parted company, with her removing his cuffs and collar while reminding him to stay in the resting wing until she returned to retrieve him. If he needed anything, he could page her and blah, blah, blah.

“I’ll see you at eight for pie,” she said as she gave him his collar and cuffs. Then she backed away from him smiling.

“It’s a date,” he replied warmly before turning to open his locker.

Digging through his belongings, Dean tossed the restraints to the back and retrieved his phone, his laptop, and his earbuds before heading to the lounge. Upon arrival he greeted a few acquaintances as he settled himself at a table near the big window. It looked like spring had finally arrived and as his eyes roved the courtyard beyond the glass, he promised himself that he’d go outside as soon as he’d checked in with everyone.

Plugging both his devices into the table’s outlet, Dean opened his laptop and logged in. His desktop background displayed a picture of him and his brother with their father. It had been taken shortly after a hunt, one of the last times that they’d all been together. In the photo they were clustered together in front of their father’s vintage Impala, proud smiles on their faces. To an onlooker, this was just a dad and his sons mugging for the camera. A happy family memory.

In reality, however, that picture had been taken in the middle of nowhere Minnesota while on the run from the law. Dean had nearly lost his brother the night before. He’d never forget what it was like to pace back and forth in the parking lot of bar, slowly coming to realize that the little brother he’d always been responsible for had somehow been abducted right out from under his nose.

From there, things had gone from bad to worse. He’d managed to get one over on a local sheriff and find his brother, but to find him in a cage had been horrifying. He’s spent that night, one of the worst of his life, on a slow descent into hell as he pieced together what was going on. This family, even the sweet young girl in their care, were nothing but animals. Killers. Depraved killers nonetheless, ones that abducted young men solely for the folly of releasing them from cages and giving them the false hope of freedom, only to systematically hunt them down. There had been so many damn cars hidden on that backwoods farm… each belonging to someone who had died a nightmarish death. Worse still, there had been several moments that night when Dean had been absolutely certain that he was about to fail his brother. In those moments, he’d done nothing but wonder why they bothered hunting at all.

In the abstract it all made sense. There were people out there who were evil. Truly evil. Monsters, if you will. Like the man who took his daughter’s bastard child and locked her away in the basement, left her to feed on scraps and befriend rats. After the father and daughter had died, a new family moving into the home had thought it to be haunted. They couldn’t have been more wrong. The unknown feral child was simply reeking havoc. They’d solved that case at great personal peril, and with considerable damage to their car which they’d had no money to fix. As usual, their dad wasn’t around for the action, only joining the brothers later after his own case had been solved. In fact, the brothers had been separated from their father far more than they’d been together those last few years, the three often splitting up to cover more ground now that Dean and Sam were grown.

But, on that day in Minnesota when they’d brought an end to the reign of terror known as the Bender family, they’d reunited with their dad. They’d taken this photo together and John Winchester had seemed so proud of his boys. But, no good deed goes unpunished. And for their troubles, the only reward they received was a life as fugitives. A life of pretending that credit card fraud and pool hustling were justifiable as income when serving the greater good; a life spent acting heroically and being treated like dirt. It just didn’t seem fair.

For a while, Dean had thought he could live a life of hunting down people like the Benders if only he could get his baby brother out of that life. But the moment Sammy left, Dean turned his eyes to his own exit. As it turned out, leaving had been far easier than he’d ever thought it could be.

In the end, he didn’t have to give his dad a speech and cut ties like Sammy had done. All he had to do was let John head off on his next case and then be very vague about his own cases when they actually spoke. Occasional meet ups were easy enough to avoid simply by saying things like, “Wisconsin? Wow, dad, sorry. I’m clear over in Virginia. Yeah, I’m onto somethin’ but I don’t wanna jinx it by talkin’ about the details. I’ll check in with ya next week.”

Looking at the faces of his brother and father on the monitor now, their smiles covered by the icons of saved files, Dean couldn’t help but be surprised that he’d managed to carry on like that over two years now. The few times he’d been required to take time off from the brothel, he’d taken roadtrips to meet his dad and catch up. He pretended to be between cases and he kept the stories of his conquests vague. So far, that had been working, and when something isn’t broken, you don’t fix it.

Since the men at the brothel worked three days on and two days off, Dean could call on his days off and his communication naturally fits the exact pattern of contact that hunters were used to… out of touch for a few days and then suddenly available again.  

There were times when Dean thinks that Sam might have been wise to him. Honestly, that was fine. Dean didn’t give a shit if his brother knew he’d quit hunting. He just didn’t want to have to admit what he’d really been doing with his life. It was one thing to accept that sex was all he’d ever really been good at and embrace it. It was entirely different to come out and admit that he’d embroiled himself in the world’s oldest profession or, worse yet, that he fucking loved it.

As he waited for his phone to charge, Dean opened up a tab online and began catching up on changes to the state of the world since his last day off. It would seem that there were still people protesting the legislation that allowed for certain drugs to be purchased without a prescription and there were still a bunch of lawsuits challenging the validity of religious groups being able to judge and sentence their own parishioners in lieu of using the public court system. In celebrity news, a high profile couple had come out as being polyamorous and admitted that their maid was actually their lover, sworn, pledged, and bound for life. The same day that announcement had been made, another celebrity couple had come out as being poly as well. On the heels of these revelations, some media outlets were supportive of ‘alternative lifestyles’ while others decried it as the end of the sanctity of binding laws.

“Whatcha readin?” asked someone from over his shoulder. Startled, Dean looked up to see Lisa standing over him. He was surprised to see her because the ladies worked a different rotation than the men and their days off hadn’t lined up in quite some time.

“Oh nothing,” he yawned, “just catchin’ up on the news.”

“Oh yeah,” she said absently as she bent to look at his screen, “I heard that a few poly couples had come out.”

“Yeah, some pretty heavy hitters,” he agreed. “Of course the wingnuts are sayin’ it’s the end of all holiness for bound couples.”

“That’s so stupid she groaned. They said the same thing when same sex couples were trying to secure binding rights too, but that didn’t ruin anything. The only consequence of that was an increase in tax revenue on binding licensure and a boon for the department store gift registries.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, looking at her and wondering what else they could possibly have to talk about.

“How’ve you been?” he tried.

“Pretty good, I guess. I took some time off. Met somebody and I’m thinking about throwing in the towel.”

“You gonna trade all this for a white picket fence?”

“That’s always been the plan,” she reminded him. “You know… enjoy the sex while I’m young… have my fun… and save up a boatload of money while I’m at it.”

“Then take your loot and move to the suburbs with some guy that looks like he was carved out of cream cheese?”

“Yep. That sums it up,” she grinned. “It looks nice outside. You up for a walk?”

“Maybe later. I’m gonna read a bit more and make some phone calls.”

“Alright,” she smiled, turning to leave, “If I miss you this afternoon, we can sit together at dinner and catch up a little.”

I thought we just did that he thought as she left.

Returning his attention to the news, he started looking for cases, just the way he would’ve if he’d still been hunting. With a few notes compiled, he was ready to call his father in just under an hour.

He got his dad’s voicemail, which wasn’t unusual, so he left a message offering no details other than that he was between gigs and wondered if they were close enough to one another to meet up and grab a beer. If he received a call back today, and that was a pretty big ‘if’, he’d simply pretend to be several states away. They’d chat for a few minutes and then say their goodbyes.

More than their father, it was his brother that Dean really hoped to speak with. Luckily, Sam was far more accessible by phone than John.

“Heya Sammy, whatcha doin?”

“I’m on my way to a lunch meeting so I only have a few minutes.”

“Oh yeah, me too.”

“You have a lunch meeting?” Sam asked him, easily taking the bait.

“Yeah, I’m at a truck stop outside Tulsa and there’s a waitress that needs my help getting her panties off.”

Dean smiled when his brother laughed out loud. Then, he went rigid when Sam added, “You could try a waiter from time to time, you know. Shake things up a bit.”

Recovering quickly, Dean said, “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind, lawyer boy. Have a good lunch and don’t choke on a chicken bone.”

“That was one time," retorted Sam indignantly, "and it wasn't a chicken bone. I've never actually choked on a bone, Dean, have you?"

“Dude. Enough already,” he barked. Then, cutting this off before it could get out of hand, he added, “If ya hear from Dad, tell him I checked in, okay?”

“Okay Dean, call again soon.”

“Will do,” he relented, feeling a bit sad to be saying goodbye so soon. After hanging up he sat for a while and wondered about these little jokes that Sammy had been making more and more lately. Was it just innocent brotherly teasing?  Or was his brother trying to hint that he knew about Dean’s penchant for men and was cool with it?

Snapping the lid of his laptop shut, Dean pushed back from the table. Grabbing his phone as he left, he stopped at his locker to put away his computer and grabbed his jacket before heading outside. It had been awhile since he’d even set foot outside. Doing so now was invigorating. But, he felt a little silly strolling the grounds with a bathrobe sticking out from under his leather jacket and slippers on his feet rather than shoes. Others around him were similarly dressed and he chuckled to himself as his mind compared his current surroundings to the grounds of a nineteen-sixties era mental hospital. Honestly, the more he thought about the similarities, the more chilling the comparison became. Life here was very controlled; regimented. Documented… much like a hospital or care facility would be. Also, he was almost constantly medicated or chemically altered in one way or another - he took pills and received shots daily and gave both blood and urine samples frequently.  Everyone ate and drank only when allowed and all the food supplied was relatively healthy. He was escorted nearly everywhere by staff. He had to fill out paperwork before anyone could visit and before he could leave the grounds. Yeah, this place was kind of trippy when he thought about it.

Last time he’d been outside had been almost two weeks ago. On his last resting cycle it had rained from sun up to sun down both days. The time before that, he’d been kicking ass and taking names in a poker tournament and never bothered. He’d never even seen a stitch of daylight over those two days. He just ate, drank, and played cards with his friends for thirty six of his forty eight hours off.  Healthy for him? Not so much. Hell of a good time though.

The weather was so pleasant today that he briefly considered enduring the hassle of signing himself out so he could go for a drive. But, in the end, he just wandered the gardens for a bit and spent some time thinking. He willfully pushed down all the thoughts about his father, his fantasies in that arena, and the ease of daddy kink for him. It was just a heavier subject matter than he cared to delve into on an afternoon like this, he wasn’t avoiding. Really, he wasn’t. Keeping his thoughts mostly to his life in this place, Dean had to acknowledge that his life these days was unconventional. But, no matter how he tried to entertain the possibility that employment here wasn’t right for him, he just couldn’t get behind the idea of it. At the end of the day - Dean Winchester loved to fuck. It felt amazing and he was damned good at it. He loved his job. And, for all its oddities, this place catered to his every need. That was undeniable. There was a sense of belonging that he loved, an honesty between him and the other workers that he’d never witnessed on the outside and a lack of judgement that he embraced and enjoyed beyond measure.

Soon enough, all the thinking had lulled him into a drowsy state and he wound up heading to the quiet area to rest. Dropping his jacket over the foot of an empty bed, he pulled the privacy curtain around it and kicked off his slippers. Climbing in under the covers, he grabbed the remote and turned on the overhead television projection system. Pulling headphones on, he flicked channels until he found something mildly entertaining. Then, before he’d even made it to the first block of commercials, he sank into a deep sleep.

By the time he woke again, the hour was late enough to get supper. Kicking off the covers, Dean pushed his feet back into slippers, smoothed his rumbled robe, and headed to get food. Pam found him there and joined, not even looking sorry when she went back for a third helping of her favorite pie. So far, she was the only one who could match his appetite among the ladies on staff. While lingering over their food, the two of them argued playfully over whose favorite band was more legendary and talked of which concerts they’d have most wanted to have attended if they’d been alive at the time. Granted, it was a strange concept… plotting out which influential shows they would’ve gone to had they been born decades sooner than they really had, but that didn’t diminish their fun at all.

When they’d eaten their fill, Pam asked if he wanted to sleep in his cage or in the quiet area. Wanting to remain out of his collar and cuffs, which were required unless he was in the resting wing, Dean told her that he’d prefer to stay there. It was still pretty early when he disrobed and slid and into one of the beds unoccupied beds, but he fell asleep quite quickly and didn’t wake until his cell phones ring tone blared around eleven the next morning.

Sitting up, he glanced at the strange number. It was probably his father. Gathering his wits about him, Dean answered.

“Hey son, good to know you’re alive and kickin’. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah sorry,” he placated, trying to remember the notes he’d made yesterday. “I’ve been in Indiana.”

“You look into all those disappearances and UFO sightings?”

“Yeah but it dried up as soon as I got there. Couldn’t catch a trail to save my life.”

“A buddy of mine was up there, he took care of it. Surprised you two didn’t cross paths.”

“Yeah, weird.”

“You still in Indiana?”

“Um, dad,” he hedged, wanting to cut this off before he wound up accidently making a mistake that could blow his cover, “I’m kinda in the middle of something right now.”

“Oh yeah,” chuckled John, “what’s her name.”

“I didn’t catch it,” he joked, falling into their old style of banter, “but I’ll call ya soon okay?”

“Alright son, it was good to hear from ya.”

“Bye dad.”

Well, that was it… another week of getting away with this huge-ass lie he was living. “Good on me,” he grinned, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pulling on his robe. Already gnawing at him hungrily, Dean’s belly was his primary motivator at the moment. He headed to the cafeteria, falling in with some friends along the way and staying with them for the afternoon meal. Energized by yesterday’s food and plentiful rest, Dean felt stronger. He carried his own tray and he filled it with everything that looked good. He even had a few drinks as he exchanged stories of recent exploits with the guys, laughing and bragging and joking around.

Even after so much time in this place, Dean was still impressed with the offerings in the cafeteria. Others complained about it from time to time, but it was all considerably better than the diet he’d been raised on – a mish-mash of high sodium foods that were microwaved in mini marts or slung onto a plate from the griddle of a greasy spoon.

Glad to be feeling rested, he opted to skip the hassle of signing out when his friends left the premises and resigned himself to quiet afternoon in the common room. He played cards for a while, pulled out his laptop to check headlines again and play a few free internet games, and then, pondering the world that lay on the other side of the glass and his relation to it, he stared out the window for a bit.

He hadn’t even realized that he’d nodded off until someone dropped something across the room. Startled by the sound, he woke and looked around. Realizing that he’d slept for a bit, Dean stretched his arms and legs and then set his sights on dinner. After a leisurely meal, he made a brief stop at his locker to exchange his phone for his collar and cuffs. Then, ready to call it a day, Dean then headed down to check in at the nurse’s station.

“My name’s Dean Winchester and I’m back on tomorrow,” he told the receptionist.

“Right this way,” she said politely, leading him to nearby chair. Much like a dentist’s chair, it was already set to a reclined position and he relaxed into it as she took his vitals, updated his chart, pricked his finger and dropped a blood sample onto a testing card. “Looks like you’re good to go,” she told him. “Just relax here and I’ll call a handler to retrieve you.”

It didn’t take long for Meg to come strutting over. “He’s all set,” said the nurse.

“Well, look who’s all ready to get back to work. Where’s your collar?”

Irritated already, Dean handed the gear over to her and tried to hold his temper as she buckled him into it. He walked along behind her and when they reached the salon on the working side of the building, she left him in the care of one of the few male stylists.

“Dean, is it?” the man asked.

“Yeah,” he answered, easing himself down onto the table.

“You’re back on tomorrow, right?”


“So, just a massage then, unless there’s something else you need?”

“Nope. Massage sounds great.”

Unlike the massages he received during his ‘work’ days, this one was solely for its relaxation and health benefits. Because of that, it was focused on his deep tissues, and working out any areas of tightness. And it didn’t end with his genitals being teased to life.

Rather, it ended with a visit from Anna.

“Good evening, Dean. Did you enjoy your time off?”

“Sure did.”

“Did you go anywhere special?”

“Nope just rested up a little.”

“Good for you,” she said warmly as she prepared his injection.

“Oh yeah,” he sighed as she slipped the needle into his vein, “good for me.”

By the time she left, he was already feeling it. There was a swell of lust rolling over him. It was powerful, like a heavy wave crashing over onto the shore and rolling uphill as it surged up onto the sand. He looked over at his masseur and wished he could ask for a happy ending to his massage. Then, as Meg led him towards the sleeping room, he had a moment where he actually considered fucking her… just bending her over right there in the hall, tugging down those cotton pants and shoving himself into her. Damn , he thought, whatever’s in these shots is fuckin’ strong.

Crawling into his cage, Dean glanced over at the empty cages on each side of him. Both Benny and Kevin were still working and likely would be until long after he’d gone to sleep. Lurid thoughts took over his brain as he waited to slip under. He pictured Kev in his little skirt, a cock cage on his tiny little pecker and his hole wet and leaking as Dean bent him over. Hard already, Dean tried to slow his breathing and let sleep take him but being well-rested did have some disadvantages. Squeezing his eyes shut tight, Dean pictured himself walking down a very public street and being tackled to the ground by Benny and five of his friends. Then, he pressed his own fingers to his dry and overheated hole as he imagined being publicly fucked by each of them in turn. Man, I could use a drink.

Pearly pre-cum dribbled from his engorged cock and he whined a little as he sought relief in the only acceptable way – pushing his own fingers into his dry hole. Doing so manifested enough of a stinging sensation to cut through the impossible build of want in him.

With his head a bit clearer, he called out to whichever attendant might be nearby. “Anyone there?” he tried hopefully.

“I’m here, what do you need?” responded an approaching voice that didn’t belong to Meg.

Grateful for that at least, Dean took a deep breath and quietly said, “I need a cock cage. And something to help me sleep.”

Chapter Text



Dean was drifting in darkness. Traces of sound floated around him but they were distorted, almost as though he was hearing them from underwater. Gradually the indiscernible noises began to organize themselves into familiar sounds. Footsteps, voices, the clunk and clatter of carts being moved around. Cages opening and closing.

Orientating himself based on those sounds, Dean knew that he was in the sleeping room. As he was realizing that, the cloudy darkness he’d been floating in began to fade, first to grey and then to a brilliant white. It grew stronger and stronger until he could hardly tolerate it anymore. Blinking against it, his eyes fluttered open and that’s when he realized the problem. He was laying on his back and facing up towards the fluorescent lights overhead. Simply rolling his head to the side solved his problem and Dean’s eyelids drifted comfortably shut again.

Cataloging the heaviness in his limbs and the cloudiness of his mind, Dean realized this wasn’t a normal waking - he’d been drugged and was now regaining consciousness. He felt no panic at the realization because this was commonplace for him now. He was often drugged these days and usually at his own request.

All his limbs were heavy, though, so he began to stretch. As he went about working the kinks out of his muscles and joints, Dean’s mind was coming online and beginning to pick up speed. The sucking sounds that reached his ears gave him an idea of the approximate time, and a soft buzzing sensation low in his gut was beginning to grow. He’d had an injection last night, but had been immune to its gluttonous, aphrodisiac effects while he’d been knocked out. But, now that he was coming out of sedation, the animalistic urges that it amplified in him were once again rising to the surface.

Realizing that today was a working day, a sex day, Dean began to grow excited and let himself enjoy the swelling carnal hunger as it crept on him. When he heard Benny’s voice, he decided it was time to sit up. Still groggy, he lifted his head and looked around the room. Then, he continued stretching from a seated position.

He’d probably slept through the night without ever even moving, which was often a byproduct of sedative-induced sleep. Next to him, Benny was up on all fours and lazily rocking forward and back as he spoke with Pam. Dean’s eyes flicked down to watch as the man’s big, heavy dick dragged up and down his mattress with the motion of his body. When he’d first come around, Dean’s dick had been small and soft in its cage, but had quickly begun to plump up. Now that he’d checked out Benny’s package, blood was flooding to his groin and he couldn’t stop it either, he just had to accept the pain that accompanied his cock swelling beyond the confines of his its metal cage.

Suddenly, his top priority was getting the cursed thing off. His eyes darted around the room searching for a handler. For Dean, the look and feel of a cage around his junk could be a bit scintillating at times. Occasionally, he’d even fantasize about being fucked while wearing one… or fucking someone who was wearing one. That meant that his mind and body were kind of at war with themselves at this moment… the idea of having his pleasure locked down being sensual to him caused him to stay plump enough for it to hurt, and the pain caused him to wish he could shrink. It was frustrating to say the least.

The closest handler seemed to be Pam, who was still chatting with Benny as she fished his cuffs and collar out from the compartment under his cage. Dean looked past his friend and tried to use imploring eyes to catch her attention so he wouldn’t have to interrupt their discussion.

When she saw him, she gave a nod of understanding. Knowing she’d take care of him, Dean laid back down to wait. But time seemed to slow down after that, and minutes felt like hours as he waited for someone to come and let him out of his cages… both the big one he that he’d slept in and the small one locked to his ballsack.

Fueled by his carnal appetite, Dean’s mind was now filling with fantasies. Dirty and depraved things that he either wanted to do, or had already done and wanted to do again were flashing in his head like a filthy little flip book. Want was bearing down on him like a freight train and his body was quickly progressing from a state of ‘mildly turned on’ to a more urgent state of ‘bend me over now’.

Fuck. His dick was filling again. Pain.

It was a searing twinge to his cock that made him think of a snake bite. Dean’s most basic instincts sent his hands down to cup his crotch and protect it. The action didn’t prevent or ease the discomfort, but he instinctively kept his hands down there anyway. His cock was deflating a bit now, but pre-cum was leaking from his tip. It made his little metal cage wet and pooled sticky in his palm.

Unable to manage much else, Dean simply laid there in the fetal position with his hands over his dick and tried to breathe steadily as he waited for assistance. He hadn’t looked over at Kevin yet, but the odds were in favor of the young man being in a similar posture right now.

The kid had zero patience or ability to control his exuberant young lust, so his cock was under lock and key almost every night. Dean, however, had long ago decided that he’d rather wake up hard and police himself than wake up caged and need no self-restraint.

Craning his neck to look over at Pam, he saw that she was watching him. “I’ve got someone coming for you,” she called out to him. “Just hang in there.”

Dean nodded gratefully and let his eyes fall shut again as he waited for assistance. A moment later, the sound of approaching footsteps was music to his ears. When they paused near his head, Dean opened his eyes to see who had arrived.

“Oh, it’s you again,” he groaned.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot the other day,” said Becky firmly, passing a bottle through the bars as she spoke. “Maybe we can start over?”

It was surprising how much it helped just to have the distraction of a person speaking to him. He was already feeling better - more like himself. Rolling onto his back and scooting towards the bottle, he gave her a flirtatious smile and said, “Maybe we don’t need to. I mean, if you wanna make a play for my perky nipples, maybe I should just let ya.”

She fixed a cold stare upon him as he opened his mouth to get the bottle between his lips.

“Really?” he chuckled, talking around the rubber nipple in his mouth. “You gonna be a prude now?”

“I’m not a prude,” she answered, holding the bottle for him but making no attempt to reach into his cage with her free hand. “I’m not a whore either.”

Dean was so horny at this moment that even sucking on a bottle felt sensual to him. He couldn’t wait to get a dick in his mouth. “I’m a whore,” he mumbled between swallows, “and I ain’t afraid to say so.”

The young blonde appeared a bit uncomfortable at hearing his admission. To her, the word probably carried a stigma. Admittedly, it did for most people. It must for Dean as well, otherwise he wouldn’t get off on hearing himself called one.

But logically, it seemed like the label of ‘whore’ would probably be less offensive to people if they were more cognizant of how it was being used; if they made a distinction between using it to describe what a person is, and what they do for a living.

Regardless, the word applied to Dean either way. Acknowledging that he’s a sexual creature who both enjoys copious amounts of sex, and also makes his living selling it, has been very freeing for him. After all, if someone loves to paint, they can proclaim themselves to be an artist and paint all day, every day. If they can make enough money as an artist to support themselves, then they’re an artist. The same goes for someone who loves to cook. They can get a job as a chef or open a restaurant and get paid to do exactly what they love all day long. Why should someone with a penchant for sex be treated differently? If he’s skilled enough to make a damned good living with his cock, why be ashamed of it?

Becky was looking at him through the bars as if he were a puzzle she wanted to try and put together. “Sweetheart,” he said, momentarily pulling off his bottle, “you gonna stare at me? Or you gonna touch me?”

Snapping to attention, she hesitated only once before shoving her hand between the bars and going straight for his left nipple. As she brushed the pad of her finger over it, she looked around the room to be sure no one was watching. Dean resumed sucking and stretched languidly as she began rolling his pebbled nub between her fingers.

He hummed contendly as he drank, enjoying the feel of the thick liquid slithering its way through his body. A bit of nipple play while it happened was far more enjoyable than simply having his cheek stroked. But not many handlers were willing to risk their job just to cop a feel. Becky, he decided, had her good points.

With her attention focused on his body and not her job, the blonde didn’t even seem to notice that the bottle was now empty. But, anxious to have his dick unlocked, Dean didn’t have the patience for waiting. He cleared his throat pointedly, which seemed to catch her attention. He forced himself to be patient while she dug out his collar and cuffs, but he hissed aloud as his arousal spiked again and caused his dick to start filling once more.

When she pushed his collar between the bars, he was already up on hands and knees waiting. Holding still so she could latch it around his neck, Dean watched as Becky released the lock and he sprang out of the cage as soon as the door swung open.

“Does it bother you to sleep in a cage?” she asked him as they began walking.

“It did at first,” he answered. “But I got used to it after a while. It’s for my own protection.”

“I’d be claustrophobic.”

“You’d get used to it.”

As they exited the warmth of the sleeping room and walked out into the brightly lit hall, Dean could feel the first traces of slick forming. His dick, still trapped, twitched eagerly for what this day would bring, and he gritted his teeth at the accompanying pinch. Dean was deposited at Cassie’s station and she winced when she glanced down and caught sight of his cock cage.

“Oh sweetie,” she sighed empathetically, “let’s get that off.”

The process was painful for him because the bump and bumble of her fingers was enticing enough to keep keep him perpetually swelling. At this point, he was so erotically charged that the pain was just egging him on. When the lock sprung, she grimaced as she tried to gently lift it away from his chubby pecker, the reddened flesh of which was swelling out from from between the little metal bars that encased his shaft. It felt like tiny teeth sinking into his delicate genital tissue.

Dean couldn’t hold back a long and indulgent groan as his proud cock was finally released from the weight of it. He stared down and watched with Cassie as it grew tall and proud before their eyes. The sensation of his dick hardening seemed to send a signal to his asshole that it was time for sex. Moisture had been gathering between his cheeks and now he could another bead of it slipping out of him. It crept up along his crack and tickled a little.

Bending down, Cassie gave his left calf a tap. Responding to her silent request, Dean adjusted his stance so that his bare feet were now shoulder width apart and framing the little drain on the floor.

She ducked around behind him and he relaxed into the touch when she laid her hand on his buttox. “You’re going to feel some pressure,” she cautioned him, as if he didn’t know the drill by now. Making it as easy as possible for her, he leaned forward a bit and reached back to hold his cheeks apart.

Hungry for anything to be pushing past his eager rim, Dean enjoyed having her lubed finger press in. Soon she was easing in a tube. A couple days without any anal had left him tight and the modest enema tube now felt like a garden hose pushing in.

Fuck yeah. It was gonna be a damned good day.

Still hard as a rock, he waited for the gush of warm water that would soon flood up into his intestines, swirl around, and then spill back out. He didn’t look down as it happened. Instead, he glanced around the salon at other stylists as they washed and waxed and trimmed and plucked to make every man as sexy as he could be.

Meanwhile, at his feet, Cassie was using the hand held shower head to rinse him off. Dean let himself enjoy the pampering as she then lathered him up from neck to ankles and rinsed him again.

Once his body was fresh and clean, Dean had his hair washed, his face shaved, and his eyebrows plucked. He was waxed and then enjoyed the sensual massage that worked oil into his skin to leave it practically glowing.

Last, but certainly not least, he turned over on the table and watched Cassie’s pretty face as she took his manhood into her palms and stroked him to full attention. He couldn’t help but smile as a cock ring was tugged into place. He loved the feel of it tightening around him - insuring that he could play all day and never go soft.

Once the ring was in place, Cassie added a few drops of oil to her palm and gave him a final preparatory tease. When he’d been deemed ready, Dean got to his feet. Nervous energy was thrumming through his body as he turned his attention to what would come next. The Gallery.

“I think you’re all set,” Cassie said as she threaded a lead rope through his collar.

Checking himself out in the full length mirror at her station, he caught her eye in the reflection and said, “Honey, you sure do good work.”

“A sexy man like you makes my job easy,” she replied with a smile.

Shooting her a wink as he stepped away, Dean followed along behind the handler. Back in the bright hallway, he worked to control his breathing as he was led towards the room where he’d be auctioned off. His heart was hammering excitedly against his ribcage as he prepared to enter. He was beyond ready. When shoved through the door, Dean flashed his best smile and strode out in front of the crowd.

With his proud cock leading the way, Dean came to stand front and center. The auctioneer announced him and as approving applause rose from the crowd, Dean did a couple of turns and stretches to show off his body. Then, he moved closer to the spectators so he could look them over and choose one to be his hopeful.

Scanning the bodies who sat before him in stadium style seating, Dean’s roving gaze faltered when it spied a familiar figure sitting in the front row. The trench coat was what had caught his eye. It was unmistakable. Old and out of style and a bit too big for the man who wore it.

Curious, Dean took a moment to check the guy out as bids for him began pouring in. Last time he’d seen this man, he’d been sitting near the back. But now that he was up front, Dean was getting a better look.

The blue eyes he remembered were indeed striking, brilliant in color and clarity. The man’s gaze locked on him and he lifted his chin confidently, almost as if daring Dean to look to away. A strong jawline was emphasized by the dark shadow where a beard had been shaved, but not this morning. Balancing out the man’s jawline were dramatic sweeping eyebrows. His hair was parted on the side and combed over, but in the front, gel had been pulled through his locks to keep them pointing up and away from his face rather than falling over his forehead. Yeah. The guy was sexy as fuck.

Dean wanted him.

Stepping up to the chest-high glass partition that separated him from the audience, Dean rested his arms on it casually and shifted his weight to one leg. Then, with his eyes still on the trenchcoated man, he rocked his resting hip forward. The motion did what it was meant to do. It pushed his rock hard cock forward to thump against the glass.

The cool glass felt amazing against his heated crown and he locked his body in that position as he watched the man raise his hand to start bidding. His dick was resting against the glass now, and Dean didn’t have to look down to know that a tiny snail trail of opaque pre-cum was smeared obscenely on the clear panel.

No matter how much he wanted to, Dean didn’t turn his head to watch the numbers on the screen flash as his price increased. Instead, he kept his attention focused on the one he wanted to fuck. If the man had appeared to waiver, Dean would’ve started rolling his hips so that his cock head would smear around on the glass in a tantalizing way. That kind of display was capable of bringing an indecisive bidder back into the game. There were lots of little tricks like that at Dean’s disposal, depending on what kind of person he was gunning for. For some, turning his back to the crowd and teasingly tracing a finger over his own crack was what did it. For others, it was him dropping to down on all fours. If he was already down there, bending further to expose his eager, juicy entrance was as good as yelling out, “come take what’s yours”. Sometimes the trick was nothing more than a subservient pose, a silent offer to be dominated. Depending on who he was after, Dean had an arsenal of temptations to offer.

But this guy, the one who now peered down at him from beneath an arched eyebrow, this guy didn’t want Dean to submit. He wanted Dean to be belligerent. Untameable. A challenge.

Because of that, Dean didn’t lower himself before the man. He stood tall and proud, displaying his enviable cock the way a peacock displays its plumage. He was prepared to do more if the man dropped out of bidding, but he didn’t have to. Blue eyes never even blinked. He bid over and over again as he focused intently on Dean.

The crowd began cheering emphatically as the amount of the bid became noteworthy. Still, he didn’t turn to look at the number. He just stared into those ocean-blue eyes and let himself get lost. If the man won him, Dean would submit to his every whim, he was sure of it. Already, he wanted to. But, he wouldn’t make it easy on the guy. What fun would that be?

It was strange, he thought, the difference in this man from the first time he’d seen him. Before, the guy had hidden himself near the back, squirmed nervously when Dean had made eye contact, and had appeared ready to bolt for the door at any moment. Dean could hardly reconcile that skittish first-timer with the bold and confident man he was looking at now. What a difference a few days make , he thought.

When the bidding was finished, Dean belonged to the trenchcoated man. Still, he didn’t turn to see his number. He let his eyes linger on the proud winner; couldn’t wait to get behind a closed door with him.

The head of his cock was now glazed with pre-cum where it rested on the glass barrier, and behind him, his eager entrance was sopping wet. Extra tight back there after a few days rest, Dean was thrilled to have such a delectable partner be the one designated to violate it.

When he finally pushed away from the glass and took a step back, his ass cheeks slipped up and down independently of one another with each step he took because his crack was sloppy with excess lube. It was literally dribbling down the back of his thigh as he walked over to meet the approaching handler. He’d grown so excited by the man who’d won him that he’d produced enough of his own natural juices to last all day.

Who’s got the best job ever? Dean chuckled to himself.

Finally letting his eyes go to the screen and check the winning bid amount, he couldn’t stop a wide grin from spreading over his face. To the handler he said, “I keep setting records, just to come back and break ‘em.”

“Yeah, yeah,” replied the man with an eye roll, “You’re a god among men.”

The guy had a thick British accent so Dean figured there was a fair to good chance he’d wind up being a pompous asshole. “Last I checked, people give God ten percent,” Dean shot back. “Here they give me the whole paycheck.”

“You win mate,” laughed the handler as they headed for the exit. The audience was still cheering for him, so before stepping through the doorway, Dean turned back to give them a wink and a wave.

Out in the hall he looked over at the handsome man holding his lead and asked, “You new?”

“No, I’m just new to you.”

“How’s that work?”

“I transferred over from the ladies side.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“It was too hard to keep my hands to myself,” the man admitted with a laugh.

“What’s your name?”

“Mick, he answered, “Mick Davies.”

“Well Mick, what do ya think of the men’s side so far?”

With a labored sigh he answered by saying, “I miss the view already.”

They were approaching the door allocated to Dean for the next ninety minutes and as they came to a stop, he grinned at Mick and said, “I guess it’s lucky you’re not bi. You’d have to load boxes in a warehouse to keep a job.”

Laughing good naturedly at the joke, Mick slid his keycard into the reader. With a pronounced clunk, the door latch released and Mick swung it open for them. Together they walked across the modest space to the back where Dean stood and waited as his cuffs and collar were locked into the fixture on the wall.

He was anxious for his first and best fuck of the day, and to appease his exuberant cock, Dean pressed it against the coolness of the wall. His tethering didn’t allow much range of motion, but Dean had gotten used to it. He’d waited like this every time - anchored to the wall with his back to the door.

What degree of freedom he’d be allowed while in this room would be entirely up to the person who’d won the auction. For the allotted time frame, they can do just about anything they want with him. There are rules, of course. Limits. But there really isn’t much that’s completely barred.

A flash of the blue-eyed man crossed his mind just then and Dean’s entire body tensed with anticipation as he contemplated all the dirty things the man might want to do with him. In response to the barrage of salacious images that flooded his mind, Dean felt his asshole twitch excitedly. Another trickle of viscous slick oozed out around his pucker as it happened. Feeling himself get wet with anticipation was erotic in and of itself, and the sensation sent a swell of lust up through his cock too.

Glancing down, Dean saw pearlescent liquid bead up on his crown too, a fat drop rolling over the side and dribbling to the floor at his feet. Behind him, he could feel Mick turning to go. “Hey man,” he said, looking over his shoulder, “couldja wipe me up before ya go?”

Mick paused mid-step and looked back over his shoulder. “Wipe you?” he repeated questioningly.

“Yeah, man,” he chuckled, “see that towel hangin’ from your belt?”


“Well, it ain't for the sweat of your brow.”

“Right, right,” he said, not meeting Dean’s eye anymore. “Sorry. Since I was transferred, I didn’t get the same training that a brand new handler would get. I mean, they mentioned doing this, but I completely forgot.”  

Paused a few feet behind Dean with his hand on the towel, Mick looked uncertain.

“Hey man, I don’t like it anymore than you do,” he sighed. Then he turned back to face the wall and adjusted his stance. Since this was Micks first time performing the task, he fumbled a bit and it took several passes to wipe away all the excess slick.

Generally, the first few hours on juice were the wettest and then as the day went on, his body’s production of lube would slowly taper off. He’d still be plenty wet for his last clients of the day, but the obscene leaking was normally over long before then. Most nights, by the time he curled up in his cage, he wasn’t even all that wet anymore. Just… pleasantly moist.

But, Dean’s level of sexual excitement definitely played a role in how much lube his body pumped out. The hornier he felt, the more his body produced. That’s why Dean was even wetter than usual right now. Not only was the juice at its most potent, but Dean was so worked up over the man who’d won him that his body was kicking into overdrive.

When the new guy had made his exit, Dean’s thoughts immediately turned to the gorgeous man he was about to entertain. To say that he was anxious to get it on with the man was an understatement and it wasn’t just because the guy was smokin’ hot. The man was confident and bold, personality traits that Dean had always responded to. And, this guy had another quality that Dean was drawn to that was far more elusive. He had playfulness.

The way they’d interacted in the gallery had been incredible. Both were playing a game, and each knew the other was a worthy adversary, and they were both enticed by it. Dean couldn’t wait to play more.

When the door finally opened he thought, Game on .

Making a conscious effort not to turn and look at his customer, Dean was picking up right where they’d left off at the auction. Feigning nonchalance with his posture, Dean waited for the man to make a move.

Their game would be a battle of wills, he was sure of it, and playing it to completion would probably take up most of their allotted time. But, in the end, Dean would let the man win. And then, he’d pretend to accept whatever retribution the winner chose to dole out to him. Yeah, he’d pretend to tolerate what was done to him, but secretly, he’d be reveling in it.

“Hello, Dean,” greeted the winning bidder from behind him.

The low timbre of the man’s voice surprised him. It was dark, authoritarian, and it sent a shiver of excitement skittering up his spine even as a new pulse of wetness leaked from his eager hole. Raising his chin high, Dean slowly turned his head to silently stare the man down.

“My name is Castiel Novak,” the man added, not stepping any closer.

Still holding his chin high, Dean continued staring and said nothing. His posturing probably wouldn’t fool the guy because Dean’s own body was betraying him. Even if his poker face revealed nothing, his straining boner proclaimed his desire loud and clear. His juicy asshole was practically begging to be fucked and Dean was sure it was obvious, even from across the room, because he could feel a dribble of his own slick leaking from between his cheeks. A bead of it was tracking down his inner thigh at this moment, it’s progression torturously slow.  

“I paid several thousand dollars for you,” the man told him bluntly. “You should show me some respect. Now, speak when spoken to, boy.”

The commanding tone in which those harsh words were spoken went straight to Dean’s dick and it had given a mighty leap in response. In fact, he felt the power of this man’s presence all the way to his knees, which were suddenly weak and jittery. This was going to be so good. Keeping the man in his sight, Dean continued playing cat and mouse with him, opting for a cocky attitude and flirtatious demeanor. He’d have some fun with this… be sarcastic and throw out some funny one liners… basically, he’d just be himself. He wouldn’t make it too easy, but slowly losing to this man would be incredible foreplay, and when he’d finally been beaten, Dean would gladly sink into the role of defeated adversary. He’d beg and plead for mercy as he secretly enjoyed whatever depraved penance was bestowed upon him for the transgression of challenging the irrefutable Lord who would then rule over him. Losing slowly to this man was going to be So. Much. Fun.

Keeping the man in his sight, Dean answered by saying, “Well, I’d introduce myself, but you already know who I am.”

“Yes,” agreed the man, taking one step towards him, “I know who you are. You are Dean Winchester and your reputation precedes you.”

“Ya don’t say,” he replied coyly.

“You were born January 24, 1979. You’re mother is deceased, and your father is wanted in five states. Your younger brother is at Stanford, pre-law, and you. You are here. Up for sale to the highest bidder, despite having numerous warrants issued in Wisconsin and Nebraska.”

Dean could feel the self-assured smile slipping from his face. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“I’ve told you.”

“No, I mean, who the fuck are you and what do you want?”

“I’ve given you my name Mr. Winchester. And as for what I want, I should think that would be obvious. I want ninety minutes of your time.”

“Look buddy,” he said, craning his neck to keep the guy in his sights as he moved across the room. “I don’t know who you are, but if you think that-

Interrupting with a stern voice, the man said, “Dean. I’ve only got eighty-nine minutes left. You’re wasting my time.”

“Alright,” he agreed cautiously, “What do ya wanna do?”

“I’m going to ask you some questions.”

“Questions?” he parrots back incredulously. Then, flatly, “You’ve got questions.”

“Are you going to continue needlessly repeating everything I say?”

“Are you gonna keep mind fuckin’ me? Or can we get down to business?”

There was a moment of silence before the man issued a long-suffering sigh and said, “Mr. Winchester, I paid for this time so that I could do whatever I wanted with you. I can ass fuck you, if that’s what I wish to do. I can face fuck you if I want. Or, I can mind fuck you. For the next hour and a half, Dean, you are mine to do with as I please.”

All Dean could think was, Ho-ly shit. Because once again, his thick cock had given an exuberant leap when it heard the man’s authoritative declaration.

Unsure of what to say or do next, Dean filled the uncomfortable silence with sarcasm. “Well, I prefer ass fuckin’ to mind fuckin’, if it’s all the same to you.” With his eyes still locked on the hard blue ones across the room, Dean punctuated his statement by lifting one hip a little and preening his ass in the air.

Despite his confusion at the turn this session had taken and his worry over who this man was and how much he knew of Dean’s hunting life, Dean still wanted to fuck. He go could go for a solid anger bang right now. His stomach was twisting in knots and his puckered hole was aching to be filled. His poor confused cock was so into this dude that it practically had a mind of its own. He could almost feel it straining hopefully towards the man.

“Mr. Winchester,” snapped the man, “I’m here for the mind fuck.”

“Fine,” he conceded, dropping all pretenses of confidence and bravado. Leaning against the wall for support, he let his head rest next to the fixture he was tethered to. “What do ya wanna know?”

Seeming to sense that he’d won this round, the mysterious man tugged off his tan trenchcoat and draped it over the back of a chair. Then, he sat down. “Dean, how long have you been here?”

Closing his eyes so he could count the time, he thought back to the case in Wisconsin with the Benders. That had been February of 2006. Counting the weeks forward from there he answered the question as honestly as he could. “I don’t know my official start-date off the top of my head, but it was near the end of March in ‘06.”

“I see,” the man answered thoughtfully, “and what was it that brought you here?”

“The health plan?”

From behind him, Dean heard the man huff a slight chuckle. Lifting his head to look over his shoulder at the guy, Dean saw that his hard-as-nails personna had momentarily fallen away. Their eyes met again and it was easy to see a flicker of warmth there. It faded as the man took a deep breath and sighed, then the cold and uncaring stare was back. But, having seen a sign that the man might come to like him, Dean was still hopeful. Giving his answer, Dean said, “I was on the west coast visitin’ my brother at school. Scored a few bills off of some douche bag and his friend while we were out playin’ pool. It seemed like I might get lucky, so when the rest of them left, I hung back with the guy. Bought him some drinks with his own money. He tried to lay some bullshit line on me but I called him on it. He came clean and told me he was a workin’ man, if ya know what I mean.”

“Yes, I understand. And?” pressed the man, “The outcome of that conversation?”

“I fucked him.”

“Not the answer I was looking for,” snapped blue eyes.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I fucked him out back, up against the wall behind the dumpster. Didn’t even give him a reach around but he came hard. So did I.”

“Dean, I’m losing my patience with you. How did meeting this man, talking to him, and fucking him behind a dumpster lead to you working here. What is the connection?”

“Dunno, man. I guess I’d just never thought about it before. I knew there were brothels back then, had been to my share, but I’d never thought about actually workin’ in one ‘til I talked to that guy… found out what it was like… how much he made.”

“And now you’re a working man too?”


“That happened in California, you said. So what made you drive halfway across the country and chose this place to seek employment?”

“I was shoppin’ around for the best benefits package,” Dean joked. But once he saw the impatience and irritation on the man’s face, he quickly amended to a more truthful answer. “Man, I didn’t wanna be doin’ that shit around my brother, okay? He doesn’t need to know.”

“Does he?”

“Does he what?”

“Are we back to repeating, Dean?” barked the man.

“Naw,” he said softly, “M’not repeating. And, no, my brother doesn't know. No one does.”

“But you’re in contact with him?”


“How does that work? Doesn’t he wonder what you’re doing with you life?”

“Dude. I’m not the first guy to perfect the art of lying.”

“That’s quite true. So, you lie to your brother about your occupation. What about your father? Are you in contact with him?”

“Oh, um…”

As he fumbled around trying to answer, Dean’s mind was spinning. Thinking clearly wasn’t easy with his brain so clouded by lust. Despite the serious nature of the conversation he was having, Dean was still doped out on a hormone cocktail strong enough to make a dead man come, and chemically altered into having a self lubricating asshole. He was a mess. Even at this moment, when he was starting to suspect that this man was some kind of agent or bounty hunter after his father, Dean still only had one clear thought in his head… that he needed sex.

Turning to face the man at the table, Dean was once more struck by his incredible eyes. They probed at him, almost as if they could see through to his insides.

“Man, I really-”

“Yes Dean?” he prompted.

“I -”


“Dude,” he groaned, pushing his ass out behind him, “don’tcha wanna fuck me?”

“Dean, I didn’t come here to-

“C’mon, man,” he pleaded, tugging the tether that bound him to the wall. “Look at me, I’m so fuckin’ hard for you. I’m so wet. I fuckin’ need it, man. C’mon and fuck me.”

Dean wasn’t looking at the man anymore, ashamed of his desperation in the moment. But from behind him, he heard the man flatly say, “You want me to fuck you.”

“Now look who’s repeating,” he chuckled lamely.

From across the room, Dean heard the man get up from his chair. Relief swelled in Dean as footsteps approached because he thought that they’d be done talking for a while; that he was going to get what he needed. When he felt the warmth of a body behind him, Dean’s knees buckled. He sucked in a ragged breath and spread his legs.

“I have a question,” whispered the man.

“One more question before you fuck me?” he tried hopefully.

“Perhaps. Perhaps I will fuck you, Dean. But before I consider doing that, I have a question that I need an honest answer to. If you met me out on the street, not here at the brothel, and you had nothing more than a beer or two in your system, would you even be slightly interested in having relations with me?”

Stunned at the question, Dean leaned forward on the wall again. Resting there, he closed his eyes and gave the honest answer. “You’re hot, man. Sexy as fuck. So, yeah, as long as you weren’t a douchebag, I’d totally fuck ya in real life.”

“Do you like working here Dean?”

“I do,” he admitted easily, though he was still resting his weight on the wall. His cock was throbbing like a vicious headache and the sphincter muscle of his anus was aching too. Even his feet were aching a little. Honestly, he’d probably feel better if he could just sit down.

“You’ve been here for years. And still, you enjoy the work?”

“I do,” he answered again. “I fuckin’ love it. Ya know that thing that every guy wants to do, every minute of every goddamn day? That thing we think about every six seconds for our entire lives? Well guess what, buddy, while all the rest of you are just thinkin’ about it, I’m doin’ it. I do it all day, every day, and on my days off, I wish I was still doin’ it. Do you know that they have to force us to take days off?”

“Yes, Dean, I am aware that brothels require time off. It’s the law, they have to.”

“Does the boss man have to force you to take a day off work, Agent? Or do you wake up on Friday thinkin’, ‘thank fuck it’s finally friday’?”

With a gentle huff that was almost a chuckle, the customer leaned in a bit closer and said, “Touché.” Dean relaxed again, letting the wall bear some of his weight as he listened to the sound of retreating footsteps. When the man sat down at the table once more, he said, “What makes you think I’m an agent?”

“Dunno. Maybe it’s the suit and coat. Maybe it’s the way you’re interrogating me. You are, right? An agent, I mean. You’re an agent and you’re after my dad?”

“Would you give him up?”


“So you love him?”

“He’s family.”

“What does that mean to you Dean?”

“Family’s family,” he replied, straightening up. “They’re the ones that matter most. So, no, I’d never give him up to you.”

“But you are in touch with him. You make up lies to tell him because his opinion of you means everything, right?”

“I s’pose.”

“I’m just a stranger to you, Dean, but you’ve been more honest with me than you are with your own family. How is that supposed to prove to me that family is the most important thing?”

“I ain’t tryin’ to prove anything to you,” he growled, now standing tall, “and you ain’t gettin’ anywhere with me.”

“I think you’re right about that,” agreed the agent. “So, I propose a compromise.”

Dean hated to admit interest, but he turned to meet the man's eye and asked, “How would that work?”

“I want answers to my questions, Dean, and you want to get off.”

Grinning widely, Dean adopted the nasally voice of Hannibal Lecter and said, “Quid pro quo, yes or no.”

“Precisely. You answer a question for me, and I’ll give you something you want.”

“I want your cock,” Dean blurted out.

“Oh Dean, I don’t think you understand how this works. My cock is the biggest thing I have to offer. In exchange for that, you’d need to give me your biggest thing… your father. Now, I’ve only just met you, but I think it’s safe to assume that you’d never give up your father just for some dick.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” he agreed. “But I’m fuckin’ dyin’ here. How ‘bout you throw me a low level question and when I answer it, you put something in my ass.”

With a pleasant smile, the man said, “I’ll even let you choose the item.”

“Ask then,” Dean grunted, “Make it quick.”

“When was the last time you saw your father in person?”

“Last December. We tried to meet up for Christmas, but it didn’t work out. I saw him on the twenty-seventh.”

Relieved that he’d earned what he needed, Dean let his forehead rest on the wall as he listened to Agent Novak’s steady footfalls moving towards the chest of toys and supplies. “What size would you like?” he asked, perusing the selection.

“Your size,” Dean grinned, “pick one that looks like you.” Honestly, it was disgusting how much he wanted this man. Maybe it was the eyes, or maybe it was the commanding disposition. But clearly there was something. Sure, he was chemically altered at the moment, his libido jacked through the roof. But that just made him want to fuck. It didn’t necessarily make him like his clients.

When the agent crossed the room, Dean’s eyes darted to the object in his hand. “Perfect size,” he said with a wink, “I like it.”

“Obviously mine isn’t pink,” the client deadpanned.

Laughing as he rearranged his feet to spread his legs further apart, Dean once again put his palms to the wall. “Do me a solid,” he added, “and just run that up and down my crack a couple times before ya push it in, okay?”

The agent raised his chin and peered down at Dean from under an arched eyebrow, much like he’d done in the Gallery during bidding. “You’re putting it in,” he said firmly.

“Um, you’re gonna have to turn me loose then,” he replied, tipping his head to indicate the cable tether that wound through both cuffs and his collar. He had about twenty inches of leeway between the three.

“I’ll free you,” said the agent, “but you’re going to take your toy to the bed and that’s where you’ll stay. You’ll follow all of my verbal instructions or the deal is off and you’ll be back in restraints.”


The agent pulled a key from his dark dress slacks and unlocked Dean. The man left the cable dangling and foisted a pink silicone vibrating dildo towards him. Dean noticed as he accepted it that the agent was careful not to let their hands touch and it bothered him a little. Heading over to the bed, Dean had his toy in one hand and with his free hand, he was already pushing fingers into is ass. “What’s your first name again?” he asked.


“Oh, well, thanks Cas,” he said, holding up the vibrator.

The man only nodded from his seat at the table. But as Dean climbed up onto the bed, the man stared at him shamelessly. Dean sat on his heels and turned on the vibration function, selecting an intermittent setting that would change the pattern of vibration at random intervals. Then, with it buzzing away, he reached around behind himself and began working it in.

“Oh yeah,” he moaned, enjoying immediate relief for his aching hole. Circling it around as he pushed, Dean managed to pop the head of it past his rim fairly quickly. After that, he fed the thing in deeper and deeper with a steady hand. Rolling his hips, Dean managed to bump his prostate. That was it. The pleasure switch had been thrown and Dean was back to feeling good.

Holding his toy in with one hand, he wrapped the other around his cock and continued rhythmically rolling his hips to keep nudging the good spot over and over. Already he was building. “This is one smooth talkin’ cock ya got, Cas.”

“Next question Dean. If you’d like to keep that toy, you’ll give me an answer.

Dean looked up to meet eyes with the agent and gave a nod of agreement without breaking the the rhythm he’d established, rolling his hips to work the vibrations through his ass while stroking his dick from base to tip.

“Dean, what would you do if your father found out you were working here?”

Again, an honest answer, “Shit my pants.”

“Would you come clean as you did with me and profess to like it? Or would you leave the job ashamed and beg your father for forgiveness.”


“Yes to both?”

“Well, I wouldn’t beg him for anything. But, yes to the rest of it.”

“You’re too proud to beg? Even to your father?”

“If I thought begging would get me anything from him, I’d beg. It just doesn’t work. He doesn’t respect it.”

“What happened when you came here, Dean. What were your first few days like?”

What an unusual question. How did that have anything at all to do with his father? Maybe, Dean thought, maybe he’s just adding some irrelevant questions as an interrogation technique. Well, if that was the case, Dean had no issue with it. He’d take any easy question he could get. After all, the more answers he gave, the more pleasure he’d earn. Besides, Agent Novak had a voice for sin; deep and rumbling like a vintage muscle car. Every time he said Dean’s name, something deep of inside him responded eagerly. Bet if the dude talked dirty to me, I could come with no hands.

This is, by far, is his strangest session with an auction winner.  And that’s saying something. Dean has indulged every kind of kink imagineable for auction winners. He’s been paddled, whipped, and even beaten in this room. He’s been jizzed on, peed on, even shat on. He’s had all kinds of props stuffed up his ass and been forced to swallow piss, sweat, and even tears. He’s been made to kneel, squat, crawl, sing, dance, and even stand on his head. He’s been berated, humiliated, laughed at, and cried on. He’s even been choked and poked with pins, and he’s had to listen to intricate descriptions of what his body will look like after he dies… even as he’s being choked within an inch of his life.

It’s not even all that strange for someone to come and just talk. There have been several clients that he can recall who spent the duration of their hard-won time just talking to Dean. But, there was a common thread between all of these people, no matter how strange their request. They were all getting off with him. Some of them were getting off in strange ways, but they were all getting off. Dean had been in his element with each and every one of them too, because that’s his specialty. But not with this guy. Not with Agent Novak. The man seemed completely uninterested in anything sexual. Even when Dean had begged to be fucked and made his physical body into a blatant invitation, still, Novak hadn’t blinked.

Maybe he doesn’t want me. Maybe he’s straight.

Yes. That seemed plausible. Maybe the guy seemed immune to the sexual component of this session because he was simply not interested in men.



“I asked you a question that you’ve not answered yet. What happened when you first arrived here?”

“Oh, yeah, m’not really sure what you’re lookin’ for Agent. I mean, lots of shit happened when I first got here. Narrow it down.”

“When you arrived, did you have to fill out an application?”

“Did that online from two states away.”

“So then what?”

“Came for an interview. Got the basic tour.”

“And you were hired immediately?”

“They called me back for a second interview. Then they hired me.”

“At the second interview.”


“What information were you given at that point?”

“M’not sure what you mean,” he said truthfully. Still holding the toy in his ass with one hand and jacking himself with the other, Dean was finding it quite difficult to build up to an orgasm. The constant thinking and talking about non-sexual things was definitely interfering.

“Were you given any information about sexually transmitted diseases?”

“Sure, man, they gave me some pamphlets and stuff.”

“Did they give you any information about the drugs you’d be given while working here?”


“More pamphlets?”

“No, they just explained how it works.”

“How what works?”

“Ya know, stuff. They told us about the juice and how it works, explained the shot and everything.”

“How does it work?”

“The shot?”


“It’s just hormones, man, a shit load of horemones and some kind of accelerant to give it a punch.”

“And being on them is pleasant?”

“Look at me,” Dean barked, his irritation flaring. “I can’t even think straight. All I wanna do is fuck. Fuck all goddamn day. It’s fuckin’ amazing. I’ve got the stamina of racehorse and I have mind blowing orgasms. So, yeah. It’s fucking pleasant.”

“Pardon my saying so, Dean, but you don’t appear to be enjoying yourself right now.”

“That’s cause we’re not fuckin’. Whose fault is that?”

“Mine, I suppose,” Novak relented. “Is the vibrator not sufficient?”

“It’s better than nothing,” Dean conceded. “But I’d rather have the real thing. I’d make it good for ya… we can do whatever you want.”

“I thought I’d made myself clear, Dean. I only want to mind fuck you.”

Dean let his eyes fall to the coverlet on the bed. He continued working himself over, but a long silence fell over both of them. Once more, disappointment washed over Dean as he thought to himself, He doesn’t want me.


Without looking up, he responded. “Yeah?”

“Were you given anything in writing that pertained to the libido booster that’s used here?”


“What about the oral drug they give you, the one that produces artificial lubrication?”

“No, and it ain’t artificial,” he grumbled, gesturing to the wet spot behind him on the bed, “this is real. My body makes it. I get wet just like a chick does when I’m on it. It’s not like they inject a quart of artificial lube into my fuckin asshole every day. The meds change my body so I can make it. I’m wet for you right now, and it’s 100% me, man. All me.”

“When did you last speak to your father?”

Damn. “This conversation is givin’ me whiplash,” he complained, looking up again to meet eyes with the agent.

“Answer the question, Dean.”


“What did you talk about?”

“Not much. I had left him a message and he called me back. I had just woken up and didn’t wanna accidently say the wrong thing. So I ended the call quick.”

“Why even answer if you weren’t capable of conversing.”

Interesting question. Why had he?


“I don’t know,” he shrugged..

The man’s tone was urgent. Pressing him harder. “Dean, why did you answer?”

“Dude, I don’t know. Give me a sec to think wouldja?”

The man’s eyes were glued to him, and Dean could see that he didn’t want to allow Dean to think. He wanted a rash answer, the first thing that came to mind. But nothing was coming to mind.

“Dean,” he said firmly, deeply, “I want to know what you were thinking when you answered the phone. Did you know it was him calling?”


“And you knew you weren’t in the right frame of mind to take the call, is that right?”


“Then why did you?”


Louder. More demanding. “Dean. Why did you answer?”

“I just-”

Leaning down to get right in Dean’s face, the steel-eyed man was practically shouting. He was relentless too, giving no time to think. “Why did you answer, Dean, why?”

“I just needed,” he tried, hating how broken his voice sounded. “I just… I just needed-”

“Say it, Dean,” he challenged, still leaning in closer to stare him down. “You know the answer to my question, you just don’t want to say it.”

“I don’t-”

“Just say it!,” Castiel shouted, an inch from Dean’s face. “Just tell me why. Why did you answer the call from your father?”

“I just wanted to hear his voice, okay? That’s it,” he defended, feeling small and lost. “That’s all, man, I just wanted to hear from him.” As soon as the words had left his mouth, Dean regretted having said them. A tear had leaked out as he’d spoken, evidence that what he’d said was nothing but truth. Another followed the first and Dean felt his chin quiver. It was taking all of his strength to not crumble.

Still hovering, staring him down, Agent Novak dropped his voice to a whisper. “You love him.”

Dean let his eyes slip closed and nodded pitifully.

This was the first time his hand had fallen still since he’d climbed onto the bed. The overwhelming urge to fuck was still there, still churning through his body, and to be reminded of his deepest feelings for his father as he rode a dildo and jerked himself off was so disturbing, on so many levels, that Dean couldn’t go on.

With his body completely still now, Dean’s hands both fell slack. The dildo began sliding out of him but he couldn’t bring himself to care. With one hand fallen lax at his side and the other loosely curled around the base of his dick, Dean opened his eyes to the man who’d just rocked his world. And not in the good way.

“What do you want from me?” he asked again. But this time, he wasn’t asking in the brash and overconfident voice of a man. He was asking pitifully in the voice of boy. A lost and frightened little boy. And in that moment, he hated himself.

“I’ve told you what I want from you,” answered the agent. “I want answers. I’m willing to give you something in exchange for those answers. So, what do you want from me, Dean? Is it still my cock?”

Suddenly, anger overtook him. It was sweet relief. He’d choose anger over vulnerability any day of the week. Feeling himself harden, Dean held the man’s gaze as he growled out another truth. “I want you to get the fuck out and leave me alone, that’s what I want from you, agent.”

In response to that, the man actually smiled. It wasn’t a condescending or amused smile, it was a warm one with genuine affection behind it. He reached out and touched Dean for the very first time, resting his hand on the side of Dean’s face and gently stroking down to cup his cheek. “That’s a lie, Dean. You know it is. You don’t want me to leave you alone.”

“What do I want then?” he breathed. He was lost now, uncertain if they were back to cat and mouse, if this was part of the interrogation, or if they were sharing something real.

The man stood up straight and looked down at him, once again the very picture of a dominant male; confident and self assured. Dean felt small. He knew he looked pitiful, sitting there in a wet spot of his own making. His dick still stood tall and proud in it’s cock ring, a sharp contrast to the defeated slump of his shoulders.

Any part of this conversation that had been real was over now, he could tell. They were back to cat and mouse. But, no matter how beaten down he felt right now, Dean refused to give even one more inch. He’d not be the first to look away. He wiped the tear tracks from his cheek with the back of his hand, careful not to break eye contact.

Time ticked by as the two stared one another down, unyielding. Then, Dean heard the beeping start - a familiar warning that their time was almost up. Despite knowing that he probably wouldn’t get an honest answer, Dean asked his question again anyway, just to see what the man would say.

“If I’m lying, and I don’t really want you to leave me alone, then what do I want from you?”

Behind Agent Novak, the door clunked open. In Dean’s peripheral vision he could see the silhouette of a handler waiting to take him away. He didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He just sat there on his heels while the handler waited and the abandoned dildo buzzed away behind him on the bed. Castiel Novak stared back at him ruthlessly, one corner of his mouth tense as though holding back the urge to smirk. “You still want my cock.”

With that said, the handler seemed to lose his patience. He stepped inside and grabbed Dean roughly by the arm. Dragging him up from the bed and out into the hall, the man fumbled with the eyelets on the collar and cuffs to secure a lead in place. None of this broke Dean’s eye contact with the agent. The man had pivoted as Dean was removed to keep their gaze unbroken and both were staring coldly at one another as the door shut between them.

Ushered to the salon next, he was deposited at Lydia’s station. Upon entering, his primary concern had been his appearance. He worried that his emotional state might be noticeable to others. But, after a few minutes, he let go of that. No one seemed to be looking at him any differently, even Lydia. She did, however, mention that he looked as though he hadn’t slept well. She laid cucumber slices over his eyes and told him to relax as he she gave him his massage.

Feeling melancholy, Dean laid there and tried to think rationally. He’d been targeted by a government agency that was after his father. There were serious ramifications to consider. He knew he needed to weigh his options and devise a plan for how to proceed. But, no matter how hard he tried to focus on taking action, his mind kept circling back to his emotions.

Even more frustrating was the way his anger kept flaring every time he remembered being blindsided by his customer. Instead of the epic fuck he’d been expecting, he’d been subjected to interrogation.

He’d been emotionally blackmailed in the process of being questioned, too. He hadn’t outwitted his inquisitor, and the result was a deep sense of failure that now weighed heavily on him. If he’d even managed to just stay silent, that would’ve been better. It wouldn’t have been a victory, but it wouldn’t have been such a raging defeat either.

Sadly, not only did he speak, but he’d answered questions. Even though the information he’d supplied had seemed innocuous at the time, there’s always the possibility that some small thing he’d said would end up bringing the law closer to his family. Realizing that brought a heavy sense of guilt down on his shoulders where it now sat heavily. He was powerless to banish it. And worst of all? He’d shown weakness. Normally, burying his feelings under bravado was second nature for Dean. So the fact that he’d shown such vulnerability today was adding a hearty helping of humiliation to go with his guilt and sense of failure.

The fact that his comfortable world here at the brothel had been invaded, both angered him and frightened him in turn. He hadn’t even realized it was happening, but living comfortably in this pleasure palace had softened him. He’d started feeling safe, as though the monsters of the world couldn’t reach him here and neither could his family’s struggle to hunt those monsters. Here, tucked away in secret, Dean had even felt safe from his father’s disapproval. But clearly, any feelings of secrecy or safety were nothing but illusion. Having that blissful illusion shattered… well, that angered him too.

When the cucumber slices were removed, Lydia said she was finished with him and called over a handler. He’d had a window of quiet time to figure out his next move, and he’d squandered it. He’d curled up like a dog to lick his wounds after a fight and wasted precious time. As he was escorted to the rec room, Dean was wondering if he’d even be able to perform. He really wasn’t in a good state of mind.

But, as he walked in, Dean found himself easily letting his problems slip away to the back of his mind. The erotic sounds of sex enveloped him immediately and before he’d even had time to choose a path through the various connected rooms, he’d been pulled into a sex sandwich with a husband and wife. In lieu of a vacation this year, they said, they’d funneled their budgeted dollars into fulfilling some of their sexual fantasies here at the brothel.

Dean’s need to bounce back from his emasculation with Agent Novak was met as he responded to the wife’s request for a heated anger bang. They exchanged names and safewords before he sprang on her, bending her double over the back of the nearest couch. He’d surprised her, which had her flailing, but she loved it, and he could tell that her husband did too because he was smirking and nodding his approval as Dean held her down. With one hand between her shoulder blades to keep her in a submissive position, Dean used his other to shove her skirt up. She was wearing a delicate thong and he yanked it down hungrily. He especially loved the way it seemed to cut into the supple flesh of her thighs as she struggled.  

He pushed his meaty cock up to her crack and used his knees to further part her legs. Pushing up between them, he hauled her ass higher and reached around to slide one hand into her slit. It was every bit as wet and needy as his own ass was in the moment and he groaned aloud as he began stroking her clit. This wasn’t a lazy Sunday morning screw either, it was an anger bang at her request so he wasn’t gentle. He vigorously scrubbed at her sweet spot with three fingers, hard and fast, the way someone shakes an etch-a-sketch. As he was doing that, he pressed his cock head to her tight pink pucker.

Beneath him, she sucked in a deep and ragged breath and then looked back over her shoulder as if surprised by this unexpected turn of events.

“You wanted it angry,” he reminded her. “Trust me, sweetheart, no angry man wants to fuck your pussy. They wanna fuckin’ ruin you. They want you to scream for real. Now, you wanna be angry fucked or not?”

Even as he waited for her answer, his cock was applying pressure to her dry hole. His right hand was vigorously working her sweet spot and she was responding to it. She was panting loudly, arching her back, and spreading her legs wider for him. “Yes,” she finally said, probably hating to admit it. She then rocked back into him as she added, “Yeah, I want it. Give it to me.”

Feeling powerful as she bent to his will, Dean ran his heated crown down into the hole where her juicy wetness gathered, pushing the head of his dick up inside to get it slicked up. Then he dragged that wetness up to her nervous little rosebud. Over and over he did that, enjoying the sensation and aching to push in somewhere tighter. He waited though, keeping his eyes mostly on the husband as he worked her into a frenzy.

The guy wanted him, it was all over him. The two had obviously chosen Dean together, both of them attracted to him. Glancing down at his own cock, Dean enjoyed both the look and feel of it slip sliding along as it moved lazily between her holes.

Her fear seemed to be gone now as she moaned wantonly beneath him. With the two middle fingers of one hand, he traced over the tighter of her entrances a few times and then pushed them in.

She bucked beneath him, pitching and rolling and carrying on as he began to urgently scissor his fingers in her hole. The hand he was using to roughly work over her clit was growing tired and stiff so he withdrew it and left her wanting as he worked her open for him. She cursed him and called him names when he added another finger, but didn’t safeword. All the while, the pressure in his cock was building and his jealous asshole was leaking copious amounts of slick.

Exerting dominance was doing a lot for his ego at the moment and with the return of his confidence, Dean also found himself eager to be roughly fucked when he finally took her. No such offer had yet been made aloud, but Dean could see the promise of it in the man’s eyes as he watched his wife being handled so callously.

Looking back down, Dean couldn’t help but grin as he watched her pink hole twitching in both fear and excitement when he withdrew his fingers. Grasping her hips with both hands again, Dean butted the head of his cock up against her bright pink rim and pushed. He didn’t shove in brutishly, but he didn’t go slow and easy either. He gave a steady push knowing that to her it would feel as though she was being split wide open.

At the moment of penetration, she screamed. He both heard and felt it. Her body locked beneath his as the long push filled her in a way that she was clearly not used to. He could almost feel her trying to decide if she liked it or not.

Glancing back to the husband, Dean gave the man a wink and hoped he’d join now. Then, turning his attention back to the wife, Dean reached under her belly and back, seeking out her sweet spot once more.

With her body stuffed full, she remained still as she struggled to get used to the sensation. He knew it might take some time because his own first time had been similarly overwhelming. To help her stay horny enough to enjoy being fucked this way, he reached around her middle to once again start working her clit. Rubbing vigorously, he kept his hips still and simply enjoyed the feeling of her body clenching tightly around his manhood.

Then, looking over at the husband, Dean saw that the man was now moving closer, he was massaging his dick through his pants. Seeing the size and shape of it, Dean’s heart began to pound.

“You give it to her,” he said darkly, “and I’ll give it to you.”

Thrilled with how this was playing out, Dean nodded his agreement. He once more exchanged names and safewords. Then, he tipped his chin to indicate the man was free to mount him.

Before taking another step, the man issued a stern warning by saying, “I’m gonna tear you up.”

Further titillated, Dean smirked as he said, “You picked the right guy, man. Do your worst. If I like it, then you ain’t doin’ it right.”

The guy was on him in a heartbeat and Dean was suddenly folding forward over the wife’s stiff body. Behind him, he heard a zipper coming down and then there was a bulbous crown pressing into the ache between his cheeks. Slick as he was back there, even such a wide cock was easily pushed inside of him. Wetness didn’t make up for the lack of prep though, and Dean cried out against the woman’s back as his rim caught fire.

The ache from his needy hole was quenched with outright pain as Dean was speared and the man showed him no mercy as he buried himself. Like the wife had done a moment ago, Dean now stilled and locked his body as he willed himself to accommodate the glorious intruder that was forcing its way inside. By effort of sheer will he managed to at least keep his hand moving over her slit, the powerful pleasure from her sweet spot overriding the pain of his intrusion into her and making the act salacious and erotic rather than just one she’d grit her teeth and suffer through.

Keeping up the pretenses of an anger bang, he didn’t speak kindly to her. Instead he growled for her to shut up take it, even as he willed himself to do the same. Shivers of excitement sprinkled across his back when Dean felt the man’s hands come to his hips. Then, he took a deep breath as he felt the fat cock between his cheeks begin to pull back.

Groaning aloud over the wife’s back, Dean let himself enjoy the feeling of his body clinging greedily to that dick as it slid out and back in, fiery pain subsiding until it was just welcome heat. His body was rocking now as the man behind him picked up a rhythm and as he was rocked, so was the body beneath him.

For the rest of their time together Dean switched hands as he needed to, making sure to keep her clit pulsing with pleasure as he buried his throbbing cock into her ass over and over. That, he knew, was the only way most women really enjoyed anal. Dean was nothing if not attentive to the needs of his customer. But, aside from keeping her motor revving, Dean was also focused on what he was getting.

The husband, whose name he’d already forgotten, was making good on his promise to do some damage. Despite his backside being sloppy wet, his hole was being stretched to its limits and growing raw from abuse as he was violently fucked from behind. In his current state of mind, pain was welcome. He knew he deserved it and he took it like a man.

Moving between the couple, Dean simultaneously absorbed punishment and reveled in pleasure. They rocked faster and harder as they all built towards an orgasm together, and Dean could feel his coming… knew it would be powerful. He hoped he’d be able to keep on his feet when he finally blew his load.

Unexpectedly, the wife grew quite vigorous near the end. She braced herself up on her elbows, flipped her hair from her face, and cursed them both even as she begged for it harder. It was as he watched her finally succumb to the mounting pleasure that Dean finally reached his climax. He locked his arms around her petite frame and grit his teeth as he pumped a heavy load into her ass. His vision greyed out for a moment, but neither of them were still even for a second because even as they were lost in the heights of pleasure, the man in back was just nearing his peak.

His powerful hips snapped forward into Dean’s body and reverberated through her body as well.  Dean held on for the guy, though. His knees were shaking with the effort of holding the husband up and his spine was like jello, but Dean remained locked in position as the man plowed into him.

Only after he’d finally come did their three bodies begin to pull apart. They sank to the floor in a quivering pile. Knees and elbows were everywhere as they each found a comfortable position for recovery.

“Hope you guys come back tomorrow,” husked Dean, still breathing heavily. He watched the couple turn to look at one another and chuckle. They both appeared content as they leaned in to share a lazy, post-coidal kiss. Dean had only meant to rest for a few minutes, but the next thing he knew, someone was rousing him from sleep.

Opening his eyes, he saw two handlers crouching over him. One was asking if he could walk and he nodded, giving each of them one of his hands. They hoisted him to his feet and positioned themselves on either side of him. Leaning on them a bit for support, Dean made his way back to the spa for rejuvenation.

As he laid comfortably on the table for a massage, he tried again to think strategically. He needed to formulate a plan; decide what to do about Agent Novak. But, despite the heavy implications of having been targeted by a federal agent, keeping himself focused was next to impossible. He was both physically and emotionally exhausted. Sleep kept creeping up to steal him away from consciousness and eventually he just surrendered to it.

Chapter Text


Teased back to the waking world by the firm press of fingers to his ass, Dean blinked his dry eyes and stretched. A languid sensuality was spreading over him as strong, masculine hands worked his body. One of Dean’s favorite things about his life here, next to the constant sex of course, was the perpetual massaging. And perhaps the endless supply of decent food that was readily available on his resting days.

The nudge of fingertips was pressing closer to his hole and in response a tantalizing tingle of excitement was gathering around his rim. With no idea how many minutes he’d actually lost to his little cat nap, Dean glanced around the room and tried to guess the time. A sense of urgency was creeping up on him as he came fully awake and remembered the exchange with Novak. He needed to decide what to do and take action, but he was losing precious time as he floundered around aimlessly amid his normal routine. But really, it wasn’t easy to think clearly and rationally when he was constantly enveloped in a hazy cloud of lust.

Even now the want was growing sharp in him again. Soon all logic and reason would slip away from him and when he was teased back to full hardness, sex would become his top priority. Then, after he’d fucked himself out again, he’d be too tired to care. Dean knew that he had break this endless loop of eroticism or it would keep him perpetually locked in a cycle of fucking and resting and fucking and resting.

Looking up at his stylist, Dean said, “Hey man, what’s your name?”

“You can call me Ketch,” answered the man, not even pausing in his work as he kneaded Dean’s ass.

“Ketch, man, you do good work. But, can you grab a nurse for me?”

Casting a glance around, Ketch gave a nod and stepped away. Dean missed his hands the moment he was gone. Growling to himself in frustration, Dean ground his flaccid cock into the padded table. It wasn’t easy to interfere with his body’s building desire or sacrifice his own pleasure. It was also irritating to relinquish time in the rec room, which was what he’d be doing if he asked to take any time off. Clearly it was necessary, though. He needed distance, perspective.

In his peripheral vision, a sharp movement caught his attention. Swiveling his head to see what it was, Dean’s gaze found a floor-walker staring at him. She’d been moving briskly down the aisle until stopping short, and now she was looking at him with a critical eye.

Floor-walkers were supervisory staff, their primary function being the maintenance of a multitude of spreadsheets that organized absolutely everything. The schedules of the employees and the inventory of supplies were in their hands. They were also responsible for ensuring the success of private parties, an adequate number of bodies to service clients in the Rec Room, a constant flow of fresh bodies to be auctioned off in the Gallery, as well as the needed security and support staff to keep everything running smoothly. As a secondary function, the floor-walkers were also responsible for maintaining quality standards whenever they weren’t staring at a computer screen. So they were frequently seen walking around the facility, watching to be sure that everything was happening the way it should. Because of that, they’d been dubbed ‘floor-walkers’. Dean had no idea what their actual job title was, and he didn’t care. But, he knew it was these employees who ensured that handlers were following the rules, customers were being treated well, and safety standards were being followed. For the most part, floor-walkers blended into the background. That’s why it was so odd to have one openly staring at him.

Unable to ignore it, Dean looked right at the woman and said, “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” she answered, a bit too quickly. “But… where is your stylist?”

“He went to get me a nurse,” Dean answered, letting his heavy head fall back to the cushioned table.

“Something wrong with the call button?” she pressed, stepping closer.

“M’not sure,” he shrugged.

As he watched, she reached over him to press a button on the wall. Overhead a blue light went on and she stood back to look at it with her arms crossed. Her face was tense. Cross. As she stood there, Ketch returned with Anna by his side. She was pushing her computer cart as usual and stepped up to Dean with a concerned smile. “How are we feeling today?” she asked.

“Okay, I guess. A little tired, to be honest. And I can feel a headache coming on.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. Stepping up to his side, she pulled her stethoscope from around her neck. Popping the coated tips into her ears, she motioned for him to turn over and then pressed the cool metal bell to his chest. As she listened to his heart intently, Dean was watching the floor-walker speak to Ketch. Her face was pursed and it was obvious that she was displeased.

“Each stylist has a designated area,” she was telling him, “and within that area is everything needed to attend to those in their care. You have call buttons for a reason. We don’t want anyone left unattended. If you need a handler, or a nurse, or even security, all you have to do is push a button and the appropriate party will respond.”

“I apologize,” responded Ketch, in an uppity British accent, “but he requested a nurse and I’d just seen Anna walk past. It seemed like a good idea to simply intercept her, rather than wait for the on-call nurse to answer the light.”

“I see,” she said coldly, arms still crossed. “But the error in that logic is that you’ve left your charge alone and untethered.”

“He was snoring only a moment ago. I assure you, there was no risk in him being untethered.”

“Mr. Ketch, just like the call buttons, the tethers are used for a reason. Collectively, the workers in this building are on a wide range of enhancers, inhibitors, and genetically engineered hormones. The side effects of those, combined with the physical and emotional hazards of their jobs can leave workers prone to outbursts. It’s rare, but it happens. For their own safety, and to abide by the law, we must keep them under restraint when unsupervised. You left this man completely unattended for over a minute. Now, that might not seem like a long time to you, but it’s long enough for him to have gotten up and left the area. That is simply unacceptable Mr. Ketch.”

“Oh,” he said, his posture defiant, “I didn’t realize. I’ve seen so many untethered patients lately that I guess I’d thought the standards were a bit more lax.”

“Our standards are not lax, Mr. Ketch. So, going forward, if you see that kind of thing happening, please advise the leadership staff immediately. We’ve had inquiries from the oversight committee twice this month due to outside complaints. It would seem that our quality standards have been slipping lately and we need to work to restore them. I will be filling out an incident report regarding your violation of policy. Remedial training will be conducted in response.”

“Well then,” sighed Ketch, “I guess there’s nothing further to discuss at this time.”

Dean couldn’t help grinning as he watched the man try to end the conversation. Stealing his attention back, the sound of ripping velcro brought Dean’s eyes back to his nurse who was now  wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm. He watched her face as she inflated it. She glanced up at him once and gave an easy smile before dropping her eyes to the dial that gave a reading as she slowly deflated the cuff.  

“Your vitals look good,” she told him as he she entered the information in her portable computer. “Would you like something for your headache?”

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

She punched in a code on her rolling cart and a drawer slid open. She extracted a small bottle and carefully shook two pills into a little paper cup, handing it to him with a bottle of water. He sat up a little to swallow the tablets and as he was tipping back the water bottle to wash them down, Ketch was stepping back up to his table.

“Sorry ‘bout her,” said Dean to Ketch as he re-capped the water bottle.  

“Naomi’s a bitch,” said Ketch. “Just ignore her. I always do.”

“How have you been sleeping, Dean?” asked Anna.

“Okay. I mean, I asked to be knocked out the other night, but I usually do the night before I come back to work. It’s just hard to sleep once I get the shot. I mean, on the nights when I haven’t worked, I’m just not tired enough to sleep through what it does to me.”

“That’s understandable,” she nodded. “According to your chart, you’ve declined water a couple times this week. You’ve actually had less than eighteen ounces since you’ve returned from resting. That could be a factor in your headache. Please try to drink water whenever it is offered to you, even if you’re not especially thirsty, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, toying with the water bottle in his hands as he asked Anna, “Do you think I can take the rest of the day off?”

“Of course,” she answered kindly, fingers clicking away on the keyboard.

"I need to leave the grounds."

“Oh, I see,” she replied, eyes scanning the spreadsheet on her computer screen. “In that case, I  would suggest taking tomorrow off as well. You probably won’t be cleared to check out for a while, and even if you’re not gone for very long, you’re almost certain to miss the window for receiving a preparatory injection for tomorrow.”

Deciding to forfeit half of a sex day hadn’t been easy. The idea of losing another day on top of it was even worse. But, Dean couldn’t deny that it was necessary. He had to warn his family about what was going on, and he had to do it fast.  “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll take tomorrow off too.”

“Good for you, Dean,” she said, giving his thigh a reassuring pat. “I hope you enjoy the time away. Try to get some rest and don’t forget to hydrate.”

“I’ll be a good boy,” he promised her, adding his trademark wink and a smile.

“No you won’t,” she teased warmly. “It’s lucky you’re my favorite.”

“Back atcha, sweetheart.”

Both he and Ketch watched Anna depart and as they did, the stylist said, “I’ll fetch you a handler.”

“How ‘bout we finish the massage first,” Dean tried, still feeling horny. “We were just gettin’ to the good part.”

“I’ll get you a handler,” he repeated dryly, clearly giving Dean a hard ‘no’ to any further pleasure.

Dean watched the man take two steps from him and then stop. Obviously thinking better of it, he pivoted back to Dean’s table and reached up to push the call button for a handler. A green light came on overhead and as they waited for someone to come, Ketch snapped Dean into his cuffs. He was threading a lead through the eyelet on Dean’s collar when a familiar face presented itself.

“Oh good it’s you,” said Dean with disdain.

“Oh yeah,” sneered Meg in response, “I’m excited too. I’ve been on the edge of my seat all day just hoping for a few minutes with you, Winchester.”

Begrudgingly, he rose from the table and followed her out. “I don’t wanna go to my cage,” he told her, “I wanna go to the resting room. I need to get my laptop.”

“Sorry to disappoint, stud, but we’re going to the medical wing.”

“What the fuck for?”

“You’re seeing the head shrinker.”


“Nope. It’s your six month eval. You were meant to do it tomorrow, but when your schedule was updated for time off, the appointment pushed up into the first open slot. That’s fifteen minutes from now.”

“Who am I seeing?”

“Mildred Baker.”

“Good,” he sighed, resigning himself to the chore.


“Yeah. I’ve never met her before, but I know she’ll be better than the d-bag I usually see.”

“Who’s that?”

“Zachariah. That dude’s like ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag.”

“I won’t argue that,” she agreed. “Mildred’s more your type anyway.”

“Meg, you know dick about my type.”

“I know that Blanche was your favorite Golden Girl, ” she purred, giving him a satisfied smile.

Walking alongside her, Dean couldn’t help wondering how she’d known that. It must’ve shown on his face too, because she rolled her eyes and said, “Oh please, you’re so predictable.”

With no witty retort coming to mind, Dean opted to stay quiet. “You know, Adler’s actually kinda funny,” mused Meg. “He prob’ly wouldn’t be so bad if he loosened up a little. I think he just needs to get laid.”

Cringing at the thought, Dean said, “Don’t look at me. If he’s too stiff to bend over, then there ain’t much I can do for him.”

“I get the feeling he’s the bender, not the bendee,” she snorted.

“Nah, I bet he’s junkless down there, ya know, like a Ken doll.”

They both burst out laughing at the same time, which was rare. Normally, if either of them was laughing it was the other’s expense. But as strange as today had been so far, it was par for the course.

Entering the medical wing, they checked in at the nurses station. When directed to the waiting room, the two settled into chairs and watched a television on the wall until Dean was called.

Handing off his lead to a nurse’s aid, Meg departed wordlessly, any trace of good humour already having faded.

Ushered into a comfortable office, Dean was greeted by an older woman. She looked to be coming up on retirement, but he could tell that in her heyday she’d been smokin’ hot. Standing up from her chair, she leaned across the expanse of her desk to shake his hand with a wide smile as she introduced herself and encouraged him to call her by her first name. As that was happening, the nurse’s assistant removed his lead and laid it on the desk. She then held up a soft robe for him and he stepped into it. As she let go, he pulled it shut and tied it at the waist.

When Mildred dismissed her with a nod, she closed the door on her way out.

Alone now, Mildred indicated he should take whichever seat appealed to him. Selecting the chair instead of the stereotypical sofa, Dean settled in and she pivoted her chair to face him.

“Taking some time off?” she asked casually.

“Just tomorrow,” he answered, adjusting his legs. “There’s somethin’ I gotta take care of. No big deal.”

“I see. And did you have anything in particular that you’d like to discuss today?”

“Not really. I mean, I get that these sessions are necessary to, ya know, just to check and make sure none of us are gonna leave for a few hours and then come back shootin’. But really lady, I’m fine.”

“Mildred,” she corrected gently. Then with a coy smile, she added, “I don’t like being called ‘lady’ because I feel like it’s just short for ‘old lady’.

“Okay, Mildred. You seem pretty cool so I’ll just lay this on ya. I just got mind fucked a few hours ago. I’m not especially lookin’ forward to more of the same. So how ‘bout you just ask me the standard questions and we get this over with quick and painless.”

“I’ve never been much for quickies,” she told him, double entendre obviously intentional. “But I’ll start with the easiest question. How have you been feeling lately?”


“Any trouble sleeping?”


Flipping through his chart, she didn’t look up at him when she said, “I see you’ve requested sedation thirty four times since your last mental health evaluation.”

“Okay, you win. I have trouble sleeping. But only when I’m well rested. That seems normal to me. I mean, is it realistic to expect a well-rested man to sleep through a testosterone rush on the level we get here?”

“That’s fair,” she nodded. “My only other concern based on your daily charting is your lack of time off. You’ve got over six weeks of paid time off available and another two weeks that will drop at the end of the fiscal year. Is there a reason you aren’t using any of it?”

“Don’t need it,” he said with a shrug. “I love my job.”

“Don’t you have anything you’d like to do? Trips you’d like to take? Family functions you’d like to attend?”

“Well, my family ain’t exactly the Waltons,” he said acerbically. “I’ve already been to the Grand Canyon and I’ve seen the world's biggest ball of twine. What else is there?”

“I don’t know, Dean,” she smiled softly, “the Medieval Torture Museum in St. Augustine?”


“Where else.”

“Is that down the street from the world’s longest stuffed alligator?”

“Yes,” she joked, catching on to his sense of humor. “And it’s right across the road from the biggest shark tooth.”

“I’ve been around plenty,” he reassured her. “And for the time being, I’m happy where I’m at. I would think that’s a good thing. Or, am I wrong about that?”

“No, Dean. I’m glad to hear that you’re happy here. What’s your favorite thing about the job?”

“The sex.”

She smiled, possibly stifling a chuckle if the tension in her jaw was any indication.

“What?” he prodded, “Is there any other answer? Is there really some schmuck that walks in here and says the 401k is what he likes best about the job?”

“Have you always enjoyed sex?”

“How much do they pay you for these insightful questions?”

“How often do you deflect questions with humor?”

“Almost exclusively.”

“What else do you enjoy in life, besides sex?”

“Killing something that deserves to die.”


In his head, Dean was picturing the faces of monstrous people that he’d single handedly planted six feet under. But to his head shrinker, he replied, “Snakes. Cockroaches. Rats.”


“Not really. It’s not like it’s a hobby or anything. I don’t watch rat hunting shows on the outdoor channel, and I don’t suit up with my buddies and go out into the woods at the ass-crack of dawn to hunt them down. I’m jus’ sayin’, when there’s somethin’ nasty that needs killin’, I like doin’ it. You asked what I enjoy.”

“What else do you enjoy?”


She lifted an eyebrow.

“Red meat too. I love a juicy steak.”

With her expression unchanging, she stared across the desk at him.

“You know what?” he prompted.


“Give me a steak, pie for dessert, and then lemme bang the waitress that brought it all to me. That right there is a blue ribbon day.”

“Describe her.”


“Your waitress.”

“Oh, well, let’s see… um brunette. No, blonde. Wait, no, brunette. Yeah, brunette. With blue eyes. Nice ass.”

“Anything else that stands out?”

“She wants me. I love it when I can see how much they want me… when they look like they wanna crawl right into my lap.”

“Because it’s easy that way? Do you like it to be easy?”

“I like gettin’ what I want. And, yeah, if it’s quick and easy that’s always been a plus.”

“Tell me about your family.”

“Well, my mom died when I was young. My dad did his best with my brother and me, but his best wasn’t good enough. Nowhere near. I picked up the slack for Sammy the best I could. But even that wasn’t enough. He shoulda had better than the two of us.”

“What is your brother doing now?”

“He’s in college. Goes to Stanford, actually, gonna be a lawyer. Damned good one.”

“Does he visit you here?”

“Just ask me if he knows, okay? I don’t like the back door questions.”

“Sorry,” grinned Mildred, “I like the back door.”

“Good on you,” he laughed, catching another of her double entendres. “And so do I. But if you wanna get honest answers from me, don’t convolute the questions.”

“I understand,” she nodded respectfully. “So tell me, Dean, does your brother know what you do for a living?”


“What about your father?”


“Who does know?”

“The three most important people in my life,” he replied smugly, “Me, myself, and I.”

“You’ve been employed here for quite some time,” she reminded. “And you’ve said that you’re very satisfied with the work. To me, that implies a sense of permanence. You’re not looking to change your career path anytime soon, right?”

“That’s right. A wise man once said, ‘Do one thing and do it well’.”

“You seem quite proud, Dean. So why is it that you’ve chosen to keep your profession a secret from your family?”

“Same as everybody else, I guess. Ask anybody why they’re in the closet and they’ll all pretty much give ya the same freakin’ answer. We’re all keepin’ our secret for the same reason, lady. Sorry... Mildred. We’re all keepin’ the secret ‘cause the people in our lives can’t handle it. If I told my dad what I was doin’ he’d lose his shit. I’ve spent my whole life tryin’ to be a good son. So, what, I’m gonna throw all that out the window now? Just so he can know that I like dick? That my ass is up for sale to the highest bidder?”

“Are you bisexual Dean?”

“I guess so,” he admitted. “Both teams have impressive contributions to the sport, right?”

“Do you have a preference?”

Thinking for a moment, he nodded. “Yeah, most days, I prefer a dude. But, really, when it comes to sex, I’m up for most anything.”

“Have you ever told your family of your preferences?”


“So they’ve never seen you in any sexual context? They’ve never seen you express an attraction towards either gender? Never seen you with a significant other?”

“They think I like the ladies. Exclusively. In fact, my brother perfected his bitch face by watchin’ me bang waitresses in every diner and dive bar we passed through.”

“What did your father say about this?”

“Nothin’. I get the feelin’ he did the same when us boys weren’t around. As we got older, he left us to ourselves more and more. He’d be out on his own for days and weeks at a time so I’m guessing he ain’t very conservative with the sperm.”

“Did he ever say anything to you about your behavior? Did he ever express concerns that your younger brother might be adversely affected by witnessing your voracious sexual exploits?”

“Nah,” Dean sighed, leaning back. “I think I mentioned that we ain't exactly the Waltons.”

“Well, if sexual morality wasn’t something that your father was especially fixated on, what makes you think he’d have an adverse reaction to finding out your occupation. Or even your sexual preferences for that matter?”

“‘Cause I know him,” Dean answered firmly. “He’s an ex-Marine. Code of honor, manly pursuits, I’ve had that shit crammed down my throat all my life. Honestly, if you can get past the hypocrisy of it all, I’m in. Love of country, duty to family, honor in all things. I think there’s worse he could’ve taught us.”

“Tell me about the hypocrisy.”

“Oh, I’m sure you know what I mean. You don’t need me to give ya examples. The same dudes savin’ lives and gettin’ medals of honor will beat down a tranny in the street, call a guy a fag and kick his teeth in, just cause they can. Where’s the honor in that shit, right? Hell, they fuck over their own if they find out they’re queer.”

“I can see why you’d say that,” Mildred nodded, “but I think it’s also fair to say that there’s been tremendous progress in that area over the past decade. Not all Marines harbor a toxic masculinity, and not all of them discriminate on the basis of sexual preference. There are many members of the armed services who are out and proud and embraced by their peers. And as much as I understand why you’ve said what you said, I feel that a blanket statement like that gives an impression of hopelessness that could be quite defeating. People can change, Dean. The progress is often frustratingly slow, but there is growth.”

Something in her expression resonated with him. Silence fell between them as he considered her and began to realize that because of her age, she’d had a much longer timespan for comparison. When she thought back on the social climate of her youth and compared it to the way things were now, she probably saw huge changes. Dean’s own frame of reference was much shorter, but he did understand that she was trying to encourage him. Still, even if the world was changing, that didn’t help him much. His biggest issues were with his father. And his father wasn’t one for changing regardless of what the rest of society was doing.

At that moment, Dean almost did it. He could feel himself preparing to let loose… to just let the walls down and really start talking to her about all of it… everything… his issues with society and how it both labeled and discarded people like him, his father and how the man saw him, what that had been doing to Dean all these years… yeah. He almost let her in. But, after a lifetime of deflection through humor and sarcasm, in that moment it was just too easy to continue with more of the same.  

He didn’t actually lie, he just gave her the shortest answer and made sure there was a harsh edge to his words to avoid seeming vulnerable. Because he liked her, Dean tried to cover the coldness of his words by delivering them with his most charming smile. “Sweetheart,” he said, “are you tryin’ to tell me that my dad’s gonna come around one day? That at some point he’s gonna be cool with me blowin’ dudes? ‘Cause I gotta be honest Mildred, I don’t think you’re gonna live long enough to see that day.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Dean wished he could take them back. He liked her. Really liked her. And despite the winning smile she’d plastered on to match his own, it was obvious that absorbing his jab had stung a little.

“Look,” he said, trying to move on, “I’m sorry but if you’re tryin’ to give me a pep talk, you can skip it. I appreciate the effort, but I don’t need ya to blow sunshine up my ass. I know exactly what kind of man my father is. If I ever tell him, I need to be ready to lose him.” The words tried to stick in his throat, but he forced them out. Then, with some momentum built up, he was able to tack on a very honest proviso. “If I’m bein’ honest, I have to admit that holidays might be better without him. The guy grabs a bucket of fried chicken for Thanksgiving and passes out on the couch. What’s to miss, right?”

Her eyes didn’t waiver. They bored into him, practically daring him to continue giving her honest answers. “How do you think your brother would react if you told him?”

“Um, I’m pretty sure he’d be cool with me blowin’ dudes,” he replied, “but he’d probably puke on his shoes if he knew I was a whore.”

“Dean, you’re job title is Relationship Manager.”

“Mildred, c’mon. You know the saying… if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s a fuckin’ duck. A duck is a duck, and I’m a whore.”

“Why? Why did you specifically choose the word whore?”

“Cause I’m honest.”

“You’re family would beg to differ.”

“I’m being honest with you,” he clarified.

“I’m glad. I appreciate your candor. Now, tell me Dean, what things do you think would change about your life if you were honest with your family about your sexual preferences and your current career path?”

“Career path? Wow. Okay, um, I guess I can play along,” he said with a smirk. Then, as he prepared to answer, he tried to picture it. Not the coming out moment, he dared not even imagine that. But, the outcome of the conversation was easy enough to predict.

“Well, my dad would cut me off, for sure. He might take back the car he gave me, and that would fucking suck. I love that car. She’s my baby. He might even take back the gun he gave me. I’d miss that too. It’s a Colt series, chrome plated with scroll detailing on the barrell and ivory grips. Sammy’s has more capacity, but I’ve always been a better shot anyway. So, I guess my life would feel different if I didn’t have the things he’s given me. But, with my dad out of my life, lots of things would be easier, that’s for sure.

“Sammy would be cool with me coming out, I’m pretty sure. But he’d be annoying. He’d prob’ly try’n fix me up with every gay dude he knows… pester me to move to Cali with him. Hell, he wouldn’t stop ‘til I was eatin’ bean sprouts ‘n wheatgrass with him, married to some douchebag who wears loafers with no socks and tryin’ to adopt a frickin’ baby from China.”

“So Dean, let’s say you come out to your family and things play out the way you’ve described.”


“What’s the worst thing about your new life?”

“Lady, there are only two people in this world that give fuck if I live or die,” he snapped. “And in your little scenario, I’ve just lost one of them for good.”

“Okay, and what is the best thing about your new life?”

“That’s easy,” he said, relaxing even at the thought, “No more lying to them.”

“You’d get to be yourself.”

“Lady, I don’t even know who that guy is.” Catching himself again, Dean corrected. “Mildred. Sorry.”

“Dean, I think you know exactly who you are. I think you’d love to let that version of yourself behind the wheel for a while. And, if your father takes back the car he gave you, perhaps that’s just the universe telling you that it’s time you chose one for yourself instead of just accepting what’s been offered to you. Especially if accepting what’s offered means you have to fit into someone else’s idea of who you are.”

Considering her words, Dean slowly began nodding as he realized that he actually agreed with her a little. Looking up to meet her eye, Dean couldn’t help himself. “I bet you were a stone cold fox back in the day.”

“I’m a fox now,” she winked at him. “Silver fox,” she added, leaning back in her chair, “and I would’ve made a meal out of a young man like yourself.”

“I woulda been a lucky guy.”

“Dean, what’s the worst thing about your job?”

“Having to pretend to like things I don’t. Like, I get it. That comes with the territory. But, man do I hate suckin’ on feet. It’s like the worst fuckin’ thing they can ask me to do.”

“Does that come up frequently?”

“Not really, but even once is too much. I hate it.”

“And what’s the best thing about your job?”

“Are you kidding? I don’t think I can pick just one thing.”

Looking at him from across her desk, Mildred held her eyes level on him. She was clearly waiting for a real answer.

“Dunno. But when I think about the life I had before I came here… getting laid was pretty much the best thing that could happen on any given day. Life just sucked back then… always on the road… stuck in the car with my old man and my gassy brother… sharing dumpy motel rooms off the interstate… eatin’ greasy diner food and listenin’ to Sammy whine about all of it… him and my dad arguing over every fuckin’ thing that came up… I mean, when that’s your life… a good meal or a slice of pie can be the only good thing that happens all day. A nice tussle out back with the waitress? A nod of approval from the old man when he sees me leavin’ with her? That’s as good as it gets.”

“And now, all your days are good days, because you always get to ‘tussle’.”

“Now you’re catchin’ on,” he said, both of them smiling widely as their eyes connected again.

“Dean,” she said thoughtfully, “I wonder if your upbringing has clouded the way you see gender roles. I understand that most of the wait staff in restaurants tends to be female. And I also understand that you didn’t have a traditional home life. It wasn’t a parent who brought your meals to the table, it was a waitress. So, do you think that perhaps you see women in general as being cast in the role of someone who is there to serve you? Does that play into the way you think of them when they eagerly welcome your sexual advances?”

“Are you askin’ if an overexposure to waitresses has made me sexist?”

“Perhaps. Mostly what I’m wondering about is the possibility that you don’t find women in general to be a challenge in the field of sexual conquest because on some level you perceive them as being there to serve you. Maybe just taking what you want from them without any emotional connection has become convenient over the years and thus you quickly discard them for the men who seem more complex and challenging.”

“Oh,” he nodded, “You’re saying that I take what’s easy ‘cause it fits in my life, but deep down I really want a challenge?”


“Maybe. Maybe not. I mean, yeah, it can be more fun if I have to work for it a little. But, back when I was on the road all the time, there wasn’t really time for the long game, if ya know what I mean.”

Mildred grinned at him, her cheeks rosy and her eyes sparkling. She liked him as much as he liked her, that was obvious. And despite her attempts to remain professional, he could see that she enjoyed hearing about his sex life. “Are male conquests more challenging to you?”

“Nope. Not in the least. Sometimes we don’t even speak. I give a dude the look, or he gives me the look, and we head for the bathroom. Or the alley out back. Doesn’t much matter. But back when I was on the road there weren’t many men. Even something quick and dirty was usually too risky with my dad around.”

“So, not only were men your preference, they were forbidden fruit?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Would it be fair to say that coming here was liberating for you in a way, because you were free to indulge that side of your sexuality?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Well then, let me ask you this - Have you ever met anyone who intrigued you beyond the physical? Someone who stimulated you in a non-sexual way?”

“Yeah, there have been  a few over the years.”

“And what became of them?”

“Nothin’ much. I mean, there have definitely been a few that I wanted more time with, but it wasn’t in the cards. Sometimes I’d luck out and get a few days, maybe a week, but that’s about the best a guy like me can hope for anyway.”

“Because you’re a liar?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, hating it. “Yeah. I’m a liar.”

“We all tell lies, Dean. Every single one of us. It’s part of the human condition.”

“Well, the kind of person I’d want to keep around,” he clarified, “is a person that deserves better than me. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

“Perhaps it’s truer to say that they deserve a better version of you. A more honest one?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Maybe someday you’ll be ready to be that better version of yourself.”

“And then all my dreams will come true?” he shot back, mostly joking. Deflecting.

“What dreams do you have, Dean?” she pressed, ignoring his sarcasm.

“Are you asking me my goals in life? Or are you asking me about my actual dreams?”

“Either. Which would you like to discuss?”

“Well, I had a mother of a fucking daydream the other day. Kinda freaked me out,” he admitted. She’d won his respect already, even in the short time they’ve been talking. So, he decided to lay it on her.

“You were conscious when you had this daydream?”

“Yeah. I was workin’ a private party and this dude was makin’ a naughty nurse give him ememas. Like, one after another. I was tryin’ not to watch ‘cause, well, I didn’t wanna see. But he wanted me to blow a load on his face and started suckin’ me off. There was no way I was gonna come lookin’ at him, so I shut my eyes and started picturing this hot guy I’d seen in the Gallery. We were gettin’ it on in my car-

“So, in your fantasy, you were in the car your father gave you?”

“Yeah. I was drivin’ down a country road at night, saw a hitchhiker and picked him up. It was the dude from the Gallery. He started givin’ me road head while I drove and I had to pull over, but I wound up parkin’ at the motel where my dad was stayin’. I knew which window was his room so when I saw the light in that room come on, I was scared he was gonna come out and catch me gettin’ it on with a guy. I told the guy to stop but he wouldn’t. He kept goin’ and goin’ and it felt so fuckin’ good. And he said I should let my dad see us and I kind of agreed to it. I let him keep goin’ and when I was about to come I was thinkin’ about my dad. Said the word Dad. That’s what really freaked me out, I mean, I actually said the word ‘daddy’ when I came and it scared the fuck out of me.”

“Do you normally say words like dad and daddy when you’re getting off?”

“No, not normally.”

“Do the customers like you to say it?”

“Some of them do, yeah, and the guy who won my auction that day had been into the daddy kink so I guess it had been kinda fresh in my head.”

“Dean, there are some obvious implications in this fantasy, especially since this wasn’t a subconscious dream. Can you you take a guess at what this particular daydream might imply about you and your life?”

“Dunno,” he said thoughtfully. He hadn’t expected her to turn the question back on him, he’d expected her to give him a rundown on the symbology of dreams and then reassure him that there was nothing unhealthy or unusual about what his mind had conjured up that day. He took a deep breath and tried to look at it from an outsider's viewpoint. “Maybe that just because he’s far away from me, doesn’t mean he can’t find out how I live? Or maybe it’s just that I know he’ll eventually find out and that knowing that is ruining my fantasy? Am I on the right track?”

“Those seem viable, yes.”

“You want me to think of more, don’t you.”

“I do.”

“Why can’t I hear what you think? I mean, I’ve never volunteered anything to a shrink before. You’re the first one I’ve ever even liked. Cut me a break, doc, give me an outsiders opinion.”

“An outsiders opinion is meaningless. What you think is what matters, Dean. Now, you’ve said that this hitchhiker was trying to convince you to let your father see. Right?”


“And in the end, you agreed to that?”


“And then you climaxed?”


“Dean. Can you think of another implication of this daydream?”

Ugh. The answer was so fucking obvious now that he kind of hated having brought this up at all. “I got it,” he said, hoping to close the subject.

“You’ve got what?”

“I know what you’re getting at. I’m good.”

“Okay, what am I getting at?”

“You really gonna make me say it, doc?”

“I’m really gonna,” she said with an indulgent smile, copying his pattern of speech.

“It means that deep down inside, I want him to know. It means that I want to come out to him.”

“That’s possible,” she agreed, still smiling. “I guess if you know what you want, then it’s really just a matter of deciding when and how to do it, right?”

“Right,” he chuckled, “and that’s what deathbeds are for.”

“Did you have anything else you’d like to discuss today Dean?”

“I guess not,” he said, getting to his feet. “Thanks for your time, doc.”

“If you don’t mind,” she said, aborting his attempt to exit, “I have some routine questions regarding your general health and well being that I’d like to cover before you leave.”

“Fine,” he groaned, flopping back into the chair.

“Do you feel safe in your working environment?”


“Do you feel that those who provide services to you here are competent in their duties?”

“You mean people like you, sweetheart?”

“I am part of the medical services staff,” she clarified, “but please don’t think of me when answering these questions. Think of the staff members that you interact with on a daily basis. The medical staff includes the doctors and nursing staff as well as the nursing support staff. You are also provided services by the dietary staff, the cosmetology staff, the security staff, and even the janitorial staff. Do you feel that they are all competent in their respective duties?”


“Specifically in regards to the dietary staff, do you have any concerns regarding the quality or nutritional content of the food being served to you?”


“What about the cleanliness of the staff, the handling of food, or the availability of food?”


“It’s my understanding that you are only offered food every fourth and fifth day. Is that correct?”

“Yeah, we don’t eat on working days. Is this going to take much longer?”

“We’ll breeze through this section quickly, I promise. So, Dean, do you suffer any adverse effects on the days when food is not offered to you?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“When you do eat, do you find that you are satisfied with the food?”


“Do foods that you eat here ever taste different than when you eat them at other locations?”

“I’m not sure what that even means. C’mon Mildred, a burger at McDonalds isn’t gonna taste the same as one from Burger King. Yeah, some stuff tastes different here. Is that really what you’re asking?”

“No. I’m asking if you ever question the food you’re being served. Does it ever taste tainted or foul?”


“Alright then, in regards to the medical staff, excluding myself, do you ever feel that those caring for you do not have your best interests at heart?”

“Nah, the nurses here are awesome.”

“What about the medical doctors?”

“I’ve only seen one. He was fine.”

“Have you ever been denied medical care?”


“Have you ever been medicated without your informed consent?”

“Damn, you sound like a robot,” he chuckled. “Seriously, are all these questions really necessary?”

“Yes, Dean, but I’m trying to hurry through them for you. Your answers are actually quite important, so if you could please try to be thoughtful and honest, I’d appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

“Again, Dean, have you ever been medicated without your informed consent?”

“No, Doc, no one’s ever held me down and shoved pills down my throat.”

“Consent issues can be tricky. Let me explain. If someone gives you an injection but doesn’t tell you what you’re being injected with, then you weren’t informed. You may have consented to the injection by holding out your arm, or nodding your head, but your consent was not informed. With that in mind, I’ll ask again. Dean, have you ever been medicated without your informed consent?”

“Yeah, I guess, but never to the point where I’d complain about it.”

“Can you give me an example?”

“Like, when we get tested for STD’s, I don’t think I’ve ever actually been told what I have when I test positive for something. They just tell me I’ve got something and give me pills or a shot or whatever. But I guess that seems normal to me. I mean, we get so many pills and shots around here that I can see how the nurses would get tired of constantly goin’ over all the details.”

“I see,” she nodded, jotting down some notes.

Feeling like he should clarify, Dean added, “It’s not like I’ve asked, ya know. I mean, I could’ve asked for details if I really wanted to know. They don’t really say and I don’t really ask about it. Seems like that’s prob’ly on me.”

“Alright,” she nodded, moving on to the next question. “Are you given any daily pills like vitamins or nutritional supplements?”

“Yeah, whenever we go through the buffet, we stop at the cash register and give our number. They pull up our chart and hand us our pills. I'm assuming they make a note that we've eaten and taken pills, but I've never really watched to see.”

“Does anyone verify that you’ve taken your pills or monitor your dietary intake?”

“Yeah, we always have a handler eating with us. They carry the tray for us, and I know they take notes. I don’t think it’s real specific, maybe they're just keeping track of whether we clean the plate? I'm not really sure how all that works. I just know they're paying attention.”

“I see. And when you take the pills you’re given, do you ever wonder what they are?”

“Nah, like you said, they’re just vitamins and shit.”

“Alright. Thank you for being patient. I know these questions can be a bit tedious.”

“Anything for you,” he winked.

Turning the page, she gave him a soft smile and continued by saying, “Because you are one of the Relationship Managers who live at this facility as part of the Stay & Play program, you are the resident of a company dormitory. That means a few additional questions. Do you feel safe at all times in the dormitory?


“Have you ever been the victim of unwelcome touching in a dormitory?”

Smiling indulgently at her, he answered by saying, “I love the way you keep calling it a dormitory. I sleep in a cage. It’s for my protection, I know. But it’s still a cage. College kids live in a dormitory. Sammy lives in a dormitory. Me? I’m a whore. I sleep in a cage.”

Dean thought Mildred looked a bit taken aback by his comparison, but she didn’t pause to  debate his use of the word ‘whore’ as she’d done earlier in the session. She simply pressed on by repeating her question. “Dean, have you ever been the victim of unwelcome touching in a dormitory?” Seemingly in hindsight, she added, “or in a cage?”


“Is your cage metal or plexiglass?” she asked. Then, she leaned forward and softly said, “That’s not an official question. I’m just curious.”

“It’s metal,” he answered.

“How big is it?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “It’s like, the size of a regular bed. Queen size maybe?”

“It has bars?”

“Yeah. Wait, haven’t you ever been in there?”

“No one tours the dormitories, Dean. The company forbids it. Officially, the area is off limits to protect the privacy of those living there.”

“Oh, okay. That seems fair.”

“Is it comfortable?” she asked, clearly doubting it possibly could be.

“Oh yeah,” he said with a firm nod. “It’s way better than the ratty mattresses in the dive motels I was sleepin’ in before I came here.”

“Good,” she said with a warm smile. Then, closing up her file folder, she looked across the desk at him and said, “Alright Dean, I think that’s it for today.”

They both stood up, Dean stretched his legs as Mildred walked around the desk to him. He looked down when she extended her hand and saw that she was passing him a business card. As he took it, she was saying, “you’ll have another appointment in six months. But, if you ever want to talk, I’m here for you. And I do mean anytime; just ask them to add an appointment to your schedule.”

“Thanks. You’re way better than the last guy, by the way.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah, what happened to him anyway?”

“Mr. Adler? He’s leaving the company so his patients are being re-assigned. You’ll be with me going forward.”

“Awesome,” he said, turning towards the sound of the door. It was opening and a nursing assistant was stepping in. She came forward and began hooking a lead to his collar. “The robe stays here,” she said softly. Turning to Mildred, Dean smirked and made a show of sliding the robe slowly off his shoulders behind him. “I bet you love this part, don’tcha,” he teased, letting the soft cotton fall to the floor behind him.

Pointing towards her certifications which were framed neatly on the adjacent wall, he then said, “You gotta keep your hands off the goods if you wanna keep those, right? But you can look all ya like.”

She laughed heartily at his joke. Her eyes dipped down for a brief moment as if to check out his naked body and then she gave him a humorously exaggerated wink of approval. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually felt good about a six month review. She’d been far more attentive and insightful than Zachariah had ever been. She was fun and flirty without being overtly sexual and seemed to actually care about his issues. In just this one single session, she had helped tremendously.

Once his arms were free of the robe, his cuffs were linked to the lead. He was then guided out of the medical facility and back to the residential section. Finally, it was time to check out of the facility. Even on good days, the process could be time consuming. But this time it was a pain in the ass, mostly because of the timing. Normally, leaving the compound is something one does when it’s a required resting day or pre-requested time off. The process begins with waking and a trip to the salon. Usually, he’s anxious to eat so he does that as well. Enduring diaper changes is part of that process but as far as Dean’s concerned, it’s better to get that over with here than to try and deal with it out in the real world. After all of that, exiting the compound generally consisted of signing some papers at the main desk while being reminded of the do’s and don’ts. There was also a standard search conducted to be sure that nothing unapproved was being removed from the grounds.

Tonight however, he had to get his blood tested too. He wasn’t supposed to leave until his hormones hit a certain level. He repeated the test twice over a period of ninety minutes before his results finally showed him in an acceptable range. By the time he exited into the parking garage, it was after ten. The weather was cool and damp but refreshing, normal for springtime.

When he started her up, his baby rumbled pleasingly beneath him. The sound and feel were slightly erotic to him, but that was probably just the lingering effects of the shot. Everything would be sensual for a while. His pecker was still a bit chubby too. It wasn’t demanding attention, but his awareness of it was noticeably elevated.

With his laptop and cell phone on the seat next to him, Dean backed out of his space and headed down the ramp. Passing the security guard at the exit, Dean slowed so the guy could read his parking permit and then accelerated again once he was waived on.

Out on the street, he headed for the interstate, opting to weave around the back of the facility rather than sit through the heavy, slow moving traffic that swarmed near the customer entrance.

Popping a cassette into the tape deck, he cranked up the radio and sang along with Deep Purple as he made his way east. Checking his rear view mirror frequently to be sure no one was following him, Dean left the city behind. Exiting on an unfamiliar ramp into one of the many adjacent suburbs, he navigated his baby into a truck stop. Being out in the real world was sobering and without the constant titillation of the brothel around him, his head was growing clearer.

Pulling an old ball cap from the back seat, Dean headed inside. Passing up the snack foods and cheap souvenirs, he grabbed a prepaid cell phone from the display and took it to the register. He paid cash for the item and left. Farther down the road, he pulled into the parking lot of a bowling alley and activated the new phone. Then, still sitting in his car, Dean placed a call.

Of course, he got voicemail.

“Hey Dad, it’s me. I just wanted to give ya a heads up that big brother’s steppin’ up their game. Hope you’re layin’ low. Call my other, other cell if ya need to get in touch. I won't have a signal tomorrow, but after that I should be free for a couple days. No meet ups. There’s a bloodhound on my trail.”

Once he hung up, he put in a call to Sammy’s other, other cell. This time, he got an answer. “Dean?”

“Yeah Sammy it’s me. How ya doin’?”

“I’m okay,” he answered, his voice tight with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Then what is it?” he pressed. “Why are you calling this number?”

“Cause I had a little run-in with the feds. I tried to call Dad but I got voicemail. If he checks in, will you let him know what’s goin’ on?”

“Sure, Dean, of course. What kind of run-in? Did they take you in?”

“Not yet. They’re just kickin’ over rocks tryin’ to find Dad. It’s safe to say they’ve applied some pressure. Look, I gotta go Sammy, just tell Dad it’s time to go deep, ok?”

“How deep, Dean? Are we talkin’ lay low for a while... or full-on disappear?”

“He should go to Yemen.”

“What about you? You’ve got warrants.”

“I do, but if they wanted me, they coulda taken me. I think they’re hopin’ I’ll lead them to him. That means no meet-ups, no direct calls, you know the drill.”

“If I hear from him, I’ll let him know.”

“Thanks Sammy. How’s school goin’?”

Over the crackle of a shitty network connection, Dean heard his brother’s soft chuckle. “Since when do you do small talk?” challenged Sam.

“Fair point,” he conceded.

“Take care of yourself, Jerk.”

“You too, Bitch.”

And that was it. Now that he’d done all he could do for his father, it was time to think about himself. Tossing the ratty ball cap into the back seat, Dean locked up his baby and headed into the bowling alley. On his way to the door, Dean pulled the battery from his newly acquired Tracfone. Mangling the unit as best he could with his bare hands, he then dropped both pieces into a deep puddle as he stepped over it. Then, with that done, he set his sights on a drink.

Entering, Dean headed straight for the bar and made sure that there were at least two empty stools on both sides of him as he sidled up to the bar. He wasn’t here to socialize; he was here to think things through. He ordered a shot of whiskey and downed it before the bartender even stepped away. Motioning for the man to pour another, Dean grimaced when he felt the liquid slip down into his stomach. It gurgled as he sat there with a thumb and two fingers on the refilled glass. Fuck. He could feel his guts twisting.

Getting up from the stool, Dean debated just downing the second shot. But, in the end, he left it and went straight to the men’s room.

Barreling in, he shoved his way into the first stall that had a door and twisted the lock. Panting as he clenched his butt cheeks together, Dean worked his belt and zipper with shaky fingers. The second he was able, he shoved his pants to his knees and dropped to the toilet seat without even checking to see if it was clean.

“Fu-uck,” he groaned, dropping his forehead into his palm. His body emptied itself quite efficiently and there was nothing to do but just breathe through it. His forehead was sweaty by the time he’d finished. When he exited the washroom his drink was still there but he didn’t want it anymore. Easing himself back onto the stool, he rested his eyes on the television that hung over one end of the bar. Around him the low thunder of bowling balls, the clunk and clatter of falling pins, even the din of voices and laughter slowly faded into background noise. The television screen grew blurry as his eyes glazed over and his thoughts turned inward to consider his options.

He could leave if he wanted to. He could leave right now and go as deep underground as he’d just urged his father to go. Doing so would mean leaving the brothel, but he wouldn’t be empty handed. His wages were all electronically deposited into his accounts. A small percentage of his income was always deposited into his checking account, earmarked for incidentals and spending money. That  was money he could access immediately if necessary simply by using his debit card.

The lion's share of his income was automatically divided between a savings account and a retirement account. Those balances were considerable, but they were inaccessible to him at this moment. He wasn’t worried about his money, though, because the accounts were legitimate. His money would stay put, even if Dean didn’t. It would even grow with the interest it earned.  

So, if he wanted to go underground, he could just pull out the balance in his checking account. That would give him plenty of seed money… far more than he’d ever had in his pocket before he started hooking. If he left, he’d have to be careful going forward though, because he wouldn’t be able to access his money without giving away his location.

But, if he did leave, where would he go? What would he do?

Dean had always assumed that if he left the brothel, it would be to return to the hunting life with his father. But at this point, that was out of the realm of possibility. He couldn't safely make contact with the old man now. Even calling him was risky… meeting up with him? Stupid. He’d be doing exactly what the authorities wanted him to do; he’d be leading them to John Winchester.

If he couldn’t meet up with his father, that left Dean with only three real options if he left the brothel. He could return to hunting - alone, he could forget about both hunting and hooking - just go on the run like a fugitive, or he could go to California - and pay his brother a visit as he tries to decide what to do.

Even as he was considering his options, Dean was already thinking of reasons not to leave. First of all, he wasn’t a target right now. What he’d said to his brother had been the truth. If the feds had wanted him, they would have taken him. But, they didn’t. They’re not after him, they’re after John Winchester. He’s the big fish.

Now that they’ve picked Dean’s brain for information, their most logical move was to sit back and watch him… hope that he would eventually lead them to his father. If he stayed, there would be no way he could inadvertently do that.

So, yeah, the more he thought about it, choice was easy. He might as well stay put and keep on living his life. Hell, the feds could even raid his locker and tap his phone if they wanted to - it wouldn’t matter because John wouldn’t be calling it.

Dean had set out to do two things when he’d exited the compound. The first had been to warn his father and the second had been to figure out what action he needed to take next. Having now done both, he let his eyes fall away from the television screen. Looking down at the small glass that he was absentmindedly rolling between his thumb and forefinger, Dean chuckled. He hadn’t taken even a sip. Why bother, right? It would go straight through, and it wouldn’t be pleasant.

Pushing the liquid away, Dean got up from his stool. There was no point in being here anymore. At this point, he was ready to head back to the facility. But on the way there, he might as well have a little fun, right? Looking around the tiny bar area, Dean checked out the local wildlife. Seeing nothing promising, he tossed down a few bills for the drinks and left.

Checking his phone, Dean found a gay bar two exits down and headed that way. Parking once more, he headed inside. Upon entering, he walked right past the bar and out onto the dancefloor. He didn’t really dance, just bobbed his head to the beat as he passed through the sea of writhing bodies, meeting eyes with everyone he brushed against until there was a spark. The one who invoked it was a bit of a surprise, more of a bear than Dean usually went for. But, when their eyes met, it was undeniable. They were both interested.

Continuing on, Dean threaded through the churning bodies and towards the back. When he reached the back wall, he felt a hand on his back guiding him to the left and smirked as he was steered towards the men’s room. He didn’t look behind him as he pushed through the door, but his eye caught glimpses of the man trailing him when he moved past the bank of mirrors over the long row of sinks. The man’s eyes were hungry and his shoulders were broad, and Dean’s asshole gave a little twinge to let him know it was on board.

Between his legs, Dean’s dick seconded the motion. It was still plump in his jeans which was kind of an odd feeling. Normally when he was about to fuck, he would be at full attention and wearing a cock ring. Reaching his destination, the stalls, Dean paused momentarily as his eyes searched for one that was empty. Finding one, he headed straight for it. Stepping inside, he was crowded up against the wall as his new friend pushed in behind him.

“Ya wanna bump?” the guy offered, pulling coke from his pocket.

“Not what I came in here for,” Dean answered, reaching down to cup the man’s package through his pants. Yes, he thought, this dude is packin’.

In an instant he was being roughly spun around, and he couldn’t help but smile as he was thrown forward against the side of the stall. Thrilled with how this was playing out, Dean pushed his ass back against the heavy man and groaned as he felt the stranger’s hands slide around his waist. Keeping his palms against the wall, Dean let the other man do the work of unbuttoning and unzipping him. As it was happening, he could feel his own dick starting to turn over and straighten inside his briefs. A moment later, cool fingers were digging down into the warm, moist cotton that cradled him. They wrapped around his shaft and pulled it out for him, calloused fingers teasing at his cock head for a moment as Dean’s shaft quickly expanded to fill the man’s palm.

Between his cheeks, Dean was flooding with wetness as his lust spiked heavily. Around him, other stall doors clunked open and shut, toilets flushed, men talked and laughed. Through the walls, the muted thump-thump-thump of base was bleeding in from the dancefloor beyond.

Dean arched his back as he enjoyed the feel of a heavy hand starting to jack his cock. The weight of the man behind him was pushing forward now, the outline of a dick pressing across Dean’s butt cheeks at an odd angle. Seeking more, he pushed his ass back into it and rolled his hips.

Suddenly, his cock was abandoned as two hands shot to his waist and rucked down his jeans. Dean shifted his weight from side to side, encouraging his pants to keep sliding down even as his ass was hauled up and back. His chest pitched forward against the wall and he turned his face to the side as he was held there forcefully. This rough treatment was doing something for him and pre-cum beaded heavily at his tip.

“Goddamn,” barked the man behind him, as he spread Dean’s cheeks.

He knew he must be a sight, his hole artfully manicured and ripe for the taking, juicy and wet. “That’s right buddy,” he said with a smirk, “it’s your lucky night.”

The sound of the man’s zipper coming down made Dean’s mouth water. “Bullshit,” said the man behind him as he pressed a fat cock to Dean’s crack, “You feel all that? I think it’s your lucky night.”

Feeling the weight of that dick, Dean couldn’t help but agree. His hips bucked when fingers slid into him, two of them, followed immediately by a third. Rolling his hips as he was finger fucked open, Dean tried to keep quiet. He bit his lip. He turned his face to the inside of his arm. But when those wriggling, exploratory fingers were traded for a hard dick, Dean gasped aloud and began panting as he was breached.

Pushing back against the man’s weight, Dean felt his rim straining as it was spread too wide, too fast. Slippery, though, his body welcomed the intrusion and despite the searing pain, it slid right in. It went deep too, so deep that Dean could fucking feel it in his knees.

His body bowed as it was filled up, and his legs tried to spread wider but couldn’t because his jeans were still wrapped around his knees.

Gritting his teeth as the man pulled back without a moment to adjust, Dean leaned into the wall and tried to ignore the burning sensation in his rim and focus on the carnal, lascivious feel of that wide cock being dragged almost all the way back out of him. He loved the way his muscle clung to the flesh of it, needy and wanting, holding onto the intrusion greedily.

When it plunged back in, a strange mewling sound rose up in the back of his throat and repeated several times as he used the strength of his arms to push back from the wall and seat himself squarely onto that beast of a cock.

Pitched forward again and again by the bigger man humping him from behind, Dean continually drove himself back, working up a sweat as he bore down heavily on that meaty cock. They built speed quickly and it was a wild ride, the low-cost aluminum stall around them practically shaking apart as their weight and momentum tested the limits of its durability.

This stranger fucked Dean exactly the way he wanted tonight - mercilessly.

Between his legs, Dean’s own cock was snapping up and down as he went to town, a near constant string of pre-cum flopping from his tip. Every time it broke and fell away, another began slipping out in its place.  The promise of an impending orgasm had just begun to creep up on him when Dean’s partner suddenly stuttered and came. The man clenched him tightly as he pumped a load up into him, locking their sweaty bodies together and immobilizing Dean completely until he’d finished. He gave a few small, abortive pumps as he rode his pleasure at Dean’s back and when the man pulled out, the slippery load he’d just taken immediately began rolling back out. Dean was left with an aching cock that was still fiery red and leaking profusely, utterly unfulfilled.  

“Oh yeah,” groaned the man, trailing his finger over Dean’s gaping hole to play with his creampie.

“M’not done,” Dean said over his shoulder. “Ya got a buddy you can send in?”

Tucking himself away, the man shoved Dean’s ass to the side so he could open the door. Then, as he stepped out of the stall, he called out to everyone in the bathroom, “Any takers for sloppy seconds?”

Too dizzy with lust to be properly irritated or embarrassed, Dean simply plastered on his most cocky grin as curious men began to gather and peek in at him. He looked out at them, not really seeing the details of their faces but rather with a general awareness of them as interested parties. They were strangers, but they probably wanted what he did. To fuck.

When they began to encroach, Dean stood there, still bent forward a bit with his pants down around his knees and tried to choose one. His hole was sopping wet and so was the head of his aching dick. He needed a release desperately and though the last guy had gotten him close, he wasn’t there yet. Empty inside, he couldn’t wait another second. He also didn’t want to have to choose. So, instead of trying to pick one, he simply addressed them all as he shouted, “Line up boys, I’m gonna go all night.”

In response, a collective cheer went up and the men surged forward, pushing and shoving towards the front. When one managed to grapple his way into the stall, he said, “I’m Paul.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Dean sneered, shoving his hands down to undo the man’s fly.

The excited banter among those waiting was both approving of him and disparaging of him at the same time but Dean didn’t pay much attention other than to be aware that he was the center of attention right now. No matter what they said aloud, every single one of these men wanted a fucking piece of him and Dean knew why. He was a hot piece of ass.  

As the new man’s jeans fell from his hips, the two of them moved to accommodate one another in their small space. By silent agreement, they left the door of the stall open. Dean bent down and tugged off a shoe, eager to at least get one leg free of his jeans. As he did so, the new guy was giving his cock a few pulls to get it ready. Once again assuming the position, Dean took a deep breath as he leaned forward against the wall again. His new friend was immediately shoving in from behind. It was impossible to keep quiet with spectators cheering them on, so Dean went ahead and let loose. He moaned wantonly as the two of them sank into it, enjoying the freedom of finally being able to spread his legs as wide as he wanted while he took it. They quickly built up speed together as he shouted instructions and encouragement over his shoulder, one hand steadily jerking himself off as he was fucked hard and fast.

One by one, others entered the stall in turn. Each did their worst, climaxed, and then retreated as some of their spend dribbled back out of him. His mind was a hazy blur of carnal excitement as he chased orgasm after orgasm. He paid no mind to the ache in his back, the dryness in his throat, or the ribbons of opaque fluid that trickled down his inner thighs. But, at one point, he did become vaguely aware that the power behind his orgasms was diminishing as they grew numerous.

As usual, he was overcome by the urge to seek another and another, to get off as many times as he could before finally passing out. But, on some level, Dean’s mind was flailing to catch his attention. It was as if there were a small voice urgently calling to him from a great distance - barely audible. He didn’t want to pay attention, but he knew that he had to.

No matter how much fun he was having now, he’d be a fool to forget that he wasn’t being looked after here. If he passed out, there would be no one to gently haul him away and clean him up, massage his aching muscles or see him safely to a comfortable bed. Anything could happen to him if he lost consciousness in this place.

The best case scenario would be waking stiff and sore and filthy on the nasty floor of this bathroom and having to drag himself back to the facility looking and smelling like he’d been gang raped in an alley. It was hard to even imagine the worst case, but it probably involved waking up shackled in some psycho’s basement.

The thought was sobering, even if it was only entertained in some small corner of his mind. So, as his orgasms began to loose their punch, Dean fought the instinct to call out for two at a time. Instead, while he still had the ability to fight if he needed to, Dean yelled that the next guy would be the last.

Turning away from the wall for his last fuck, Dean pushed the new man down onto the toilet when he entered. Crawling into his lap, Dean positioned himself over the man’s ready cock and easily sank down onto him. Groaning as he was once again filled, Dean found that changing positions had helped renew his body’s interest - this fresh angle bringing back anticipatory tingles that had long ago gone numb while he’d been braced against the wall and repeatedly defiled.

This last guy was well endowed. Ruggedly handsome too, with the exception of an unfortunate haircut. He reached around Dean’s thighs and encircled him, lifting as Dean leaned back so as to assist in thrusting and bear some of the workload. Thrilled to have his last fuck be such a good one, Dean quickly became vocal as he was maneuvered up and down on this perfect stranger’s dick. He could feel his rim spreading wide over the base of it each time his weight was lowered and his stomach curled in anticipation when the carnal pleasure began building steadily at his core.

Giving himself over completely, Dean threw his head back and lifted his legs. Resting his calves on the man’s shoulders, Dean let his body tip back even further. The man beneath him tightened his grip on Dean to keep him from pitching over backwards and from that position, Dean was able to use his legs to assist with their thrusting, leveraging himself against the man’s strong shoulders.

Once they had a good rhythm going, Dean let his head fall the rest of the way back and opened his glassy eyes to watch the spectators as he was ravished. They were upside down to him, and the effect was dizzying and wild. It heightened his pleasure.

With multiple climaxes under his belt, Dean’s dick had mostly gone limp with no cock ring to keep it stiff. But, he could still feel it rolling around between his legs in varying stages of plumpness as he artfully rode the dick on which he was impaled.

Closing in on the climax, Dean began calling out that he was close. The upside down faces of his audience grinned ferally as they touched themselves and eagerly egged him on. Grunting with the effort of bouncing Dean on his cock, his partner began falling out of their perfect rhythm.

Swinging one leg down from the man’s shoulder, Dean put his left foot to the floor because it was the one that still had a shoe on. Finding purchase there, he was able to support his own weight and share the workload.  He was breathing heavily, they both were, sweaty and straining as they approached the end together.

As their slow and steady build suddenly sped up and swept over him, Dean felt his stomach turn a somersault. His body went rigid as it happened, incapable of coordinated movement as the rising swell of endorphins overtook him. Every cell in his body was ringing and vibrating in that moment. His exhausted pecker even managed to pulse  out a few more drops of cum as it happened.

When the best of his moment had come and gone, Dean opened his eyes and started moving again. Holding out for the man beneath him, Dean kept going until they’d both come. Watching unabashedly, Dean couldn’t help but grin at the man’s facial expressions as he found momentary bliss. When those clenched eyes fluttered back open again, Dean was surprised to find himself being hauled back upright and embraced tightly. Since they were both sweaty and sticky, the makeshift hug was less than comfortable. But Dean found it endearing.

In the aftermath, they peeled apart and Dean was surprised by how decent the man was, helping him to his feet and announcing to the small crowd of onlookers that the show was over now. Closing the stall door as the audience begrudgingly dispersed, both of them began wriggling back into their pants. “That was insane,” his partner whispered,  “What’s your name, man?”

“No names,” Dean replied, pulling his shoe back on. “This was a one-off.”

“That’s too bad. You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“You can come see me at Hell’s Angels then,” Dean told him, giving the name of his establishment, “but it’ll cost ya.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” grinned the companionable stranger, resting his hand on Dean’s shoulder for a second when he stepped out.

Dean followed, pausing at the sinks to wash his sticky hands. Doing the same next to him, the nameless man didn’t even seem put off by the fact that Dean had just admitted to being an honest-to-god whore. His face remained open and friendly while they cleaned up, his glances at Dean conveying a sense of approval that was both unexpected and strangely reassuring.

Using a wet paper towel to dab his sweaty face and gritty neck, Dean ignored the pointed stares of those who still watched them.

There was nothing he could do about the disgusting mess in his underwear and it was getting worse by the second. So he turned and left with his only hope being that he might get out of the club before the wetness had a chance to soak through the thick denim.

Pushing through the crowded bar, Dean ignored the siren call of alcohol. He could come back tomorrow and get wasted if he wanted to, but for tonight it was best to avoid anything that might make a bigger mess in his pants.

The bottle-fed juice given out at the brothel was a gift from the gods when it was fuck time. But it was damned inconvenient when a guy had his mind on almost any non sexual desire… especially eating and drinking. A few sips of water between lays? Not a problem. A shot of whiskey or a glass of beer, however, was a huge problem… a gut-punching, asshole-burning problem.

When he finally got back to his car, Dean was cautious about sliding in behind the wheel. Already his hole was protesting movement of any kind, stinging and sore and aching with abuse. At this point, so much was pooled between his cheeks that when he lowered himself gingerly to the seat, it felt like he’d sat down in a dirty diaper. It was so disgusting that he physically cringed as he slowly settled his weight into the warm and sticky mess of it.

He’d been foolish to do what he’d done and he knew it. But, feeling satisfied now, it was hard to regret any of it. Thankfully, though several men had stayed to watch his big finish, none had attempted to press for more or take him against his will. He owed that last guy a favor for helping him put an end to the gang bang, and, at this moment, was starting to feel guilty for so bluntly refusing to exchange names.

Resting behind the wheel for a bit, he listened to Zep as he came down from the incredible rush of having engaged in some raunchy public sex. Then, as the music played on, Dean navigated out of the parking lot and back towards the interstate. With the hour having grown late, it was now too cold to have his window rolled all the way down. He did leave it cracked though, enjoying the refreshing effect of cool air ghosting over his skin and through his hair. He sang along with Robert Plant as he drove and when he finally made it back to the facility, Dean found his legs feeling a bit stronger.

For some reason, though, he was reluctant to get up and go inside. Sitting in his parked car, Dean wanted nothing more than to clean up the unholy slop he was sitting in. But the walk ahead was daunting to him. Even just sitting here, the pain radiating from between his cheeks was substantial. Every step he was about to take would bring a measure of agony, especially since the raw tissue around his rim would be wet with salty spunk as he made his way inside.

It was strange, but he’d noticed that the after effects of a rough fuck were much more noticeable in the outside world than were back home in the facility. The only explanation he could conjure was that the TLC lavished on him in the salon made a huge difference in how he was left feeling when the heat of the moment had faded.

The unwelcome sensation of a giant cream pie cooling against his skin was what finally gave Dean the incentive to get up and get moving. Slowly and carefully, he got to his feet, locked up his car, and hobbled back inside. Thankfully, there was no one else around as he made his way back to the main building, and he was free to just focus on getting there, rather than on having to grit his teeth and try to walk like his asshole wasn’t on fucking fire right now.

Checking back in was a pain in the ass, as usual, but when his physical state had been noted, Dean was offered the use of the salon. He accepted gratefully and then tried to be patient as he waited for a handler to be summoned. Stripping down when prompted, he tossed his sullied clothes into the plastic bag provided and signed its contents over to the in-house laundry service. His shoes were held for him at the desk along with his wallet, keys, phone, and laptop.

Led to the salon, Dean found himself being deposited at Charlie’s station. “It’s my lucky night,” he said with a genuine smile.

Taking in his appearance with a raised eyebrow, she said, “Yeah, I can see that. Where’d ya go?”

“Some club east of here.”

“The Spin?” she asked, probably trying to figure out where he’d been.

“Don’t remember,” he confessed, following the gesture of her hand to position himself over the drain in the floor. Letting his eyes drift shut as he waited for her to turn on the water, he asked, “How ya been?”

“Pretty good,” she answered. “Temperature okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighed softly, as a light stream of water sprinkled over his thigh. “Maybe a little hotter,” he added, then, “What’cha been up to?”

“Oh not much really. Went to a reproductive rights fund-raiser the other night.”

“Didja hook up?”

“Aw, aren’t you precious,” she teased, walking a circle around him as she rinsed his body. “Of course I did. It’s not even a question.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Yeah. I’ve got a march coming up this weekend too. Everyone’s coming over tomorrow to make signs and stuff.”

“What’s the cause?”

“We’re pushing for a return to the federal and state run court system with some revisions to the process.”

“I thought that system was flawed… corrupt… only beneficial to the rich. Isn’t that why they revamped it in the first place?”

“Well, yeah,” she answered, “but the new system is just tainted with a different kind of corruption. And you wouldn’t think it, but the rich still have a huge advantage.”

“Why’s that?”

“Hey, do you want a douche?” she asked, pausing with her hand on the bottle of soap.

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

Reaching for a little kit in lieu of the soap, she began opening it as she answered his question. “Think about it, Dean, we all have to declare allegiance to some religion and then subject ourselves to its morals and judgements.”

“Always seemed fair to me,” he countered. “I mean, if you’re not a believer, then you choose to be atheist or join the church of the non-declared. It’s not like we actually have to put on funny hats or even attend services, we’re just labeling ourselves based on what we believe, even if what we believe is that we don’t wanna believe.”

“It works in theory,” she agreed. “Especially since we’re all held accountable for our actions based on our own beliefs rather than someone else’s. But Dean, where do churches get their money?”

“Donations, I guess.”

“Okay, so how are they supposed to be impartial during court proceedings and sentencing when they’re beholden to their biggest donors?”

“Fair point, Red, I’d never really thought about that before.”

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, the actual punishments haven’t been fitting the crimes. At least, not in the cases of the super-wealthy.”

“I haven’t been noticing much,” he confessed, hating to admit it. “I mean, I skim the headlines on my days off, but that’s about the extent of my civic involvement these days.”

“Maybe you should come to the march. We’ve got a great speaker lined up. She’s incredible. Inspirational. I bet you’d get a lot out of it.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, not very interested in attending but not wanting to hurt her feelings either. Moving the conversation along he looked up at her coyly and asked, “You got a date for this event?”

“Ha, why limit myself, right?”

Grinning as he gestured between them, Dean chuckled and said, “It’s like we’re one mind.”

Dean could feel himself relaxing as he was cleaned up. She moved on to lathering him from head to toe and he listened attentively while she explained the platform she was hoping to help establish if the court system could be pulled away from religious groups and put back in the hands of government. As he listened, he was surprised by the insightfulness of the model she was outlining, one that took money out of the system entirely. He asked a few clarifying questions and then carefully filed the information away in his head so that he could talk to his brother about it. It seemed a safe bet that Sam, always so idealistic, would have some strong opinions on the matter. After all, these issues greatly affected his future career as a lawyer: who he’d be employed by and how he was compensated as well as the methodology behind how cases were argued. And, to be honest, Dean was finding himself very impressed with Charlie’s observations.

Despite being surprisingly interested in a political discussion for once, Dean was growing tired. His legs were weak and shaky, a residual effect of the night’s activities, and by the time he was being spread out on the massage table, his eyelids were heavy and eager to slip closed. He stretched indulgently as Charlie began working his muscles into relaxation, the soothing oils she used wrapping him in a comfortable scent. She paid special attention to his backside, applying a combination of products to the battered tissue around his rim. The searing pain that had been eating away at him earlier was doused now and he could smell witch hazel mixed in with a cloying scent, also familiar but unnameable. They continued chatting off and on as her talented hands restored his body, but eventually he began slipping away.

When it was time to get up, he didn’t want to leave. “Just cover me up,” he sighed. “I’ll sleep right here.”

“Sorry,” she said softly, gently stroking his forehead, “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

“Gotcha, Red.” Rolling to his side and sitting up, Dean hopped down from the table and stepped into the robe she held up for him. Then he waited for her to attach a lead to his collar and cuffs. They said goodnight as his rope was given over to Gordon. Even the self-righteous presence of Dean’s least favorite handler couldn’t kill the warmth and good feelings that his friend had massaged into him.

Aborting progress as they stepped out into the hall and turned left, Dean stopped in his tracks. “M’not goin’ to my cage tonight,” he said firmly. Tipping his chin to the right to indicate that a change in direction was needed, he told Gordon that he wanted to go to the resting area instead. “I’m off tomorrow,” he offered as an explanation.

“Yeah, I saw that,” sneered Gordon, “but you’re always sayin’ how you like your damned cage so I’m surprised you’d wanna sleep anywhere else.”

“Fuck off,” Dean grumbled, too tired to bother coming up with a better retort. Once he was back in the resting wing, Dean was liberated of his cuffs and collar. Stepping back up to the reception desk, he claimed the personal items he’d left there when checking back in. Dropping everything into his locker, Dean then headed to the resting room.

Because it was so late, the overhead lights were low. Along the wall to his left was the bank of windows that looked out over the courtyard. Curtains had been drawn over them, and the sets of tables and chairs nearby were vacant except for one. At the occupied table were two young women looking comfortable in their robes and leaning in as they both looked closely at something on the screen of a laptop.

The far end of the room was dominated by a wide fireplace and over its mantle was a huge television screen. On it, a movie was playing. Sprawled lazily on the couches clustered in that area were several people who had gathered to watch together. Extra pillows and blankets were strewn about and empty cups and plates littered the low coffee table at the center.

Turning to his right, Dean eyed the long line of beds that banked the other wall. Only a few were visible. The rest, currently occupied, had their privacy curtains drawn. This spacious room seemed considerably smaller with a wall of heavy, dark material cutting down the available floor space as it protected those sleeping in beds from both sound and light.

Walking down to one of the three available beds, Dean pulled the curtain shut before dropping his robe on the bedside chair and climbing between the crisp, fresh sheets. Now that he’d alerted his family to the situation with Novak, Dean felt relieved of all stress. Still sated from his voracious activities at the club and drowsy from an incredible massage, sleep came easily and lasted all night.

When he woke, Dean was ravenous and excited to eat. Out of habit he reached for his cell phone to check messages, then remembered that it was in his locker. There had been no point in keeping it with him when he knew no one would be calling.

Suffering through the indignity of a soiled diaper was a bit of a buzz kill, but once that was behind him, Dean hunkered down to enjoy several trips to the buffet. With the clock poised midway between breakfast and lunch, both types of food were available and he enjoyed a heaping plate of rich breakfast food before returning for a fresh plate. Loading it with sliced roast beef and potatoes, he poured several ladlesful of dark gravy over the whole plate. Pausing at the dessert bar with his tray, Dean grabbed a plate of his favorite pie as well as a few cookies before returning to his table.

Keeping him company today was an older man named Frank. Frank was easily Dean’s favorite handler to eat with. Having his diaper changed by the man had never been pleasant and it would definitely take a coin toss to determine which of them hated the procedure with more gusto. But, if you were going to spend an hour or more making repeated trips to the buffet as you leisurely stuffed your face, Frank was the best person to have with you.

Dean didn’t have to utter a word the entire time. He enjoyed his meal, nodding occasionally as the man regaled him with endless tales of government conspiracy theory that were intriguing and well thought out. Honestly, half of them may have even been true for all Dean knew. Most of the information that Frank provided was well researched and logically sound. As always, Dean was captivated.

When they parted company, Dean inquired if he’d still be on the clock during the dinner hour. Pleased with the affirmative response he received, he didn’t even pause before inviting the man to join him for a second meal that day. Frank seemed surprised to be invited, but quickly agreed to be there.

Dividing his afternoon hours between a short nap and a Dr. Sexy marathon on the couch next to a crackling fire, Dean eventually ambled back to the dining hall. Once again he relaxed while he ate, listening to his paranoid handler spin yarns about the layered intricacies of political games and government espionage.

When he couldn’t eat another bite, Dean let out a long and satisfied sigh. Frank seemed to sense that his time to talk was coming to an end because he actually sped up, talking so fast that his accompanying gestures were wild. Chuckling as he got to his feet, Dean leaned across the table and thanked him. Glancing down at the electronic notebook that handlers carried, Dean saw that the man hadn’t entered any notes on what Dean had eaten. He’d probably get in trouble for that and Dean hated the thought. So, as he turned to go, he said, “I had three plates, man. Fried chicken and potatoes, ham with macaroni and cheese, and… hell, let’s just say that last plate was full of fruit and vegetables, right?”

“Right,” grinned the old man, chuckling as he bent down to type out the little white lie.

Heading back to the registration desk, Dean made a brief stop at his locker for his cuffs and collar. A quick check of his phone confirmed that, as expected, he had no messages. He turned it off and left it behind, spinning the lock as he walked away.

Once he was back in the working wing, Dean was processed through a nurse in preparation for returning to work tomorrow. His blood was tested, his vitals were taken, and before he left, he received his injection. A few minutes later, as he was being walked down to the sleeping room, it began to kick in.

The flaccid cock that had dangled between his legs, mostly forgotten until now, twitched to life. It plumped as he walked, and the sensual feeling of it bobbing as he walked spread a wave of warm arousal over him.

“Welcome back little buddy,” teased Meg, making a show of watching his dick grow while she fumbled her keycard into the reader. “You’ve got some work to do in the morning,” she wheedled, her voice taking on the same sickening sweetness that a mother might use as she baby-talked to a toddler. Then, her eyes grew steely and defiant as she looked back up Dean and added, “but that’s a long time from now, isn’t it Dean?”

Groaning as he entered the room, he considered asking her to be knocked out. But, with the smug look she was wearing, he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction. He ignored her as they walked down the long line of cages to arrive at his. To the right, Kevin’s cage lay empty. The kid was probably still hard at work in the rec room.

On the other side, however, Benny’s cage was occupied. “Evenin’ brotha,” the man greeted as Meg swung open the door for Dean.

Bending to crawl inside, Dean plopped down on his mattress and waited for Meg to remove his restraints. “S’up Benny?” he asked with a smile, “you done playin’ big bear for the day?”

“All-comers satisfied,” he replied smugly. “Were you off today?”

“Yep. But I’m back on tomorrow,” he said, his attention still lingering on Meg as  she made her exit.

“I can see that,” said his friend. When Dean returned his eyes to Benny, he saw the man grinning at him wickedly, eyes falling heavily to the rock-hard cock that now stood tall and proud between Dean’s legs. Unable to resist, Dean dropped his own eyes to Benny’s package as well and the two groaned audibly, both seeming to want the same thing.

“Touch it,” Benny ordered, his chin rising as his dominant side presented itself.

“No way,” sighed Dean, flopping down on the mattress. “That’ll just make it worse and I’m in for a long night as it is.”

“I hear ya,” his friend sighed, also laying down.

The men both spent a moment getting as comfortable as they could and then laid there staring at one another between the bars that separated them.

“Wish we could share cages,” Benny relented.

“Yeah,” agreed Dean, voice dropping low so as not to be overheard. “But I can see why it’s not allowed. I mean, you don’t even know the things I’d let you do to me in here. By the time they came to get me tomorrow, there’d be nothin’ left for the customers.”

“Hell, Dean,” admitted Benny softly, “some nights it ain't even about that. Don’tcha ever just ache to hold somebody? I sure do.”

“I s’pose,” he allowed. Then, in a halfway teasing tone, he added, “Hey man, if you wanna get a bear or something to hold, that’s cool with me. No judgement here.”

“Don’t need no fuckin’ teddy bear,” the man grumbled, thumping his fist on the mattress. “I need a real body in my arms, Dean. I need my-

Dean stared at his friend in the low light. Having heard a telltale crack in the man’s voice, Dean knew he was feeling emotional. Probably lonely. He wanted to say something comforting but nothing came to mind. Words weren’t really his thing.

A few feet away, Benny averted his eyes and tried again. “Man, I just… some nights I just need… I need my sweetheart, Dean. I need her.”

“Who’s your sweetheart?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Andrea,” sighed the man, whispering her name with reverence.

“What’s she like?”

“Beautiful,” he answered, tilting his head to meet Dean’s eye once more. “Tall. Greek. All dark skin and light eyes, taller even than me - when she puts on heels. Walks like a snake charmer, man, and catches every eye in the room the minute she walks in.”

“What’s she like?”

“Intense. She’s like a thunderstorm bearin’ down on a ship at sea. You can feel her comin’ before you even see her, and you don’t even bother tryin’ to get outta her way ‘cause it’s worth sinkin’ in the storm just to get close to that raw power… to really see her. The best place in the world to be, Dean, is the eye of that storm.”

“Well fuck,” he groaned, “never even met her and you’ve got me wantin’ to get a look.”

“She’s somethin’,” Benny smiled, eyes glazed over as though actually seeing her now.

“What happened? Where is she?”

“She’s out to sea, I imagine,” said Benny, still sounding wistful. “We’ve got a dream. And both of us are doin’ everything we can to see it through.”

“What’s the dream?”

“Sailin’ my friend. Sailin’ around the world under our own flag.”

“I see,” Dean smiled. “So that’s why you’re here? Savin’ up enough to buy a yacht?”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that. I can do jus’ as good here as I can stealin’ boats n’ scrappin’ them out, which is what I was doin’ when I met her.”

“And what was she doin’ when you met?”

“Same thing she is now, brotha, sailin’ the Caribbean with one fat cat after another. She can milk money from a old man like a country maiden milks a damn cow.”

“So that’s the plan? You guys split up, save up, and then retire together? Spend your golden years drifting around from one island to another?”

“Yeah, you get it. I knew you would. The idea is to set ourselves up for retirement before we’re too old to really enjoy it.”

“Sounds smart.”

“What about you, Winchester? What’s your big plan?”

“Aint got one.”

“Bullshit. I know you better than that. You’ve got an angle you’re workin’, I know it. And now that I’ve toldja mine, you gotta tell me yours. It’s the only decent thing to do.”

“Well, I’m savin’ for retirement too,” he sighed. “I just don’t have a perfect storm out there wait’n for me like you do.”

“These things happen in their own time,” said Benny sagely. “And since can’t neither of us have what we really want tonight, maybe we should jus’ have a little fun our own way.”

Locked into a deep gaze with his friend, Dean felt his resolve weakening. “Ben-

“C’mon Dean, you know you wanna touch it with me watchin’ ya. It’s better that way, right? Havin’ a set of eyes on ya while it happens… knowin’ they’re achin’ to touch you just as much as you’re achin’ to be touched.”


“Do it.”

Dean didn’t move, but he didn’t look away from the steel-blue eyes that bored into him either. He laid there, flat on his back with his head turned towards the next cage and his eager cock straining upwards in the hopes that something was about to happen.

“Do it,” Benny said again, more firmly this time. “Do it for me, Dean. Grab that perfect dick the way I would if I could.”

On the mattress, Dean’s fingers twitched. As always, he was eager to obey. Slowly, hesitantly, Dean lifted his arm, still not sure if he was willing to risk it. But then movement caught his eye and he broke Benny’s heavy stare to follow it, eyes chasing the movement the man’s hand where it had lifted from the mattress. Seeing that hand rise and then stop, poised in mid-air just a few inches away from the triumphant cock that stood waiting, Dean lost the battle. Licking his lips as he surrendered, his eyes stayed locked on Benny’s thick fingers as his own came to circle his shaft.

Both men let out a relieved groan as their palms wrapped around flesh. There was one glorious moment of fulfillment and then suddenly there was a loud clatter between their bars, an explosion of sound that sent Dean’s heart bounding in double time as he leapt to his knees and scuttled away from the clamber as a billy club was beaten against the outside of his cage.

“Gotcha,” gloated Meg in the silence that followed. Her features were smug as she looked back and forth between him and Benny. “Congratulations boys, you’ve both earned yourselves a cockcage for the night.”

“Fuck,” they both cursed in unison. Dean clenched his eyes against the sound as Benny kicked out angrily at his own bars. Even just his bare foot was enough to rattle the cage. Meg walked away then, presumably to fetch the equipment and another handler to help her force it upon them. There would be an incident report as well, Dean was sure of it.

“Fuck,” he spat again. Turning to look at Benny, Dean saw the guy turning on his side to face Dean.

“May as well go for it now,” his friend urged, grabbing his cock and starting to jack off. “At this point we’re busted anyway, right? May as well fucking get off.”

Finding himself in agreement, Dean turned his body too. He mirrored Benny’s pose, each of them giving the other a full frontal view as they gripped themselves tight and went to town. Jacking feverishly, Dean felt his body responding, not just to his own hand but also to the thrill of being watched and the excitement of the game as they both tried to cum before anyone could get their dicks under lock and key.

Dean was building fast, huffing and puffing as he watched Benny get himself off, neither of them bothering to keep quiet anymore. “Fuck,” he groaned, hearing the approach of footsteps, He wasn’t close enough. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, he pleaded, keeping his eyes on the live show happening one cage over and desperately hoping to come.

Again, the heart stopping clatter of a club on his bars assaulted his ears and sent his balls shooting back up inside his body. It was impossible to cum now. Defeated he dropped to the mattress in a huff as his cage door was swung open. Gordon was pulling now, jerking his arm and roughly tugging him out of the cage against his will. Dean knew the move that this man would use to subdue him and he knew how to evade it. He was, after all, a hunter. He’d tangled with far worse than Gordon and come out on top. But as much as he wanted to put the man in his place, Dean knew that in the long run it would be a mistake to follow his instincts and hand this man his ass. He didn’t want to have to deal with the increased security measures that would be put into place for him in the coming weeks if he indulged. He also didn’t want to be given any involuntary time off or assessed a financial penty. So, as much as he hated to do it, Dean let Gordon haul him to his feet and spin him. He took a deep breath to calm himself as his wrists were bound and tethered to the bars of his own cage. Behind him, Dean could hear others doing the same to Benny.

His cock was unceremoniously doused into a bucket of cold water and as he hissed in displeasure, Meg pressed up against his side to trap his cold, wet flesh in a little metal cage. “And here I thought I’d be bored tonight,” she purred, practically giddy as she locked down his dick.

“I don’t like to use the word cunt,” he said to her boldly. “But for you…

“Take it easy, Dean,” Meg practically purred. Her voice velvety smooth and dripping with false sweetness. “You’re already wearing a cage. You want a set of ankle cuffs too? Push your luck, big boy, and I might wind up having grounds to anchor you to the four corners of your cage. All. Night. Long.”

He had no idea if she’d be able to make good on the threat or not, but he wasn’t going to chance it and find out. He stood obediently and waited while his poor little cock was examined under a flashlight to be sure he it was properly locked and that his member was uninjured. He didn’t resist when he was manhandled back into his cage, either.

He laid on his mattress for a long time, fuming and frustrated. Then, when he’d finally calmed enough to trust his temper, he called for a handler.

Thankfully, neither Meg or Gordon was the one to answer. “What do you need?” asked the one who stepped up.

“I need something to help me sleep,” he answered, keeping his eyes shut tightly as he made his request. From close by he heard Benny softly say, “Me too.”

Waking from chemically induced sedation was always kind of a blurry affair, a slow process of bringing his sluggish body back to the land of the living. But, as when he was coming around the next morning, Dean made a focused effort not to dwell on what had happened the night before. Today was a sex day and he was eager to get out and play.

He drank his juice like a good boy and followed his handler obediently as he was led to the salon. Cared for by Lydia today, there wasn’t much to be said. He just stayed quiet and followed her instructions as she gave him an emema, scrubbed him clean, waxed him, and prepared him for the Gallery.

Dean’s excitement grew incrementally as the time for him to be auctioned off grew closer. By the time he was shoved through the door, he’d long forgotten about last night. Flashing his best smile, Dean strutted out to center stage and surveyed the crowd as the bidding got under way.

Striding forward to get a closer look, Dean let his eyes rove over the audience as he tried to choose which he favored today.

He didn’t actually have a strong desire for any particular type of fuck today, which was unusual for Dean but not unheard of. He was just mellow for some reason, ready to take whatever came his way rather than being focused on a particular mood or kink or type of customer. Maybe it was a lingering effect of the sedative that had helped him sleep through the night.

Regardless, Dean simply posed for the crowd and showed himself off as his number went up. He glanced up at it a few times, making a show of reacting to it. He pantomimed shock and then bashfulness as the bidding kept on and the crowd laughed along, whistling and cheering for him. When the bell rang to indicate a winner, Dean looked out into the crowd to get a look at who he’d be entertaining.

That’s when his heart leapt up into his throat.

Standing there, stiff as a board amidst the commotion of the surrounding crowd, was none other than Agent Novak.


Chapter Text


Center stage in the Gallery, Dean stood and stared at his winning bidder. The man in the trenchcoat didn’t posture as he had the last time he’d won Dean’s auction. He didn’t square his shoulders, nor did he lift his chin and stare down from beneath a sexy arching eyebrow. His body posture made no promises of a sensual battle of wills or even hinted at the desire for one.

Amidst the energetic crowd, Agent Novak stood perfectly still and his eyes narrowed to slits as the two of them stared one another down.

Determined not to break first, Dean focused solely on staring and let the rest of the world fall away. In the back of his mind, he was coming to grips with the reality of the situation… that he wouldn’t be getting laid. His first and best fuck of the day was to be utterly wasted on a man who had absolutely no sexual inclination towards him whatsoever. Not only that, but he’d need to keep his wits about him. Agent Novak seemed to be well versed in interrogation techniques, constantly changing the subject and then returning to the main line of questioning from unexpected angles. The tactic had been effective last time, pulling several admissions from Dean that might’ve been damaging to his father and offering up new avenues from which the agent could come at him for information. This time he’d have to be smarter. Stronger. And, yeah, he’d have to shut the fuck up .

Still staring at the trenchcoated man in the gallery, Dean paid zero attention to the crowd as their applause died down. He paid no heed to the voices of not one but two handlers that had called to him from the doorway and then  continued calling to him as they approached. He didn’t turn away from the agent, even when he felt their rough hands on him.

The snap of a lead being attached to his collar registered on some level, but Dean was entirely focused on his stare-down with Novak and he didn’t devote any conscious awareness to the rest of the world until he was physically tugged away by his throat.

When eye contact was broken by no fault of his own, Dean snapped back to the real world to take in the environment around him. There was a strange hush over the crowd and the low hum of whispers as auction goers spoke to one another in hushed tones about the strange turn of events happening on stage.

In his time at the brothel, Dean had witnessed few auctions other than his own so he had only a vague idea of what was normal. But for him, normal was to both enter and exit to cheers and excitement from the crowd, not curious speculation. He’d never been dragged away either, and he wasn’t sure if anyone ever had. He didn’t make it easy on those who’d pulled him away either, because deep down he was angry over the injustice of what was happening to him.

At the moment, Dean was freshly ramped up on a powerful hormone cocktail - one that propelled his desire to fuck into the stratosphere. His needs were strong physically and it wouldn’t be easy to fight them. Just like his last encounter with Novak, Dean’s condition would put him at a disadvantage for questioning and he knew it. Clearly Novak knew it too, and would use that knowledge ruthlessly. It wasn’t fair.

Dean wasn’t a prisoner in this place. He was here of his own volition and was free to refuse service to anyone. In fact, he could report unpleasant experiences to management and have customers placed on warning lists or even barred. But that knowledge was of little comfort now. Dean had been suspecting, since his ‘quid pro quo’ questioning last time, that his cooperation was only Plan A for Novak. He was fairly certain that if he tried to decline service to Novak or have the man barred, he’d be taken into custody. So, he had no choice. Not really.

At present, he was being physically dragged from the Gallery and soon he’d be tethered to the back wall of a small room where he’d be left alone with Agent Novak. Suddenly, Dean felt like a fool. He’d honestly thought that his session with the agent had been a one time thing. He’d assumed the man would take the little bit of information that Dean had unwittingly given over last time and go put it to use… pound the pavement looking for Dean’s father… and somehow be unaware that Dean had sent word to John Winchester that he’d better step up his hiding game.

But no. That wasn’t to be the way of it, he could see that now. Novak would keep coming back until he had what he wanted.

Once he’d been pulled through the gallery exit, Dean stopped resisting. He’d wanted to be sure that the agent knew he’d only broken eye contact when physically forced to do so. But now that he was no longer in view of the public, Dean immediately gave up all pretenses of fighting his handlers. “Sorry, guys,” he said, dropping his arms to his sides. “I’m done fightin’ ya.”

Puzzled faces looked him up and down. “I mean it,” he assured them. “There’s just somethin’ personal between me and the dude that just bought me. I guess I kinda freaked out for a sec. But I’m fine now. Good to go, ‘kay?”

The lead handler, identifiable by the color of his shirt, which singled him out as an authority figure, looked him directly in the eye and said, “Do you wish to decline servicing him?”


“Do you wish to enter a formal complaint about the customer?”

“No, man, it’s cool. I’m good to go.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you know that right?”

“I know, and thanks. I just overreacted is all. You can take me to the room.”

Taking a step back, the leader then nodded to the others and everyone relaxed. Dean waited to be led, even though he knew exactly which direction to go. When prompted, he followed. He let himself be taken to the room designated for him and took a deep breath as he was guided inside. In his periphery, he could see that the lead handler was lingering in the doorway to watch Dean and he knew that because of his theatrics, the man would likely seat himself at the camera and watch his entire session with Novak. He’d want to be sure that if an intervention was needed, optimal reaction time would be achieved.

Dean leaned into the wall as he was anchored to it by cuffs and collar. It was strange to imagine his time here at the brothel being over, but it was. It had to be. Novak had seen to that when he’d returned for another round of questioning. The guy would keep coming back, Dean could see that now. He’d buy Dean over and over again, relentlessly interrogating him. Eventually, one of two things would happen. Either Dean would slip up and give the man what he wanted, or he’d be taken into custody when Novak finally realized that Dean was a nut he couldn’t crack.

With a deep sigh, Dean accepted that it was time to leave Hell’s Angels. The details of how exactly that would happen needed to be ironed out immediately, but it wasn’t smart to be thinking about that now. At this moment, his full attention needed to be on his session with Novak.

Dean knew that when the ninety minutes were over, he’d be taken to the Salon for rejuvenation. Then he could turn his attention to the specifics of getting the hell out of here. In the meantime, he’d do his best to keep a clear head and not let anything slip to the detective, agent, whatever.

Dean’s body was working against him, though. His asshole was wet with slick, quivering for action. His dick was hard in it’s cockring and only cool where it made contact with the cinderblock wall to which he was bound. The rest of his manhood was hot and needy and, from his tip, it pulsed dribbles of pre-cum as it waited impatiently to shoot the first of many loads. He needed a clear head but in the absence of one, he’d just have to do his best.

Dean was determined to be stronger this time, to abstain from begging. His last encounter with the agent had been humiliating and he hoped to come through this one with a bit more dignity. Of course he’d have to appear frustrated by the questioning, which wasn’t really an issue, and he’d have to answer as many questions as possible to seem at least minimally cooperative, but he couldn’t actually divulge anything that might be dangerous to his old man. It was also important that he not give any indication of his plans to leave the brothel. Figuring out how to hide his money and get off grid would be hard enough without having some government agent two steps ahead of him the whole time. Ugh. There were so many obstacles now, when just a few days ago his life had been so simple.

From behind him, Dean heard the familiar sound of the door being opened. He was out of time to think.

“Hello, Dean.”

Shit. His body was betraying him already. Just the sound of that voice did things to him. Deep and husky, promising dominance, that voice resonated with Dean. It made his cock stand up a little straighter, stand at attention. It made his eager hole quiver with anticipation. It made his knees weak, willing to abandon the duty of holding him up in favor of letting him crumble to the floor where his ass would inevitably present itself willingly for the taking. Fuck.

Clearly assuming that Dean was holding out on him, Agent Novak repeated himself and this time, he was firmer. Practically growling, he said again, “Hello, Dean.”

“H-Hello,” he replied, gulping in a deep breath and praying for strength.

“What’s my name, Dean?” pressed the agent, “Don’t just say hello. Greet me by name.”

Damn his traitorous cock to hell. Poor fucking thing had no idea how dangerous this man was to him… all it knew was how badly it wanted to obey the owner of that incredible voice. If it weren’t attached, the thing would’ve likely pulled away from Dean and trotted over to Novak like a well trained pup.

“Hello, Agent Novak,” he replied, gulping in a deep breath as he tried to gather his inner strength. He’d need it all today, of that he was sure. The man behind him didn’t speak again, instead advancing on him with slow and heavy footfalls. He’s trying to intimidate me , thought Dean. Don’t play into it. Stand firm. Say as little as possible.

“You’ve thought about me a lot since our last meeting, haven’t you.”

Be careful. Think. Dean knew a thing or two about interrogation techniques. Even the questions that seem innocuous were asked with a specific purpose, even if that purpose was simply to get him to start talking. Dean also understood that the agent wasn’t expecting him to fully cooperate, so he had some wiggle room to drag his feet a little when responding. He just shrugged.

Dean knew that the best thing he could do was keep the guy hopeful, keep him probing, keep him asking questions…  give just enough information to string the guy along. If he failed to do that, it was likely that he’d wind up being led out of here in cuffs.

It wasn’t as if the man was going to reward Dean’s resistance by giving up to go home empty-handed and leave Dean to just go on living life as free man, warrants be damned. No way. Not this guy.

Caught up in his thoughts, Dean didn’t respond fast enough to the question. From behind him, the agent leaned in and spoke directly into his ear, breath hot on his skin, and said, “Don’t be coy.”

Goosebumps broke out over his skin in response and Dean had to fight not to lean back into the man’s body. When Novak stepped away, Dean held his ground and tried to keep still. Then, the agent began slowly pacing back and forth behind him. “I know you’ve been thinking of me,” he said firmly. “Since we met, you’ve thought of little else. Isn’t that right Dean?”

“Yeah,” he answered, trying to think quickly and come up with a witty rejoinder. Settling for far less than his best, Dean added, “Been thinkin’ about you is walkin’ around in a body like that, but wont fuck me. It kinda ruins the session for me. It’s a waste.”

“You speak of waste,” replied the agent gruffly. “You are handsome, smart, and funny. Most people would say that you have the ‘whole package’. But, instead of choosing someone worthy and forging a bond with them, you willingly defile yourself for money. You throw it all away.”

Don’t take the bait , he told himself. Unfortunately a flare of defensiveness triggered his mouth before his brain could intervene. “I ain’t throwin’ away shit, buddy,” he snarled. “You paid a fuck-ton of money for ninety minutes with me. Top fucking dollar. I ain’t throwin’ it away - I’m fuckin’ capitalizing on it.”

“I suppose that’s how it seems to you,” conceded Novak. “But I think we both know that you’re capable of far more than just selling your body for sex.”

“Oh yeah?” he replied, craning his neck to try and get a look at the man for the first time. “What bright future am I turning my back on to work here, huh?” His question was genuine. He had absolutely no idea what he wanted to do with his life. Unlike his little brother, who had always dreamt of becoming a lawyer and fighting for justice, Dean didn’t have a noble dream. He often wondered what, outside of hunting or whoring, he might eventually do with his life. Sadly, there were no strong inclinations. So, if he could eat up a few of their ninety minutes listening to a competent man make some viable suggestions, then that was a win as far as Dean was concerned.

“Haven’t you seen the posters, Dean? You can be anything you want to be.”

It was a lame response as far as Dean was concerned, but from Agent Novak’s point of view, it was probably a good answer. It shut down this line of discussion without actually conceding the point. “You tryin’ to light a fire under me, Novak?” he tried, pausing but leaving no time for an answer before continuing. “It’s kinda hard to think about my future aspirations when I’ve got this raging boner. Maybe you should turn me loose like last time and let me get off while we chat. Then at least I could think of somethin’ besides this monster hard-on between my legs.”

“You still want my cock,” said the agent boldly, reminding Dean of their parting exchange during the previous visit.

The statement was true enough and with nothing to gain by denying it, Dean just smirks as he plays along. “Had the replica last time,” he reminded, “may as well cross my fingers and hope for the real deal this time, right?”

“Keep hoping,” the man answered in a condescending voice. “It’s never going to happen.”

“Never? You mean no matter how many questions I answer, you’re never gonna actually bone me?”

“I couldn’t be less interested in using this room the way it’s intended,” said Novak harshly.

The words were almost physically painful - a crushing  reminder that Dean is not appealing to this man at all. There’s only person in this room fighting an attraction and it’s Dean. Scorned and a bit embarrassed, he said, “Don’t spare my feelings, Novak, just tell me how it is.”

In response, the agent replied, “Don’t treat me like a fool, Dean. I know you’re not wounded. You might be eager for intercourse because your body is chemically altered, but I know that you hold me in contempt.”

Bullseye , thought Dean. Recovering from the sting of rejection now, the bolder side of himself retakes the reigns. Moaning wantonly, he arched his back and sarcastically said, “Ooh yeah, Novak, say ‘intercourse’ again. It’s so hot.”

“I think you’re stalling,” the man snapped in response.

“And I think you’ve got an unfair advantage,” Dean shot back. The words were honest and on point. Novak seemed to sense it too - his eyes narrowing as he began circling around behind Dean like a shark that just tasted blood in the water. He quickly fired off another question, probably hoping for another honest answer out of Dean before he could recover the ability to lie smoothly.

“Where is your father?”

“I don’t know.” There. Novak got his honest answer.

“Why do you cover for him, Dean, he’s a murderer.”

“So you say,” he sneered haughtily. “I know better.”

“He’s placed you in harms way over and over, practically fed you to the wolves. I’ve got surveillance footage to prove it. If he’s such a saint, then why does he endanger his son? Doesn’t he love you?”

Ouch. It was another painful jab. Clearly for this round, the gloves were coming off. Don’t take the bait - control your temper. Dean had to bite his lip to hold back the flood of defensive statements that threatened to spill out. Zip it, he thinks , Lock it down. Do. Not. Speak.

“Does your father really love you, Dean?”

Don’t even dignify that with an answer.

“How do you know, Dean? How do you know he loves you? Does he tell you so?”

Hold still. He’s watching your reactions. Every breath. Every twitch. Your body answers him even when you don’t. Give him nothing. Nothing.

“Answer me when I ask you a question, Dean,” commanded Novak, stepping around to put his face in front of Dean’s. Close your eyes . “Answer. Me. Does your father love you?”

Of course he does. You’re his son.

“Dean. There are consequences for not answering me when I ask you a question. Now, I’m going to ask you one last time. Does your father love you?”

“Of course he does,” spat Dean, anger and hatred escaping his mouth right along with the words. “Of course he fuckin’ does, you bastard.”

“How do you know that? Does he tell you so? Does he say, ‘I love you’?”

Never. Not even once. He remained silent and still, focused on giving nothing away, verbally or otherwise.

“Open your eyes, Dean.”

Ugh. Fuck you Novak , he thought. And fuck you, Cock, for still wanting this fuckers hands on you. Begrudgingly, Dean opened his eyes as commanded and looked into the clear, glassy orbs that stared unblinking back into his own. They were so damned blue. Deep too. Tempting, like cool water on a hot summer day. He wanted to jump in. But, enticing as those eyes were, they were also dangerous; like a riptide. He’d be pulled out to drown.

“You don’t need to try and fabricate a lie, Dean. I already know that your father doesn’t tell you that he loves you.”

Dean broke then, gulping in a much needed breath and grimacing at the strange, wet sound it made in his constricting throat. He was no longer able to control his non-verbal cues, or anything else for that matter. At this point, he was hyper-focused on just one thing... the most important thing right now. Don’t you fuckin’ cry.

“So,” continued Novak, “If your father doesn’t tell you that he loves you, then he must show you, right? His actions must convey love to you in some way. Otherwise, how would you know?” Without pausing, the man goes on to say, “What is it that your father does to show his love for you?”

Fuck . Nothing was coming to mind. Time seemed to stretch out as his mind raced to produce something, anything. He needed something to cling to in order to keep his heart from breaking. Dean needed to be able to say, ‘This. This thing he said, or, this thing he did… this is how I know.’ But there was nothing.

Dean knew that his father loved him, he was certain it. But where was the proof? Where? He didn’t even need it for Novak… he needed it for himself. The agent was staring down his nose at Dean, waiting for an answer and his calmness in the face of Dean’s turmoil was enraging and he lashed out at Novak before he could stop himself. “I got nothin’ to prove to you, you fucker.” The words were said with such force that a tiny burst of moisture came out with them. He was literally ‘spittin’ mad’. “You don’t know shit about shit,” he added for good measure.

“I know that you have doubts,” responded Agent Novak softly, coming to stand by Dean’s side. “I know you don’t fully embrace the path your father was leading you down, or you wouldn’t be working here.”

Dean can hear a softness in the man’s voice as the words are said. Responding to it, he nods in agreement before remembering not to. Immediately he knew that his small and abortive movement had been noticed. It was another fuck up and it would cost him.

Internally chastising himself for his weakness, Dean steels himself with a renewed commitment not to be lured into the emotional games that Agent Novak was playing… tearing him down and then comforting him while he was low… exploiting his weak points… skewing his perceptions and manipulating him. At this point, the man had Dean beaten down. He was weak and the agent knew it. He could practically feel another round of emotional blows coming and, right now, he’d rather take a savage uppercut to the chin. Being physically struck would hurt so much less.  

“Dean, have you ever been down to the basement level here at Hell’s Angels?”

“W-what?” If Novak had been trying to disorient him, he had succeeded. Dean’s mind immediately started spinning wildly as he tried to figure out why the agent was asking such an unexpected question. Why was he not exploiting the weakness that he’d uncovered so callously? The man should be peeling back the layers of Dean’s childhood and teen years for information he can use in his search for John Winchester… his habits, his weaknesses, his favorite places to hide, things like that. The question that was actually asked seemed innocuous enough to answer but that was probably the motivation behind it having been asked. Something just wasn’t sitting right.

“The basement, Dean,” pressed Novak, “I want to know what’s in the basement. Have you been down there?”

Unable to pinpoint any way in which this question might endanger his father, Dean warily proceeded. Posturing, he answered the question with a question and did his best to lace some attitude into his tone. He didn’t want to seem uncooperative, but also hoped to convey the impression that he had successfully rebounded from his previous moment of vulnerability.

“C’mon agent,” he said, turning his head and showing a carefully composed smirk. “It’s the basement of a whore house - what the fuck do ya think is down there, huh? Vegas money says it’s packed to the ceiling with crates of Summer’s Eve Douche and Z-paks, don’tcha think?”

“Azithromycin?” replied Novak questioningly. “That’s nothing. A low grade antibiotic. Why would armed guards be needed to protect that?”

“There are guards?”

“Yes. Last time I was here I got off the elevator on the wrong floor. Basement level. Of course I returned to the elevator when prompted, but I keep thinking about it and now that I know there are armed guards posted, I can’t help but wonder what might be down there that’s so valuable.”

“You make it sound so ominous,” Dean replied, “but all the fuckin’ guards around here are armed. Every single one of ‘em is packin’. It’s for our protection.”

“You’ve really never been down there?”

“No,” he admitted, having now deemed that this line of questioning to be safe. “No, I’ve never been down there.”

“Well, if that area isn’t typically frequented by those of you who need protection, then why the guards?”

“Dunno,” he answered honestly. “I’m just spitballin’ here, but maybe there’ve been break-ins or somthin’.  I mean, people don’t just steal money, right? They steal meds too. Even I know that. So, yeah, I guess guards aren’t so strange if there are meds down there.”

“No, not so strange,” agreed Novak. “That is, if you’re correct and all that’s in the basement are cases of z-paks and douche.”

Dean had to work to keep from rolling his eyes. With a labored sigh he said, “Maybe you should go have another look.” Then, tipping his chin to indicate his bound hands, Dean added, “I’ll just wait here.”

At this point he was doing anything he could to waste time. It felt like their session had been dragging on for weeks. He was exhausted and aching all over. Holding the same position was taking it’s toll. His muscles were weak and shaky and his nerves were shot.

As if he could read Dean’s mind, Novak said, “It must be taxing to stand for so long while bound to the wall like that. Would you like to be let loose? Perhaps sit down in a chair while we chat?”

“Sitting in a chair comes with a price, doesn’t it, Agent?”

“Quid pro quo,” reminded the raven-haired man.  

“I’d rather stand.”

“Dean, as you’ve so brazenly pointed out, I have paid thousands of dollars for this time that we’re spending together. You are hardly making it worth my money.”

“Offer me more than a chair then,” Dean barked over his shoulder. “Last time I got a dildo and the bed. Now you think a fuckin’ chair is gonna soften me up?”

“Well, the dildo and the bed didn’t work last time. I left here unsatisfied. That’s not how quid pro quo works, Dean. Tell you what - you give me something that’s worth what I’ve spent on you and I’ll let you fuck yourself silly.”

Even hearing the word ‘fuck’ in this man’s deep and commanding voice made Dean shudder. His dick had been aching for so long now, and between his cheeks Dean was feeling the throb of his pounding pulse. The tight rim around his asshole was juicy and wet and the insides of his thighs were moist with the slick that had been slowly seeping down from between his cheeks. Having grown tacky as it cooled there untouched, it was making him uncomfortably cold even though the room was relatively warm.

Behind him, the agent was still pacing and as Dean craned his neck to watch, he wound up saying, “Alright, what would I have to give-up to get myself untied and sitting on the bed?”

“Try me, Dean. Give me something… some little clue… even if it’s something elusive. I don’t expect you to give me his current location even if you could. But, you can give me something to chew on… something I can decipher that helps me track him. I don’t need you to give him up, Dean, just give me a clue. That way, if I find him, it will be of my own merit not because you rolled over for me. You see the difference?”

Dean had known from the beginning that he was at a disadvantage with Novak. He was bound. He was naked. He was high, for all intents and purposes. His body was surging with hormones designed to magnify a carnal appetites into the stratosphere and because of that his sexual need was almost primal. Animalistic.

In terms of interrogation practices, this scenario ranked right up there with denying food, water, or rest to the subject. Dean was at a disadvantage having grown weak and vulnerable while, in contrast, Agent Novak remained strong.

Knowing that he would appear to be considering the agents offer, Dean used the guise of ‘thinking things over’ to lean his head on the wall and get some much needed rest. He closed his eyes and signed deeply. It was a much needed reprieve.

Novak didn’t prompt him at. There was no throat clearing or toe tapping, absolutely nothing to indicate that the agent might be growing impatient as he waited. In fact, the guy was so still and quiet that, for a time, Dean’s mind lost track of where the man was in the room. Wondering why he was being allowed so much leeway, Dean picked up his head to look around.

He found Novak standing just a few feet from him and staring intently. He appeared to be looking at Dean’s ass, which seemed inconsistent with his hetero behavior so far. Dean saw his eyes snap up to meet his own, but saw no guilt reflected there when caught staring. It seemed likely that the agent had simply noticed the excessive wetness between Dean’s legs - a physical embodiment of his lust.

The agent, though still, was far from relaxed. In fact, his posture was stiff and his shoulders were hunched forward a bit. His eyes were focused intently and he appeared anticipatory, almost curious.

Since they’d first met, this man had displayed alpha-male type behavior and Dean had been thinking of him as ‘Agent’ or ‘Novak’ while teetering back and forth between wanting him and wanting him to die. But, the softer version of the lawman which occasionally peeked out made Dean feel inclined to call him something more familiar, like his first name. But, now that he was thinking of using it, the moniker seemed to have escaped his memory completely. When he tried to recall it, all that came to mind was having once called the man ‘Cas’. The shortened version of the dude’s name does nothing to help Dean recall it, other than to remind him that it had started with the letter ‘C’ and been wildly unusual.

“Dean,” said the agent, pulling him from his thoughts, “do you have something to say to me?”

He turned his gaze downward and tried to appear humble as he shook his head no. He’d been walking on eggshells so far, riding a fine line between reluctant participation and blatant defiance. There was no point in sabotaging all his hard work  by exuding excessive cockiness now. Keeping his posture humble, Dean waited for the agent to respond.

When he finally spoke, Novak’s voice had grown terse. His dominant side seemed to be reasserting itself. “That’s fine,” he said, “it really makes no difference to me.” Novak continued by saying, “At this point I can only assume that you’ve alerted your father about my last visit?”

Hearing this, Dean stiffened. His heart thumped faster and a cold, creeping dread passed over him. Not pausing for an answer, the agent went on to say, “I would expect nothing less of you. You’re loyal to him, that’s no secret. Even though we’ve only spent a small amount of time together, it seems safe to assume that you were very cautious about the manner in which you contacted him. No doubt you’d want to avoid inadvertently leading me to him. So, Dean, how did you do it? How did you contact your father?”

The question itself seemed relatively innocuous. After all, the guy was right. Dean had known the risks of sending a warning and that’s why he’d been so very cautious about the manner in which he’d done it. The call to Sam had been untraceable and he was sure of it. But, even if he were wrong about that, the content of the call had revealed nothing.

Dean corroborating that a warning had been sent wouldn’t hurt anything, he thought, so he went ahead and willingly gave one up for Novak. He knew better than to think he’d receive any kind of reward for answering such a soft-ball question so he didn’t bother asking. He just looked the man in the eye and said, “Yeah, I fuckin’ put in a call.” Then he began to prepare himself for the next question which he assumed would would carry more weight.

“But you didn’t contact him directly, did you Dean.” It was a question, but the tone in which the words were delivered sounded like a statement.

“Nope,” he admitted. And deep down he chastised himself for answering so quickly. Even for the easiest questions he should think twice before opening his mouth.

“Who did you call,” asked the agent, his face reflecting irritation. To Dean it seemed like he was indignant about having to ask such incremental questions. To say the man appeared to be growing impatient wouldn’t really be accurate though. It was more like he just loathed this little song-n-dance they were doing - like he considered it to be beneath him, or maybe just considered the whole thing to be a waste of time.

“Doesn’t matter who I called,” said Dean, testing the waters and watching closely for the reaction his words would provoke. “All that matters is that he’s gonna be deep underground now. If you thought he was hard to track down before, then buddy, you’re up shit creek without a paddle now. ‘Cause at this point, even I couldn’t find him.”

Range of motion was measured in inches when his cuffs and collar were anchored to the wall like this. Since he wasn’t physically able to turn around and face his interrogator, that left Dean constantly straining to look over his shoulder in order to see his adversary. Worse still, the man was pacing the room relentlessly this time, which meant that Dean’s neck and shoulders were growing painfully sore from the effort involved in keeping Novak in his sights. A headache was setting in as well, and he earnestly wished there was a clock in sight so he’d know how much longer this session would last. In spite of his physical discomforts, he watched Novak closely for his reaction.

In response to Dean’s declaration, the agent paused for a moment and then stepped in closer. “Then you’re wasting my time,” he said.

“Finally,” smirked Dean, “we agree on something.”

“Well then,” said the agent firmly as he stepped away, “if you can’t help me locate your father then I suppose it’s time for me to move on to someone who can.” Quickly picking up on the agent’s shift in tone, Dean soon recognized that the words carried a threat. The agent was backing up now, retreating towards the door, and his next move was painfully obvious.

It was no surprise to Dean when, from behind him, the agent pointedly said, “I hear California is lovely this time of year.”


“Wait,” he said, head still supported by cool, painted cinder block. The possibility of being taken into custody was reason enough to keep tap dancing with Novak, but it was even more important to keep Sammy from having to do it. Clearly the agent was ready to play hardball and for a beat, Dean hoped his father really was in Yemen. Because, sadly, he was going to have to cough up a worthwhile tip. Otherwise, he was pretty sure that when this session was over, he’d be trading one set of cuffs for another. On the backs of his eyelids, Dean could see the whole thing playing out like a movie… Novak striding out into the hall where men would be waiting to take Dean into custody as soon as they’d been given a signal. Dean would then have no chance to tie up any loose ends here at the brothel or give his brother any warning of what was coming as he was simply being whisked away in a black van. He’d be stuck behind bars in an orange jumpsuit without any of his worldly possessions, without access to his money or even a fucking phone call while Novak grabbed a flight west.

All Dean could think in this moment was that his brother fucking deserved the ‘normal life’ that he’d worked so hard to create for himself. If there was anything Dean could do to help Sammy keep that life, he had to do it.

“Wait,” he said again, louder this time because Agent Novak hadn’t stopped moving closer to the door.

“Yes, Dean?” he replied, hardly bothering to cover the smugness in his voice.

Jim Rockford , he thought. Give this fucker Jim Rockford.

“I - I wanna…

“Yes, Dean?” pressed Novak immediately.

“Don’t go, okay? Just, well, just use the rest of your time, man, you’ve already paid for it.”

“I’m not one to beat a dead horse, Dean. Even if I already paid for it. So, are you going to make it worth my time if I stay?”

“Yeah, man,” he said. And in that moment, he hated everyone and everything. He hated the life he’d been raised in. He hated his brother for wanting more, and he hated his father for opposing it. He hated being painted into a corner by law enforcement too, especially considering that the Winchesters had been doing their fucking job for them all his life.

“Alright then,” said Novak, finally taking a seat. “Tell me what I want to hear.”

“There’s a name we use, it’s like a code… it’s how we find each other when we’re separated. Jim Rockford. If you find a reservation under that name, then you’ve found one of us.”

“Now that’s more like it,” praised Novak. “I understand that you’ve only given me that name because you know your father will no longer be using it… not after he’s been tipped off about me by your phone call anyway. But that doesn’t matter. You’ve given me something I can use to see where he’s been, establish a pattern, chase leads. I never thought you’d make it easy on me, but I had hoped you’d at least throw me a bone.”

Dean remained quiet. The agent was right, or course, but that didn’t ease his guilt. If John Winchester was captured because of intel that Dean had provided, regardless of how tenuous the connection, he’d never forgive himself.

“Dean look at me,” said the agent from behind him. The man’s voice was different now. Softer. Like before, when Dean had thought of calling him by his first name. He moved his head to make eye contact, but he was far too resentful at the moment to respond to the kindness that permeated the man’s next words. “Quid pro quo, Dean. You gave me something I wanted. Now, I’ll give you something too.”

Dean watched as the man rose and walked over to the chest where toys were kept. “Would you like the same one as last time?” he asked, wide blue eyes blinking innocently.

“It was shaped like you,” he snarled in response, “I’d rather eat dirt.”

For just a split second, Novak actually looked wounded. Good , he thought. But sadly, the flicker of emotion didn’t last long enough on his facial features to be satisfying. “What would you like instead of the toy Dean?” he asked amiably.

“How ‘bout five minutes without the sound of your fuckin’ voice?”

Novak didn’t answer, but rather tilted his head forward as if to wordlessly accept the request and honor it with silence. Dean’s gaze lingered as the man stepped back over to sit down in the chair and then he let his eyes slip closed as he once more leaned on the wall. He did his best to rest but it wasn’t long before he’d begun wishing that he’d asked for silence and to sit the fuck down.

Everything hurt. His head was pounding, his neck and shoulders sore. His stomach clenched with nerves and a telltale ache that radiated up from his balls and untouched cock. Between Dean’s thighs the skin was sticky with the lube that his horny body had continued producing even though it wasn’t needed. Having been wet for so long between his legs, the skin there was unpleasantly cold too. As was the head of his dick which had also been leaking off and on during his exchange with the agent. Dean shifted his weight back and forth between his feet, resting each in turn, but they hurt from standing so long. Walking or sitting would feel like relief, but to just stand in one place for an extended period of time was far more challenging than most people knew.

Without a way to track the time, it was impossible to know if he’d actually been granted the full five minutes of quiet he’d requested. But, when the agent spoke next, Dean suspected that the man hadn’t shortchanged him.

“Dean,” he said, “I’d like to ask you a question that’s entirely hypothetical.”

With his body still facing away from Novak, Dean nodded agreement. He understood that the man was letting him know that this next question wasn’t really being asked for investigative purposes. Regardless, he knew it was foolish to let his guard down. So even as he listened to the question being posed, Dean turned his attention back to keeping a locked frame and a tight lip so as not to give anything away.

“You’ve said that I’m wrong about your father; that he’s not a murderer despite evidence to the contrary.”

“That’s right,” he said, giving a firm nod.

“I want you to know that I understand having unshakeable loyalty to one’s family. I am loyal to my father, even though he’s been absent for most of life. He often shows up out of the blue, offers me no apology for all he’s missed, and then leaves again with no explanation. But still, I defend him. Most days I wouldn’t even be able to explain why I do it. But I always do. I seem to have an unshakeable faith in him against all logic.

“What I’d like to ask you, Dean, is regarding your father’s crimes. Or, alleged crimes, I suppose.” When he heard Novak amend the word ‘crimes’ to ‘alleged crimes’, Dean suddenly realized that he’d neglected his duties in keeping still.

Lulled into complacency as he’d listened to a low rumbling voice speak of their possible common ground, Dean hadn’t been able to stop himself from tensing when hearing the phrase, “your father’s crimes”. Obviously the agent had seen him twitch and quickly amended his verbiage, likely with the intention of appeasing him. But what he’d also inadvertently done by correcting himself like that, was show Dean that he wasn’t the only one who had relaxed a little in the moment. As much of a mistake as it had been for Dean to allow his body to react to the man’s words, Novak had been mistaken to correct himself. Doing so had been an admission that not only was he watching Dean closely for his reactions, but actually adjusting his words accordingly.

Looking at the man now, Dean could see that he was the softer version of himself. Dean had caught a few glimpses of it during both of their sessions and found that he liked it. Responded too it. Perhaps not as much as he responded to the man’s dominant side, which elicited a very sexual reaction from him, but somehow the softer side of the man appealed to him too.

“What’s your name again?’ he asked. “Your first name,”  he clarified, looking Novak in the eye.

The agent’s mouth quirked at one corner as if amused. Then, he answered. “Castiel.”

Dean nodded, certain he’d remember this time. Though he remained committed to keeping himself locked down, Dean could now plainly see that Novak’s question was likely a genuine one, being asked for personal reasons. Then, he turned back to face the wall and rested his eyes as he waited for the man to continue.

“What if you were to find out that you’d been wrong about your father, Dean? What if one day you realized that he really was a murderer but had somehow, I don’t know, fooled you. What if you found out that things weren’t what you’d thought they were… that you’d misunderstood… or been misled… would that change things for you? Would you then change your mind and help bring him to justice? Or would you maintain your loyalty even when you knew the truth?”

There was a single moment of silence when the agent had finished asking his question and then the door started beeping to signal their session coming to and end. When it clunked open, the handlers entered and began to untether him. It felt so good to be able to lower his arms, finally, that he let out a loud groan. Flexing and stretching as he turned to face the man who’d been questioning him. They locked eyes and their gaze remained unbroken as Dean was led from the room. His mouth drifted open with the desire to answer the question as he was led out, but no words came out. Novak’s eyes were glued to him as if there was nothing more important in the world than Dean’s answer to this one theoretical question.

It was a moot point in reality, because Dean knew that his father was a killer. He was too. So was his baby-faced younger brother. But, in considering the agent’s question Dean had to admit that the agent likely hadn't expected an answer. He had probably just wanted Dean to think about his loyalties and how strong they really were. So, he turned his thoughts to the possibility of him turning over his own father if he somehow turned out to be guilty. It was terrifying to realize that he honestly didn’t know.

As he was led to the Salon, Dean tried to get his thoughts together. The questioning was over, he could relax now. But, he’d promised himself that as he was prepped for the Rec Room, he’d start figuring out a plan and set his mind to doing just that. After his first round with Novak he’d floundered around a little, been slow to react. It was understandable, he could see that now because recent events had made him realize just how truly altered he was by the shots and the the juice and whatever else they were giving him here that he’d never paid much attention to before. But, a few days of struggling to even think clearly had helped him see that an accelerated sex drive and natural lube were definitely not the only effects of the chemicals he was ingesting here. He was dull-minded from from them too. Complacent.

Having smoked his fair share of weed back in his high school days, Dean was quite familiar with the contentedly dopey feelings associated with being high on marijuana. Recalling the sensation now, he had to admit a startling similarity between the a maryjane buzz and how he felt all day every day here at the brothel.

On the upside, stressful events over the past few days seemed to have given him a crash course in thinking through the fog and, as he was escorted into the Salon, Dean was mentally preparing himself to stay focused and think things through.

Led to a table in the Salon, Dean was greeted by the unfamiliar face of new recruit. “Dean,” said Lydia, stepping up from the left, “This is Maggie. She’s still in training so I’ll be assisting today.” With that said, she took a step back and he turned his attention to the young, sweet, doe-eyed girl in front of him.

He greeted her with a smirk and his usual swagger, both of which were second nature to him and pretty much his default setting. “Hey Maggie, welcome to the shit show. Or, possibly the greatest show on earth. Depends on the day.”

“Thank you,” she said timidly. Then she glanced over at Lydia as if looking for direction on how to interact with him. He didn’t have to glance in her direction to know that she’d give no assistance to this girl over and above the minimum efforts required to have done her job. Never one to overlook a damsel in distress, Dean picked up the slack.

“I just had a weird client,” he explained. “Dude didn’t wanna fuck, just wanted to talk. It doesn’t happen often, especially not with auction winners, but it’s not unheard of.” That wasn’t even him covering… he’d heard tell of a few others who had a round with the ‘let’s just talk’ kind of clients. He’d just never experienced it for himself. He watched her chuckle as he went on to say, “Since we didn’t bump uglies, I don’t need much. Just maybe some cleanin’ up.”

Dipping his eyes downward pointedly, he invited her to see the mess between his legs because that’s where she should start. Seeming to understand his way of guiding her, she gave him a smile and a friendly nod as she took the lead from his handler and headed over to the drain in the floor. The young girl seemed to relax into his informal instruction and by assisting her through the steps of a normal rejuvenation, he got to the massage table far quicker than he would’ve had he left her to muddle through it with only Lydia’s minimalist directions.

It felt good to be clean again and as he laid himself down on the massage table, Dean said, “I'm pretty fuckin’ sore for a guy who hasn’t been laid, so if you could give some extra love to my neck and shoulders, sweetheart, I’d sure appreciate it.”

“No problem,” she answered, oiling up her hands to get started. She might have been new among the brothel staff, but this girl knew how to give a massage. As she set to work on him, Dean closed his eyes. I’m gonna miss this , he thought. Then, by sheer act of will, he turned his thoughts to an exit plan. He had to get out of here as quickly as possible, that much was clear. Not just away from Hell’s Angels, but completely off the grid. Right now, he was marked as an asset by some agency that was chasing down John Winchester and he needed to get off their radar as soon as fucking possible.

Dean knew that in order to retain full access to his funds and avoid significant financial penalties he’d have to provide adequate notice of his intentions to leave. But, he had no idea what would actually constitute suitable notice or what specific amount of money he’d forfeit if he were to simply walk off the job. Getting answers to those questions was job number one.

Ideally, he’d like to leave immediately. That was something he could do if he was able to make peace with the amount of money he’d lose by doing so. If that were the case then there was no reason to risk staying on any longer.

Already he could feel his body relaxing from the massage and it was tempting to just let himself rest. Instead of surrendering to temptation he picked up his head and addressed Lydia, peering around Maggie to make eye contact. “Hey Lydia,” he said, “I need to make an appointment to speak with someone in HR. You could set that up for me? I mean, that’d give Maggie a chance to see how it’s done, right?”

“Certainly,” she answered. The tone she used was her normal one, cool and indifferent, and as he watched her set aside what she was reading and walk his way, Dean was thinking that she embodied apathy. He wondered if she was this detached in all aspects of her life, or if she just hated her job. Realizing that his mind was beginning to wander, he chastised himself. Stop it. Focus. Don’t let your mind wander.

Maggie continued working her way down Dean’s spine until Lydia arrived was standing next to her and then she pulled her hands away. Grabbing a towel she dried her hands while turning her attention to the adjacent computer monitor. While the two ladies pulled up the scheduling software, Dean forced himself to lay back down and think.  

He was briefly interrupted when Lydia asked, “Do you care who you see in HR, or do you just want the first available appointment?”

“First available,” he answered, and then as another thought occurred to him, he added, “I also need to set up a time to get into my safe deposit box, but I don’t know who I’d make an appointment with for that.”

“You don’t need an appointment for that,” she said. “Just stop at the desk where you check in and out. They can take you down anytime.”

“Down where? The basement?”

“Yes,” she answered, not even looking at him, “The safe deposit boxes are on the basement level.”

Well, Novak, I guess that would explain the guards , he thought, grinning as he dropped his head back down to refocus on formulating a plan. It had been afterthought, really, the safe deposit box. He didn’t have anything of value in it other than copies of some important papers. But, before doing anything official regarding resignation, Dean wanted to do more than just get a few of his bigger questions answered. He wanted to carefully look over his employment contracts and the attached disclosures as well. It seemed like a good idea since he’d never really read them in full. Of course he’d skimmed over each section as it was summarized during orientation, but at that time he’d been considering the information from the viewpoint of a man who was joining the company. Now that he was leaving the company, it seemed smart to look over the papers again with that perspective in mind.  

Deep down, Dean hated that money and contracts were even a factor for him when making this decision. But then again, he’d never really had any money before. Prior to landing this gig, Dean had spent most of his life living on fraudulent credit cards, the proceeds of hustling, or, in the most dire of circumstances, the fistful of cash he could earn with his mouth or his ass in a truck stop bathroom. Having a significant amount of money was something he was still getting used to.

Back in his hunting days, Dean had thought of money differently. It had been nothing more than a tool, really, a means of getting things they needed like equipment and ammo, food, lodging, and occasionally medical care. Winchesters got what they needed by any means necessary.

But, once he’d been properly set up with a bank account and regular income, money had started to mean something a little different. It had become part of a two-ingredient dish that fed dreams. Money plus stability, he’d come to find, was the recipe for hope; and hope was what made pipe dreams seem attainable. With his account balances growing, Dean had come to see that in a few years he’d be able to go to school, buy a home, open a business, or do just about anything else he wanted to do. No longer just a means of meeting his immediate needs, money was security now.

So, with all that money had come to mean to him, Dean found himself reluctant to risk it.

Besides, Dean frequently said that he loved his job. And though it wasn’t a lie, it was kind of a half-truth. Sure he loved his job, but at the end of the day it was still a job.

He’d always hated being bought by people with foot fetishes. Just the thought gave him a full-body shiver. He didn’t necessarily like doing excessively hairy people either, though some were certainly worse than others. Older people were also a challenge. Sucking on saggy tits or a ball bag wasn’t his idea of a good time. So, truth be told, there were aspects of the job that he’s had to grit his teeth and tolerate. But, those acts had been far easier to endure when he’d focused on how much money he was making to do them. Naturally that meant that the idea of surrendering a significant chunk of his salary, even after the fact, was repugnant to him.  

More than anything else, what Dean didn’t want to give up was the promise of retirement. Back when he’d been hunting, he had resolutely accepted the probability of an early death. But now, having been away from that world, Dean was starting to get used to the idea that he might actually live a full life… survive long enough to retire… and once he’d embraced that, something had crossed over in him.

His plans regarding said retirement may not have been as elaborate as Benny’s, but he definitely had ideas of how he’d like to round out his days. He could see himself on a beach somewhere warm, wearing cheesy tropical shirts and sipping his drinks from coconut shells rather than straight from the bottle. There would be a lover next to him, a faceless individual whose characteristics he assumed would probably become clearer with time. Sam would be part of this dream too, as were the children his brother would eventually have. Dean sometimes fantasized about being their favorite uncle and building sandcastles on the beach with them. When he daydreamed about taking his brother out on his boat to go fishing in the early mornings, he could practically smell the salty air.  

Dean hadn’t realized just how invested in the future he’d become, not until Agent Novak had shown up. Now he felt scared, truly scared. Not just that his father might be caught and put behind bars, or that he or Sam might be implicated in the perceived crimes, but that he’d wind up having to disappear and leave everything behind. All the possibilities he’d only recently accepted as attainable would be gone in a flash if that happened. It was a frightening thought.

Not one to shy away from scary things, Dean knew he’d take that path if necessary. But, if there was any way to avoid surrendering what he’d accumulated, both fiscally and emotionally, Dean was gonna make a try for it.

Because money,  he’s come to realize, wasn’t just the difference between being hungry and having food. It was also the difference between living with hope and living with despair. Hope, he thought, might just be the drug that eventually replaced the alcohol he’d been leaning on for most of his life.

Dean was deep in thought when oily hands returned to his skin. As his massage resumed, he heard Lydia address him from a few feet away. “You’re all set to see Simmons tomorrow morning.” He didn’t open his eyes to answer, but he managed to mutter his thanks. He was proud of himself for staying focused on the issue at hand and working through it. Now, with a developing plan in the works and his priorities clear, there was nothing else he needed to brainstorm. Once he spoke with Simmons in the morning, he’d have some specifics regarding his departure and what that would look like. In the meantime, he was free to let himself relax. And relax he did.

When Maggie has finished his massage, she prompted him to turn over. Blinking his eyes open for the first time in a while, he caught the look on her face. She seemed scandalized, almost fearful as she looked at his genitals. It was like a bucket of cold water being thrown at him.

Laying on his back on the massage table and looking up at her, he could see his towering hard on from the corner of his eye when he looked at her and she was side-eyeing it too. The girl was so young and sweet that it felt criminal to even be naked around her and with her apprehension so obvious, he couldn’t help but ask, “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-two,” she said shakily.

He’d assumed that she must be of legal age if she was working here, but it never hurt to ask. “What made you wanna work at Hell’s Angels?” he asked, wondering what to do and stalling for time.

“I dropped out of school,” she admitted. “Nursing school. It was harder than I thought and I wasn’t hacking it. I was about to fail out, so I quit. My sister works in a salon and loves her job. So I thought I’d give it a try.”

“Honey, this ain’t no ordinary salon,” he said gruffly.

“I know. But it’s the only one where you don’t have to have cosmetology credentialing to get the job.”

“Did anybody tell you that you’d have to double as a fluffer to work here?”

“Well,” she smiled sheepishly, “they didn’t say it like that, no. But,” she added, gesturing to Dean’s penis, “I was told that prepping was part of the job.”

Nodding his understanding, Dean ventured a guess. “I’m your first, right?”


“You don’t have to,” he said firmly. “There are plenty of jobs out there… ones where you don’t have to put your hands on other people's junk.”

She nodded her understanding and tentatively reached for his shaft. “It’s okay,” she said, “I’m okay with it.”

The timidity of her voice still implied reservations, but the firm nod of her head showed conviction. She visibly braced herself and then wrapped her hand around his girth. Dean hated how it felt and he closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to watch. He instinctively knew what the young girl hadn’t said aloud… that none of the other jobs she was qualified for would pay what this one did. She might have reservations, but she knew eventually she’d get used to doing the work and was determined to get over the hump. She wanted the job.

After a few minutes her movements became more confident and Dean relaxed as he realized that once she got used to the job she’d end up laughing and joking with him as she jerked him off, just like Cassie and Charlie and all the others. It was her own choice after all.

Because of her nerves, the young lady was a bit robotic. It was a lousy handjob if there ever was one and Dean wasn’t really enjoying it as much as he was enduring it. Basically, this was uncomfortable for both of them.

Lydia seemed to offer no support or advice. But, from the next station, Dean heard another stylist step over and whisper to the girl, “Just treat it like a puppy. Play with it until it sits up and begs for a treat. When it does, your work is done.”

Giggling softly under her breath, Maggie thanked her supporter and Dean felt her begin to finally relax.

“Atta girl,” he said, trying to reassure her. Opening his eyes he added, “It ain’t as cute as a puppy, but it drools like one.”

They both burst out laughing at that and soon enough he was ready for the Rec Room. Once he’d left the Salon, Dean felt his anticipation spiking. His body had been kept waiting far too long, and now that his mind was free to be present in the moment rather than planning his exit, Dean felt his excitement surge. Though his stomach still carried the dull ache of desire unfulfilled, the rest of his body was brimming with lust and eager to fuck. The tip of his cock was wet with excretions and as he walked, cool air rushed over it. The feeling was erotic and sent anticipatory tingles spreading over his skin.

He was wet between his cheeks too, his body still oozing lube and his expectant hole trembling in its desire to be spread open around something warm and wide. Stepping in through the employees entrance, Dean smelled sex in the air. His eyes lit up as they gazed out over the first room and the bodies scattered about in various stages of carnal pleasure. Around him, the filthy sounds of slapping skin, debauched moans, and murmured curses swirled with background music to entice him into the room.

With his cock leading the way like a divining rod, Dean moved through the space. He didn’t rush but rather took his time, that way if any of the groups wanted to pull him into a raunchy fuck pile, they’d have their chance. His collar marked him for what he was - the public property of everyone who had paid to use this room. Pushing two fingers down between the leather and his neck, Dean tugged a little and thought to himself, I’m gonna fuckin’ miss this .

Dean had never known he had a kink for collars until he’d worn one here. But now he knew that he liked being owned, dominated, even punished. Craved it. Being spanked was another thing he’d never realized he had a penchant for until he’d ventured into sex work.

Normally, he would pass right by the library room. But today he found himself slowing to get a better look at the action going on inside. Hesitating only for a moment, he was soon stepping in through the wide doorway. With measured steps, he approached the group that had caught his eye.

Getting closer, he began to sort out what was happening. There was a customer on the table. She was probably in her mid-forties and dressed as a librarian would dress if she were a porn star. Her curvy frame was well endowed, ample breasts bursting from her white collared shirt which was currently opened to the third or fourth button.

Perched on the table with a riding crop in hand, this woman had her tight skirt hiked up all the way to expose the garters that held up her thigh-high stockings.

Her legs were spread wide and between them was one of Dean’s fellow collared whores. The man was bent down with his face buried to exuberantly eat her out. “Shhh,” she told him, dragging the riding crop over his tanned, naked skin. Tracing the line of his spine up and down with it, she got lower each time. The man’s legs were spread wide and as Dean skirted the group who stood watching, he came around behind to get a look at the man’s ass. It was decorated with bright red splotches where he’d already been struck and at the moment his winking hole was exposed for all to see. It quivered, seemingly fearful of being whipped, but Dean knew better. He knew how this felt.

His eyes traveled hungrily over the man’s ass and the cock that hung beneath him, slowly dribbling opaque liquid to the library's hardwood floor. The ‘librarian’ customer was obviously enjoying both her audience and her contentedly submissive whore. Dean’s throat went dry as he watched her tease that riding crop down the man’s back, between his cheeks, and over his hole. She was a natural dominatrix, he thought, commanding in presence and creative when playing. With a firm but soft voice, she reminded her subjugate that he must be quiet in the library - then she then snapped the crop to his puckered hole several times in quick succession.

Jerking in surprise, the man’s entire body quivered and shook while absorbing the stinging sensation to such a sensitive and vulnerable area. Another ribbon of pearlescent ejaculate slipped from the man’s cock, twisting elegantly as it fell to the floor. As he saw it happen, Dean’s own dick pulsed a few dribbles too. He desperately wanted a turn.

Edging closer to try and catch the Dom’s eye, Dean hoped she’d call him forward.

Their eyes eventually connected and he smirked to show his confidence but also dipped his chin to demonstrate his willingness to submit. Sadly, though she sent him an approving look, she didn’t give him any sign that he was welcome to join.

Disappointed, Dean stepped back. He remained for a minute or two, watching with the rest of the onlookers, but soon wandered off. Weaving through the maze of rooms, Dean skirted around a few clusters of activity that didn’t appeal to him before ducking into one of the rooms that was geared towards the bdsm lifestyle.

Though Dean had no aversion to these rooms, he didn’t typically spend much time in them. In his experience, the scenes that took place here were often focused on delaying orgasm in favor of experiencing other sensations first… long teasing sessions, orgasm delay or denial, and most frequently, pain.

But, given what he’d just witnessed in the library, Dean was craving impact play and hoped to find something interesting here. He was not disappointed. There were several dominant males prowling the room, one in full gear, and Dean boldly crossed the open floor to kneel down on the spanking bench. Glancing over his shoulder at one particular customer, Dean waited for the man’s eyes to fall on him. When they did, he let their gaze lock and then leaned forward over the heavy wooden bench, resting his abdomen on the tilted cushion and reaching back to massage his own ass. Teasingly, he spread his butt cheeks apart in a display of invitation that he hoped would be tempting while also indicative of the type of play he was hoping to engage in.

The man he’d locked eyes with was tall and tan with a medium build similar to Dean’s own. He had the look of a European and was dressed in dark jeans and a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His forearms were inked and his dark eyes promised dirty deeds. Dean was thrilled when the man ran a hand through his shiny hair and began walking over. Bringing his hands back forward again, Dean rested his elbows on the padded supports. Now, positioned properly on the bench, he was basically on all fours but with his ass presented much higher than his shoulders.

“Don’t speak other than your safe word,” said the man when he approached, “I know what you want.”

Dean tipped his head in acknowledgement, giving his safeword as the man bent down to draw velcro straps around his wrists and ankles. His pulse quickened as he was restrained and his stomach clenched in excitement. The man needed a name, even if Dean wasn’t permitted to speak, and as he turned his head to watch the last strap be pulled into place, he settled upon calling him ‘Darkeyes’.

He breathed deeply to calm himself and repeated the action several more times as he consciously worked to bring his galloping heart back into a more steady rhythm. As he waited for the first touch Dean could feel his asshole, juicy and eager, tensing and relaxing in turn as it tried to be patient. His cock, practically hidden under the bench and all but forgotten, was heavy and leaking and he almost felt sorry for it. Serves you right little bastard , thought Dean, remembering the way it had betrayed him earlier in favor of Agent Novak.

Walking around in front of Dean, Darkeyes stepped up to the adjacent toy cabinet. The man perused it’s contents carefully, his thumb and pointer finger pressed to his chin as he considered the tools at his disposal. Watching was suspenseful with Dean so invested in which item the man would choose. He wanted his hole snapped and he wanted it badly. Sadly, what the man selected was a flogger.

Irritated, Dean dropped his head to the cushion and readied himself to wait out this first level of the game they were going to be playing. To his surprise, the flogger wound up being a good warm up. The man was skilled with it, first dusting Dean’s back and flanks with barely-there repetitions to warm his skin and then artfully moving circles around the bench as he executed a smooth figure eight pattern in the air and progressively increased the amount of contact as his subject responded.

With his skin properly heated and his body singing with pleasure, Dean groaned wantonly with his eyes closed, fully immersed in the experience now. Even though he hadn’t wanted to play a waiting game when he’d knelt down here, he soon surrendered to the hands of this customer who was clearly a gifted Dom. That was rare, in Dean’s experience. For the most part, customers in the Rec Room were rookies in the art of BDSM, bored housewives and curious executives who were stressed at work and seeking an outlet. Between the library chick and Darkeyes, Dean had to wonder if perhaps a local BDSM club had decided to hit the brothel together today. My lucky day.

Dean was fuzzy by the time his Dom changed toys. Drifting in the dark with his eyes closed, he’d been enjoying the heat that crackled under his skin and the fire in his belly, he’d been blissfully unaware that a change was imminent.  His first clue was a gentle hand coming to rest on his heated flank. He didn’t open his eyes, too lost in pleasurable floating to allow reality to intrude. But he did lift his head in acknowledgement. Taking a moment to appraise his body while vaguely alert, Dean adjusted his knees and elbows as well. Then, he surrendered again to the soft humming darkness around him as he waited for the next sensation. His mind identified the new tool quickly by its sound and feel. A leather slapper.

The noise it made was sexy as hell, a strong clapping type of sound that elicited excitement and a strong physical reaction despite delivering a relatively dull pain that was quite tolerable. His talented Dom alternated the power behind his strikes as well as the location of them as he peppered Dean with pops to his butt cheeks and flanks. But, what really got Dean excited was the feel of a firm hand on his ass. Yes , he was thinking, yesyesyesyesyesyessss .  That hand did exactly what he wanted it to… it spread his glutes apart.

Cool air seemed to race over his wet crack in the moment and beneath him Dean felt his cock spring up and give a mighty leap of excitement when the first tap of leather met his newly exposed flesh. The first swat landed just above his hole, the second right below it. The next he’d eagerly anticipated and his body must’ve shown it too because his Dom seemed to know how invested Dean was in this moment… how badly he’d been wanting it. He made it count.

The accuracy of the strike was perfection and the ecstacy it delivered was indescribable. A snap of electricity originated at the point of contact and Dean felt his hungry hole explode. He screamed out in delight as it happened. The sound choked off in a gurgle as his throat tightened and tears of joy sprang up.

He didn’t open his eyes, choosing instead to just enjoy the wetness gathering among his eyelashes. The moisture pooled heavily and then began to spill over, rivulets tickling their way down his overheated face. Dean groaned in the aftermath and felt a satisfied smile spread across his face as the heat migrated out from where he’d been struck to engulf the surrounding tissue. He hoped his Dom would enjoy the appearance of the pain and the rapture as both simultaneously coexisted on his face. More , he thought, setting his weight against the restraints, I need more .  He eagerly tilted his hips to push his ass upwards expectantly.

He’d been hoping for more, and ‘more’ was exactly what he was given. Darkeyes brought Dean to the very edge, dishing out complex patterns of swats to the quivering globes of his ass and the wet crack between them, before finally striking his impatient hole again.

During a brief period of rest, Dean once more adjusted his knees and elbows. When a gentle hand touched his face, he couldn’t help but lean into it and accept the kindly administered reassurance it offered as it cupped his cheek and held him for a moment before swiping away his tear tracks.

Then, when Darkeyes began the next round of sensual punishment, he did so with a crop. Thrilled beyond measure, Dean rocked in his restraints as he absorbed the stinging snaps. He knew the licks were probably turning his skin from a blushing pink to a fiery red and even the thought of what he must look like sent a shiver of delight through him.

Bowing his body as he fought the urge to scream again, Dean rode the upward crescendo of pain because he knew with certainty that this man would give him what he wanted at the tipping point.

When the moment came, Dean felt his left butt cheek pulled to side and held there by an iron hand. Waiting was torture. His entire ass was aflame, fire burning through his lower body and blazing hottest near his eager entrance. Dean waited for the inevitable, holding his breath. He felt Darkeyes blow a cool breath over his smouldering skin but dared not open his eyes. His hole clenched and twitched as a few snaps landed just adjacent to his puckered rim.

When the finale finally came, a hailstorm of expertly targeted thrashes to the very center of his most vulnerable place, Dean did scream. He screamed loud and long, every cell in his body on fire as his hips wriggled in vein and his puckered entrance exploded violently. Jerking and twisting in his straps, Dean wept like a child as he succumbed to the power of this masterful Dom.

Darkeyes didn’t stop until Dean collapsed limp, his body completely spent and his voice hoarse and rasping as he nearly gagged on his own saliva. On the dizzying verge of passing out, Dean clung desperately to consciousness. He didn’t want to miss a moment of this ecstasy by blacking out. As the reverberations rolled over him, Dean rode the waves of pleasure and pain, both sensations twisting and tangling together as they battled for his attention.

“You may speak now,” said a vaguely familiar voice from five worlds away. It was his dark-eyed Dom. Technically, the man was his customer. But in this moment, a coin toss would be required to determine which of them had served the other… at least, that’s how it seemed to Dean. He was exponentially grateful to have such an acute need be so adequately met.

“Th-Thank you,” he managed to whisper. “Thank you, Sir. Thank you.”

“You were incredible,” said the man softly, petting Dean’s hair.

Aftercare wasn’t something that Doms paying to use the Rec Room were obligated to provide. For that reason, Dean wasn’t surprised when he was given a softly whispered goodbye and left alone on the bench. Darkeyes probably already had his eyes on someone else now that the big moment was over. If he were capable of lifting his head or opening his eyes, perhaps he’d see the man across the room engaging one of Dean’s co-workers and gearing up for round two. Hell, it was equally possible that the man had hurried home to have dinner with his family. Regardless, since the customer had exited without seeing to Dean, he was provided expert follow-up care by the staff.

As he was released from his restraints and lifted away, his eyes fluttered open long enough to see the heavy splattering of cum underneath the bench. Actually seeing the evidence of his mind bending orgasm was thrilling and he felt his dick twitch as if to say, “Yep, I put that there.”

Eventually he was moved back to the Salon where his aftercare slowly transitioned into a standard rejuvenation.

He may have had a pretty incredible orgasm on that spanking bench, but still, the day was half gone and he hadn’t been fucked. Dean strode back into the Rec Room like a man on a mission. He kept his chin high and his shoulders squared and set his sights on getting laid in every single room at least once.

In the front room he wasted no time, grabbing the hips of an older man who seemed needy. With pants unzipped and riding low on his hips, it was obvious what he wanted and Dean felt inclined to give it. The moment that Dean grabbed hold, the guy bent forward willingly. Thrilled to be given the opportunity to top, Dean grinned as he tugged the customers pants down. Then, his smile pread wider when he caught sight of a plug nestled between milky white butt cheeks.

On another day he might've taken the time to have a little fun, played around a bit with the plug and maybe indulged in some dirty foreplay, but not today. He purposefully pulled out the toy and dropped it at their feet. When the man looked over his shoulder, it was obvious that he was thrilled to have a young stud like Dean take an interest in him. He pressed is bare ass against Dean's groin and whimpered, “Please?”

Groaning aloud as he sank in, Dean pulled back slowly and sensually. Rolling his hips as he repeatedly sank into the man’s inviting warmth, his cock grew even harder as the tight constriction around his shaft momentarily took his breath away. He reached orgasm quickly and when he’d blown his load, Dean stayed snugly sheathed. His fingers gripped tightly to the clients hips as he felt another man’s warmth behind him.

Pressing backwards in welcome, Dean felt his stomach curl erotically as his slippery hole was gently prodded from behind. Rocking from side to side, Dean made it easy for the newcomer to slide into him, relishing the way his entrance tingled as it was stretched over a hard dick and then clenched down on it. His cock pulsed warmly into the body ahead of him, coming for a second time as the man who’d entered him from behind slowly began to rock inside of him. Once more, the man that Dean was fucking whispered, “Please?” and, once more, Dean obliged. Again thrusting into an eager entrance, Dean smiled contentedly and the three of them enjoyed a long and leisurely screw.

A few orgasms later Dean was braced against the wall in the library. The incredible dominatrix he’d been watching before might have been gone, but there was still plenty of action to watch. Lisa was on her back nearby, getting fucked on a table that was just out of reach. They exchanged smiles when they noticed one another and then watched each other as they let themselves be used. Dean was content to watch Lisa’s breasts bounce around as he was pounded in the ass and she seemed to enjoy watching him jack himself off as he was fucked.

Next he fucked a mousy little housewife in the bedroom, glad for the quieter and more restful exchange which almost felt like a late afternoon break. Then, renewed, he fucked the shit out of a little twink who’d said this was his first time paying for sex.

The delicate young man had begged and screamed and carried on while Dean laid into him and he’d enjoyed watching the young man’s small and flaccid cock roll around as he fucked hard and worked up a sweat.

This time when he came, Dean pulled out so he could spray his load all over the kid’s hole. It was impossible to repress the wide grin on his lips as he dragged his fingers through his cream and smeared his spend on a hot young taint.

This was a damned good day so far, one of his best ever. Moving back and forth between the Rec Room and the Salon as needed, Dean enjoyed every single fuck as if it were his last and when the day drew to its close, he headed for his favorite spot of all - the billiards room.

With an eager blonde woman on her knees and excited to blow him, Dean guided his width to her lips and smiled as she licked them and opened for him. Sinking in felt so fucking good and hoping for more Dean preened his ass towards passers-by. Soon enough, an interested party stepped up and Dean leaned forward over the woman fellating him to brace himself on the edge of the pool table. Spreading his legs wide, he offered his juicy hole for the taking. His agreeable partner seemed fine with the development, her wide eyes taking in the scene as she continued to suck him off.

Being speared was almost always a shiver inspiring moment and this one proved more so because of the width of the man behind him. One by one, Dean took on the long line of men that soon formed, each of whom stepped up to take a turn with him. He climaxed again and again as he was fucked and continued on long after his female client had grown tired of swallowing his loads.

With his time in the brothel coming to an end, he was determined to go out on a high note, and Dean continued taking man after man until eventually he collapsed forward onto the pool table. With his sweaty chest supported by green felt, he spread his legs even farther as he rested there and called over his shoulder for those behind him to start taking him two at a time.

Like a porn star, Dean stretched for the double penetration like a champ. He nearly came just from the feeling of a second cock pushing its way inside and then came several times in quick succession when the actual thrusting began.

His jizz repeatedly spattered the side of the pool table only to dribble to the floor and puddle there. His back started getting sore and his knees grew weak, but Dean kept on. Despite the long train of men he’d run through, no orgasm satisfied him. With the passing of each, he simply began hoping for another and another and another.

At some point, someone climbed up onto the pool table and knelt to thrust his dick in Dean’s face, which he gladly opened up for. When it struck the back of his throat, Dean knew he was about to come again and he sucked hard as he approached yet another climax.

Having two fat cocks see-saw in and out of him was similar to being scissored open but on a much grander scale and he was entertaining the idea of offering to let a third man try and push his way in when he began to grow light headed. The last thing he remembered was the onset of tunnel vision. Craving just one more orgasm before giving in, Dean fought the encroaching blackness that now crept up from all sides, but he wound up losing the battle.

When he woke, Dean was in the Salon with Anna by his side. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” she said, greeting him with her own unique version of a smirk. He stretched like a cat, enjoying the residual buzz that still hummed beneath his skin. Turning onto his side, Dean curled into the fetal position and gave his full attention to his favorite nurse. “How was your day?” she asked him.

“S’been good so far,” he smiled at her. “I take it I passed out again?”

“That’s becoming a bit of a habit with you,” she said teasingly, her eyes drifting away from the computer screen to meet his for a moment and then returning to it.

“Well, I’m just glad someone’s there to pick me up when I go down,” he chuckled.

She was still typing, but gave a nod to indicate she was listening. As he orientated himself, he saw his stylist nearby, it was Cassie, and she was busying herself with the cleaning and organizing of her supplies at the moment. When she glanced over at him, he gave her a wink and she smiled in return.

“I’ve been looking at the data in your chart,” said Anna, pivoting to face him on her little rolling stool. “Your blood pressure seems to be consistently on the low end of the allowable range. I think that may be part of the reason that you’re passing out with increasing frequency. Additionally, you often decline liquids when offered.”

“M’sorry,” he said, “I’ll try to drink more. It’s just… the water here tastes funny to me. I don’t care for it. But I’ll try. Will that keep my blood pressure higher?”

“It might. But I’d like to try giving you supplemental fluids each day for a week and see if that doesn’t keep you on your feet a little better.”

“How’s that gonna work?” he asked her.

“Just like this,” she answered, indicating his arm. Following her gaze, Dean’s eyes traveled down from the bend in his elbow to his wrist where he now noticed that an IV had been inserted while he was passed out.

“It’s just SalPlus,” she told him. We use two types of Saline here, normal saline, or NoSal for short, and SalPlus which is saline plus. NoSal is used in hospitals to give fluids and SalPlus is simply an enhanced version that we use here. It’s our own cocktail that includes, among other things, a trace amount of opiate. You can probably feel its effects.”

Dean nodded as he realized that was probably the soft buzzing that he’d been enjoying since he woke.

“I’m ordering SalPlus for you daily at your second rejuvenation,” she said, reaching over to pat his shoulder reassuringly. “This way, you won’t have to choke down a bunch of water you don’t want, and I can be sure that you’ll be adequately hydrated.”

“Okay,” he agreed easily. “Good deal.” One more thing to look forward too , he thought, a nice buzz every afternoon. Damn I’m gonna miss this place.

Turning away from him to focus on her computer again, the pretty strawberry blonde typed up the last of her notes and then stood. “You’re resting tomorrow and the next day,” she said as she began to roll her computer cart away, “but when you’re back, I’m scheduled to be here. So, I’ll try to be the one who gives you your fluids that day.”

“I’m off tomorrow? It feels like I was just off yesterday.”

“You were, remember? You were scheduled to work but took the day off?”

“Oh yeah,” he groaned, irritated to remember that tomorrow wasn’t even a sex day. “Guess I better get back in the Rec Room and get me some, huh? Last chance for days.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she said, peeling back the tape to remove his IV, “I’m sorry but the Rec Room is closed. It’s almost five am.”

“It is?”

“Sure is,” she nodded, handing him a pill and glass of juice. “By the time I sign my computer cart back in, my shift will be over.”

He popped the pill and tossed back the juice, handing the little plastic cup back to her. It wasn’t easy to accept that his last chance for sex had slipped past him while he’d been unconscious. “Fuck,” he groaned, flopping down.

“You’re going to get sleepy soon,” added Anna as she turned away from him, pushing her cart down the aisle, “don’t fight it, Dean. Just get some rest.”

He didn’t answer her or say goodnight, which wasn’t like him. But he was frustrated. This, after all, might’ve been his last fucking day. More than anything else right now, Dean wanted one more fuck.

He didn’t even care who it was or what they got up to… he just wanted to get hard again. He wanted to feel his dick swing heavy between his legs; he wanted to feel his hole spread wide again. Right now, all he wanted was to lose himself in the heady sensations of dick and ass, both of which were infinitely better when combined with the unique sensation that lit up inside him when a cock slid in to stimulate his sweet spot.

“Fuck,” he cursed again, banging his fist angrily on the cushioned table.  

“Aw, c’mon,” said Cassie, stepping up beside him. He’d actually forgotten she was there for a minute. “A day off can be nice. You like calling your brother, right? That’s something you always look forward to.”

“I s’pose it is,” he agreed, reluctantly redirecting his mind from sex to family. And, yeah, he could call Sammy tomorrow if he wanted. Use his regular cell to call his brothers regular cell. Make small talk. It wasn’t like them, but it might be nice to just hear the kid’s voice - maybe just ask him how school was going and see how he sounded when answering; what his tone implied.

“If you turn over,” said Cassie warmly, “I’ll give you a little massage to get you ready for sleep.”

“Thanks,” he said, glad she was willing to be kind to him when he was clearly irritable and frustrated. The friends he’d made among the staff and other workers were yet another thing he was going to miss when he left this place.

As usual, coming down takes some adjusting to. Dean might not be used to thinking of it in those terms, but the reference is definitely applicable. Having been riding a sexually charged high during his sex days, the contrast of resting days was unsettling. It often left him feeling a bit morose. Previously he’d assumed that a lack of sex was the root cause of his dip in mood. But now that he’d begun to pay closer attention, Dean had to admit that simply going a few days without sex had never pulled him into a melancholy mood before… only after he’d started in sex work had that begun to happen. At this point it was beginning to seem more logical that the downshift in his moods was attributable to coming off of the medications rather than simply going without sex.

Ushered off to bed without an injection, Dean was left feeling deflated… as if there was nothing to look forward to. Luckily, he was worn out enough that sleep came quickly. Without the erotic dreams induced by his daily shot, he slept through the night and woke feeling rested. However, upon waking, he was still surrounded by horny men, all of whom were naked and vibrating with lust as they eagerly anticipated a day of unlimited carnal pleasure. It was hard not to be jealous of them. He was hungry too, but before he was given an opportunity to eat there was drudgery to slog through and while he was eating there was the inevitable humiliation of soiling a diaper. Sadly, that indignity was witnessed by the attendant who was assigned to accompany him. In addition to cleaning the mess, the attendant documented everything from his food choices to the color and consistency of his bowel movement. The whole thing was a shit show. Literally.

At least the food was pretty damned good. Once the most cringeworthy part of the day was over, Dean was able to enjoy eating.

Overindulging in food left him feeling tired and sluggish, which really wasn’t unusual. But, today he didn’t have the option of lingering in a comfy chair to scan headlines or call his brother. No, today he had an appointment in HR.

As much as he wanted to sit down with someone and get his questions answered, a general sense of uncertainty settled over him when Dean was led to a section of the compound he hadn’t seen in a very long time. The administration wing. Sleek and modern and decorated in a crisp white palette, the place seemed formidable. As they paused in the hallway outside of a closed door, Dean stood staring at the nameplate that indicated this to be the office of D. Simmons. When his handler’s knock was answered with an order to “Enter,” Dean was ushered in and given a seat before the handler made his exit. “You’ll buzz me when you’d like me to retrieve him?” asked the man. Simmons barely acknowledged him. Looking up at the British man he remembered as Mick, Dean was the one to nod agreement and give him the dismissal he seemed to want before allowing himself to turn and leave.

Looking around, Dean entertained a passing thought that this room was just as sterile as the halls outside of it. The woman, D. Simmons he assumed, didn’t acknowledge him for quite some time. Devoid of emotion, her attention was locked on her computer screen. Her smooth skin made her seem young at first glance. As did her jet black hair which was tightly coiled into shiny little ringlets, the style reminiscent of an afro but dramatically updated with bold layering. Overall, she embodied a youthful and fashion-forward young woman. But, her style simply couldn’t compensate for the stern face and cold indifference that Dean thought marked her as being quite a bit older than she may have initially appeared to be.

When she finally turned to face him, he waited for her to speak first. But, rather than appreciate his attempt to be polite she leaned forward over the desk that separated them and spoke condescendingly.

“I could use some direction here,” she snipped at him. “Literally any direction. Were you planning to speak, or am I meant to guess why you’re here?”

Caught off guard by both her callousness and the utter contempt in her eyes, Dean fumbled. Clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, he tried again. “I just, I uh, I’m considering leaving the company and would like to get some details about the how that usually plays out.”

“Why would you want to leave the company,” she demanded sharply, as though no one had ever done that before.

“Well, I guess,” he replied, fighting his lethargy, “I guess it’s a family thing.” Then, trying to recover his normal confidence and swagger, Dean added, “And my reasons aren’t what I came here talk about. I wanna talk about my options.”

“You don’t have any. The language of your contract outlines everything and you will not find the company flexible on the terms of your employment.”

Wow. What a bitch. “I don’t have a copy of my contract handy,” he said calmly, hoping to force her into treating him decently. “Could you maybe look me up in the computer and go over the finer points with me?”

“I suppose that is my job, isn’t it,” she said, voice dripping with irritation she wasn’t bothering to hide. “Employee ID number?”


“Alright,” she said, appearing to skim over his information. “You’re in the Stay and Play program which has some additional provisions over and above a standard contract.” He watched her as she clicked a few keys and then turned in her swivel chair to pull a stack of papers from the tray of a printer. She flipped through the pages, pulling a pen from behind her ear to add marks here and there. “Here,” she said, when handing it across the desk to him, “This is a copy of your contract. Why don’t you do what you should’ve done when you were hired and read it over. I’ve marked the sections pertaining to separation from the company.”

“Thanks,” he said, flashing her a wide smile, “You’re a real peach, ya know that?”

“A peach,” she repeated flatly. “I hope you’re not trying to flirt with me.”

“Definitely not,” he said cooly, leaning back in his chair. He didn’t look up at her again, his eyes eagerly devouring the text, but he did hear it when her chair rolled back to its starting position. He assumed that she’d returned her attention to whatever task his scheduled meeting had interrupted, but he didn’t bother checking to be sure.

Starting at the beginning, Dean skipped past most everything in favor of focusing on the paragraphs with little scribbled stars next to them. It wasn’t light reading. Full of legalese, the document seemed to talk in circles rather than come to a point. Full of provisos and stipulations, each paragraph read like a run-on sentence from hell.

The first section was challenging but he was able to get through it. The basic point seemed to be that he couldn’t sue or file a regulatory complaint against the company upon leaving. Moving on to the next section, Dean was able to glean that working for a competing company was forbidden and so was sharing any insider information. The document mentioned strict penalties for breaking this rule, both civil and criminal. The fine amounts and jail times quoted were reflected as minimums and maximums and they were staggering. But, since Dean didn’t plan on selling any trade secrets, working for a competitor, or sueing Hell’s Angels, none of this really applied to him.

A sharp knocking at the door jerked Dean from his intense study of the contract and he jerked his head up. Simmons did the same, her head turning towards the door. Before she could even say, “Come in,” someone entered boldly. Looking this new arrival up and down, Dean’s eyes traveled over a very expensive suit whose perfect fit indicated custom tailoring and landed on the face of the owner. “Hello, Mr. Crowley,” said Simmons, her already stiff posture snapping to exaggerated attention. “What can I do for you?”

“I needed that file,” he replied. Dean had always loved the man’s accent. Even without it he would’ve been sexy despite his age and build. Maybe he was just sexy because he was powerful… it was hard to tell. But Dean let his eyes rove over the man as he contemplated the matter. He hadn’t realized that his mind had drifted off until it was yanked back. He was being addressed. “...Mr. Winchester, right?”

“Yeah?” he replied with uncertainty. He had no idea what had been said to him, only that he’d been addressed by name.

“One of my top stars,” the man purred, inclining his head. The gesture seemed to convey respect, though his leering smile harbored anything but. “Shouldn’t you be down in the Auction House making us both rich?”

“It’s a resting day for me,” he replied, trying to hold the man’s eye rather than be caught checking him out.

“He’s quitting,” said Simmons, breaking between the two of them with the sharpness of her tone. He looked at her incredulously, stunned that she’d interrupted so blatantly and that she’d chosen the word ‘quitting’ rather than ‘resigning’ or simply just ‘leaving’.

Crowley looked at her as well, and Dean couldn’t see his face when he spoke, but he knew the words were intended for him even if the man was no longer looking directly at him. “Quitting? This place is a gold mine. What on earth could tear a man away from the kind of money you’re making here?”

“Family issues,” he said without blinking. It was a true statement and he just hoped that Mr. Crowley wouldn’t press for details because Dean had no intention of giving specifics and he’d rather not have to fabricate a lie spur of the moment.

“I see,” said Crowley to Dean. Then, turning away, the owner of Hell’s Angels leaned over the desk as he addressed Simmons. “I need that file. You should’ve received an email this morning.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, rising from her chair and crossing the room. “I went over it as requested and there are red tabs indicating the areas that I think require your attention.” Taking a thick and heavy file folder from a its resting place on a bookcase, she handed it to him as if it contained fine china and not just an inch-thick stack of papers. As she gave their boss what he’d come for, Dean noticed that Simmons’s entire demeanor had changed. For Dean, she’d been gruff and irritable. But for Crowley, she was washed over with the desire to please.

When he left, they both watched him go. “Don’t waste your time,” she told him. “You’re not even on his radar.”

It was hard to keep his face from falling. “What?”

“He’s got a type,” she smirked, “and you’re not it.”

“That so?” he challenged, knowing she was wrong. The man had always looked at him with thinly veiled desire. The feeling was mutual and Dean had been waiting for the time to be right. “What’s his type then?”

“Someone who can do something for him,” she replied, her coldness returning now that her boss was gone.

“You’ve got no idea what I can do for a man,” Dean threw back at her boldly.

“He called you a star,” she smirked. “Do you need me to translate that for you?”

“Knock yourself out, sweetheart, I know you’re dyin’ to tell me.”

“If you’re a star,” she said, returning her attention to the computer, “that means you’re making money. He wants what you can earn for him far more than he actually wants you.” She was giving the impression of someone who was too busy to be bothered with discussing something so trivial, but he could see right through it. He waited a moment without responding because he knew she’d continue eventually, and he was right. “Guys like you never get a turn until you’re all used up and ready to be thrown away.”

“Well then, I guess I’ve got somethin’ to look forward to,” he retorted, “in a decade or two.”

In response to that, she let out a single huff of laughter as if to imply that his response had been absurd. He didn’t bother continuing with her, choosing instead to look back down at the papers he still had clutched in his hand.

Flipping to the next section, Dean found himself growing frustrated as he tried to decipher it. Sadly, this one actually seemed applicable to him. “What does this mean?” he asked, holding up the contact and pointing to the section in question.

“I can’t read it from here,” she said, making no move to come closer or take the pages from him.

“Okay then,” he said, barely holding his patience, “it says ‘incrementally decrease discretionary bonuses’, and I wanna know specifically what that means.”

“There are tables you can refer to,” she said icily. “You find the page number for each applicable table in the annotations for the corresponding section.”

“Is this really all the help I’m going to get?” he challenged, dropping the papers to her desk. “Maybe I should just speak with someone else.”

“There’s not much else to say,” she told him. “If you have a specific scenario you’d like to run by me, then I can make sure you’re looking at the correct table. But without specifics, there’s not much I can do to help you.”

“Okay then,” he relented, hoping she would be reasonable if he gave her more information. “What if,” he tried, softening his tone, “what if I was to leave, say, tonight? What if I just said, ‘Hey, I gotta go, sorry but it’s an emergency and I can’t put in two weeks notice?”

“Adequate notice is deemed to be thirty working days, not two calendar weeks,” she told him without even looking. “And you’ll consult several tables to compile the complete list of penalties for that. Let’s start with section thirty-two,” she said, pulling the pages towards her. “Here,” she added, pushing a blank sheet of paper and pen towards him, “feel free to take notes. I don’t like repeating myself.”

Ten minutes later, Dean was sinking in his chair under the weight of his compounded penalties. Between the lack of notice for his departure, his intention to withdraw all funds from the company accounts immediately, and the fact that he could produce no documentation to prove that the ‘emergency’ necessitating his departure was verifiable as something ‘company approved’, he was going to lose more than half of what he’d earned during his tenure at the brothel.

“You see,” explained Simmons callously, “the actual wages paid aren’t anything to write home about. The bulk of what is earned here at Hell’s Angels and our affiliated venues is paid out in bonuses. You get incentive pay for participating in auctions, spending time in the Rec Room, indulging in recognized kinks, attending parties and things of that nature. Bonus pay is often doubled or tripled when activities overlap… I’m sure you’ve seen how that can snowball into some pretty enviable numbers. For example, you might only spend an hour or ninety minutes with someone who won your auction… but for that one interlude you would receive your base pay, plus the bonus pay for participating in the auction, plus the additional funds awarded for hazard pay when pain kinks are involved, as well as a multiplier if special skills are needed for the session, and additional funds for each mark that didn’t fade within twenty four hours. So, that one single session might’ve only carried a base wage of forty-five dollars, but when you add up the additional funds secured in incentives, the proceeds equal over eight hundred dollars. And that’s with only one lingering bruise.”

“Yeah,” he said, slumping despite his best efforts, “I get how it works now.”

“Another thing to consider is tenure. I’m sure you’re aware that as the number of years of service grows, so does the multiplier applied to both your straight pay and incentives. That’s why your income has continued to grow with time. But, if a worker leaves the company, and then returns, they have to start over. So, Mr. Winchester, if you’re planning to leave for any reason other than the emergency circumstances listed specifically in your contract, you will indeed forfeit a large portion of the funds that have been deposited into your company account. I’m sure you’ve noticed when checking your balances that there are two numbers listed each time?”


“One is the ‘vested balance’ and the other is the ‘available’ balance.”

“Yeah. And I suppose that if I just quit without notice, I can only expect to leave with the ‘available balance’ right?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to make a generalization like that, but I think you’re getting the picture.”
“Sonovvah Bitch!” he shouted, slamming his fist down on her desk.

“Mr. Winchester, do I strike you as someone to do you any favors?”

“You strike me as a cold bitch who would eat her young,” he snarled.

She didn’t respond at all, reclining back in her chair with a smug look on her face. When she crossed her arms over her chest, she had to retract her hand from under the desk and at that moment, Dean realized that she’d hit a panic button. Security was likely on its way and if there was a camera on him, it was now recording. Already it had captured him aggressively leaning over her desk and if he didn’t immediately sit down and be quiet, he would only be hurting himself. Hoping to minimize the consequences of his outburst, Dean sat down and willed himself to contain his seething hatred and personify a cooperative employee.

Both he and Simmons remained silent for the forty to sixty seconds that it took for armed guards to come pushing through the door. I could’ve killed you and been out the door before they even got here, he thought. On the outside, he was trying to appear contrite as he apologized to everyone in the room for his outburst and reminded them that normally he was quite well behaved. “I’m just havin’ a hard time right now,” he explained, “family stuff…”

“We understand,” said the lead man, “but an incident report will have to be filed.”

“Naturally,” he said, hoping that the false tone he was using wasn’t as sickening to everyone else as it was to his own ears.

“And we’ll stay for the duration of your meeting as well,” added the security team’s leader, giving a reassuring nod to Simmons as if she were some soft hearted schoolgirl rather than a stone cold shrew Dean had been dealing with from the beginning. Knowing he’d been beaten, Dean gave a nod of agreement and dropped his eyes back to the contracts on the desk.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing with his hand that he’d like to pick up the papers and still retain his hand. Granted permission, he made a show of picking them up carefully and then pulled them into his lap when he sat down.

If reading the fine print of his contract and disclosure agreements had been challenging before, it was damn near impossible now that he was so worked up. Dean caught himself re-reading the same gibberish over and over as he tried to ascertain the full extent of how thoroughly horse-fucked he actually was right now.

By signing these documents, Dean realized now, he’d basically sold his soul to the brothel. Even if he’d been able to provide the required notice, there were deductions made for half a dozen other missteps he’d be making as he exited, the most heavily penalized being the removal of his funds in their entirety prior to the ‘timely removal’ standards table that was illustrated in section fifty-four. If he left as he’d been hoping to, he’d be leaving with a paltry sum that equated to the kind of cash he used to procure on his knees in a bathroom stall. Bread and peanut butter money - not retirement money.

When he was marched out of Admin, Dean felt weak in the knees and not in the fun way. Back when he’d begun working at the brothel, he’d had to think about a lot of things he’d never thought about before… things like deductions for taxes, a bank account for his savings and a debit card for expenses, a safe deposit box for important papers like his contract and his various employer provided insurance policies. He’d never had any of those things while hunting with his dad. But, as new employees, Dean and the others in his orientation group had been reminded that such details required their attention.

In hindsight, it was easy to see that he’d been careless at the beginning. If he had bothered to read his contract carefully, or even been honest with Sammy so that his pre-law brother could look it over, Dean would have seen that keeping the lion's share of his money would be challenging for someone like him.

Dean had expected to lose some of his accumulated wealth to fines and penalties because that was just how things had always worked at the brothel.  After all, behavioral infractions carried a financial penalty at Hell’s Angels. Even for relatively small infractions, the resulting penalties would often result in a worker losing their bonus and/or multiplier for months at a time. But, though he’d known there would be consequences for leaving without notice, Dean hadn’t imagined they’d be quite so severe.

As he’d waited to meet with HR, he’d assumed that once he knew the actual dollar amount he’d forfeit when he quit, he could simply weigh the option of a speedy exit and decide if it was worth the cost. He’d expected a substantial financial penalty, but nothing like this.

For the rest of the day, Dean remained in a fog. He didn’t eat or sleep, he just laid on a bed in the Quiet Room, occasionally referring back to his contract to check the numbers again because the ones in his head just didn’t seem possible. The following day, he still had no appetite, though he was a bit more accepting of his circumstances. After all, how could he have expected any less? Honestly, the one lesson that life had consistently taught him since childhood was that Dean Winchester wasn’t destined to have the kind of life others had. No one really loved him, not in a way he could see or feel, and no one really cared about him enough to check on him either. In all the time he’d been hunting with his father, no concerned relative had ever sought them out to be sure that he and his brother were being properly cared for and no government agency had bothered checking to be sure he was being fed, educated, or even alive. Everything of value that he’d ever owned had either been stolen, lost, or ruined on the road and every new relationship that he’d ever begun to build had been wrenched painfully away.

The only good thing Dean had ever had in life was his brother. No wonder he’d taken such good care of him. Even if their father hadn’t constantly instructed him to watch out for Sammy, Dean would’ve done it.

That night, Dean made another trip down to his safe deposit box. The paperwork he stowed inside was a few sheets thicker now because it included a copy of the formal letter of resignation he’d submitted that afternoon. It seemed unlikely that he’d actually be able to remain at Hell’s Angels until the date he’d quoted, but he was determined to give it a try. Otherwise he had nothing to show for all the time he’d spent here… nothing he couldn’t have earned flipping burgers in a fast food joint, anyway.

He then stood at the desk resolutely checking back in. He received his usual blood and urine tests as well as his injection in preparation for the next day. But, for the first time that he could remember, Dean wasn’t enjoying the lust that coursed through his veins, the towering erection between his legs, or even the company of other naked men as they figited around him in the dark.

In the morning, he drank his juice obediently and kept still as he was painfully waxed and plucked in preparation for the Auction. When he entered the room and heard applause swell from the crowd, Dean didn’t feel his pulse quicken and he didn’t preen for the crowd. He just scanned the audience as the bidding began and chanted a feverish prayer that Novak not be present.

The winning bidder wound up being an older woman, plump around the middle and and wearing too many rings on her short, stubby fingers. He tried to keep his mind on pleasing her but his heart wasn’t in it. The same held true in the Rec Room. The voracious sexual appetite he’d had in the past seemed to be completely gone. Sure, his dick ached and his asshole clenched hungrily, but the desires of his genitals no longer seemed powerful enough to override the emotional hangover that he was dealing with.

As the hours of the day ticked away, Dean remained on auto pilot. He paid no attention to the sex that was going on around him, or the acts he himself engaged in. He still sucked on the tits and dicks and balls that were shoved in his face, and he still bent over to be used when prompted. But all the while, his mind was off pondering other subjects.

He considered the hunting life and all it had taught him. Dean’s life prior to working at Hell’s Angels was a hard one filled with complicated choices and difficult, dangerous work. He’d risen to challenges and put his life on the line like a lauded hero only to live the life of a despised degenerate. He’d saved people time and time again, delivered justice and vengeance to those who inflicted pain and suffering on the world. But he’d had no physical comforts or emotional rewards for all he’d sacrificed. Instead, he’d lived a life of cheap motels and shitty food. In the end, it would seem, the lesson he’d learned from hunting was that no matter how much he did, it would never be enough.

Dean also pondered his family, or lack thereof, and he lingered over the lessons he’d learned as a Winchester. All told, the big life-lesson he’d learned from his father was similar - no matter how hard he tried to make himself into what John Winchester wanted him to be - it would never be enough.

Having cycled through the rejuvenation process a few times, Dean was feeling tired. He’d never really had that feeling in the Rec Room before, but here it was. He was currently sandwiched between two men, one barreling into him from behind and the other bending over in front of him. On some level, he knew his dick was content because the constant throb of want had momentarily abated. Similarly, he was vaguely aware that the relentless yearning of his twitching rim was being appeased thanks to the hard cock stretching it wide open. Regardless, Dean felt disconnected from it all; it was almost as if he was watching it all happen to someone else, someone he didn’t care about at all.

He barely noticed when the man behind him pulled out and came on his ass, only paying enough attention to look around and see if anyone else was waiting nearby for a turn. That’s when he was jerked out of his comfortable numbness.

Striding towards him from across the room was a formidable figure with dark hair, bright blue eyes, and a determined scowl. This was the first time Dean had ever really seen the man in motion. Until now, Novak had only paced back and forth a few steps within the confines of a small room. But out in the open like this, his posture was far different. The man's gait was nearly a strut as he snaked fluidly around both furniture and human obstacles alike. A familiar trench coat was billowing out around him as he advanced and for a moment, he was mesmerizing to watch. Dean stayed still, riveted to the spot as the agent closed the distance between them.

Seeing Castiel Novak approach him, especially here amid the unbridled sexual activity of the Rec Room, was doing something to Dean. He was like a snake to the charmer - a bull to the matador. As Novak drew closer, Dean could only watch helplessly. He was simultaneously terrified and eager and he made no move to evade the man as his worthy adversary stopped short, nose to nose with him. It was obvious that he was trying to ignore the man whom Dean was still mindlessly fucking.  

Maybe it was because seeing Novak in this setting was so unexpected, or perhaps it was the events of the last few days having shifted his focus, but either way, Dean knew he wasn’t reacting like he normally would’ve. Lacking both the will and the ability to flee, he simply stared at Novak while waiting for the man to speak. All the while he continued thrusting but paid no attention to the sex, his body the rough equivalent of a mere wind-up toy.

Those fierce blue eyes stayed locked on his, and Novaks determined gaze conveyed a sense of urgency that didn't need to be spoken aloud. When the agent took a deep breath, Dean did too. It was an involuntary reaction. He glanced down to the man’s lips as they began to form words, absolutely fascinated by their shape. From the deepest corner of his mind, Dean’s subconscious was screaming at him to snap out of it… to be alert and focus before he wound up making a crucial mistake. It didn't matter. He was powerless against the mans strange magnetism and it kept him fully fixated on the agent as he spoke. His voice was commanding and Dean’s body responded to it, a tingling sensation returning to his forgotten groin while saliva flooded his mouth. In hindsight, the agent's words seemed predictable.

“Hello, Dean.”

Chapter Text



“Hello Dean,” Agent Novak repeated.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He was paralyzed, unable to decide on a greeting or even formulate words. Vaguely aware that he was still buried deeply in the body of one client and also wearing the sticky, spattered remains of another, he stood gaping at the agent, stunned into stupidity and unable to look away.  

“Dean,” said the man, leaning in a bit as he began to speak. “I know this isn’t an appropriate time. I’ll keep it short.”

Still mute, Dean could only nod his understanding.

“I realize that, to you, I am the enemy. But I need you to understand that I mean you no harm.”

Dean was vaguely aware of voices and movement… some kind of commotion nearby that was pressing in on the little bubble that seemed to encompass both him and Novak. Cognizant of his surroundings but largely ignoring them, he continued to gaze into the beseeching blue eyes that were firmly locked with his own. It wasn’t until the descending chaos actually broke their visual connection that Dean turned his attention to the action.

Handlers were encroaching, brusque and impatient. Nearby customers were staring as the agent was roughly apprehended. Expertly pivoting him away from Dean, the handlers began pulling the man away. So many times in the past few days, he’d wished for this to happen. But now that he was watching Novak be forcefully expelled, like a drunkard from a nightclub by bouncers, something didn’t feel quite right about it. All he could think was, Don’t they know who he is? 

Confused and feeling strangely detached from the scene despite his best efforts, Dean was slow to react. But, to the best of his ability, Dean returned to the task at hand. His cock, thanks to a good cock ring and the miracles of modern science, was still thick and heavy. It was more like a billy club to him now - not a pleasure center or even an appendage - just an object for him to swing around. But thankfully, his muscle memory didn’t fail him. Without any focus or effort, he was able to resume pleasuring his client. His knees bent, his thighs tightened, and his hips rocked, but the only sensation that registered for him was that his dick was now warming again. Because Dean had paused his ministrations when he’d seen Novak approaching, the exposed portion of his wet dick had been cooling in the small space between bodies. Honestly, he hadn’t even noticed it until he’d resumed thrusting. But, as he repeatedly sank into the warmth of another body, heat began to travel up the length of his shaft and into his body. 

Still watching Novak be dragged away, Dean continued humping mindlessly. But then, when the handlers had nearly reached the exit, he saw Novak dig in. The man pitched forward, throwing his captors off balance. Dean’s heartbeat accelerated when he saw it happen. 

As the agent whirled around, his trenchcoat snapped and as Castiel Novak twisted free, Dean felt like he was watching it all happen in a movie. The staff lunged to reclaim him but came up short. Only an inch ahead of the handlers, he once more approached Dean. 

The agent’s arm was fully extended and though he had no idea why, Dean found himself mirroring the action, both men reaching so that their hands could connect. For a split second, the rest of the world fell away again and Dean was lost in the blue of those eyes again. No words were spoken in that moment, but a beat later when they were jerked apart, he realized that Novak had pressed something into his palm while they’d been connected and he clenched it tightly as the Agent was forcefully dragged away from him. Again.

Dean was still rolling his hips, he now realized, his body still fucking the one in front of him even if he was barely aware of it. Across the room, Novak was being wrestled out the door. Still connected to another by his genitals, Dean made a conscious effort to focus on what he was doing. But, the object that had been tucked into his palm now called out to him. He wanted to look at it. 

Novak had sought him out in the Rec Room, which had been surprising. It wasn’t uncommon for patrons of the Rec room to approach a group having sex - either requesting to join or calling dibs on the next round. But, if someone in the group declined, then the hopeful joiner was expected to desist. It was a cardinal rule. So, the fact that the handlers had become involved was a strong indication that Dean’s customer had rebuked the agent and been ignored.

Considering how foggy he’d been until now, it wasn’t surprising that Dean had been slow in grasping the events as they unfolded around him. But, in the aftermath, Dean knew he should do the best he could to satisfy his customer, even if he really wanted to divide his attention for the sake of getting a closer look at what he’d been left with, what he now clutched in his sweaty palm. A business card.

Clutching it tightly, Dean joined the others around him in watching the spectacle. It was a rare thing for customers to be man-handled like this. From across the room, the agent was calling to him as he struggled. 

“Dean,” he was yelling, over and over. “Dean!” 

He could feel it bodily when their eyes locked again. 

“When it happens, don’t talk. Just ask for me!” shouted Novak.

Dean’s mouth fell open once more and a small, questioning sound was all that came out.

“Don’t talk, and keep your head down,” the agent repeated as he was wrested through a small side door. Dean stared after him, eyes locked on the doorway even after it was clear of activity and swinging gently closed. Before it clicked shut, he heard the agent’s muted voice call out once more from beyond. “Ask for me!”

That was it. The room full of people who’d paused to watch the spectacle returned to their games with an apathetic shrug, any lingering curiosity easily snuffed out by the tantalizing allure of overt sexual acts. As those around him sank back into carnal bliss, Dean took stock of himself. His heart was pounding heavily in his chest and his body was tense. A fleeting adrenaline rush had accompanied the encounter with Novak and jolted him from the fog he’d been in. As it began to abate, he was left feeling jittery. Looking down at the little card now, Dean saw that it said, ‘Castiel Novak, CPA’ and included contact information. 

A tickling sensation along the bolt of his jaw brought Dean’s mind back to the man he was meant to be servicing, the man who had now twisted at the waist to reach behind him and cup Dean’s jaw. The move was successful in recapturing Deans attention. 

Glancing down at the place of their joining, he felt a surge of pride as he took in the appearance of his own swollen member and the stretched pink hole that clung greedily to the very tip of him. Wet and juicy, both Dean’s triumphant cock and the reddened rim that it penetrated were a feast for the eyes. As was often the case, his chest swelled with pride as he enjoyed the view of his own package. 

With a flicker of eye contact and a nod of acknowledgement for his customer, Dean made a conscious effort to hold on to the card he’d been given, trapping it between his sweaty palm and the customers hip. Now, with his hands framing the man’s backside, Dean let his gaze wander slowly down the spine of his paying customer who was once more bending over to be fucked. But only when his line of sight had traveled low enough to lock onto his own impressive girth did Dean push back in to resume thrusting.  

After a few slow and erotic pumps to get things going again, he began increasing his speed and power. “You good?” he asked the man.

“Fuck yeah,” was the answer. The voice was high and thready as it echoed the words a few more times. Feeling the man dip lower and spread his legs wider, Dean knew the client was close, and he couldn’t suppress a self indulgent grin as he doubled his efforts. Slamming into the man with a low growl, he watched his throbbing cock disappear again and again, faster and faster, and then for the big finish, he reached around and grasped tightly. Giving the man something to fuck into as he reached his peak, Dean kept his fist in place for the duration of the man’s orgasm. He even sighed contentedly as he felt his own release sneak up on him. He hadn’t been expecting to come at all, so this was a pleasant surprise. And though the feeling wasn’t powerful, pleasure was undeniable as it spread gently over him. Deep in his gut, a slow churning that he’d barely been aware of slowed with the release and, for a moment, Dean’s reality narrowed down to a singular point that was his orgasm. The fact that this one was less powerful than those before it didn’t lessen his enjoyment of it, for once. Instead of feeling deprived that it could’ve been better, Dean found himself genuinely pleased.

In the aftermath of their climax, Dean and his client peeled apart slowly and carefully. Knowing that he hadn’t been as attentive as he should’ve been during their coupling, he tried to make up for it now by pulling the man’s back to his chest, caging him in, and nuzzling his ear as he whispered sweet little lies to him. 

His efforts seemed in vain as the customer shrugged him off. “I think I need a drink,” he muttered, staggering off in the direction of the bar. You and me both , thought Dean as he watched him go. Then he motioned for assistance from a handler and asked to be taken for rejuvenation.  

Still clutched in his hand was the business card he’d been given. Having been sandwiched between his sticky palm and his clients hip for a while, it was now soft and moist. Looking it over as he was escorted to the Salon, he pondered the exchange with Novak. 

Having the man burst into the Rec Room like that, rather than win an auction to get him alone was certainly a departure from previous meetings. So was the agent’s demeanor. Normally so stoic and purposeful, today’s version of Novak had been agitated and almost needy. Desperate. But, even more puzzling than the change in Agent Novak was his assertion that Dean would soon need help. And the strangest thing of all? The idea that this man would be willing to come to his aid if he did.

Drifting in and out of consciousness as he was massaged, the agent’s voice kept coming back to him. Images of the man in his various personifications also moved through Dean’s mind as his thoughts wandered. Sometimes the man’s face was sexy and indulgent as it floated in and out of focus. Other times it was cold and unyielding. There were even a few times where his imagination managed to recreate Novak in one of the few moments when his outer personna had cracked a bit to reveal an underlying vulnerability. 

As Dean was massaged, his daydreams about this fascinating enemy brought about a variety of physical reactions and he experienced everything from cold dread to the kind of excitement he was used to feeling mid-hunt. 

Having been hyper-focused on the agent lately, the man’s voice was well ingrained in him and it sounded quite real to Dean as he was involuntarily thrust from one incarnation of Novak to the next. Dean was disoriented when roused. He hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep. But the dream-like face and voice of his adversary lingered as he slowly regained consciousness. 

With his earlier adrenaline rush behind him now, Dean found himself feeling lethargic as he got to his feet and his mind remained sluggish. It would seem that the fuzzy and grey kind of reality where he felt cloudy and disconnected from the world around him was to be his new normal. He simply couldn’t shake it off. The sensation was reminiscent to having been given a sedative, but less severe. Maybe , he thought, I’m just really fuckin’ tired.

Moving when prompted, Dean followed his handler. It was obvious that he was being guided back to the Rec Room. Oh yeah , he thought, I’ve gotta get back in there . For some reason, he’d not even noticed the rejuvination process which he now realized had stiffened his cock. It was swinging heavily as he walked, bound in a cock ring to keep him hard. Slowly but surely, his virile nature rose to the occasion and despite his foggy head, Dean’s primal urge for sex returned. 

At war with his body’s interest in getting laid, Dean nursed a strong desire to sink back into his dreams and sleep. He wanted to rest; maybe daydream some more before drifting off to sleep.

No rest for the wicked , he thought wryly.  It was a sex day, after all, and there were customers hoping to do dirty things with him. Sex days were Dean’s favorite. Well, usually. 

Surrendering to the inevitable, Dean marched into the Rec Room with his shoulders squared, even if his heart wasn’t really in it. Regardless of the chaos in his personal life, Dean did what he’d always done best. He had sex. Lots of sex.

As hours passed he felt his head clearing a little. Orgasms came and went, each a bit weaker than the last. As always, he sought to find at least one attractive quality in each of his partners so that he could enjoy the less desirable ones enough to get off. Even amongst the unappealing there was usually at least one thing… pretty eyes, a kind smile, a shapely shoulder. Something. 

With a clearer head came deeper thinking and memories of things he’d barely noticed while groggy. 

He now remembered most of his recent rejuvenation session and smiled to himself as he remembered the encouragement Charlie had given him as she’d tried to tease his weary cock back to life. 

“You’re Dean-fucking-Winchester,” she’d told him. “I know you wanna get back in there.”

“My favorite girl,” he’d said in response. Even now he felt a warm affection for her.

“Woman,” she had corrected him. In all the time he’d known her, she’d never let him slide on that one. “Lady, if you prefer. Princess works too, even queen. But definitely not girl.”

“Cause a girl jerking me off would be creepy,” he had supplied, going for humor but likely missing his mark in that moment. 

“The whole thing is creepy when you say it like that,” she had complained. “Wake the fuck up,” she’d barked at him then, probably because his eyes had drifted shut again. “You keep falling back asleep. Wake up, you lazy bastard.”

Her face, which he was remembering only now, had been jovial. She’d been teasing him playfully but with an underlying challenge. 

“Okay,” he’d relented. “I’ll wake up, but only if you put body glitter on me like you do her.

“No. Way.”

“C’mon,” he’d prodded, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Do me up in body glitter like what’s-her-name.”

“You don’t have the tits for it,” she’d shot back. “And her name is Gilda.”

“What’s she look like?” he’d asked at the time, just pursuing dialog as an anchor to keep himself awake.

“Like I’d tell you,” she had teased him, her hand still working to get him hard. “You just wanna picture us making out.”

“Well, it would probably speed things up if ya know what I mean.”

“Fair point,” she conceded. “It’s never taken this long to get you going before.”

“Tell me about her then.”

“She’s incredible. She’s a medical student… just does this so she won't have to take out six digits worth of loans to finish school.”

“Where does she find the time?” he had mused, trying to picture her. “Don’t med students have a shit-ton of homework?”

“She works here every summer,” answered Charlie. “Takes leave when school starts up again. She’s technically pre-med right now but this year she’ll be applying to med school.”

Opening his eyes and lifting his head to look at her, Dean said, “Man, you sure do know what’s sexy. Tell me more about how smart she is so I can finally get hard.”

“Oh, right,” she’d giggled, “I wasn’t thinking. So, yeah, she’s uber hot. Smooth dark skin, deep brown eyes and long curly hair.”

“Cup size?”

“She’s a C-cup.” Remembering their exchange in bits and pieces, Dean was stunned in the present to realize that he’d actually gotten an answer to that question. “Perfect size if you ask me,” she’d said with a firm nod. 

Now that she’d been described so well, Dean could almost picture Gilda. He smiled with the knowledge that she had little dimples at the small of her back. 

“And we have lift off.” That’s what Charlie had said when he’d finally gotten to full mast. 

“Whatcha feel like doing when you get back in there?” she had asked, clearly trying to help him get into his normal headspace. 

“Dunno,” he had answered honestly. 

Wait , he thought now, suddenly remembering the odd exchange with Agent Novak earlier. The man had been forcefully expelled from the Rec Room. Watching it happen should have felt good. But, it hadn’t. 

Unlike the monsters he used to hunt, Agent Novak didn’t fit comfortably into any particular box. Though he was an enemy, and a formidable one at that, the man wasn’t evil. He was mysterious and complicated to say the least, but he wasn’t evil. Thinking of the business card he’d been given, Dean suddenly realized that he had no idea what he’d done with it. It was lost to him now and he had almost no memory of what it had said. CPA? That was all he could be certain of.

Having an unreliable memory was relatively new to him and so was the soft and hazy, almost dreamlike quality that his life seemed to have taken on lately. Reality was seeming less real by the day and represented a growing contrast between this life and his old one as a hunter. Despite the trappings of this place, which were many, at his core Dean was pushing back against the crippling fogginess with one singular thought - It’s time to go. I have to get out of here

Steps had been taken to orchestrate his exit from the brothel, but there were details to finalize. Plans to make. People to call. The urgency of his situation with Novak merited far more attention than he was giving it. This was a problem and he knew it, but with his mind floating from one topic to the next at random, he seemed powerless to take control. 

Thankfully, as his day drew to its close his haziness did seem to lessen. The crowd in the Rec Room was thinning out and soon it would be empty. At this rate it seemed safe to assume that he’d be clear-headed by the time he was done for the day. Silently, Dean promised himself that when he was taken to the Salon he’d use that time not to relax and recover, but to make plans. At a minimum, he decided, he’d request to take tomorrow off. Tired and detached as he seemed to be, a sex day wouldn’t be much fun anyway and taking a day to plan was the logical thing to do. 

So, with nothing more than a plan to make plans in his head, Dean returned his attention to the shy girl whose friends had conspired to bring her to a brothel for the event of her ‘deflowering’.

Knowing her backstory, he’d been spending an inordinate amount of time on sweet and gentle touches. But, as he heard her sigh softly into his ear, he realized that she was ready to move on to some heavier foreplay. He took his time with her, coaxing her to a memorable first orgasm with single-minded determination. Her soft and grateful smile when they parted stayed with him even as he turned his attention to finally getting off. 

He eventually got what he needed, coming hard several times in a row as he took on a line of eager men near closing time. Sadly, his day drew to its close with an anger bang. Some chick, a novice with a strap-on and an obvious disdain for him, sent him to the handlers with a ragged hole and sufficient dent in his pride.

Normally, Dean would grab something and hold on for a rough ride. But, a rookie was a rookie. Sadly, she’d had no idea how to deliver the kind of tooth-rattling fuck that he could get off to. No. She’d nearly injured him a few times and he’d done nothing but tolerate what she dished out. 

Since it was the end of the day and crowds were waning, there wasn’t even the benefit of being watched to scintillate him. Normally his end of day issue was that of diminishing returns. Yeah, he thought, I should be so lucky. He’d fucked his way through the maze of rooms today, only to end up downright bitter about how little enjoyment he was able to squeeze out of each climax. When the room was finally empty and his day was over, Dean was relieved. He felt like a factory worker getting ready to punch out for the day, weary and all too aware of his lot in life. 

Tired and sore and feeling quite disillusioned, Dean wanted nothing more than to be alone. He just wanted to slink away like an old, tired dog and lick his wounds. His comfy mattress was calling to him like a siren and it was all he could do to keep up pretenses as he was cleaned up and checked over. He answered the standard questions and took the pills he was given. Then, for the first time he could remember, Dean turned his head and clenched his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to watch when a needle was plunged into the bend of his arm.

When it was over, the nurse told him he was ‘all set’ and wished him a nice evening. He replied in kind. Tired as he could ever remember being, Dean got up and followed a handler out into the hall. Between their bodies, a lead swung lazily and that’s what he focused his eyes on as he was led to the sleeping quarters.  

“G’nite,” said the man arbitrarily when Dean had been deposited in his cage.

“Night,”  he answered - his tenth consecutive one-word answer and, thankfully, the last he’d have to offer today. Finally, he was able to roll onto his side and pull his knees up into the fetal position. The sweet relief of unconsciousness awaited him, but even as he closed his eyes to welcome it, the promise of restful oblivion was beginning to slip away from him. Within his ribcage his heartbeat was growing steadily heavier and more pronounced. His breathing was growing more rapid as well and, already, there was a gentle buzz enveloping him. Skittering downward toward his groin were waves of tingles and even as he tried to ignore them in favor of sleep, his body was responding to them. His cock, which had been drooping lazily along his hip a moment ago, was plumping up. The shot was kicking in. 

It would seem that despite his weariness, there was little hope of getting any genuine rest. A restlessness creeping up on him and the awareness of it was amplified as his ears picked up on the background noises around him: others fidgeting in their cages, breathing heavily, likely battling the urge to touch themselves even as erotic thoughts danced through their heads. With the intention of asking to be sedated, Dean turned over and called out to a nearby handler. 

“Dick?” he asked, trying to remember the guys name. 

“Mick,” corrected the handler in a thick British accent.

“Oh yeah,” nodded Dean, remembering him better now. “You transferred, right?”


“Can I get something to help me sleep?”

“Not a problem, mate,” came the reply. As the man disappeared, likely to retrieve the necessary syringe, Dean laid back on his pillow and tried to stay relaxed. 

From his adjacent cage, Benny spoke. “Dream the good dreams.”

The churning of lust that was sweeping over him began to win out as Dean turned his head to look over at the man’s impressive form. With his gaze lingering on an enviable cock, Dean felt his own stiffen further, almost standing erect now. 

In response he said, “My Dream Dude better have a body like yours.” Then, before temptation could fully set in, Dean turned his back on Benny. Nestled back into the fetal position, Dean tried to ignore his lustful yearnings because he knew that a sleep-aid was enroute. Even now, he still craved sleep above all else. 

Grateful beyond measure, Dean eagerly surrendered his arm when Mick returned with a needle. Uttering a heart-felt word of thanks, he then curled up on his side again. Almost immediately a sense of heaviness settled over him and he smiled as it began pulling him under. Belatedly he remembered that he was supposed to do some thinking and planning tonight before bed. He didn’t linger over the issue, though, simply deciding to do it in the morning instead. 

For the first time today, Dean was feeling genuine contentment and he didn’t want to ruin it. Progressively the insistant throbbing between his legs began to abate and so did the carnal desire coursing through him. Both slipped easily to the back of his mind now that he’d had a bit of chemical help. 

Dean had absolutely no idea how long he’d been out when he was startled awake. The piercing sound of a wailing alarm jerked him from slumber and, as he bolted up-right, a deluge of sensory information assaulted him. 

Scrambling up onto his hands and knees, Dean took the most reactionary stance he could manage within the confines of his cage. Around him was nothing but chaos. Men were shouting in the deep and shadowy darkness. He could hear the heavy footfalls of boots on the floor, running, and there were bursts of loud banging that were sharp enough to compete with the wailing siren. Beams of white light swung and swiped through the dark with no discernable pattern and, in their brief illuminations, Dean was able to catch glimpses of what was happening. But honestly, it didn't matter because what he saw made no sense at all. 

Grinding his palms into his eye sockets, Dean tried to clear his blurry eyes for a better view. It didn’t help much. With no idea what was going on, Dean turned and called out to Benny. 

“Well look who decided to join the party,” came his friend’s response. The playfulness of his tone immediately registered and Dean trusted that if Benny was joking around, then whatever was happening must not be too serious. Relaxing in response, Dean dropped back down to the mattress and took a deep breath before rolling onto his side so the two could face one another. 

“The fuck’s goin’ on?” he demanded when their eyes met. 

“Couldn’t tell ya, brotha,” the man replied. “Tried to wake ya when it started,” he added, “but you were out cold - prob’ly woulda slept through the zombie apocalypse.”

“If that’s what this is,” growled Dean, “then we’re easy pickins bein’ locked up like this.”

“Ducks on a pond,” confirmed Benny. “But so far no one’s foamin’ at the mouth. I suppose that’s the good news.”

Dean pressed his palms into his eyes again, still trying unsuccessfully to clear his blurry vision. He saw stars behind his eyelids as he applied pressure but when he opened them again to try and look around, he found only marginal improvement. 

Assessing the situation, Dean intuited that whatever was happening went beyond the standard emergency preparedness drill. The alarm going off was one he’d never heard before. The lighting was also unfamiliar and a closer look around the perimeter of the room revealed that it was coming from the emergency back-ups. The regular lights, which operated on a very dim setting throughout the designated sleeping hours, were completely absent. If not for the emergency lights, there would be none. Dean also noticed right away that the figures running through the room weren’t handlers, or any other staff he was familiar with. They wore head to toe military gear and carried weapons. They didn’t seem organized either, shouting amongst themselves and arguing over who was meant to do what and where they should go. 

“Ben,” he murmured, “What the hell is all this?”

“M’not sure,” answered Benny.

Just then, a figure ran right past his cage. At that same moment, the beam of a nearby flashlight rolled across the back of the figure as it passed by. Dean’s jaw dropped as he read the four letter word appearing in huge block letters across the back. 

“Ben,” he growled, “it’s a SWAT team.”


“Man, you shoulda led with that.”

“S’pose I should’ve,” he conceded. “But it don’t make no kinda sense. I seen regular cops too and all they do is bicker like high school girls. None of ‘em are doin’ shit but runnin’ ‘round like chickens with their heads cut off.”

When the alarm was finally silenced, Dean’s ears were ringing. As time ticked by, there was less running and yelling but as one hour became two, no one offered a word of explanation to the men in cages. He and Benny watched the activity around them and Dean fought the urge to surrender to sleep as they worked their way through half a dozen possible explanations for what was happening. His body, still drugged, was unnaturally weary despite the unnerving chaos around him. The result was a sensation of jittery fearfulness combined with an odd tendency to randomly slip away into sleep. 

Around him, the others caged in this room were having a wide variety of reactions to the melee. Benny seemed strangely calm considering how negative his commentary was. Some men were loudly complaining about the intrusion as if they were customers at a hotel receiving poor service while others were visibly nervous, balled up or rocking in their cages. Occasionally someone would lose it, scream and rattle the bars of their cage. These demands for answers seemed to be met with a wooden club. Banging one on the bars produced a deafening noise that left no room for further argument and the occupant would inevitably slink back from the threat and grow silent in response.

Casting a glance over towards Kevin, Dean tried again to reassure the young man. He was one of the nervous ones and he was balled up in the center of his cage, weeping silently as he repeatedly chanted, “I was in advanced placement, I was in advanced placement.” All efforts to soothe the boy were in vain and Dean wound up turning his back on the kid simply to preserve his sanity.

When a new bust of clanging from a nearby cage startled him, Dean’s frustration got the better of him and he complained to Benny. “Why don’t they just give it rest?” he groaned, irritated by his co-workers. “If they were gonna tell us anything, they woulda done it by now. What good does it do to scream and rattle the cages?”

“Dunno,” chuckled Benny, “but ya can’t blame ‘em for tryin.”

“I fucking can ,” he retorted. With no further response from his friend, Dean continued to survey the room looking for clues about what was really going on. He was at a loss. The agitation of those around him seemed to be growing as more hours ticked by. Deep down, he was fighting it too. The difference between him and the others was probably just experience. 

Dean had grown up in the hunting life. Keeping calm in the midst of terrifying situations was second nature for him. So, as troubling as it might be to find himself caged, and thus impotent at a crucial time, he knew better than to waste his energy pleading for answers or shaking his cage in frustration. Such actions would yield no result. Instead, he tried to handle the situation as though he were on a hunt. He kept his mind occupied with observing the events around him and cataloging what he knew. 

He knew that the SWAT team had initially been clad in masks that completely hid their faces from view. Each looked the same as the one before them as they spilled into the room and spread out, weapons pointing the way for them. 

Most of the team had carried M-4a1 assault rifles but he’d seen a Sig Sauer and a CQBR, HK 9mm. All were wearing traditional uniforms with protective vests and were laden with equipment. He’d even seen one was carrying a battering ram. The hall had initially seemed smoky when the door opened, so the use of tear gas in a nearby area seemed likely. Regardless, the masks were off now and that seemed to indicate that things were settling down.

He had no idea why this was happening. It wasn’t like he was squatting in an abandoned house on a hunt right now. Hell’s Angels was a well known, reputable establishment. It was part of a nationwide company that operated similar facilities in six other states. 

It was obvious that whatever was happening, it wasn’t just here in this room or even relegated to this particular building - it was all encompassing. The entire brothel was under siege - even the ‘front’ areas that catered to clients. Second of all, whatever was going down, it was poorly planned. Apparently there were multiple agencies involved and the coordination between them was lackluster at best. No one seemed to know what they were doing, least of all the weapon-touting SWAT teams who were clearly working under the direction of someone they didn’t know and weren’t used to. Overhearing random bits of chatter from their radios, Dean also thought it sounded like there was more than one person in charge. That was always a recipe for disaster. This operation was a shit show, without a doubt. 

At least the lights had been restored shortly after he’d awakened. Waiting for answers by the soothing soft light of normal sleeping hours was vastly preferable to the harsh and uneven back-up generator lights. The latter had instilled a deep sense of dread that Dean hadn’t been fully aware of until he’d experienced relief from it. 

According to Benny, the handlers had been in the sleeping room, just like normal, at the onset. They’d been quickly and easily subdued and immediately removed from the room. Not long ago, Dean had overheard radio chatter that mentioned “all handlers were being processed behind building C”, but he had no idea which building that actually was, or what would become of each employee at the conclusion of their ‘processing’.

Dean had no idea what time it really was when he lost his patience and began to kick out at his bars, but when he did, Benny immediately responded. 

“C’mon brotha,” his friend implored, “you know that ain’t gonna do ya a lick-spit of good.”

“Fuck it won’t,” he growled back. “It makes me feel better.”

“You were cussin’ everybody else for doin’ it earlier,” Benny reminded him, “and now that they’ve all given up, you’re gonna get started?”

“Fuck yeah,” he huffed, but he did drop his feet back down to the mattress. For a time, he tried to think of some other way to unload the nervous energy that was building in him. It was infuriating to be caged like an animal. 

“I dunno what’s worse,” Benny grumbled, breaking the short silence, “waitin’ around like this, or doin’ it with a raging hard-on.”

“The hard-on,” growled Dean. Unlike the other nights he’d spent here, Dean was free to touch himself. Hell, the handlers were all gone and the uniformed personnel that had been left to “hold the room” likely could not care less what happened within the cages. But both he and Benny knew the sad truth: that they could get off a dozen times and it wouldn’t change a thing. Thanks to the shots they’d received before bed, both would get hard again as soon as they’d come and the same thing would happen over and over. The orgasms they’d have would feel good, sure, but they’d wind up with nothing but sore arms to show for their efforts. And they would definitely risk ridicule, possibly even physical reprisal for such activities if the SWAT team members decided to be appalled by their behavior. 

At some point the soft murmured chanting from Kevin’s cage had faded into white noise for Dean. So, when the boy finally fell silent, it took a few minutes for Dean to register the change. Turning his attention back to the kid, Dean thought he’d fallen asleep at first. But, a closer look revealed dark almond eyes that stared back at him imploringly.

“You okay?” he asked tentatively.

“I was in advanced placement,” whined the kid feebly.


“Advanced placement,” he repeated, “I was headed for Princeton. How did I end up here?”

“Hey man, you gonna be okay?”

“No, I’m not okay,”  he whispered, a new tear leaking out. “Look at me. I’m naked and caged and the fucking army is here to take us away.” 

Dean paused, wondering what he could possibly say to calm the kid. Crumbling again, the boy let out a wretched sob and wailed, “Why am I even here?”

“Why are you here?” asked Dean honestly, glancing around the room as he spoke. “I mean, fuck, if you were headed to Princeton, how’d you wind up hooking?”

“Exactly,” Kevin bawled. “What was I thinking?”

“Uh, I dunno man. I mean, I’ve heard of people doin’ this to pay for college, I guess. Princeton comes at a price, right? I mean, maybe you thought you’d do this for a year and then go?”

“Oh god,” Kevin cried, “I want my mom. I need my mom.”

“I’m sure you can call her, man. These guys are gonna get who they’re after and go. Eventually we’re gonna be out of the cages. Then you can call her, okay?”

“She’s dead,”  he wailed, anguish etched into his face along with the obvious fear. “She’s been dead for over a year and I’ve been in here fucking like she can’t see me, but I know she can.”

“She can’t,” Dean replied, trying to calm him. “She can’t see you. I swear. She’s sleeping. They call it a dirt nap for a reason, okay?”

The sound Kevin made in response to Dean’s logic made his balls pull back up into his body. Ugh, have it your way, he thought. Go on ‘n cry it out.

Kevin’s bawling seemed to last another hour but eventually his baleful sobs gave way to just sniffling and hiccups before silence settled over the kid. Shortly after that, two officers walked past. Unhurried, the two were deep in conversation. 

From what he overheard, Dean was able to ascertain that all sex workers were being kept in their cages for a specified amount of time due to the fact that most had been injected with a volatile drug. 

“We’d be required to handle them two-on-one if we tried to transport them now,” one said to the other. “Clearly we don’t have the numbers for that.”

In response, the other asked, “How much longer are we on lock down?”

The uniformed men were moving away from him by then so he didn’t catch the answer to that question. He thought he’d heard the word ‘six’ but had no idea if that meant six more hours or six am. Frustrated, he slumped back down. Letting out a labored sigh, he tried to relax enough to fall asleep.

Rest was probably only possible due to the effects of his sedative, but he’d take what he could get. Again and again he managed to drift off, only to be awakened by some inconsequential sound.

When the normal time for waking had arrived, the overhead fluorescent lights kicked on. The sound was unmistakable and resulted in a noticeable buzzing noise that lingered even after harsh lights had flickered and caught. Each day that Dean had spent in this place had begun with that same sound and in response there was stirring in nearly every cage. One glance around the room had Dean’s heart beating faster. 

Around the perimeter of the room, armed swat officers had been joined by regular police officers. All were were moving purposefully now. Because something was happening. 

Dean’s apprehension was spiking and he quickly launched himself up onto all fours again. Just as he was rising up, Dean heard a pronounced clunk. This noise, combined with a palpable shudder in the metal cages, had always been an indication that the auto locks on the cages had been released so that each individual enclosure could now be opened manually. 

“Finally,” he grumbled, tired of waiting around.

Between his legs there was a huge boner. It was as needy as ever but Dean wasn’t even tempted. His mind was preoccupied with wondering what was about to happen. 

With nothing to do but wait, he tried to envision each plausible scenario and formulate a plan for how he’d react. At one point he turned to look over at Benny and a burst of involuntary laughter escaped before he could help himself. The man was cupping two hands over his junk and looking around as if he’d only just now realized that he was naked.

“The fuck you laughin’ at?” demanded Benny, his eyes cold and angry.

“You, man,” chuckled Dean, “When did you turn into a prude, huh?”

“If I was you,” retorted Benny in his thick Louisiana drawl, “I’d quit laughin’ and git ready to play defense… at least until these fuckers prove they ain’t gonna take advantage of the situation.”

He’d had all night to think, to consider things. But, having been sedated had left his head fuzzy and incapable of really brainstorming anything. He hadn’t been able to really rest, nor had he been able to truly focus on all the variables of his situation. So, now that their time waiting around seemed to be at its end, Dean was suddenly struck by how little thought he’d given to what might actually happen next and how he should react to it. A surge of fear swept over him as he looked around at the armed men currently in control. Despite the cold sweat that now beaded across his brow and upper lip, Dean did what he always did when realizing that he was in over his head: he projected bravado to hide his fear and used humor to deflect. Giving Benny a cocky smirk that he knew made him appear indifferent, he replied teasingly to his friend by saying, “You tellin’ me not to drop the soap, Ben?” 

“Yeah man, I’m tellin’ you to watch your ass. ‘Cause, brotha, these dudes could pass you around all day and night - and there ain't a goddamn thing you could do about it.”

Dean didn’t need to count the number of armed men or make assumptions about their agenda. He didn’t need to contemplate the mentality of their leadership either. The possible horrors that could be visited upon any of them by law enforcement were undeniable, regardless of why these men were here or who they were accountable to. Still posturing, Dean winked playfully to convey his confidence and answered Benny sarcastically by saying, “The ugliest one of these guys is still hotter than half the dudes you did yesterday.” 

“Yeah, keep laughin’,” Benny responded, glancing around with leary eyes, “it’s all fun and games ‘til somebody’s gettin’ horse-fucked by the business end of a semi-automatic.”

“Wouldn’t happen,” Dean threw back, perhaps a bit too quickly. Even as he denied the need for trepidation, he couldn’t stop his own imagination from exploring the possibility and the ways he might be able to fight back if the worst ended up happening. 

To his dismay, his cajun friend managed to further strike fear through Dean’s heart by also adding, “Hell, man, they might end up just using us for target practice. ‘Cause these guys prob’ly don’t get to use their big-ass guns half as much as they want to. All they’d have to do is say we resisted. Then they could do whatever they want ‘n come away clean.”

Dean looked back and forth between his friend and the nearest man in black. Fear was pooling in his stomach but there was no point in showing it. Benny was right. They were vulnerable like this - naked and completely defenseless. They were at the mercy of armed men and suspecting that at least of few of these officers might be of questionable character was completely valid. 

Minutes ticked by and the longer that the combined forces stood waiting, the more restless the men in cages became. The sounds of fidgeting grew increasingly prominent as the tension ratcheted up. 

When he heard a tinny voice coming through a nearby headset, Dean could only make out one word. “Execute.” A split second later there was a burst of activity. The row of cages nearest the door were simultaneously unlatched and the sound was like that of a starting gun being used to signal the start of a race. Uniformed men leapt into action, converging on the cages in sets of two and shouting as they unceremoniously extracted each inhabitant and then wrestled them into makeshift cuffs. 

Some resisted while others went limp and allowed themselves be thrown around callously, quickly bound and then hauled back to their feet. Dean’s fellow detainees asked, demanded, even begged for information about what was happening, about where they were being taken and for what purpose. But no answers were being provided as his fellow whores were man-handled and marched out through the exit door. 

The officers were shouting orders not to resist as they emptied the first row of cages and quickly moved on to the second. As his time drew nearer, Dean felt a familiar mix of fear and excitement - the kind of anticipatory dread he had always felt during hunts, especially when preparing to enter the suspected lair of someone monstrously evil. 

Watching the scene unfold, Dean was relieved to see that the officers didn’t seem quite as trigger happy as Benny had supposed them to be, but they did nothing to minimize fear or anger in those whom they dominated. None of the uniformed men projected a sense of calm either - they just continued barking orders - repeatedly shouting the phrase “stop resisting” even when no one was resisting anything. 

Dean’s stomach bottomed out as he watched his peers, naked and afraid, be treated so roughly. Each had their wrists bound in front of them with zip ties like common criminals before being marched away without explanation. 

The uniforms worn by SWAT covered every inch of skin and included heavy boots, gloves, and even helmets. Next to them, the nakedness of the working men was striking. The sight was pitiful. When it came time for his row, Dean contemplated fighting back. Something about being taken into custody seemed wrong to him. They weren’t criminals… there was just no logical reason for cuffing them. Deep down, his gut was telling Dean that the time to make a move was NOW because once his hands were zip tied together, an escape, if one were needed, would be exponentially harder to orchestrate. 

Don’t do it , whispered a voice in his head. This new voice was calmer. It wasn’t easily dismissed either because it belonged to his brother. Don’t you dare do it, Sammy repeated insistently. Don’t give them a reason to shoot. 

With that in mind, Dean wound up going quietly. Sadly though, he had already been marched out of the room by the time he thought to look back at Kevin. He felt a tug at his heart with the realization that he’d never even turned around to give the kid some encouragement before he’d been taken away. In hindsight, it seemed downright neglectful. 

Led directly across the hall, they entered what appeared to be another dormitory that had already been emptied. Though he’d never seen the room before, he instantly knew what it was because it was so similar to the sleeping quarters he was used to. There were cages spread out over the main area in a grid-like pattern with cabinets running the perimeter of the room. In the corner was a designated area for handlers that had always reminded Dean of the nursing stations in hospitals. 

The appearance of the cages seemed to be the only discernible difference between this dormitory and his own. These didn’t have steel bars. They were made of either glass or thick plastic and they almost looked like giant hamster cages. This must be a ladies dorm , thought Dean, noticing that all the bedding was pink. The sheets had a shimmer to them which seemed to indicate them having been made from a luxurious material, maybe satin or silk. The exit door at the opposite end of the this room seemed to be their destination and waiting there was a clusterfuck of cuffed, naked men and uniformed officers. 

Once they reached the bottleneck of bodies, one of the officers escorting Dean left his side. Now he was only guarded by one man. Looking around nervously, he tried to figure out what his play would be if he actually did decide to make a break for it. 

“Don’t even think it, brotha,” said a familiar voice from behind him.

“Like you know what I’m thinkin’,” retorted Dean, turning to face his friend. 

“You’re an open book to me, Winchester.”

Turning serious then, Dean leaned in as best he could to whisper, “What do you make of this, Ben?”

“Dunno, brotha, but it ain’t good, I’ll tell ya that.”

Nodding agreement, he peered beyond the man’s hulking frame and searched the line of bodies behind him. Hoping for a glimpse of Kevin, Dean continued scanning the room until he was jerked off balance by the man holding him. As his body was forced to pivot, abruptly returned to face forward, the second guard returned to Dean’s side and then they were moving again. 

Over the shoulders of those in front of him, Dean strained to see what lay ahead.  

As his company joined the mass of bodies at the doorway, he heard orders being given to those ahead. Amid the bodies that now blocked his view, an officer he couldn’t see was barking, “Left foot,” and then, “right foot.” Over and over he heard the same as they all inched slowly forward.

A few minutes later when he’d reached the head of the line, Dean was quite relieved to comply with the command. He lifted his legs one at a time so that the two officers kneeling at his feet could wrangle him into a pair of drawstring pants. 

Regular uniformed police officers were working steadily in the background, unloading boxes and boxes of what appeared to be hospital scrubs. Opening them up and sorting them by size, the men worked together to keep the line of cuffed men moving. Dean accepted a shirt to match his pants when it was foisted into his hand and he carried it as he was urged to start walking again. Clearly the idea of uncuffing each man and allowing him to actually put on a shirt was not a priority. But, just having his lower half covered was such sweet relief that he honestly didn’t care. 

In a long line, Dean walked barefoot down the length of an unfamiliar hallway with his shirt clutched in a tight fist. He’d thought he knew this place like the back of his hand, but then again, he hadn’t even known how many dormitories there were until Charlie had told him. Now, in hindsight, he realized that he only knew the areas he’d been frequenting as part of his routine and that there was quite a bit of the compound he’d never even seen. 

Ahead was another door and, as they neared it, Dean could see that this was an exit to the outside world. It was still dark outside and through the rectangular opening he could see bright lights sweeping back and forth as well as the pulsing flash of red and blue police lights. 

His ears now picked up the thrumming sound of helicopter blades outside and the distorted, indistinguishable words that someone was shouting into a bullhorn. The lights and sounds were chaotic, growing louder as he approached. His heartbeat, having gradually increased as he contemplated what waited outside, now burst into a racing staccato. 

Fearful and intently focused on what was coming, Dean watched the activity at the doorway and tried to make sense of what was happening. A long line of police officers was stretched down an adjacent hall and as his own procession reached the intersection, Dean saw that each captive was being handed off to a single officer. These new officers, he soon realized, had no guns. Only tasers. 

As the cuffed men ahead of Dean reached the doorway, their hair was blown back. Each grimaced and narrowed their eyes as they stepped into a vortex of wind and bright lights as they were pushed into the hands of a far less intimidating officer. One by one, his fellow whores were being paired off street cops and marched outside. 

When Dean stepped up to take his turn, he got his first glimpse of what really awaited him outside. There must’ve been a recent rain because the parking lot was glistening wet, its asphalt dark and shiny as spotlights swept over it in wide circular patterns from above. 

Squinting as he turned his face upward, Dean ignored the roaring sound of helicopter engines. He could make out the bellies of two choppers, but was unable to determine if they belonged to law enforcement or not. Belatedly, he also registered the click of camera shutters and the strobe effect of professional flashbulbs. Yelling also reached his ears and, as his drug addled mind finally processed the different layers of vaguely familiar and distinguishable sounds, he realized that he was far too late in doing what he knew he should do: drop his face to the ground so that it couldn’t be easily photographed. 

The scene was clear to him now that he’d marched a few steps into it. He and his co-workers were being marched single-file through one of the back parking lots behind the brothel. There was a huge crowd gathered here, held back by police tape, and everyone who was watching seemed to be shouting. Agents of the press were part of the crowd and they shouted inane questions as their cameras took rapid-fire photographs to document what was happening. 

With his hands bound near his waist, Dean was off balance and when he cringed away from the sudden barrage of blinding flashes, the strong arm of an officer which was looped around his right elbow restored his balance. Stumbling as he tried to walk while disoriented, Dean struggled to get his bearings. Here, nearest the building he’d just exited, the crowd of bodies was close. He was literally walking a gauntlet between two crowds. A few of the more insistent voices from within the mob were distinguishable and Dean soon realized that they were shouting questions in his general direction. 

“Tell us,” shouted a shrill voice from his left side, “did you have any idea what was going on in there?”

“How does it feel?” called someone from the right. “How does it feel to be part of an industry take-down of this magnitude?” 

Thankfully, the officer at his side seemed intent on ignoring the crowd. Dean kept his eyes on the ground ahead and ignored the questions. As they crossed the lot, the crowd seemed to fall away and be left behind. His ears were ringing from the throng of the assembled gawkers and one of the questions he’d heard shouted over the din was still echoing around in his head. 

“When did you first suspect that something was wrong?” 

A cold breeze snaked over the bare skin of his torso and his bare feet, now wet, were expediting a loss of body heat that soon had his teeth chattering. Feeling safer with the crowd behind him now, Dean risked an upward glance. The parking lot was darker and significantly quieter here because the bulk of the activity seemed to be focused on the building he’d just left. The crowd was converged on the exit they’d used and the helicopters above seemed to be circling tightly in the vicinity. Up ahead was a line of charter busses which was their obvious destination. His eyes followed the long procession of bare chested men walking ahead of him and he saw that when each reached the open door of a bus, he was guided inside. They were being loaded up and taken away. 

His first thought was for the locker full of personal effects he was obviously leaving behind. His laptop. His phone. His wallet. His leather jacket - the one that used to be his fathers. On the heels of that was a wave of disgust as he realized that he’d been a fraction of a second too slow when emerging from the building. It seemed safe to assume that at least one of the many pictures taken by the press in that moment had successfully captured his face.  

He’d be on the news.

People would see… everyone would see. They’d seen Dean fucking Winchester being led out of a whore house in cuffs, the subject of scrutiny. Unfortunately, every single person who had been throwing questions at him already knew far more than he did about whatever was going on. What answers could they possibly imagine him having?

“Fuck!” he cursed, the urge to vomit presenting itself as the scope of what was happening came crashing down on him. In the aftermath, Agent Novak’s words seemed to be repeating on a loop in his head. “When it happens… keep your head down.”

Keep your head down, thought Dean, remembering the man’s words, which had wound up being no help at all. Well, thanks for the tip you fucking prick.

By the time he was stepping up into a waiting bus, Dean’s body was shivering so hard he was shaking. A blast of warm air enveloped him as he entered and it felt wonderful. So did getting inside where he was protected from the invasive eyes of onlookers. 

He walked down the aisle and swung into the first open seat. Once he was off his feet, Dean looked around. A few seats behind him, Dean located a familiar set of hulking shoulders. Benny. The man’s head was down, his face hidden, and though Dean wanted to call out to him, he thought it better to keep quiet. 

Thanks to the shit show he’d just endured, Dean’s head was relatively clear. Unfortunately, his thoughts weren’t ordered at all. Spinning around in a jumbled chaos were fears of public shame, confusion regarding the situation in general, frustration regarding Agent Novak, worry over his father and brother, as well as a deeply seated anger at himself for the decisions that had landed him in this position to begin with. 

Dean took a seat and tried to sort himself out as he waited for the warmth of the bus to chase the cold from his bones. Unable to put on the shirt while cuffed, he did manage to spread it over his chest like a blanket which helped minimally. 

Aside from instructions to stay seated and be quiet, nothing more was forthcoming from the two armed officers who were stationed at the front of the bus to watch them. They remained in the lot for quite some time after the bus had been filled. 

Doing his best to control his temper, Dean closed his eyes and tipped his head back. Trying to get his thoughts together was an insurmountable task since he had no idea what was happening or whose custody he was even in right now. Despite efforts to calm himself, it was impossible to keep tension from creeping back into his body again and again while his mind circled through tonight’s events as well as those of the past few days.

As time dragged on, fatigue set in and it seemed best to just try and rest. Letting his mind wander seemed to help in short intervals, but no matter what, he couldn’t keep himself distracted for long. Over and over he’d be pulled back into a maelstrom of turbulent thoughts. He replayed the conversations with Novak over and over in his head, considered the possibilities of incarceration, formulated the excuses and lies he could tell. 

Since no explanation had been provided to them yet, the detainees could only whisper conjecture amongst themselves. Mostly they waited in silence, each man likely pondering their own unique situation and speculating on what an event like this might mean for them personally. 

When the air brakes on the bus finally released with a pronounced psshht, he knew they were finally getting underway. Opening his eyes for the first time in a while, he noticed that the sun was up and that the parking lot had dried in its early morning light. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. 

The crowd outside was considerably smaller now and Dean stretched as their bus pitched and lurched its way out of the lot. Snaking through the series of small private drives that connected the various buildings of the facility, Dean noticed that, aside from a few clusters of activity, the place was largely deserted. 

In the end, they didn’t actually travel very far. In fact, they’d spent far more time waiting on that bus than actually being driven around in it. Sandwiched between other buses, they rode caravan style on the freeway and took an exit that lead downtown. Passing a competing brothel near the bus station, Dean noted that it appeared to be open for business. The property was far less impressive than what he was used to and it didn’t escape his attention that it was incredibly busy. 

Their line of buses slowed outside the civic center and crept slowly around behind it and, when he finally had an unobstructed view, Dean could see that each was waiting for the bus ahead of it to unload its passengers at the loading dock. 

When they finally rose from their seats to disembark he stretched his aching joints. Once again the men were herded into single file lines. Merging with others from buses ahead of them, both male and female, he and his co-workers were escorted inside and down long, curving corridors that seemed to run along the exterior of the building.  

Entrances out onto the arena floor were marked by letter and number so that ticket holders for events at this venue could easily find their seats and next to these painted characters were hand-made signs hung with tape. Each contained a series of numbers. At the entrance to each passageway was a long table that seemed to be serving as a check point. Long lines stood waiting and the people seated on the other side of the tables, obviously meant to be assisting, wore nametags. 

When directed into one of these lines, he watched those ahead of him, straining to eavesdrop. He was desperate for any information at all. When it was finally his turn to speak to someone one-on-one, Dean found out that these people were all volunteers. They seemed empathetic when he demanded answers from them, but they all gave the same responses.  “I’m very sorry. I understand that this is frustrating, but please be patient. All of your questions will be answered soon.”

As he moved down the line of ‘volunteer advocates’, Dean was first identified verbally and then matched to a photo. Next he was snapped into a plastic wristband with a unique identifying number on it. After that he was handed a color coded map of the arena floor and told that he was expected to remain in the area that matched the color of his wrist band. Finally, he was asked to hold still while he was cut free of his wrist restraints. 

The pair of volunteers whose job it was to release him read a statement as he waited, which ultimately made it clear that so long as he did not engage in an altercation, verbal or otherwise, he’d be free of the restraints permanently. Last of all, he was given a packet of information and told to read it while waiting for further instructions.

Following along with the others who wore a purple wristband, he was ushered past several holding areas, each divided by cheap nylon ‘walls’ that were similar to what he’d seen used as fencing at outdoor concert venues. Each color coded area was being patrolled by uniformed police officers but at least they were armed with tasers rather than guns. 

Entering the purple zone, he saw dozens of plastic table and chair sets in the center and that’s where everyone seemed to be heading. Three sides of the area were blocked off with portable walls and from what he could tell, beyond them was just more of the same. 

When those around him began seating themselves at plastic tables, Dean did the same. Once seated, he did what everyone else was doing. He pulled out his packet of information and began reading.  

The cover carried an unfamiliar logo bearing the initials ICIS. Flipping to the first page he found that ICIS stood for ‘Informed Consent Is Sacrosanct’. Reading on, he found out that ICIS was a consumer protection group. Primarily run on private donations, it was also partially funded by the government. Operating within a series of statutes, the entity's purported function was to help insure that the autonomy of all citizens was being respected - in all aspects of life. 

This group, as it turned out, had been behind several news stories he’d seen recently but had paid little attention to. The most recent had been one that Sammy had even mentioned concerning proper labeling of food and household products. Having always been overly preoccupied with eating healthy and stuff like that, hearing his brother drone on about genetically modified food, additives used in processed foods, and the application of pesticides to produce had been nothing but white noise to Dean. But putting two and two together now, he realized that his brother was probably quite familiar with ICIS. 

“Dean,” the kid had implored, “people have a right to know what kind of chemicals have been used on the food they’re eating. If companies can keep lying about the chemicals they use and getting away with it, then how can anyone make an informed decision about what they’re putting in their mouth?”

“Stop eating vegetables,” Dean had sneered jokingly, “I never do and I’m healthy as a horse.”

“I’ve grown up risking my life to save people, Dean. I didn’t survive all that evil just to get taken down by an artery full of congealed bacon grease.”

“Dude. If you have to eat vegetables, just rinse them off first. See? Problem solved.”

“Um, no Dean. When I finally start a family, I don’t want my first born son coming out with two heads just so some corporate asshole can save a few bucks keeping the bugs off my kale.”

Remembering their discussions now, Dean felt his chest tighten with affection for his brother. The kid was good through and through, far more concerned with the welfare of others than Dean had ever been. Since heading to California for school, he’d marched in protests over the treatment of migrant workers and donated volunteer hours to local homeless shelters and even some animal causes. That’s why Sammy was the bigger person. The better person. Because he cared about things like that while Dean had always been perfectly content to turn a blind eye.

Exhaling deeply as he resumed reading, Dean began to understand the connection between ICIS and his brothel. His eyes scanned a list of known carcinogens on page three, skimming right over them because he couldn’t even imagine how to pronounce a single one. But, in huge block letters at the bottom of the page was an eye catching sentence. 


The next page listed medical conditions associated with the listed compounds and the symptoms that are attributable to each. His eyes didn’t linger over the information, but even as he continued skimming, words like, ‘impotence’ and ‘cancerous anal lesions’ were jumping out at him. ‘Vaginal and anal prolapse’ were hard to miss and so were things like ‘colon cancer’ and ‘prostate cancer’. 

Before long, Dean had stopped scanning over the material and started reading slowly and carefully. There was an entire section on informed consent regarding medical procedures and as he read it over a second time, Dean was making a connection. 


She’d been the only therapist at the facility that he’d ever really been glad to speak with. Coincidently, she’d been the first one to explain to him what informed consent was. Reading more about it now, he realized that he’d been far too complacent regarding the pills and injections that he’d been receiving. 

There were several pages of testimonials in the packet - real stories of people whose lives had been ruined by the drugs they’d been given… drugs that had been normalized and made to seem innocuous by the administration of facilities like his own… facilities that stood to rake in tremendous profits because of their use and often declined to accept any responsibility for the health of their staff once the adverse effects of those drugs set in.

Come to find out, the life of a retired sex worker was often plagued by afflictions like mutilated genitals, unmanageable pain, impotence, and even sterility. That is, if they could even make it past the drastically increased risk of terminal cancers to reach retirement age. 

There was a section on exploitation as well. The legal mumbo-jumbo wasn’t easy to digest but the explanations which followed it were simple enough. Exploitation, he learned, was exactly what it sounded like… any circumstances in which a corporation treated people unfairly in order to benefit from their labor. According to the literature in his hands, prostitutes seemed to be every bit as disadvantaged as Sammy’s precious migrant workers. 

On the last few pages of the handout, Dean finally got the explanation he’d been waiting for. The brothel known as Hell’s Angels had been under investigation for quite some time. Suspected of repeatedly ignoring the laws of informed consent, an investigation had been launched years ago. Several subsequent investigations had since been started based on the findings of the first, branching out into other issues like descrimination and exploitation. 

Human trafficking, physical and mental abuse, coersion, extorsion, theft, fraud, and even rape were alleged in the reading materials and it would seem that of the investigations, and the deeper they looked, the more they found. 

Once enough evidence had been gathered, ICIS had petitioned the government to create a joint task force which allowed them the ability to infiltrate the facility using secret investigators. The culmination of that effort had been search and seizure warrants, executed only days ago, which had enabled the task force to plan a raid. 

Sweeping into the brothel without notice, they’d completely shut down the business and arrested everyone on site who’d been involved. As this was being done, everyone on the grounds had been taken into protective custody. 

That’s what this was. Protective custody.

Dean was so into what he was reading that he didn’t even notice someone stepping up next to him. Dean hadn’t realized how focused he’d been on the reading until a firm hand clamped to his shoulder. Startled, he nearly shot out of his chair.

“Oh, hey Ben,” he chuckled, recovering. “Did you read this?”

“Some,” he shrugged. 

Dean set down his packet and turned his full attention to his friend whose features were troubled. Lifting one leg, Dean kicked out the plastic chair next to him and tipped his chin to indicate the available seat. 

Watching his friend sit and arrange himself in a comfortable position, Dean waited for him to speak. When he didn’t, Dean prodded him, “Ben?”

“How you holdin’ up?” asked Benny, craning his neck to lock eyes with Dean.

“Been better,” he replied. Benny had sought him out, admitted to not reading all the information provided, waited to be offered a seat, and sat down looking morose. Clearly there was something on his mind and it seemed somehow trite to talk about anything but what was troubling his friend. 

“I hear ya,” Benny nodded. “But hey, at least we weren’t target practice, right?”

“Never figured you for a ‘bright side’ kind of a guy, Ben,” replied Dean, grinning, but cautiously. Humor was a natural middle ground for him as he waited for Benny to get down to the nitty gritty.  

“This’ll blow over soon enough, I s’pose,” said his friend dismissively.

“Like hell,” he spat, his anger rising to the surface despite his attempt to set it aside for Benny’s sake. He couldn’t help it. He was shell-shocked to say the least. With no time yet to reconcile all that had happened and figure out a way to deal, he was left feeling jilted, frustrated and angry. And, for some odd reason, this moment was when Novak’s voice chose to rise up in his mind again, echoes of his words rolling around in Dean’s head. Keep your head down, he growled internally. Yeah right. Fat lotta good that little piece of advice did me. Thanks a pant-load Novak, you fucker.

Turning back to his paperwork, Dean let his eyes skim over the text. He wasn’t really reading, just giving himself something to look at, something other than Benny’s steely eyes. Cold and salt water blue, they bore into Dean as though imploring to know things he didn’t know. Unable to continue meeting such a weighted and meaningful gaze, Dean continued surveying his handout as he waited for the man to put his thoughts into words. 

“C’mon Dean,” whispered Benny from beside him. Despite the man’s voice being low, there was an urgency to his words. “Whatcha thinkin’ bout all o’ this?”

Unable to hold back, he launched into a tirade. “I think it’s fan-freakin’-tastic,” he snapped, looking up at Benny, “I mean, apparantly my dream job at Hell’s Angels was a fuckin’ sham. I thought I was livin’ the good life and the whole time they were cheatin’ me blind and pumpin’ cancer into me. And now we’re all basically prisoners here and for god-only-knows how long.”


“Look the fuck around, Ben, we’re all dressed alike and there’s guards everywhere. This might even be worse than jail. You know what they’re gonna want from us, right? They’re gonna wanna parade us around in the media, put us on the fucking stand to testify, and for what? Just to put the big guys in jail? Slap them with fines? What’s gonna happen to us when it’s over, huh? Tell you what, Ben, it sounds to me like I woulda been better off just whorin’ myself out in a goddamn alley all this time. Worst case woulda been jail. At least in jail they don’t put your picture on the frickin’ news. Man, at least in jail they give ya a damned phone call.”

“They say we’ll get a call soon,” shrugged Benny, his eyes dipping to the table.

“My phone’s in my goddamn locker, Ben, along with everything else I own. Nobody even gave us a chance to get our shit when we were leaving. They cuffed us… as if we did any-fuckin’-thing wrong. This packet makes it sound like we’re the victims but we ain’t bein’ treated like it. We’re bein’ treated like criminals.” 

“At least we’re together,” whispered Benny.

Dean rolled his eyes at that, but kept his mouth shut. Even though he hated to admit it, he really was glad to have a friend by his side right now. Reduced once more to silence, Dean found his attention shifting back to Benny’s underlying issue. Whatever the man had needed to talk about was still simmering beneath the surface and Dean’s outburst had only forced Benny to push it down lower. Sadly, he had no idea how to coax the man into unloading. 

Words. Talking. Communicating. These had never been in his skill set; not even a little. 

The silence was stretching out between them and the tension was nearing an unbearable level. Hoping to break it, Dean pushed back from his chair. “I can’t sit here anymore,” he grumbled. Grabbing his handout and folding it in half he stuffed it into the pocket of his thin cotton bottoms and said, “Let’s go get the lay of the land.”

Benny seemed cartoonishly big in his little plastic chair, and when he looked up at Dean he huffed a laugh. “Where we gonna go, huh? Like you said, there are guards everywhere.”

Trying to force a smile was pointless. He managed a smirk though, and answered by saying, “Then let’s see how far we can push the boundaries.”

Shrugging again, Benny stood up slowly and the two put the tables behind them. Together they ambled around the designated area and took in their surroundings. What Dean had mistaken for a single cubicle wall turned out to be the closest in a series of walls that had been erected to create temporary sleeping quarters. Each little square bore a number and as the men walked along, Dean realized that the numbers on the cubicles corresponded to the numbers on their bracelets. Once they figured that out, it wasn’t hard to find the quarters assigned to each of them. 

“We’re not even that far apart,” chuckled Benny, surveying the small area allocated to him. 

“The good news is, we can jerk off if we want to,” said Dean sarcastically. “The bad news is, there’s no door to my room.”

“Brotha, I can’t believe you’re thinkin’ about your dick right now.”

“That’s all I ever think about,” he replied. “I’m a whore for reason, Ben.”

Turning away from the makeshift doorway, both men resumed walking. “Dammit,” grumbled Benny a moment later. “Now ya got me thinkin’ about it.”

Trying to see over the partitions, Dean turned a circle on his tiptoes. “Is there only one way outta this maze?” he grumbled.

“Seems like it,” agreed the taller man, not straining at all to survey their surroundings. “Betcha jerkin’ off in front of the guard would be a damn decent distraction. I could slip right past. Blow this popcicle stand.”

“You’d stop to watch me,” teased Dean, falling into their usual banter.

“True story,” his friend replied. For a split second, he almost seemed like himself. But before either of them could think of another wise-ass comment, Benny’s face turned stoic. “Wait,” he said, pulling them up short. “There are porta potties over there along the wall. I bet that’s our ticket outta here. We just say we gotta piss and they let us go use the john.”

“It ain’t even a lie,” said Dean, suddenly aware that he had to go. “Let’s go,” he said, heading in that direction and walking with a purpose now. When they reached the guard, Dean was surprised to see that he wasn’t stopping any of the foot traffic that moved past. They exited the purple section and began a wide circle around the outer edge of the arena. With the exception of the area designated for portable bathroom stalls, the entire floor space seemed to be divided into equal sections. Though each was designated a different color, all were laid out similarly. Once they’d used the facilities, the men exited the arena floor completely. The lengthy hall that curved around the outside of the arena now looked quite different than it had before. Instead of long lines of men and women being escorted by law enforcement, Dean now saw mostly individuals and small groups ambling about, much the same as he and Benny. Looking like tourists, or maybe freshmen on the first day of high school, the other detainees appeared apprehensive as they talked quietly amongst themselves. 

Little by little, Dean was relaxing. Maybe it was just because he was tired, or maybe it was the last of the drugs leaving his system, but once he started to settle down he grew very tired, very quickly. Benny admitted feeling the same and they turned around when they reached the far end of the building. 

“So this is what it looks like backstage,” mused Dean as they passed dressing rooms and other locked doors. .  

“You really gonna try and pretend you never got backstage at a show?” teased Benny, elbowing him as they headed back towards their own section. Passing pallets of nondescript crates and racks of folding chairs, Dean answered by saying, “The kind of bands I went to see weren’t lookin’ for dudes to blow ‘em, if ya get what I mean.”

“You never saw Priest?”

“Judas Priest?” clarified Dean.

“Yeah, brotha, Halford is the real deal.”

“Noooo,” said Dean, shaking his head. “No way.”

“Would I lie to ya, Dean? Could I lie to ya?”

“M’not sure,” he grinned, glad to be distracted from their bigger issues for a moment.

“I also saw Faith No More. Twice,” added Benny.

“Roddy Bottum,” smiled Dean.

“Yep, with Metallica in the fall of ‘89 and then solo in Houston come spring of ‘90.”

“Damn,” marveled Dean. “I had no idea you were a full-on groupie. Didja get some?”

“With Roddy? Wouldn’t you love ta know,” grinned the man devilishly.

“Who else?” Dean pressed as they continued down the constantly curving hallway. 

“Saw Gaahl once.”

“Dude,” said Dean, tipping his head, “that’s a heavy show, even for me.”

“It was pretty over the top,” agreed Benny. “I never even tried to get backstage at that one. I got high, bought a t-shirt, and went home like a fuckin’ boy scout that night.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” chuckled Dean, slowing as they approached the tunnel that led back to their own section. When they arrived, they found that there was now a new table set up. At that table it appeared that supplies were being handed out so the two men immediately got in line and began inching closer. The totes they received were labeled numerically and corresponded to their wrist bands. He was starting to understand how all of this was going to work, but at the moment he barely cared. He’d never been so tired in all his life. 

He’d expected that they’d part company now, each heading to their assigned space. However, for some unknown reason, Benny stayed with Dean. Stepping into his little cubicle, he dropped the tote and immediately dropped onto the cot. It was the only piece of furniture. 

“This aint so bad,” he sighed, feeling like he could probably just fall asleep right then.

“It’ll be better with a pillow,” grinned Benny. The man bent down and plucked one out, bringing it over. It was small and lumpy but it was an improvement. 

“Move over,” warned the big ox as he dropped down onto Dean’s cot. 

Pulling his legs back just far enough to avoid them being crushed, Dean watched his friend bounce a couple times. “Ya know,” he said, “my cage was way more comfortable.”

“Fair point,” sighed Dean, pushing his knees into Benny’s back. “Now get off my bed.”

“I’ll get off your bed,” he husked, leaning forward and taking a knee on the floor. “And,” he said, laying a heavy hand on Dean’s thigh, “when I leave here we’re both gonna feel a whole lot better.”

“How so?” Dean challenged, his anger resurfacing in an instant despite his weariness. “This is the worst day of my whole goddamn life.”

“Nah,” whispered his friend, hand slowly moving towards Dean’s groin. “It can’t be the worst day if ya get some, right? The worst day is the day when no one touches ya where it counts, I think. Like, the days when ya just wash it in the shower and that’s as close as ya git? Am I right?”

“You must be,” murmured Dean, relaxing incrementally as Benny’s hand gently tugged his drawstring loose. 

“Close those eyes, brotha,” Benny told him, “Shut ‘em tight and pretend I’m the one you want more than anyone else. I’ll be real quiet so you can git there.”

“I like that it’s you, Ben,” he whispered. But he did as he was told. He closed his eyes on the harsh lighting overhead and laid his forearm over his face to help bring darkness behind his eyelids. Taking a deep breath and letting it go, Dean enjoyed the feeling of a calloused hand slipping down into his pants. There was plenty of room inside of those baggy scrubs for both Benny’s oversized hand and Dean’s own lengthening cock, but before long, he felt himself being gently pulled out into the cool air. 

Blinking his eyes open for a moment, Dean lifted his head to peek over at the opening of his cubicle. No one was lingering there to watch and for a moment he was almost disappointed. His friend was silent as he skillfully coaxed Dean’s body closer to orgasm. As he neared his climax he found himself letting go of his anger in favor of a warm and fuzzy arousal that quickly progressed to undeniable pleasure. 

“Ben,” he whispered, “get it out.” Even as he spoke the words, Dean’s hands were reaching for the enviable bulge between his friend’s legs. 

“Ya don’t have to,” said the man, as if his touching his hefty cock was somehow undesirable.

“Want to,” answered Dean. “Man, if I wasn’t so tired, I’d suck you off good.”

“Same here,” replied his friend. 

Neither spoke again, but they both adjusted their bodies to more easily reach one another. Dean kept his eyes shut after that so he had no idea if any passers-by wound up stopping to peek in on them but he enjoyed knowing it was possible. This place may not be a brothel but he was still a whore and everyone here knew it so he had no reason to hide the dirty things he did.

Both men came, gasping and shuddering as they released into each other’s tight, pumping fists. 

Benny slumped over afterwards, his body becoming a massive pile of limbs on the hard floor next to Dean’s cot. 

“Here,” said Dean, tugging off his shirt. Both men wiped their hands off on it as though it were a bath towel and then Benny struggled to his feet. 

“Git some sleep Winchester,” he said, tossing Dean a blanket from the tote. Then, he picked up his own and made to leave.

“G’nite Ben,” he whispered. Already he was drifting off. But, in his last few moments of consciousness, it wasn’t Benny’s blue eyes that he saw behind his eyelids. 

Novak’s face floated up to meet him as he sank into oblivion, his facial expression intense and unknowable. That same face was still with him when Dean woke again. He saw it clearly - the incredible eyes, the dark shadow of beard stubble, and the lips whose shape were so unique. 

Dean had never seen anyone with lips like those before. 

Coupled with a chiseled facial structure and dramatically expressive eyebrows, the man’s distinct features we quite appealing. Fighting the attraction he felt for the agent had been a challenge for him back at the brothel and, even now, it was lingering in him despite all that had happened. 

Agent Novak was straight, Dean was sure of it. Sadly, he’d learned long ago that knowing someone was straight didn’t necessarily stop him from wanting them all the same. Thinking of Novak stirred both anger and lust in him as he lay on his cot with his legs tangled up in the blanket. This, he realized, was the first time he could remember waking up without a boner in ages. His dick was plump, sure. It was inevitable considering the path that his thoughts had meandered down, but it was nowhere near the raging hard-on he was used to. In fact, right now his bladder was far more demanding of his attention than his cock. With a sigh, he kicked himself free from his meager bedding and got to his feet.

Walking briskly as he scrubbed the crusties from his eyes, Dean headed for the porta-potties. Less than an hour later, he was seated across the table from a nervous looking young man named Aaron. 

Dean leaned back in his folding chair and waited. As his fingers clicked away on a laptop, Aaron spoke to him in short bursts, first confirming personal information and then asking for additional information - everything from his employee ID number at the brothel to the city and state he was born in. 

Dean cooperated, seeing no advantage in holding out. He snorted a loud laugh when the man reached across the table to put another wristband on him and fumbled spectacularly.

“Relax man,” said Dean, “I don’t bite.” Aaron’s eyes flashed up to meet his for a single beat and then dropped back down. “Well,” Dean clarified in jest, “I do, but it’ll cost ya.”

This new wrist band, he was told, was to indicate which part of the process he was in. “Well,” Dean pressed, “which part of the process am I in?”

“You’re in the preliminary portion,” answered Aaron, offering no specifics. 

“How long do you plan on keeping me here?” he challenged. 

“I’ll need you to sign here and here,” Aaron said, drawing little stars next to blank lines and then passing the page to Dean.  

“What is this?” Dean asked, picking up the pen.

“It’s your intake form,” he answered, “it’s just your indication that the questions have been answered to the best of your ability and your pledge to cooperate with the investigators assigned to your case.”

“My case?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “your case. To what degree you’ll be involved, I can’t say yet. But we’re planning to start depositions right away tomorrow and what we unearth in that process will determine what happens going forward.”


“Yes, it’s standard,” he said dismissively. 

“Standard,” Dean parrotted flatly.

“Yes, now, when was your last injection of S21?”


Aaron cocked his head to the side in confusion, as if Dean had suddenly started speaking in another language. “I don’t know what S21 is,” he clarified, “is that the shot I get every night?”

“Yes, probably. S21 is a systemic hormone cocktail that’s often referred to simply as a ‘booster’. It contains 21 different molecule clusters that travel through the body in the bloodstream to enhance, override, or supplement normal hormonal systems. Variations of similar compounds have been used for quite some time in the treatment of disease. Basic hormone therapy works in a similar fashion. 

“In recent years, expanded versions of these synthetic mixtures have begun to include other ‘messenger’ type substances that affect the body as they travel through it. You might also be familiar with S46B which I’m told has been in use at your facility for at least two years. It’s given orally to induce artificial lubrication in the colon.”

“I think I’ve heard of it,” said Dean derisively.

“It would very quickly produce a noticeable side effect,” said Aaron, seemingly unaware that the answer had been sarcastic. 

“Side effect, huh?” chuckled Dean. This conversation was almost worth it just to enjoy the man’s obvious discomfort discussing the topic. “You mean, like, a leaky asshole? Like, that kind of side effect?”

“Yes,” he answered firmly, not looking up at Dean, “That’s one way of putting it.”

“What other way is there to put it, Aaron?”

“I would’ve said anal discharge,” he tried, glancing up to reveal reddening cheeks.

“You make it sound so sexy,” teased Dean, leaning back with satisfaction. “Say it again, Aaron, maybe I’ll come.”

“If you don’t mind,” said the smaller man, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “I’d like to get back to this paperwork. There are people waiting.

“You win,” said Dean, glancing back at the long line. “Ask your questions.”

“When was your last injection of S21?”

“That’s the one that makes me horny as fuck?”

“Y-Yes. That’s the one.”

“My last shot was at the end of the day yesterday… not long before you guys busted down the door and arrested me for no goddamn reason.”

“You haven't been arrested Mr. Winchester, only detained.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” he said dismissively. “I was hauled out in cuffs. We all were. It’s gonna be on the goddamned news.”

“I’m sorry about the restraints, Mr. Winchester. Sadly, they were legally required because of the mood altering drugs in use at the facility you were extracted from. As I’m sure you’re aware, previous incidents of violence by individuals using certain combinations of mood-altering drugs make restraints necessary. And, since we had no way of knowing what each staff member had been given, restraints were required for everyone until the minimum amount of precautionary time had passed.”

“Whatever, man. It didn’t have to go down like that… with a goddam SWAT team and a bunch of fuckin’ cameras in our faces.”

“Anyone utilizing drugs with a level three warning or higher in a workplace not employing OHW approved security services is required to be minimally restrained per section three, paragraph two of the OHW code enforcement book. If we’re not compliant, then according to the state commission on occupational health and wellness we’d be guilty of egregious neglect and reckless endangerment.”

With a burst of laughter, Dean leaned forward in his chair and said, “Seriously… all that and you never even took a breath. I bet you give great head.”

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat again, Aaron turned to the person sitting next to him with a bewildered look on his face. The man gave him a nod of acknowledgement in response and shot Dean a stern look.

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, “Sorry to get on your nerves. I mean, my life’s been turned upside down and the world is gonna see it live on the news. But, hell, what can I do to make things easier for you guys , right?”

“I’m a volunteer Mr. Winchester,” he replied pointedly. “I’m here to help the cause and it would be great if you could just answer the questions. We’re all here because we care what happens to you.”

“Maybe I’m tired of answering the damn questions,” he roared, his temper flaring again. Pounding his fist sharply on the table he added, “I don’t give a fuck if you’re a volunteer for the cause or the CEO of RichDick, Inc. Either way, your little sting operation landed my closeted ass on the network news.” 

Around him others had stopped talking to watch his rant and from nearby he saw several officers edging closer as if preparing to intercede. Begrudgingly, he settled back into his shitty chair and added, “Bein’ pissed about it doesn’t make me an asshole.”

Silence followed and when he looked back at Aaron again, Dean whispered, “Seriously, man, isn’t there some kind of privacy law in all those codes you just word-vomited on me?”

“I’m sorry for what’s happened to you, Mr. Winchester, truly I am. But I assure you, we’ve gone out of our way to insure that we’ve followed every applicable procedure to the letter of the law.”

“Well, the law sucks then,” he fumed.

“Yes,” said Aaron, appearing sincere, “in many ways, the law sucks. And, once again, I’m very sorry for all that has happened to you. As much as I hate to do it, I have to ask you these questions. Then I have to ask all the same questions to the fifty people behind you in line.”

Sinking down in defeat, Dean grumbled more than he spoke when he said, “Yeah, yeah. Get on with it, then.”

Later, having finished his interview with Aaron, Dean returned to his cubby. Dropping to the cot, he pulled his blanket up over his head to try and block out the light. He was still tired and cranky so a nap sounded great. Sadly, no matter how tired he was, Dean simply couldn’t get to sleep. His stomach rumbled and gurgled. He hadn’t eaten in days and days. 

From behind him, Dean heard a throat clear and then, “You awake?”

Recognizing Benny’s voice, Dean answered without turning to face him. “Yep.”

“How’s it goin’ today?”

“It sucks ass.”

“Is that so bad?”

“Depends whose ass it is,” he grumbled, a smile forming on his lips despite his surliness.

“Ya know, they’ll treat ya a hair better if you stop screaming at them,” said his friend, crossing to kneel beside his cot. 

“Can ya blame me? Bunch of self-righteous do-gooders lookin’ down their noses at me.”

“I think he liked you.”

“Who, Aaron?”

“Yeah. He was lookin’ at you like a virgin on prom night.”

“You were watchin’?” asked Dean, finally turning over to look Benny in the eye.

“Came lookin’ for ya, when I was done. Saw you givin’ that poor boy a run for his money.”

“I’m hungry,” he complained, changing the subject.

“Two more hours ‘til we can eat. I guess there’s no volunteers willing to pull diaper duty.”

“I gotta be honest,” sighed Dean, “that’s one thing I ain’t gonna miss.”

“Yeah, I’m with ya on that one. But I’ll miss you,” said Benny, stunning Dean into silence.

“You’re leavin’?” he asked when he finally found his voice.

“Yeah. We get a call in after the second interview. Somebody from back home is comin’ for me.”

“I don’t even get my second interview til tomorrow,” he sighed, hating how far away that sounded.

“Shoulda been nicer in your first one,” teased Benny. “More flies with honey, my friend.”

“Easy for you to say,” sneered Dean, still petulant, “your old man ain’t got a trigger finger like mine.”

“My old man’s dead,” he lamented softly, “and I’d rather have him back for one damned day than ever get laid again.”

“M’sorry,” whispered Dean, unsure what else there was to say. 

“Git some sleep,” said his friend. “I’ll come back for ya when we can eat.”

“Sure thing,” said Dean. Hoping for some rest, he turned over in his cot as Benny got up to leave. “Hey Ben?” he called out.


“What’s your last name?”

“Lafitte. Why? You gonna look me up when we’re outta here?”

“Figured I would,” he said honestly. “Funny ain’t it?”

“What’s funny?”

“That we’ve been friends for so long and I didn’t even know your last name.”

“Aww Dean,” hummed Benny teasingly, “I didn’t know you cared.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say,” he joked crassly, “ya give one helluvah hand-job.”

“Ya know,” sighed his friend, stepping back in, “I’ve got someone on the outside.”

“You’ve mentioned it,” he answered, remembering tales of his greek goddess, Andrea.

“Well, once I’m outta here, things’ll be diff’rent. I mean, when we were inside together, bumpin’ uglies was normal. But if I see you in the real world, it can’t be like that no more. Out there, friends don’t get each other off and that’s how it’s gonna have to be with us. You git that, right?” 

“Yeah sure, Ben,” he nodded dismissively. “No big deal. Like you said before… I’m just glad you were here.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Hey, speakin’ of… have ya seen the little guy yet?”

“Who? Kevin?”


“No. But when you come back we can have a look around.”

“Awright then, I’ll let ya git some sleep,” said Benny, once more preparing to leave. Dean watched him go before closing his eyes. At least now he had a better understanding of what was happening. Knowing that he’d get a phone call after his next interview, Dean laid on his shitty cot thinking things through. 

When Benny returned to collect him, they went to eat. There was a long line and the food was low quality, but Dean ate his fill, pausing only to dash over to the adjacent porta potties and empty himself. His bowels, seemingly trying to resume normal function, slowed considerably after that. He resumed eating and settled in to enjoy it now that the worst was over. He knew he’d have to go again soon, but the worst was over. Such a predicament might’ve been embarrassing in other circumstances but since everyone else was dealing with the same issue, it wasn’t so bad. 

Departing the tables as soon as they’d finished, he and Benny spent the next hour moving around the little cubicle village in search of friends. The intercom overhead was constantly chirping out orders, primarily calling for people by their assigned numbers. 

Whenever he and Benny met with a familiar face, they’d stop and chat. Trading what little information they had in exchange for the scraps of news that others could offer in return, the two stayed together. Eventually they found Kevin. The poor kid was obviously terrified and practically crawled up into Benny’s lap when the hefty man plopped down on his cot. Not a moment later, Dean heard his own number being called and excused himself. Leaving Benny to console Kevin, Dean headed to the area where he’d been summoned. 

This time, Dean was in a much better state of mind for an interview. He’d had some time to adjust to things, to accept what had happened and decide how best to move forward. Having speculated on some of the ways that all this might play out, he’d developed a basic strategy for how to move forward. Regardless of what happened in the coming days, there was only one logical first step to take. Taking a deep breath to help himself focus, Dean seated himself across the table from a volunteer. Straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders, he lifted his chin and said, “Novak. I wanna talk to Novak.”

Chapter Text

Dean sat quietly as he waited for Novak, but he kept his shoulders squared and his chin high. There was no point in letting anyone see how beaten down he really was in this moment or how confused, frustrated, angry, and scared he really was. He hid all of that to the best of his ability as he sat secretly second guessing himself on requesting the agent by name. 

Then, from his left, he heard, “Hello, Dean.”

Assuming he’d learn more by allowing the other man to set the tone of this meeting, he remained silent. However, he did nod his head amiably, looking Novak in the eye. Holding his best poker face, Dean was hoping that the agent would inadvertently let something slip… something he could use. 

Basically, he was still uncertain as to whether he should be cooperating or trying to escape. For him, the jury was still out. The blue-eyed man looked smaller here than he had at the brothel. Admittedly, that might simply be attributable to shift in the power dynamic. Almost everyone looks bigger and more powerful when you are cuffed to the wall and they are free to do what they want to you. But, as the agent moved closer to him, Dean could see fatigue in his gait. His eyes seemed droopy and there were bags under them. 

Turning to address the volunteer that Dean was meeting with, the agent said simply, “I’ll take it from here.” Then he scooped up the file folder on the table which presumably held all of Dean’s information and tucked it under his arm. Bending a bit to reach down, Novak reached for Dean’s elbow and encouraged him to his feet. Ushering him away from the table, the man strode away from the table of volunteers with Dean at his side. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw the person who’d been helping him call up the next person. Returning his gaze forward, Dean fell into step with Novak as they walked briskly past tables and lines to arrive at a security checkpoint. The agent showed his credentials and was given permission to pass. The fact that he was bringing Dean with him didn’t seem to be an issue. 

Winding their way through a maze of cubicles wasn’t new to Dean at this point. But, these were much smaller than the living quarters he’d been given. Each stall was roughly large enough for one portable desk and one folding chair. The ownership of each space was denoted by paper signs, each hung on the exterior walls with a single piece of tape. 

Slowing, Novak turned to the left and gestured for Dean to enter his. The name on his sign read simply, “C. Novak”. Taking a seat in the folding chair, Dean once again waited for the agent to speak first. Looking back and forth between him and his computer, Novak clicked from one screen to the next until finally leaning back as if finished. On the screen was what appeared to be Dean’s information. His picture and number were in the upper right hand corner and the information he’d provided thus far had been filled in. 

Studying the agent, Dean thought he looked timid and shy. His mind flashed back to his first glimpse of Novak in the auction house and married the two images. Yes. This is how the man had looked the first time he’d seen him. Nervous. Out of place. Dean had mistaken him for a newcomer to the brothel, but there had been far more to it. He could see that now. 

Realizing that the man would not speak first, Dean took a deep breath and simply said, “Talk to me.”

It was the best he could do to initiate a dialog while giving nothing away. In response, the man answered by saying, “Where would you like me to start?”

“Start with the truth,” he said forcefully. In the face of submission, Dean became dominant. That had always been his way. 

“The truth is, Dean, I’ve been lying to you.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” he said gruffly. 

“I was hoping you’d ask for me right away. It’s been a whole day. What have you told them?”

“No,” said Dean firmly. “No. Fucking. Way. You don’t get to just start asking questions, you son-of-a-bitch. I think it’s about time I got some fucking answers.” Novak winced and Dean noticed. Toning it down a notch, he tried a more civil tone. “C’mon, man,” he implored, “ya owe me some answers and you know it.”

“Alright,” said Novak, sitting up a little straighter, “ask me a question and I will answer it.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Castiel Novak.”

“Not Agent Novak?”

“No. I’m an accountant.”

“Then what the fuck was all that shit about my father?”

“That’s a long story and we don’t have much time. I don’t think you’re asking the right questions.”

“Okay, how much time do we have?”

“Maybe twenty minutes?”

“And what happens when that time is up?”

“You’ll be released.”

“I - I will?”

“Yes. Someone has come for you and they’ve brought an attorney. They’re raising hell out front and I don’t think we can hold them off much longer.”

Dean smiled warmly, an unfortunate slip due to elation. My brother is here. Immediately he corrected his facial expression back to neutral, but suddenly things were different. He didn’t need Novak anymore. He didn’t have to try and get to the bottom of this mess with someone whose motivations he couldn’t know and whose allegiance he couldn’t trust. His brother was here and that meant that all was right with the world. Sam was here. His brother had likely seen his image on the news and immediately come charging to the rescue. And, unlike this agent, when Sammy supplied him with information, he’d be able to trust it.

“Why wait,” chuckled Dean, suddenly feeling like his old self. “Just release me now.”

“Don’t you want to ask any more questions?”

“Why bother listening to you when I can get all the information I need from my brother and his lawyer?”

Shifting in his seat, the agent looked uncomfortable. A feeling of utter glee swept over Dean as he looked on. Gloating now, he said, “What’s the matter, Agent , you look worried.”

“I am worried, Dean. But not for the reason that you seem to think.”

The man’s face was pleading, and despite finally feeling like he had the upper hand, Dean couldn’t help but feel an uneasiness returning. Still keeping his poker face, Dean leaned forward in his seat and said, “Tell me then. Tell me what’s happening.”

It was obvious that he was trying to remain composed, but there was desperation in his eyes. Whatever he knew, he was terrified by it. “Your life is in danger, Dean, that’s why I’m worried.”

“Don’t be,” he said boldly. “I ain’t like these other whores. I can handle myself. Now, how ‘bout you tell me somethin’ useful before I lose my patience and just walk outta here.”

“I need more time,” the agent pleaded, leaning in even further. “I need you to be receptive. I need you to listen .”

As calmly as he could, Dean replied, “I’m listening.”

“How much have you told them?”

“More questions,” he growled. “You promise information and then ask questions. What the fuck, man, you’ve got it all right there on your goddam computer.”

“If you told them anything of consequence, it won’t be in this file. Now please, what have you told them?”

“You know me,” he grinned sarcastically. Leaning back in his chair, he kept his eyes locked on Novak and said, “I don’t talk. I haven’t said one goddam word. Now, it’s your turn. Tell me why I’m in danger.”

“You’re in danger because you’re a valuable witness against a powerful enemy. I am part of this movement, and I need your testimony. But I can’t ask you for it in good conscience… too many people are already dead.”

“You have my attention,” he said, his adrenaline kicking in.

“You’re brother isn’t the one out front demanding your release. We’re trying to figure out who it is, but haven’t had any luck getting behind his cover. We can only delay so long… if we make any missteps we jeopardize our case. And this is just one of the many reasons I’m worried about you.”

He felt the air leave his lungs as though he’d been punched in the gut. “Damn,” he whispered. His situation was far more precarious than he’d thought and his brother wasn’t here to help him after all. 

“Give me a weapon,” he said, momentarily forgetting that this man wasn’t actually an agent.

“I can’t,” replied Novak. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, dropping his head into his hands. 

“This is the best I can do,” said the man softly. Looking up, Dean saw him offering a letter opener. “I’m sorry,” he adds. “If I could put a gun in your hands, I would.”

“Can you get me outta here?”

“I’m not sure what you mean?’

“Dude. A back door? Maybe a car?”

“I can’t. As much as I don’t want to release you to someone we can’t verify, I also don’t want you to drop off the grid. And if I let you out the back, that’s what’s going to happen.”


Looking ashamed of himself, the man is meek and soft as he answers. “I’d never see you again. I wouldn’t even know if you were alive or dead. You wouldn’t testify. I mean - I can’t, Dean. I just can’t.”

“Can I see him?” Dean asked, leaning closer.

“See who?”

“The dude who came for me. This is the fucking civic center, man, there’s gotta be a thousand security cams, right? Can ya let me get a look at this fucker?”

“I- I don’t know. Maybe,” he answered, already pulling a phone from his pocket. Dean watched hopefully as the guy called someone who was obviously his superior to make Dean’s request. 

“Yes,” he said, hanging up. He seemed animated again, hopeful. Tucking his phone away as he rose from the chair, Novak lead Dean back out of his makeshift office. “It’s this way,” he said, striding down the corridor between cubicles. A few minutes later they were in the security room staring at a bank of monitors. 

“Right there,” said the head of security, pointing. Following the man’s finger, Dean leaned in to look at the screen. Relief rushed over him like a wave and he took in a deep and calming breath. “He’s cool,” Dean said, looking over at Novak. “But I’ll still take that letter opener just to be safe.”

The man huffed a half-hearted chuckle as though Dean was kidding. He wasn’t. Looking back at the screen once more, Dean smiled as he watched the men on camera. One of them was calm and collected, clearly the attorney. The other was Ronald Reznik. 

He’d always known the man was sweet on him, and that he likely spent every dollar he could spare on time in the rec room, just to come and see Dean. This was probably no different. Instead of forking over half his paycheck to the brothel, this week he’d spent it on a lawyer. It was still for Dean. 

When he was escorted out into the vestibule, his eyes found Ronald easily enough. He was tall and quite heavy; tubby might’ve been a better word. He’d look like a linebacker if it weren’t for his cherubic face. 

Their exchange was painfully awkward, Dean stepping up surrounded by security and Ronald clumsily pushing in for a hug. Dean let him, even hugged back a little. Knowing that the man had spent both time and money to retrieve him, he didn’t want to seem stand-offish. He stood by as some paperwork was filled out and then, when it was really time to go, Novak pressed a card into his palm. The beseeching look on his face tugged at Dean’s heart a little. He had no idea why he felt any connection to this man, but he did. Probably to his detriment. 

As he was driven away from the civic center in a tomato-red 1980 Renault Fuego, Dean was fully aware of how many unanswered questions there were, that his life was in danger, and that he’d been living in a bubble that he was now stepping out of.

Regardless, it feltgood to finally be free and that’s what he chose to focus on as he watched the city roll by on the other side of Ron’s grungy passenger window. Cautious not to repeat past mistakes, Dean deposited the business card Novak had given into the pocket of his scrubs. He wouldn’t lose it this time.

“So,” said Ronald from the driver's seat, “where to?”

“Are you kidding?” he chuckled. “Take me to a bar.”

“Any bar?”

“Any. Bar.”

The drive lasted another twenty minutes and if the silence had been awkward, Ronald’s sporadic attempts at conversation were somehow worse. Dean had never even seen this man in the full light of day before, and all of a sudden he was supposed to be this guys ward or something? Strange though it was, and jarring, that's what was happening. He was in the man's car and, presumably, headed to his house. It was surreal. Weird.  

Dean wasn’t adjusting well and he knew it. He was crisp and awake, alert like he hadn’t been in a long time, but at the exact same time he also felt kind of separated from himself. It was as though he was just watching himself on television.  

“So, what was it like,” asked Ron, glancing over from behind the wheel.


“All of it… the raid, temporary housing at the civic center…”

“Look man,” sighed Dean cautiously, “I appreciate you comin’ for me, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Okay,” Ron agreed easily. “But I should warn you - I’m no good at the small talk.”

“Consider me warned. Ya know, I honestly don’t feel like talkin’ at all.” The car grew silent for a minute and Dean looked out his window, glad to have some time to sort out his thoughts. It felt  like ages since he’d had a clear head and now there’s a laundry list of things he should be thinking through. But, his inner thoughts were derailed when his eyes inadvertently drifted over to the driver. The poor guy looked like he was about to have a stroke. 

Replaying their exchange in his mind, he could think of no reason for his companion to be so affected. But, when he considered his words once more but with the mindset of someone with low self esteem, which Ronald clearly had, he understood. Quickly correcting, he tried to sound reassuring as he said, “Hey, man, it ain’t you. It’s just, well, I got a lot of shit to figure out and I ain’t had any time to really think it through, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed. Dean returned his gaze to the window. He could literally feel the man beside him relaxing. Perhaps that was because their elbows were touching. The car was small and cramped and Ronald was a big guy. It simply wasn’t physically possible for him to stay all the way over on his own side of the car.  

When they do finally pulled into a bar, Dean was relieved to see that it was a small, nondescript neighborhood pub; exactly the kind of place he would have chosen. They parked at a meter and headed inside. Dean would’ve preferred to cozy up to the bar, but he reluctantly followed Reznick to a booth in the back near the jukebox. He was keenly aware that all he had right now was the shirt on his back. Everything he owned was either in storage or back at the brothel. This little outing was going to have to be Ron’s treat. And if Ron was paying, then Ron was choosing their seat. 

They passed a chalkboard with the specials on it and at the top it listed dollar beers all night. His irritation flared again as it crossed his mind that he didn’t even have a buck on him. Even in the leanest of times back when he’d been hunting - there had always been a few bucks in his wallet. It’s like a cruel twist of fate - when he finally got used to having plenty of money, he’s suddenly without it completely.. 

“You know this is on you, right?” joked Dean, sliding into the booth.

“Yeah, sure. And if you wanna eat, they have food. It’s decent.”

“I think I’ll go with the liquid lunch,” he chuckled, only half kidding. However tempting it might’ve been to order a fat plate of beef nachos, that would be foolish. Regardless of the change in circumstances, the dynamics of his relationship with Ron were no different. This man had spent a fair amount of money on him today and when they got back to his place, Dean would have to reciprocate that. 

He might’ve been free, but he was still not free to eat anything that would keep him from taking a pounding tonight. And, for the first time in a long time, he was going to be doing that  without the benefit of artificial lubrication.

To his credit, Reznick remained quiet and allowed Dean to drink in peace. After a while, he stopped surreptitiously watching Dean while pretending to look around the bar. Seemingly resigned to the radio silence between them, the man pulled out his phone and contented himself with playing games on it while Dean sat across from him brooding. 

As he worked his way through his first few beers, he contemplated his family. On the one hand, he’d been overjoyed when he’d thought his brother had come to get him today. But on the other hand, he found himself feeling glad that it hadn’t played out like that. At least now there was still some hope that Sammy didn’t know about any of this. His father either. 

It seemed gutsy to hope that his face had not been featured on the news. But logic seemed to indicate that it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Given the sheer number of people who’d been marched out of the brothel, the odds were actually in his favor. For now, he was happy just to have hope. If nothing else, it would seem he’d been granted a window of time and, thankfully, some clarity with which to gather information and formulate a plan. 

When the waitress came back with his third beer, she cleared their empty glasses. On the next round, Dean ordered whiskey. Three drinks later, Ronald broke down. Letting his phone drop to the table with a clunk, he said, “Are you okay, Dean?”


“You don’t seem fine.”

“I said I’m fine,” he repeated. Then, losing his patience despite his best efforts, he snapped. “I mean, I’d be better if I even had a phone to fucking play games on, Ron, but I don’t okay? I’ve got no wallet, no laptop, no keys, no mother-fucking car, and no phone. So, yeah, I could be better. But, like I said, I’m fine.”

“We could swing by there after this if you want? See if they’ll let us in?”

“The lawyer you hired told us not to go there,” he reminded him. And plus, he silently added , someone might be trying to kill me. So, showing up to collect my phone is probably the stupidest thing I could do right now .           

“Yeah,” agreed Ron. “But for some reason, I figured you’d wanna do it anyway.”

Chuckling, Dean looked him in the eye for the first time since they left the civic center. “I guess you know me better than I thought.”

Ronalds smile was warm and friendly. He had nice eyes too. So, as Dean raised a hand to signal the waitress, he was realizing that it wouldn’t really be such a chore to do what needed to be done with Ron tonight. 

“I’ll have another,” he told the waitress when she arrived. Then, looking at Ron as he said it, Dean added, “and bring him one too.”

“I don’t usually drink whiskey,” smiled Ronald when their glasses had been delivered. 

“That’s ‘cause you’re not usually out with me,” winked Dean. “Bottoms up.”

As they tipped back their glasses, Dean felt himself finally begin to relax and settle into this new reality. The amber liquid seemed to be dulling his rough edges and with each round he felt progressively better about things. There was a television hanging over the edge of the bar and when they’d emptied their glasses again, Dean leaned over the table and suggested they move to the bar so they could watch it. Ronald, now full of liquid courage, readily agreed. They sat side by side for what seemed like hours just drinking and watching television. There was no news coverage, just old movies and lots of commercials. He and Ron got to chatting at some point, though Dean couldn’t even remember what had initially broken the ice. But, by the time he got up to piss, it felt like they were old friends. 

As he staggered to the shitty bathroom in the back, Dean tried to orient himself. He used to function like this, but considering he’d been barred from alcohol on his ‘working’ days and the sheer number of working days he averaged, it seemed safe to say that his tolerance was shot. “I’m a lightweight,” he joked as he and Ron stepped gracelessly up to the urinals. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Oh fuck,” mumbled Ron as they both fought their fiesty zippers. “I just became a babysitter, jee-zuz.”

“You could do worse,” Dean laughed, finally able to free himself. It was a relief to release his stream and impossible not to groan in pleasure as he let it go. The two ambled back to their seats at the bar and it was as they settled back in and ordered another round that Dean noticed the place had gotten busier. It wasn’t crowded by any means, but their waitress was much busier now. He began to order the drinks two at a time as a way of compensating for the slower service while the two of them continued talking over old action movies. 

They both seemed to share a love for the same actors and mutually despised others. Their viewpoints lined up when discussing plot lines and fan-favorite episodes of the shows they favored as well. It was as though Ron was Dean’s TV spirit-animal. They even shared similar ‘guilty pleasures’.

At some point it became annoying to have to keep on trekking all the way to the back for piss breaks. Drunkenly content to stay seated and talk, Dean suggested they head back to Ron’s place and just grab a bottle on the way. The idea of just relaxing into a couch with his drinks was sounding quite tempting. 

Obviously thrilled with the idea, his companion nearly jumped from his perch on a ratty vinyl-covered barstool. He quickly paid their tab and escorted Dean back outside to the car. The men were leaning on one another too much for either to claim driving was a good idea, but Dean couldn’t care less. He flopped down into the passenger seat, still enjoying their banter as Ron tucked himself in behind the wheel. 

The car wheezed to life and a squeaky belt protested. But, after a minute, it settled into an even hum. It was cold outside but after hours in the warm, stagnant air of a dive bar, the crisp breeze felt incredible. Dean set his mind on rolling down the window, but it proved to be a challenge. Old and stiff, it would’ve been a challenge for him sober. Drunk off his ass? He had his work cut out for him. Then, just as he was winning the war and savoring his cool and refreshing reward, the car came to a stop and Ron cut the engine. 

Looking up, Dean saw that they’d parked in front of an aging two story house with an overgrown front lawn. Ron was getting out so Dean followed suit. It wasn’t easy negotiating both the door and the curb, but he did his best and managed to keep his feet under him. “That was a short ride,” he said, lurching awkwardly towards Ronald so he’d have something to brace himself against. 

“Yeah, I just live a few blocks from Bill’s,” he answered, referring to the pub they’d just vacated. “It’s my regular spot.” Dean nodded as they prepared to take on the front steps. Neither spoke while cautiously ascending one step at a time. The old wrought iron railing that hugged the stairs was wobbly and Dean chose to foist his weight on Ronald rather than trust it.

They got through the screen door without incident, but when his host pivoted back to close the heavy inner-door behind them, Dean lost his balance. Tumbling inelegantly to the floor, he burst out laughing and looked up to see a bemused look on Ronald’s face. The man clearly thought he was endearing and Dean hoped the sentiment would hold. Because to be honest, he had no idea how he was going to make it through any kind of sexual encounter without burping, farting, or in some other way embarrassing himself. 

This was really not the kind of sloppy service one paid top dollar for, but hopefully this guy already liked him enough to overlook it. Staying put on his bed of shag carpet, Dean looked up at Ronald and extended his hand. “Little help?”

“Always,” chuckled the jolly man, eyes merry and bright with excitement. Pulling Dean to his feet, Ron brought himself and Dean chest-to-chest. For a moment, he seemed to remember his default setting of awkward, but then dismissed it. He closed his eyes and leaned in for a kiss and Dean found himself receptive. When Ronald had first picked him up, Dean had been relieved. But honestly, he hadn’t expected to actually like the guy. This was a bonus. 

Feeling genuine affection for his benefactor, Dean hummed into their kiss and brought his palm to rest on the man’s cheek. Well, that’s what he’d meant to do anyway, cup a cheek. Instead, uncoordinated as he currently was, he wound up cupping neck. Regardless, his lips parted for the warm wet ones locked on his. A gentle, explorative tongue came forward to tangle with his own and Dean only pulled back for a second to murmur, “I thought we were stopping somewhere for a bottle.”

“I’ve got one here,” mumbled Ron, his chubby hands rubbing Dean’s back. 

“Get it,” he replied, pulling away. 

Watching the man lumber away, Dean couldn’t help but smile. It didn’t matter anymore what he lacked physically. Dean liked him. The sex would be good. Suddenly seized by the need to piss again, he turned towards the back of the house in search of a bathroom. “Which way to piss?” he called over his shoulder. 

“Right,” called Ron from what must’ve been the kitchen. Coming around the corner, Dean grimaced in the face of bright fluorescent light. Bringing his hand up to shield his eyes from the glare, he looked around to get his bearings. This wasn’t a bathroom, it was a kitchen. Ron was standing near the fridge with a bottle in one hand and when their eyes met, he broke out laughing. “Your other right,” the man teased. 

Joining in the laughter, Dean turned back and made a second try for the bathroom. “I’m in,” he called gleefully, unzipping himself to let loose another stream. Sighing as he emptied himself again, Dean didn’t bother doing up his pants. He just left the bathroom in favor of finding somewhere to lay down. 

“This the bedroom?” he asked, stumbling into the only other doorway in that hall. It was pitch black. 

“Yeah,” came a whispered answer from deep within. As he followed that voice into the dark, Dean could hear the wet sound of a bottle tipping up and then back down.

“I’ll have some of that,” he said, flopping down on the bed when it presented itself to his shins. His fist closed around the neck of the bottle when it was pressed into his palm and he heaved himself up on one elbow to better position himself for a drink. 

The moment the liquid hit his tongue, he grimaced in distaste. “Man, what the fuck is this?” “Rum.”

“Rum? You’re givin’ me rum? You said you had a bottle.”

“I do. I have a bottle of rum.”

More prepared for the flavor on his second swig, Dean took a big one. Then, lowering the bottle to the mattress he was stretched out on, he said, “Damn. That’s some girly shit.”

“It’s good,” defended his friend. “Plus, it mixes with anything.”

“We’ll see,” he grinned, dropping his head to where he estimated Ron’s crotch to be. His calculation proved wrong and all he got was a faceful of comforter. “Ron,” he said, lifting his head a bit, “ya think you could turn on a lamp or somthin’? I can’t find your dick without a goddamn flashlight.”

“Oh, yeah,” said his new friend softly. The bed dipped for a moment as the man’s weight shifted and suddenly there was light. Looking around, Dean saw that it was a decent sized bedroom. The walls were done in dark paneling and there were cobwebs in the upper corners. The furniture looked like it had come with the house, and there were posters covering the walls. This was the bedroom of a teenager and Dean loved it right away.

When his gaze returned to his host, the man appeared sheepish. “Whatsa matter?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” Ron answered, visibly uncomfortable. “I guess I just figured you’d rather have the lights off for this part.”

Dean understood immediately and sought to reassure. Unable to control his limbs or facial expressions as well as he would’ve liked, Dean focused on just getting his hands and knees under him. Crawling up to the headboard where Ron was leaning, Dean said, “This ain’t our first time, remember?”                

“Yeah,” the man replied, dropping his gaze. “I remember.”

“I know you, Ron,” Dean said, leaning in to kiss him again. “I know every inch of you.”

When their lips came together, Dean didn’t hesitate. He went deep, and as they sank back into the kissing, he lowered his body down on top of the larger man. Embracing him, Ronald was every bit the gentleman. It was Dean who had to initiate every advance. He was the one to start them stripping, however clumsily. He was also the one who broke their kiss in favor of giving head. And, it was he who asked the uncomfortable question, “have you got some lube?”

From then on, all Ronald did was hang on. 

Dean rallied his drunken ass in a spectacular fashion. Regaining some of his normal coordination, he climbed up to straddle the man and held eye contact as he fingered himself open enough to take a dick. Then, he put on his most adorable face, the one where he flutters his lashes and chews his bottom lip. It might’ve been a holdover from his twink days, but it still worked every time. And so, when he finally sank down Ronald Reznick’s cock, Dean felt sexy as hell. He rode that man like he was seventeen again. And for a brief moment, he was.

Ron came before he did, but drunk as they were, Dean was lucky the guy had been able to get hard at all. Ronald seemed quite happy to let Dean stay perched on him cowboy style and jerk off afterwards and his eyes never left Dean’s dick as he finished himself off. When Dean had finally come, Ronald didn’t hesitate to run a finger through the opaque spatters on his rounded stomach and suck them from his fingers. This was a patented porn move. Dean knew Ron didn’t really want a taste of him… he was just doing it to thrill Dean. And it worked. Dean loved watching it so much that another little gurgle of cum slipped from his tip in response. 

When it was over, Dean sank down beside the man easily and almost immediately fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Bacon. That was the next thing that happened. The heavy scent of his favorite food reached his nostrils to coax him from sleep. For half a second he couldn’t remember where he was. But, as he opened his eyes and looked around, he remembered everything. 

Quickly, before his thoughts could snowball into chaos, Dean heaved himself up and out of the bed. He was naked with the exception of one sock, and he was ridiculously tangled in the sheets. Kicking himself free of the mess, Dean bounded straight for the bathroom and threw up. Over and over, he heaved into the toilet until there was nothing left in his stomach. The last few wretches were actually lime green and thin like water. He recognized the sight and scent as stomach bile. 

Cleaning up his mess the best he could with only toilet paper, Dean bent to the sink and rinsed his mouth before pawing through the medicine cabinet for aspirin. Downing a double dose and chasing it with tap water from his palm, Dean then tugged on his only pants and followed his nose to the kitchen. 

Compared to the dark paneled bedroom, Ron’s kitchen was sunny and cheerful. The cabinets were old and dated but painted white. The countertop was white too, old formica with tiny gold flecks in it. Near the stove was an orangy-brown burn spot where someone had once set a hot pan down without a potholder. 

Ron, dressed in a security guard uniform was smiling warmly at him as he tended to a hot skillet on the stove. Morning light poured in through big windows in an adjacent breakfast nook and Dean yawned before inquiring about the time. 

“It’s eight am,” Ron answered. “I usually have to be in at seven but I called in late.”

“That smells good,” he said, stepping closer. 

“Plates are up there,” said his new friend, gesturing to a nearby cupboard. 

Dean reached up and dug out two. Setting them down near the stove, he then asked if there was anything he could do to help. “I dunno,” shrugged Ron. “Maybe make toast?”

“That I can do,” he answered. Grabbing a half-loaf of bread from on top of the fridge, he walked over to the toaster and set to work. When he went to the fridge for butter, Dean saw there was also jam and pulled that out too. 

“I’m starving,” he muttered as he began buttering the first batch of toast.

“Really? I heard you pukin’ in there and thought you’d go right back to bed.”

“Nah,” said Dean dismissively. “I never miss breakfast. What else is there to get out of bed for?” “I guess I figured you’d sleep all day.”

“Wait. You thought I’d sleep all day? Why’d you make so much food then?”

“Dude,” chuckled Ron, gesturing to his middle, “who the fuck do you think your talkin’ to?”

Dean chuckled in spite of himself. “A man after my own heart,” he said fondly.

“I highly doubt it,” his friend disagreed. “That’s why I look the way I look and you look the way you look.”

“I call bullshit,” joked Dean. “You look exactly the way I’d look if I were left to my own devices.”

“C’mon,” said Ron, turning bacon with tongs, “really?”

“Oh yeah, man. They don’t let us eat when we’re workin’.”

“Not at all?”

“Nope. Not a bite. We get water and that’s it. And, I work three days in a row.”

“They really don’t let you eat for three solid days?”


“I wouldn’t last a day.”

“You might surprise yourself,” Dean countered. “The constant sex really keeps your mind off of it.”

Talking to this man was surprisingly easy. Perhaps it had taken some alcohol to break down the barriers yesterday, but all the good feelings from then seemed to remain. Dean spent most of breakfast telling Ron about how things really were at the brothel. Keenly interested, the man kept pummeling him with questions long after they’d finished eating.

“You really have to work today?” Dean complained, honestly wishing the guy would stay home.

“Yeah, I haven’t hit the lotto yet, so yeah. But hey, make yourself at home. What’s mine is yours.”

“Thanks, man,” smiled Dean, getting up from his chair. 

Ronald got up to leave then, and Dean turned his attention to clearing the table. He chuckled aloud when the big man doubled back across the kitchen and wrapped him up in a hug. “Thanks for this,” he whispered into Dean’s hair.

“For what?”

Turning away, Ronald didn’t look at him again. But from over his shoulder, he answered by saying, “I think you know.”

In the man’s absence, Dean put away the food and did the dishes. Then, still exhausted, he crawled back into bed. He slept the day away, waking occasionally to piss and then returning to bed. When he finally woke, it was to the sound of a car door slamming out on the street. Convinced that Ron must be home from work, Dean got up. He couldn’t bear to put on the same underwear again, but he stepped into his scrub pants and tied them at the waist. Heading towards the front of the house, he peered outside. Ron’s little red beater car was nowhere to be seen. But, at the house next door, there was an old rusty minivan in the driveway and a bunch of kids were being unloaded from it. Realizing that he’d be alone a little longer, Dean decided to make a phone call. Stepping up to an antiquated wall phone in the kitchen, Dean crossed his fingers and lifted the receiver in the hopes of hearing a dial tone. 

He almost couldn’t believe his luck. “Ten people in the world still have a landline and one of them is Ronald Reznick,” he chuckled. Then, extracting Novak’s business card from his pocket, Dean dialed the number on it. 

“Hello?” The now familiar voice on the other end of the line sounded even more rough over the static of a shitty phone line. 

“Hey Novak, how’s it hangin’?”

The man’s voice sounded hopeful. “Dean?”

“Yeah man, it’s me. Listen, I have one question for you. If you answer it without giving me any grief, I might actually call you again someday.”

“What is your question.”

“When can I get my stuff from Hell’s Angels.”

“Dean, please, don’t go there. I will get your things for you.”

“Great. When.” Though technically he was asking a question, Dean didn’t allow his voice to imply a questioning tone. He was barking orders at this man and he was doing it intentionally.

“Um, can you give me a day or two?”

“I’ll give ya til tomorrow. If you don’t have my shit for me by then - I go get it myself.”

“How can I reach you?”

“I’m pretty sure Ron left a contact number when he picked me up. You can use that.”

“Alright. Thank you, Dean.”

“Whatever,” he said curtly. Then, without missing a beat, he hung up. Having been the first to do so made him feel surprisingly good. Not a moment later, the front door was opening. 

“Hey,” he said, greeting Ron as he stepped inside. 

“Oh, hey,” the man answered, looking surprised. 

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“N- No. I just, well, I’m surprised you're still here.”


“I don’t know. I just figured that when I got here, you’d be gone and there would be a note on the table. I guess I just assumed that…”

Dean knew right away what Ron was alluding to. He’d thought that Dean would intentionally slip away from him at the first opportunity. Instead of having an awkward conversation about it, he simply flashed the man a teasing smile and said, “Dude. Have I worn out my welcome already?” 

Immediately his friend relaxed, properly reassured that Dean wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe it was because he had nowhere else to go, but for now he was content to stay. Indefinitely. They ordered a pizza that night and hunkered down on the old but comfy couch to play video games. Ron had a ton of them and headsets so they could go online and talk to the people they were playing against. 

It didn’t take long to break into the rum and by the time they were heading for bed, Dean was a changed man. “Ya know,” he confided to Ron, “this shit ain’t half bad.”

“I hate to be the guy who says ‘I told you so’, but-”

“Bull-fuckin’-shit,” laughed Dean, cutting him off, “you love it. I know you do.”

The two of them fell into bed together again and this time there was no weirdness between them when they got naked. It took a while to really get hard, but Ron wouldn’t let him get away with calling it ‘whiskey dick’. 

“It’s rum dick,” his friend teased, “you gotta just own that kinda shit.”

“If you don’t shut your mouth,” Dean threatened playfully, “I’m gonna stuff somthin’ in there to keep ya quiet.”

Drunk again tonight, Dean once more found himself fumbling around when trying to get the man’s dick out. When it was finally exposed Dean said, “Ya know what Ron?” 


“You’ve got a nice cock.”

Unable to properly accept a compliment, the man brushed off his words. “I mean it,” he insisted. “You think I’m makin’ that shit up or somethin’?”

“I think you’re being nice. But, you don’t have to. You can still stay here even if, well -

“What?” he pressed, suspecting he knew where this was going and stalling for more time to plan a response. 

“Dean, you know you don’t have to fuck me, right?”

“I’m not,” he said lightly, going for humor. “You’re fucking me, remember?’

Taking a deep breath and letting it go, Ron looked him squarely in the eye and said, “I appreciate the pity fucks, Dean, I really do. But I want you to know that you don’t have to do it. You can stay here as long as you need to, even if we never fuck again.”

Dean sat up straight when he realized that Ron was sincere. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I do. You’re not a whore anymore, Dean. You were rescued from that place and I don’t want to just be a different kind of prison for you.”

“Wait,” he replied flatly. “I think you’ve got this all wrong. I was no fucking prisoner there. I went in willingly to do a job that I was damn good at. I was paid well for the work I did, and that fucking ‘rescue’ you’re talking about has ruined my life.”

“Dean, I saw the news coverage. I know you were kept in a cage.”

“That was for my own protection,” he began, desperate to make this guy understand how things really were.

“Fuck that, Dean,” shouted his friend. “Cages are for animals. And, and they drugged you… made you have sex for like twelve hours a day! You said it yourself… they didn’t even let you eat!”

“Hey man, calm the fuck down, okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, settling back down. “I’m sorry. I just - I saw a news report on the TV in the breakroom today and I felt like shit. If I had known what you’d been through, I never would’ve…  last night. I wouldn’t have…”

“You listen to me, Ron,” said Dean firmly. “I’m only gonna say this once and if you make me repeat it, I swear to god I’ll walk out that door and never come back here.”

“Okay,” he agreed readily, “Okay Dean, what?”

“I was not a prisoner. Nothing happened at that brothel unless I said okay to it. Yeah, some of it sounds weird to an outsider, but I wasn’t unhappy there. I fucking loved it there. I’m no fucking victim, you got that?”

By the look on Ronald’s face, he knew this was the last time they’d discuss this. The guy was clearly scared to death that Dean would bolt and he certainly wasn’t above using that knowledge to his advantage. 

“Look man,” he said, calming down enough to ease back onto the bed. “I just want you to know that I ain’t some sweetie pie who got taken for a ride. I wasn’t used or abused. Well, not without my permission anyway. And as far as you and me? I fuckin’ like you, Ron. So get over your shit and just be my friend okay?”

“Yeah,” he answered, relaxing next to Dean. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“That’s what I like best so far,” he admitted. “I didn’t expect us to be friends, but we are. I mean, we are, right?”

“Yeah. We are,” smiled Ron. 

“Good. Now lemme suck that dick, man.”

In the morning, Ron went to work again. Dean cleaned up the breakfast dishes as he had before, and then he sat down to play video games alone. It was more fun with Ron around, but thanks to the headset, he wasn’t completely alone. When the landline rang, Dean got up to answer it. 

“Hello, Dean.”

“Novak. Got my stuff?”

“I do. Where can I meet you?”

“You can bring it here, since I don’t have a car. And speaking of my car, where is she?”

“If you are referring to a black, 1967 Impala, then it’s here. I can deliver your things and give you a ride back here to pick it up. Is that suitable?”

“Yeah. When are you comin’?”

“I can be there within the hour.”

“Works for me,” he agreed readily. Laying down the phone, he stepped out into the front yard and checked the street sign on the corner and the number on the house. Returning to the line, he then confirmed the address before hanging up abruptly for the second time. 

After taking a quick shower, he got back into his scrubs to wait for Novak. When he arrived, Dean answered the door saying, “Thank fuck. These pants are gettin’ ripe.” Then, rather than inviting the man in, he shouldered right past him and headed down the steps. The top priority right now wasn’t what he was wearing. More than anything, he wanted his car.

“Dean,” said Novak firmly. From the sound of the man’s voice, Dean could tell he was still anchored to the porch and not moving to follow. He kept walking anyway, continuing to the curb where a shiny blue Prius was waiting. From behind him, he heard Novak again. “Dean.” By his tone, Dean could tell that the man was trying to establish a modicum of the control he used to have but fuck if Dean was letting that happen. 

“No,” he shouted over his shoulder. “You’re not here to talk. You’re here for two things - to bring me my shit and take me to my car. You’re only halfway done. So, until I’m sittin’ in my baby with my shit packed in the trunk, you and I have nothin’ to say.”

He didn’t turn to look at the man as he climbed into the car. It was a power play. But apparently, this wasn’t going to be an easy win. The man clearly knew just how to make Dean lose his mind. He took his time coming to the vehicle and that left Dean sitting in the passenger seat, literally pouting, and feeling like a drama queen. Well played, Novak . By the time his driver joined him, Dean could feel his face burning hot. 

“Nice of you to join me,” he snarked. 

Further irritated when the man refused to answer him or even look in his direction, Dean turned to face out his window and stew in his own juices. This area of the city was new to him and Dean had absolutely no idea how to get where they were going. But, he suspected that Novak was taking the long way just to further annoy him. 

When they finally pulled into the backlot of the civic center, Dean craned his neck to search out his baby among the other cars. “Hey sweetheart,” he crooned when they were finally reunited. “Didja miss me?”

Wordlessly, Novak walked around the Prius, still taking his sweet-ass time, and opened the trunk. Seeing evidence bags with his name on them, Dean stepped over and assisted in transferring them from one car to the other. It only took a minute. Holding his hand out for the car keys, Dean challenged the man with his eyes. Not taking the bait, Novak gently laid them into his open palm and stepped away without even meeting his eye. Dean stood there watching as the man rounded his vehicle one last time and opened the driver’s door as if he might leave without speaking at all. 

“That’s it?” Dean prodded from between their cars. “No questions for me?”

“It would seem not,” said the man, pausing for only a moment.

“Why the hell not?” he demanded angrily.

Turning to face him for the first time, the man answered simply by saying, “I was wrong about you, Dean.”

“How so?”

“I thought you were a good man,” he answered sternly. Then, he simply sat down in his car, calmly backed out of his space, and drove away without looking back. Incensed and violently angry, Dean sat down in his baby and fired her up. Revving the engine, he slammed her into reverse to back out and then laid down black marks with his tires as he peeled angrily out of the lot. Gunning the motor, Dean roared up on Novak’s little toy car. Aggressively passing the man, Dean then cranked the wheel and locked up his brakes to cut sideways. Baring his side panel to the agent, he had forced him to either come to a stop or crash. 

Stopping abruptly, the agent opened his car door and put one foot out on the cement. Half standing, he looked at Dean as though he were insane. 

“You don’t know me,” shouted Dean angrily through his open window. “You don’t know my fuckin’ life. I am a damned good person, you sonnovah bitch.”

Infuriatingly calm in his demeanor, Novak answered in a normal voice, rather than matching Dean’s tone. “You are a petulant child.”

“Fuck you, Novak,” he shouted, his hand already on the gear shift. Angrily stomping his foot to the floor, Dean let the RPM needle find its way into the red before finally dropping the car into drive. For the second time in as many minutes, he left a long and satisfying streak of black rubber in his wake. The squeal of his tires on the asphalt was so fulfilling that he peeled out again at the next few lights just to vent more of his bottled up rage.

Losing track of the time completely, Dean let out all of his road rage before finally pulling into a Gas ‘n Gulp so he could get his bearings. Leaning into the trunk, he dug around until he’d located both his phone and his wallet. Then he patted his baby tenderly before leaving her at the pump and heading inside. 

Emerging from the gas station with a six pack under his arm, he set it on his front passenger seat and then walked around behind her to pump the gas he’d paid for. As he waited, he leaned on the trunk and powered his phone on. To his surprise, the battery was almost fully charged. Bringing up google maps, he keyed in Ron’s address and started the turn-by-turn navigation sequence. Following the directions easily enough, he was carrying in his bags when his friend arrived home from work. The two immediately began working through Dean’s six pack from the couch. When that was done, Dean turned to the bottle. Laughing and having a good time as he marched steadily away from sobriety, Dean had a blast. When they turned in that night, he was completely wasted. In fact, he was so far gone that he couldn’t get hard at all. 

“It’s no big deal,” he slurred, “I can still take a dick.”

“Do you even want it?” whispered his friend from beneath him.

“Sure I do,” he answered haughtily. Sinking down a little too fast just to prove his point, Dean began rocking back onto the man’s cock. Increasing his speed, Dean worked the man beneath him into a frenzy. He cupped his flaccid cock in his own palm when he grew tired of it flopping around. He had to work hard to get Ron off and it took longer than he would’ve expected. In the aftermath, Dean was sweaty enough to warrant a shower. But, drunk as he was, he didn’t bother getting up to take one. 

Over the next few days, he continued in the same routine. Puke in the morning, have breakfast with Ron, do the dishes, spend the day drinking on the couch, eat with Ron when he came home, get progressively more wasted, and then finally, right before passing out, give his friend the services that he knew were owed. The idea that he owed Ronald for his hospitality and the lawyer he’d paid for seemed much more firmly lodged into his mind than it was in Ron’s. The guy seemed genuinely happy just to have a friend around. The two of them often stayed up late at night hashing out various conspiracy theories, playing games online, and even just watching YouTube videos and reruns of old shows. 

But, even though Ronald had professed several times that Dean could stop having sex with him, it was clear he’d never had a regular partner for sex before. How could Dean deprive him of that when he liked him so much? Even if he hadn’t felt indebted to the man, he likely would’ve still thrown a few easy fucks his way. He just really liked the guy. Not only did they have fun together, but Ron was accepting of him.  

As the days went by, showers became more work than he cared to deal with and at some point he stopped bothering to take them. He quit cleaning up the breakfast messes in the kitchen and the pizza boxes in the living room too. 

Ronald didn’t seem too put off by Dean’s new slovenly ways so he didn’t even have to feel guilty. On some level, he knew he should be thinking and planning. He’d been so happy to have clearheadedness returned to him upon leaving the brothel that it was a complete mystery to him why he would be opting to live in a cloudy head of his own making now. 

With his life in upheaval, he should’ve been calling his brother, or perhaps trying to re-establish contact with his father. Considering he might be in physical danger, Dean was being unbelievably lax. But even if he hadn’t been warned of danger, he still should’ve been getting on with his life. He should either be hooking or hunting or finding some other way to earn a living. But instead, days were just going by and Dean was wasting them. Even knowing that, he was powerless against the inertia that seemed to keep him perpetually chained to the couch.

“Don’tcha think it’s a bit early for that?” asked Ron one morning as he watched Dean pour rum into his orange juice.

“Nah. It’s the perfect cure for this hangover.”

“I thought you didn’t like rum,” he countered. The bit of nervousness that was seeping in behind the man’s smile made Dean wonder if perhaps more was being said than he’d thought.

“You’re the one who keeps buying it,” he pointed out. “And you were right, man, it mixes with anything. Juice, pop, whatever. Ice. Anyway, now you’ve gone and gotten me hooked on this shit, you’re gonna start lecturing about drinking hours?”

“I’m not lecturing,” sighed Ron from across the table. “I’m just worried about you, I guess.”

“Well don’t be,” he said, clunking the bottle down hard. “If I wanted someone to worry about my goddamn drinking, I’d go stay with my hippie-granola brother.”

“Have you called him yet?”

“Nope. Not sure what to say. I don’t know how much he knows and, well, I guess I don’t really wanna know.”

Though he didn’t answer aloud, Dean could tell that Ron understood. They each turned to their food and dug in. After a few bites, Ron said, “They called me at work again yesterday. Twice.” 

“Who, Novak?”

“No, someone else. Aaron, I think. I can’t remember the guy’s last name. They want to set up a meeting with you.”

“Then tell them they’re callin’ the wrong damned number. Give them my cell.”

Nodding agreement, Ron returned to eating. A moment later, so did Dean. Once his friend had gone to work, Dean took his bottle and headed for the couch. As usual, he spent the late morning and early afternoon on the couch. Dividing his time between gaming, napping, and watching daytime television, Dean worked his way through the bottle and then texted Ron to bring home another when he got off work. 

At one point when he was coming through the kitchen for something to eat, he found himself oddly drawn to the phone. Not his cell phone, but the ugly landline that was anchored to the kitchen wall. For some reason, he associated that phone with Novak now and it seemed to be calling to him.

He glanced at it several times while gathering an armful of snacks and even when he was ready to head back to the couch with his load, Dean found it impossible to walk past that stupid phone. Remembering that his bottle was empty, he turned back to the fridge for some beer. Grumbling to himself when he saw they were out, he tried the cupboards in hopes that an old bottle may have been inadvertently shoved to the back and forgotten. Sadly, no such luck. He was dry.

Still cradling food in his arms, Dean briefly considered a run to the liquor store. But, honestly, that just seemed like so much work. 

A few feet away, the phone on the wall seemed to be staring at him. He stared back. He stared at it for a long damned time. Then, not even knowing why, he walked over to it. Dropping his goodies on the table, he reached out to pick up the receiver and dialed. The line rang twice and was then answered. 

“This is Novak.”

“I’m a good person,” he blurted out.

“Oh, hello Dean.”

“I’m a good person,” he repeated. “I’m just really fuckin’ pissed right now.”

“I understand,” said the rough voice on the other end of the line. A few seconds ticked by in silence, but now that he had this man on the phone, Dean had absolutely no idea what to say next. “Dean?” the voice prompted. “Are you alright?”

“No,” he managed to grit out. “Not even a little.”

Chapter Text



Still standing in the kitchen, tethered to the phone on the wall by an actual cord, Dean shook his head no when Novak said, “Meet with me.” 

Likely interpreting Dean’s silence as uncertainty, the man tried again. This time his voice was more imploring. “Dean, meet with me.”

For some reason, he couldn’t summon the will to give a firm ‘no’ despite his every instinct willing him to do exactly that. "Can't trust you," he said, his tone confident and firm despite how he was feeling inside.

“I know,” replied Novak, his tone implying regret. “But I said that I’d help you if you called me. It’s one of the few truths I’ve told. Dean, please, let me help you.”

“If I meet you, this ain't gonna be an interrogation. This time, it’s me askin’ the questions. Capische?”

Considering how unsettled he was feeling right now, he could hardly believe the confidence behind his words. But, Novak didn’t seem to pick up on his underlying state. He quickly agreed by saying, “Yes, Dean. I capisce.”

“Good. Meet me at Bill’s. You know the place? It’s a few blocks from where Ron lives.”

“I will find it. What time?”

“Gimme an hour.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

With a pronounced clunk, Dean wordlessly returned the receiver to its resting place. For a few minutes he just stood there staring at the snacks sitting on the table. More than anything else, he just wanted to return to the couch. But, if he couldn’t take a bottle with him, there was no point. When he finally began moving, he went straight to the shower. It had been days and his head was itchy. 

Letting the hot water run as he stripped, Dean actually cringed when he looked down. Used to a perfectly manicured body, this one didn’t seem like it belonged to him. Hair growth was everywhere, especially between his legs, and upon closer inspection he realized there was actually dried, crusty cum clumped into his growing bush. 

Getting clean, truly clean, took some time. He hadn’t realized how much he’d really let himself go. But just the act of showering was a noticeable boost to his mood. Brushing his teeth and shaving was also helpful. Pulling the last of his clean clothes from the bottom of his bag, Dean stepped into jeans and a warm henley shirt. Tugging his favorite flannel on, he pushed his feet into his boots and headed for the door.

He’d only been to Bill’s once - back on his first night with Ron. But, it was close and it was familiar. And this time, he had a wallet in his back pocket. Entering with his jacket slung over one shoulder, Dean looked around and immediately located Novak. He, much like Ronald, had chosen a booth near the back. Sliding in to join the man, Dean looked up at the waitress who had followed him over. “I’ll have a Johnnie Walker,” he told her. Then, nodding towards Novak, Dean added, “Put it on his tab.”

Tipping his head in a slow nod of approval, Novak agreed to the order. He then politely declined to order anything for himself. As the waitress departed, he took a long sip from his ice water and sat staring at Dean with big blue eyes. In Deans experience, most people look away if you stare at them long enough. That had never been the case with Novak. Even now, with nothing but timidity in his posture and empathy in his eyes, the man didn't break their connection. It was strange, them staring across the table like this, but Dean wouldn't allow himself to be the first to look away. It would've been a sign of weakness, he thought. But, even if there had never been a battle of wills between them, Dean wouldn't have wanted to look away. He liked the feeling that came over him when their eyes locked... a strange hum of energy in the air around them that he might've likened to the ionic charge of an incoming storm. Now, as at the brothel, the two of them alone were encapsulated in it and the rest of the world seemed to fall away. Unimportant. Novak seemed aware of the energy that coalesced around them but he showed no discomfort. In fact, he seemed content to sit and stare at Dean as if he were a work of art on a museum wall. 

Having never felt this way around anyone else before, Dean sought to break the strange connection between them despite his fascination with it. The intensity of their gaze would seem less alien, he thought, if there was a conversation going on. Seeking to start one, he leaned in a bit more and said, “Cat got your tongue?” He knew his words and tone were divisive, but he couldn't help it. He felt like a junkyard dog, defensive in the presence of a possible threat, and his hackles were up.

With only a cursory nod, the man answered by saying, “You’ve indicated you have questions for me. I’m here to answer them.”

“Okay, well, let’s start with this: why the fuck did you bid on me at the auction?”

“I needed to get you alone.”

“Who sent you?”

“ICIS, in conjunction with the authorities. We had all the necessary warrants to send in undercover personnel. Everything I did was legal.”



“You coerced me. Used my father as leverage. But this was never about him, was it?”

“No. I was never looking him for him. But you’re wrong about my motivation. He wasn’t leverage. He was a distraction.”

“How so?”

“Because you thought I was after your father, you spoke to no one at Hell’s Angels about my visits. You kept me secret. That was important. As was your assumption that questions about the inner workings of the brothel were somehow benign and relatively unimportant.”

“You really pushed me about my old man,” Dean insisted. Leaning forward across the table, he locked eyes with the agent as he continued. “You went way further than you needed to, if all you were doin’ was using him as a distraction.”

“My line of questioning regarding your father was always nuanced, Dean. Well-planned and rehearsed with senior FBI agents. As part of your emotional journey in the questioning, we planted questions in your head… questions that were meant to guide you as you considered how to proceed regarding testimony in the case against Mr. Crowley.”

“Ya lost me there. You planted questions?”

“Yes. Most specifically, we left you pondering how you would handle a choice between your loyalty to your father and doing what is right. There were other suggestions given during our talks and our time together, but that was the most important.”

“Well, I think you guys might’ve overestimated how much thinking I was gettin’ done in that place. I could barely remember what day it was. I sure as fuck wasn’t contemplating my moral compass.”

“I think you were, Dean. Deep down. On another level.”

“I don’t have another level,” he barked roughly, thumping his fist on the table. “I eat. I sleep. I fuck. Those are my levels, man.”

“You are more than that.”

The words, spoken kindly, had an effect on Dean. He could feel himself growing smaller under the weight of a compliment he didn’t think he deserved. This must be how it feels to be Ron, he thought, never able to just take a good word for what it’s worth

Realizing that he had more in common with Ron than he’d previously thought was a tough pill to swallow. He didn’t like the idea that he might have some self esteem issues too. Even as he was coming to accept it, his mind flooded with images that only served to make him feel even smaller. Lesser. 

He clenched his eyes shut as the images, the memories, of things from his past flooded back to him. He saw himself down on the floor, naked at the feet of others, professing submission and accepting punishments, licking boots, swallowing cum, degrading himself over and over. The deluge wouldn’t stop no matter how hard he tried to block it out until, finally, blessedly, Castiel Novak pulled him from under it with a single word.


Barely holding himself together at this point, he could not look up in response. Again, the man said his name gently. Questioningly. “Dean?”

Doing his best to keep his lip from quivering as he spoke, he forced his eyes open and stared at the wood grain in the table as he formed the words he needed to say. “You nearly broke me. It was too much.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“It was too much,” he repeated, more firmly this time. Indignant now, anger began welling up inside of him and it made him strong. “You made me think you were after my family. You used my brother against me. It was too fuckin’ much. And now, what, you think I’m gonna just join up on your side? Testify against my boss even though it’ll lose me every penny I ever earned and possibly get me killed?”

Letting his question hang in the air between them for a moment, Dean paused for the waitress as she bent between them to set a glass of expensive amber liquid on the table. Then, after she’d gone, he spoke again. “Did you really fuckin’ think that after everything that’s happened… you could just waltz in here, answer a few questions and buy me a drink, and somehow I was gonna come out of this on your side ?”

“I’m not going to ask you to be on my side, Dean. I know it’s too late for that. But I am going to ask you to do what’s right.”

“Oh yeah?” he challenged, reaching for his drink. “And what’s that, huh? Testify in court? Get up on the witness stand and take a stand for informed consent? Jesus. Do you even hear yourself?”

“There’s more to it than that. More than I can even convey to you in a single meeting. But, yes. When it’s all said and done, I hope you’ll do the right thing.”

“How did they die?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject. Having grown tired of the morality talk and the apologies that didn’t mean shit, Dean was ready to get to the more important issue at hand. Staying alive. 

So far, he’d been relatively well-hidden. Ronald Reznick had no connection to Dean outside of the brothel. Anyone trying to locate him would have their work cut out for them. There were only a few people who would constitute leads - primarily his father and brother. Neither of them was an easy target to start with and, thanks to Dean tipping them off, they were on high alert right now. Even if someone did dig into Dean’s customers at the brothel, there were hundreds. Investigating all of them as they searched for him would take time. But, he’d known all along that Ron’s place would be a temporary reprieve. He couldn’t hide out there forever. And that’s really what he’d been doing wasn’t it? Just hiding out? 

Across from him, Novak answered his question. “There have been three,” he said bleakly. “The first and second went missing on the same night. One turned up a week later, her body found in a vacant house with a needle in her arm. We believe the scene was staged to look as though she’d been squatting in a drug house and had died of an overdose. The second victim fell off a cruise ship and died of her injuries. Foul play was eventually ruled out, but again, we feel that her death was intentional. The third was a young man. He was mugged downtown and stabbed. Witnesses said that he appeared to know his attacker and since his wallet wasn’t taken from him, foul play is suspected. The case is currently under investigation, but the man is dead.”

“Okay,” Dean said, pursing his lips and nodding his head, “so I’ll be sure to stay away from cruise ships and drug houses, and maybe get a panic whistle in case I meet a mugger in a dark alley?”

Across the table from him, Castiel Novak smiled for the first time. “Your sarcasm has been one of my favorite things about you, Dean.”

Realizing that he’d been smiling back, Dean schooled his face back into a scowl. “We ain’t friends,” he reminded the man. “Just cause I’m talkin’ to you don’t mean we’re on the same damned side. I ain’t your buddy.”

“I understand that, Dean,” said the man firmly. “But Crowley’s Inc. is a ten billion dollar multi-national corporation. The brothel you worked at was one of hundreds that they own and operate. The case we’re building against them seeks judgment on the grounds of worker exploitation, mislabeling of narcotics, falsification of records, wage theft, extortion, obstruction of justice, and hundreds of minor statute violations. We’re seeking restitution for all affected workers and fines for wrongdoing that would wipe out their balance sheet entirely. Essentially, we’d like to shut them down, Mr. Winchester. 

“Now, during your time at Hell’s Angels, you were one of their biggest earners and you would be a high profile witness. But, if you were to agree to testify, your life would be in danger. In fact, my superiors believe that if you even gave an interview or appeared on television, you’d be in danger regardless of what you said. So, even though I understand a certain reluctance to ‘join our side’ as you say, I would like to point out that if you do not, then you are taking theirs. What I’m saying Dean, is that eventually, you’re going to have to pick a side.”

Throwing back the last of his drink in one quick motion, Dean swallowed it down and then cleared his throat as he rose from the booth. Bending down, he planted his palms firmly on the table and glared at Novak. “I’m on the same side I’ve always been: mine.”

With that, he turned from the booth and left. Storming out, Dean could only think of how angry he was and he was halfway across the parking lot before he realized that he’d left his leather jacket inside. His shoulders slumped. There was no way he could willingly leave that coat behind. It had been his father’s before it was his and it was special, much like his car. As he turned back towards the entrance, he saw Castiel Novak coming towards him with the jacket slung over one arm. When they got within a few feet of one another, Dean gave him a nod. It was the best he could do. Gritting out a thank you when he was this irritated was impossible. 

As he was walking away, the man called out to him, “Thank you for meeting me, Dean.”

“Yeah, fuck you,” he mumbled under his breath.

By the time Dean got back to the house, Ronald was home. 

“You showered,” he noted. 

“It was time,” he agreed, plunking down on the couch next to his friend. 

Laughing beside him, Ron added, “When you took off your pants to get in the shower, did they stand up on their own?”

“Hell yeah,” he teased back. “They got tired of waitin’ for me to jerk off in there and walked to the hamper on their own.”

“You brushed your teeth too,” he noted, leaning in as if to peck Dean’s cheek. Clearly thinking better of it, he changed his trajectory at the last second and reached for a gaming controller instead. 

“You sayin’ my breath was bad, buddy?”

“It would’ve knocked a buzzard off a shit-wagon,” laughed Ron.

“You weren’t complainin’ when I was deep throatin’ your cock last night.”

Elbowing Dean as he started up the game, Ron said, “Yeah, well, one more day and I might’ve.”

Then, as they sank into a pizza and a bottle, his friend cautiously said, “It’s good to see you up and around.”

“It’s good to be up,” he agreed.

“Where did you go today?”

“Oh, just the usual,” he joked, “stopped by the church to join the old ladies for quilting night.”

Ron rolled his eyes and Dean said, “Actually, I went to meet Novak.”

“How’d it go?” Ron asked, his face showing both curiosity and genuine concern.

With a shrug, Dean said as little as possible. “Could’ve been better.” He wasn’t trying to be secretive, he simply didn’t feel like talking about it.

That night, when they migrated from the sofa to the bed, Dean was pleasantly surprised to find himself being guided down onto his belly. He moaned aloud as Ron eased his boxer briefs down and began running his tongue over Dean’s butt cheeks. He’d almost forgotten how good Ronald was at rimming. But when that tongue slipped down into his crack, it all came back to him. He didn’t get hard for the sex again, which was becoming a bit concerning, but he did enjoy the rim job. 

The next morning, the wall phone in the kitchen rang while he and Ron were making breakfast. Setting aside his spatula, the other man answered it while Dean continued chopping veggies for their omelettes. “It’s for you,” he said, passing the receiver off to Dean. 


“Hello, Dean.”


“A previous co-worker of yours from Hell’s Angels has reached out to us requesting your number. He’d like to get in touch with you. We’ve explained to him that we’re not able to comply with that request, but he insisted that speaking to you was of grave importance. So, I agreed to call you and give you his number so that you could reach out to him if you wished to do so. Would you like the number?”

“Yeah,” he readily agreed, looking around for a pen. “Go ahead,” he said when he’d found one. Taking down the number, he then did something new. He thanked the man and hung up pleasantly.

“What’s up?” asked Ron.

“Got a message from Benny. He was a friend of mine at, well, at work. I better give him a call.” Exiting the kitchen, Dean went back to the bedroom and grabbed his cell from the nightstand. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, he dialed the number and saved it to his contacts as it was ringing. 

The voice that answered was achingly familiar. Right away, Dean’s throat began to tighten. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d been missing his friend until he heard his voice on the other end of the line. “Ben?”

“Hey Brotha, how you been?”

“Okay,” he answered. “It’s good to hear from ya.”

“I gotta say, Dean, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Benny, you don’t sound so good. You okay?”

“Not exactly. That’s kinda why I called. I mean, I hate to be the kinda guy to just call a friend outta the blue for a favor. But sure could use your help.”

“What’cha need?” he asked.

“Well, I’m stranded for starters.”

“Stranded where?”


The gears in Dean’s head were already turning. Louisville. That was just south of the city - a couple hours, give or take. 

“I’m right off 65 at the Ohio river crossing. There’s a scrapyard…”

“No problem, Ben, I’ll leave right now. Shouldn’t take me long.”

“Good, ‘cause I ain’t got long. And Dean?”


“If ya had a first aid kit with ya when ya got here I’d sure appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he answered. But then, he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “What the fuck’s goin’ on Benny?”

“Sorry brotha, no time to get into it right now. My cell’s got a low battery. How ‘bout I fill ya in on the details when ya get here?”

“Sure thing, Ben. I’m gonna throw some stuff in the trunk and hit the road. You just hang on and I’ll call ya back when I’m close.”

“I thank ya kindly, Dean.”

“Yeah, save the hallmark moment. I’ll see ya soon.”

Once he’d hung up, Dean returned to the kitchen and found Ron sitting at the table. He was eating and sitting across from him was a plate for Dean. Seating himself in front of it, Dean dug into pancakes and sausage. “Benny’s stranded,” he said between bites. “Car trouble or somethin’, so I’m gonna go pick him up.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Nah, we’ll be fine. I don’t really know what’s goin’ on. His phone was dying so there wasn’t time to go over the details.” Then, talking with his mouth full, he added, “I’ll shoot a message to let ya know what’s up if I won’t be back tonight.”

“Okay,” Ron answered. Dean didn’t miss the way the man’s shoulders began to droop. His face turned somber as he finished his bite. He didn’t raise the fork to his lips again, even as Dean shoveled in a few more bites. Then, he got up and took his dish to the sink. “I gotta head out now,” he said, not looking back at Dean. 

Slowly, he walked across the room, grabbed his keys from the counter, and headed for the front door. Pausing in the doorway, he looked back and said, “It’s been great havin’ you here. You’re welcome anytime. My door’s always open.”

Ron was a fun guy and he’d probably have far more friends if he just didn’t think so poorly of himself. Honestly, it didn’t make any sense to Dean. He’d known lots of guys that were heavier and uglier without having so many self esteem issues. 

Caring for the man, he sought to soothe him. It was obvious that he was thinking Dean wasn’t coming back. Getting up from his seat, he walked over and pulled Ronald into a hug. It was the only kind he really knew how to give - a quick one that culminated with a back slap. A bro hug. But, as he pulled away, he said, “I’ll be back.”

From the unmitigated joy that spread over his friends face, Dean could tell that he’d been successfully reassured. 

Turning back towards the bedroom, Dean glanced at the clock and saw that he’d already wasted almost fifteen minutes. Benny’s words had implied that time was short, so he began tossing the bare essentials into a single bag. He wound up pulling out just a minute or two after Ron.

As he headed for the interstate, Dean pulled out his phone and searched his destination, activating the turn-by-turn directions feature. Then, with his route laid out for him, Dean leaned over and popped in a favorite cassette tape. 

Only when the familiar guitar riff of AC/DC’s “Back in Black” began to play did Dean roll down his window and lean back comfortably. Sure, he was worried about Benny. But, knowing there was nothing he could do right now but drive, he did his best to push any troubling thoughts aside and focus on how good it felt to be out on the road. 

As he headed south, the sun continued climbing in the sky. He didn’t stop except for gas and he made decent time. What really surprised him about the trip was how easily he seemed to be able to tame his thoughts. Back at the brothel, he’d longed for a clear head so he could organize his life and make some decisions. But, the minute the fog had cleared for him, he’d started drinking. Yeah, drinking took the edge off of his nerves, but it also sedated his brain. With a solid buzz going night after night, the problems he needed to sort out seemed less important somehow. Pushing his issues aside with a vague assurance of sorting them out the next day was becoming Dean's routine.

But here, behind the wheel of his baby, everything began falling into place. By the time he called Benny again, Dean had worked through everything. With his outlook on life much improved, he waited for his friend to pick up. 

“Hey, buddy,” he greeted.

“Where you at brotha?”

“I’m on the bridge,” he said. It was almost noon now and the sun was filtering down through the matrix of steel beams overhead and because of his speed as he passed beneath them, the light flickered rhythmically around him inside the car. Baby’s shiny black hood reflected it all.

“You’ll wanna take the downtown exit,” said Benny, his voice hoarse and thin. “When you’re off the ramp, double back towards the river and take the road that runs along the water. Just east of the bridge is a scrapyard, but that’s not where I am. I’m in the woods right next to it.”

“Got it,” he confirmed. “You hang in. I’m almost there.”

“Dean, if you can avoid bein’ seen, that’d be best all around.”

“Sure thing. I’ll call again when I’m walkin’ in.”

Finding the area Benny had been referring to wasn’t difficult. But, as he pulled over and eased his tires into the gravel at the side of the road, he couldn’t help but wish he’d been arriving under the cover of darkness. Obviously something was going on, he hadn’t been called here for anything so routine as changing a flat tire. He could practically feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up and he wished he knew what he was about to walk into. Though there wasn’t much traffic to speak of, the occasional car or truck whirring by was more of an audience than he wanted to have as he walked around to the trunk. Dialing Benny’s number once more, Dean surveyed the inventory available to him. The best he could do to prepare, he figured, was treat this like a hunt. Wtih that thought in mind, he began by reaching for a trusted weapon and ammo.

“I’m here,” he said when the line connected.

“Come down the hill,” Benny was saying as Dean began stuffing important items into a canvas bag. “Try keep quiet when ya come through. I’m not far from the water.”

“Can ya whistle or do a fuckin’ bird call or somethin’?” bristled Dean. “I don’t wanna be out here all day lookin’ for ya” he added, loading bullets into his pistol and spinning the cylinder.

“I gotcha brotha,” said Benny.

Dean tucked his weapon into his jeans for easy access and zipped up his bag. Then, when the road was clear of passing cars, he quickly crossed the open space between the road and the tree line. 

Ducking in between the first few pine trees, he noted the difference in temperature as he moved from sunlight to shade as well as the scents and sounds of the wooded area he was walking into. The brambles and grass were tall, grabbing at his boots. He had to lift his knees high to keep from stumbling as he moved through the underbrush. He’d gone no more than twenty yards when he first caught a glimpse of water in the distance between the trees. A moment later, he began to hear a faint whistle. 

Since the ground beneath his feet was sloped downward towards the river, momentum was working against him, carrying him faster than he wanted to go for the sake of sure footing. But, as he drew nearer the water, the tune he followed grew louder. 

Once he was able to ascertain a general point of origin, he whistled back to signal his approach. When he was finally able to see his friend, Dean was stunned by the macabre scene he’d walked into. He’d been expecting something bad, but this was far beyond anything his friend might’ve been able to prepare him for. 

Despite being a man who’d seen his fair share of blood, Dean felt his jaw drop open. Here, amidst the trunks of a half dozen trees, were the dead bodies of three men. One had been beaten so badly that Dean could hardly make out a human face on it. A dozen feet from the first was another body, this one twisted around on itself in an unnatural way. It looked like a marionette discarded onto the floor by a child… just a pile of limbs with no purposeful shape to it at all. The third one, closest to Benny, had obviously had his head smashed in by rock. The soupy mess of it resembled a pile of vomit more than it resembled a human skull. The remnants of hair mixed in with the lumpy pink, red, and white mixture were currently a feast for flies and Dean’s stomach turned over as his eyes skimmed past it. 

“The fuck?” he whispered, taking it all in as his eyes finally came to rest on Benny. Beaten and bloody, Benny didn’t look too much better than the other men. Sitting on the ground at the base of a dead tree, the man had one leg twisted awkwardly beneath him and the other locked straight. The jeans he wore were torn and stained with blood, especially his straight leg. From thigh to calf, the denim on that left leg was soaked in blood. At the edges of the big stain, the color was brownish while the center was still bright red. 

The man’s face was battered, his right eye swollen shut. He winced as he tried to answer. “Dean,” he panted, “meet my old friends. This one over here was Frank…”

“I don’t need their names,” he barked, dropping his bag next to Benny and taking a knee. “Just tell me what we’re dealin’ with here.”

“Got shot,” he answered, looking down. Dean followed the man’s gaze to his straight leg. Without hesitation, Dean pulled the knife from his boot and began slicing away denim to reveal the wound. Around him, the fresh air wasn’t doing much to cover the scent of death, but once the gurgling entry wound was exposed, he began breathing through his mouth as a precaution. 

“Don’t smash my fuckin’ head in,” he said jokingly, repositioning himself to lift the leg and search for an exit wound. His friend tensed and grunted in pain when he was moved. “Yeah, the bullet’s still in there,” he said, returning the leg to the ground. 

“I coulda toldja that,” Benny grumbled. 

Unzipping his bag, Dean dug out a bottle of over-the-counter pain pills and a fifth of whiskey. He pushed them into his friend’s hands and then, straightening, he began undoing his belt.

“I appreciate ya comin’,” the man panted, a wry smile on his lips, “but I ain’t gonna blow ya for it.”

“It’s for a tourniquet,” he hissed. “Now, grit your teeth.”

“Might be too late for that,” Benny confessed. “I’ve been like this since before sun-up today.”

“Let’s leave the thinkin’ to me,” Dean countered. “Ya know, the dude who hasn’t lost a few pints and can still think clearly?”

“Gotcha,” the man agreed, turning his attention to the pain relief in his hands. He cursed aloud when Dean lifted the leg again to thread his belt under it, and again when he tightened it down. The bottle clunked to the ground beside him and his hands clenched into the soil as he absorbed the pain. With the belt in place, Dean sat back on his haunches and said, “You want a stick to bite?”

“May as well,” the man answered, tipping his head back against the tree to gulp in a few deep breaths. 

“Drink,” ordered Dean. He rose and put his back to the bloody scene under the guise of searching out a suitable twig. All the while, his mind was racing. There were things he needed to know fast, and there were things he just needed to know. As both swam around chaotically in his mind, Dean did his best to prioritize them. Job number one, he knew, was making sure Benny was as stable as possible. Then, they had to get the hell out of here. But, when leaving, they had to take steps to cleanse this place of their presence. And last of all, they needed to get Benny somewhere that Dean could really treat him.

“Can’t exactly call 911,” he muttered, bending to grab a stick that seemed suitably green to hold its shape when bitten. “So we’ve gotta walk outta here. And it’s gonna be a bitch.”

Benny was gulping from the bottle when Dean’s eyes returned to him. He nodded agreement as Dean approached. 

“I can see that one’s broken,” he said, gesturing to the man’s twisted right leg. Then, about the leg with the gunshot wound, he added, “and that one’s obviously useless. How are your arms?”

“Weak,” his friend answered. Of course they were. Blood loss. In his mind, Dean was on the fence about whether to try and carry the man out, or concoct some sort of homemade stretcher out of branches. 

“What else?” he asked, referring to possible injuries he might not have seen. “How’s the head?”

“I ain’t gonna lie. I been dizzy. I might pass out on ya.”

“It’s at least a hundred yards to the road, uphill, and the ground is uneven,” he said, surveying the area in question. Mostly, he was thinking aloud. “Anyone else comin’ to join this party?”

“Probably not,” answered Benny. “I mean, phones have gone off a few times. If somebody was expectin’ any of these fuckers to check in, then they probably know their plan went sideways. But, it’s at least a twelve hour drive from there to here. So, by my watch, that gives us at least six hours before we gotta worry ‘bout anyone who comes lookin’.”

“How’d ya get here?” he asks, knowing there must be a vehicle somewhere.

“Frank drove,” answered his friend, looking east, which Dean knew was the general direction of the scrapyard. “We pulled in here before dawn, but the yard was open. No doubt the car’s been seen, but it’s outta the way so I doubt anybody has called to report it… I mean, maybe if it’s still there at closin’ time they’d be inclined?”

“I’d say that sounds about right,” he answered. “They tried to snuff you?”

“Yeah, at the yard. But I talked ‘em out of it,” Benny smirked weakly. 

“I can see that,” Dean chuckled. “Your prints are in the car?”

“Yep. I never saw this comin’... just thought my friends were pickin’ me up and bringin’ me home. So, yeah, I got comfy in the car.”

“How big a risk is it to leave the car behind?”

“I dunno,” he admitted. 

Dean would’ve liked to go torch the car in question. But, since it was the middle of the day and the scrap yard was open for business, that wasn’t an option. Pulling out his phone, Dean checked the business hours and said, “Well, they’re open ‘til four.”

“Lemme see if I can get one last call out on this phone before it dies,” replied his friend. 

Turning his attention to the bodies around them, Dean surveyed them in more detail and took a moment to ponder his friend. Nearby, Benny was on his phone telling lies. “Yeah,” he was saying, “I pulled in ‘cause I realized we were too drunk to be driving. Someone came and picked us up. We’ll be back for the car.”

When his friend was off the phone, Dean looked back over at him. “That should keep ‘em from callin’ to have it towed,” he affirmed. “For now at least.”

“What’cha thinkin’?” Benny asked him. 

“I’m thinkin’ I can get ya outta here,” he answered, a credible idea having formed in his head. “It ain’t gonna be pleasant, but I can do it.”

“Well alright then,” he nodded, raising the bottle to his lips again in preparation for more pain. 

Nodding towards the dead bodies, Dean said, “Ben, man, what are we gonna do about the three musketeers?”

“Leave ‘em I guess. I mean, what else is there to do?”

“We could bury them,” he answered. 

“And what good would that do?”

“Might buy some time,” he sighed. “I mean, there’s a park a quarter mile down the road. These guys are gonna get found. Soon. But if we bury them, enough time might go by that no one will think about the car in connection with the bodies? I mean, at least that way when the cops come askin’ questions, there’s a small chance they won’t connect the dots?”

“I don’t think the car even matters, Dean. I mean, these guys are from Louisiana. Once the bodies are found, it ain’t gonna take an investigator long to realize that they all knew me… that they probably came up here for me... I’ll be implicated no matter what.”

“So, what then? you wanna just leave ‘em? If we do that, then we may as well leave the car too.” Realizing that he needed more time and more information to really come to an informed decision, Dean kicked the trunk of a nearby tree to vent some frustration and then turned back to Benny. “Let’s get you outta here,” he said, feeling sick to his stomach. “We’ll check into a shit motel somewhere… get you patched up a little, and decide what to do while we’re at it. Sound good?”

“Get me outta here? Yeah. Let’s start with that.”

“I’ll be right back,” he said over his shoulder, already moving away. Heading back towards the road, Dean analyzed the terrain as he crossed it again. Looking for the path of least resistance, a route between the trees that was wide enough, and a fallen branch of the right size and shape. When he emerged from the trees, Dean grabbed the blanket from his backseat and a few more things from the trunk before returning to the cover of the wooded area. He had to scout pretty far out of his way to get the perfect branch and by the time he got back, Benny was sleeping. 

Well, either he was sleeping or passed out, the man’s arms were limp and the whiskey bottle was cradled between them in his lap. His breathing was shallow and now, for the first time, Dean noticed how pale he looked. His face was ashen. He looked so small, crumpled there at the base of that decaying, leafless tree.

“Ben,” he said firmly, hoping to wake him. “It’s time to go.” Stirring, the man blinked up at him with big greyish blue eyes. “Finish that,” Dean ordered, pointing to the bottle.

“What’s all this?” his friend asked, raising the drink to his lips.

“Your stretcher,” he laughed, getting to work. Plucking a few small branches from the big piece he’d dragged back here, Dean put his boot to the joints of various branches, using his weight to bend them as much as he could without actually breaking them. Essentially, he wanted to flatten the thing down. Ideally, he wanted it to be the shape of a giant chinese fan. From one end to the other, it was probably ten feet long. The shape was right, he just needed it to lay flatter. The thickest part of the branch was going to have to be his handle. 

Hoping that this would work, Dean draped a blanket over the place where Benny would lay. If all went well, it would be like pulling a broom through the grass with his friends weight laying on top of it. Even after he’d bent down some branches and covered the entire thing with cloth, it still looked too big and too misshapen.  

“We need to get you down on this,” he said, knowing that the man’s weight would flatten it more. “It ain’t gonna be easy,” he acknowledged, “or comfortable. But it’ll be better than me tryin’ to carry you - for both of us.”

“To git that done, I’m gonna have to stand all the way up,” his friend cautioned. “There’s no way I can do it on my own.”

Dean grinned. “I’ll settle for doin’ it without breakin’ my back.”

“Where’s my stick to bite?” he asked. Between his tone and the look on his face, it was easy to tell that Benny was only half joking. 

Glancing around, Dean located the greenish twig he’d picked up earlier and handed it to him. “You ready?” he asked, getting down on one knee.

With a twig between his teeth, the man grit out, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Lifting Benny’s arm and situating his body under it, Dean prepared to lift. “On three,” he said to the man, and then he counted down. Both of them groaned and grunted, Dean with the effort and Benny because of pain. The got close twice and then on the third try, they made it. There wasn’t a moment to pause and catch their breath because with weight on both legs, Benny was howling.

Pivoting deftly, Dean managed to get the hulking man into position before telling him, “Down we go.” Then, he did his best to keep the man’s weight from going down too hard. Benny absorbed the impact with a ‘humph’ and then continued to moan softly as Dean surveyed his position on their ridiculous excuse for a stretcher. “Can you move to the left?” he asked.

“How far?”

“Um, six or eight inches maybe?”

Benny counted to three again and then heaved himself over using mostly his arms. His mouth locked down on the stick again and he stayed like that as he recovered his breathing. Dean moved into position and took up the handle of this crazy sled he’d just made. Bracing it near his waist, he engaged his core and gripped tightly with both hands. Putting all of his strength behind the movement, he began pulling. 

He felt like an oxen pulling a cart, or maybe a draft horse. Progress would be slow, and this was going to take everything he had, but he was glad to be able to look down at Benny and say, “I think this might actually work. Just hang on and try to keep quiet.”

Though it felt like they were deep in the woods, Dean could hear cars passing on the nearby road. And from the adjacent park, the sounds of a little league game were being carried to them on the gentle breeze that wafted through the leaf canopy above. They’d gone about ten yards when Dean suddenly realized all he was about to leave behind.

“Wait,” he said, dropping the handle and stepping away. Walking over to the first of three dead bodies, Dean bent down and felt around until he’d located a phone in the man’s jacket. Pulling it out, he shoved it into his own pocket. He took the man’s wallet too, and then moved on to the same to the other men. Rigor mortis had set in and it made the bodies a bit stiffer as he dug through their pockets. It also reminded Dean that his friend had been in the company of these dead men for quite some time. “Where’s the gun?” he asked.

When his friend didn’t answer, Dean looked over and saw that the man had passed out. He really didn’t look good. “Hey,” Dean said again, bending down to tap him awake. “Hey, Ben?”

“Yeah?” he answered groggily.

“Where’s the gun?”

“What gun?”

“Dude,” he snapped, “the fucking gun you got shot with. Where is it?”

“Dunno,” he answered, rolling his eyes. “If I knew, I woulda used it, ya know? Instead of a big-ass rock?”

“Roger that,” chuckled Dean. 

Marching back to his position near Benny’s head, Dean resumed his impression of a cart horse and worked to pull his friend up the hill and out of the woods. He hadn’t checked the time when starting, but the ordeal seemed to take hours. 

Abandoning his friend at the tree line, Dean took a quick minute to catch his breath before walking to the car. Every muscle in his body was screaming from abuse. Sweat was dripping from his brow and he was soaked with it. Benny had been a trooper, but he’d cried out in pain several times as Dean had inadvertently dragged him over some unseen rock or tree stump. Starting up his baby, Dean backed up a few dozen yards and then cautiously drove down into the tall grass. Pulling up near the spot where he’d left his friend, Dean got out and left it running. It seemed safe to assume that his car being down in the grass would draw less attention from passing motorists than the sight of him physically dragging a man towards a waiting vehicle. 

Dean had thought that the worst was behind them, but as it turned out, he was wrong. Getting Benny up and into the car was much, much harder than he’d been expecting. 

“Just kill me,” his friend pleaded, panting for breath and dripping with sweat. Still, he was only halfway in the car. 

“I can knock you out,” Dean teased, “Lemme just find a rock.” His own chest was heaving too, but with exertion rather than pain. 

“On three,” Benny countered, his arms spread between the headrest of the passenger seat and the dashboard. “You lift and I’ll pull myself in.”

“Wait,” Dean said, gingerly stepping between Benny’s splayed legs to better position himself. “Okay,” he said, bending down and threading his fingers into the man’s belt loops, “count it off.”

Benny had long ago lost the stick he’d been biting but he did a good job of growling rather than screaming as the two of them heaved him the last foot or so. Still, he was precariously perched on the seat with both legs out the door. Dean went back and forth between the driver’s side and passenger side several times as the two coordinated to get all of Benny’s limbs into the car. 

Shutting the door, Dean walked around behind the car to retrieve his blanket and tossed it into the backseat. The big branch they’d used was left a short distance from the treeline simply to serve as a marker. He had a hunch that they’d be returning later to bury the bodies. 

When he started the car, the music he’d been listening to earlier blared loudly from the speakers. It startled both of them and they chuckled as Dean leaned forward to turn it down. 

“Hang on,” he cautioned, knowing that their return to pavement would jostle Benny no matter how slow and careful he was. Once they were back on the road, he began to relax. 

Sweaty, sore, and exhausted, he looked over at his friend with empathy. The poor guy was sickly pale, covered in a sheen of sweat. Bruised, bloody, and dirty, the man had pine needles and little bits of dead leaves all over him, some even hanging from his beard. 

“I hate to say it, Ben, cause I know you wanna pass out like never before. But I gotta know what the fuck is goin’ on. So lay it on me.”

“I was so glad when they came,” Benny huffed, leaning back on the headrest with his eyes closed. “Thought they were my friends. We go back a long ways… back before I met Andrea. Don’t know if I ever told ya this or not, but I grew up in a trailer park. Dirt poor. After I dropped outta high school, I went to work on an off-shore oil rig. I was big and strong, knew my way around a toolbox, and was willing to do the work. Those are pretty much the only job requirements. But it didn’t take long for me to decide that wasn’t the life for me - especially after I met Frank and his crew. We got tight right away. He was boostin’ cars and scrappin’ ‘em out. Once he let me in on the action, we used my contact at the marina to start liftin’ boats too. I ran with his crew ‘til Andrea. 

“She was worried - didn’t like the way our ‘lil crew was runnin’. Said I was gonna end up goin’ to jail, and she was prob’ly right. She said hookin’ was probably a better idea if all I wanted was fast money since that, at least, was legal. All it took was one close call in a stolen car for me to come ‘round to her way of thinkin’. Anyway, the guys thought I was nuts. ‘Specially Frank. But then again, he’d never known that I was amenable to doin’ dudes. So, when he dug his heels in, I figured it was mostly because he didn’t like the idea of me crossin’ swords with other guys. 

“But by then, Andrea’s opinion carried more weight than his. The more we talked about it, the better it sounded. She’d been a hustler for a while, and I’d been tryin’ to get her to quit. Didn’t like the idea of her bein’ with another man, even if it was only for the money. But she said the answer wasn’t for her to quit. The answer, she said, was for me to start. 

“I bought in right away. I mean, the logic was sound. We’d both basically be fuckin’ for money - just in different ways. And since we were both doin’ it, neither of us would have to feel guilty and neither of us would ever get jealous. Both of us would pile up as much scratch as we could and then retire in style. We had this dream of buyin’ a yacht and spendin’ the rest of our days sailin’ around the world together.”

“Yeah,” said Dean. “You mentioned it.” As he drove, Dean wasn’t just listening to Benny’s story, he was also looking for a place to crash. He was having to prompt his friend more and more to keep him talking. Even now, the man’s chin was dipping and his eyes were drifting shut. “Ben,” he said sternly.

“Yeah,” his friend answered, head snapping back up. “I’m up.”

“Good. You were sayin’?”

“Oh, yeah. So Andrea had said that since we were gonna be apart for a while, hookin’ would be good for me cause I wouldn’t get so lonely without her. She said it’d be good for both of us, ya know, so we wouldn’t be so lonely while we were apart. So, once I was convinced, I told the boys I was out. I honestly thought we’d parted on good terms so I didn’t think anything of it when I called Andrea and she said they’d be comin’ to pick me up.

“She’s in the middle of it with a mark,” he added, almost off handedly. “She can’t get away. But she wants to see me. So she said the boys were gonna come get me and bring me home and as soon as I git there, she’s gonna make an excuse to get away for a bit so we have some time. Mostly, I was lookin’ forward to that. And maybe some decent gumbo.”

“So everything seemed normal when they picked you up?”

“Yeah. We fell right back into it like old times… hell, we headed straight to a tittie bar. Stayed ‘til bout two in the mornin’ and then went to Waldo’s for waffles.”

“Of course ya did. All that sounds normal to me, so I just gotta ask, when did ya know somethin’ wasn’t right?”

“I fell asleep in the car,” he admitted. “You know how it is when you’re drunk as a sailor on leave and ya pile a fat stack of waffles on top - a guy’s gonna pass out.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, turning to follow the truck route.

“Well, when I woke up, they were pullin’ me outta the car. Didn’t know where I was at first. They beat me down and started draggin’ me towards the water. That’s when I figured it out… knew they were gonna weigh me down and send me to the bottom of the river. So, I let ‘em pull me a ways and when they seemed to think I was down for the count, I showed ‘em I wasn’t.”

“How’d ya wind up in the woods?”

“Well, I never had the upper hand. I mean, there was three of them and one of me. I might be a big guy, but them three have been around. I fought, and every chance I got, I ran. So, yeah, it was messy, but I was jus’ tryin’ to put some distance between me and the water. I tried to get back to the car, but couldn’t get far enough ahead of them to get in it. Wound up runnin’ right past it. Tried to lose ‘em in the woods but, man, they ran me down hard.”

“You did good, Ben,” reassured Dean. “I mean, three against one, you’re lucky to be alive.”

“It wasn’t luck,” he huffed. “And I still don’t git why they did it.” In response to his tone, Dean looked over at his friend. He’d never seen Benny look so small or defeated.  

“Who can say,” Dean answered. “Maybe they’d been wantin’ to do it since before you even left town… maybe they just saw an opportunity, ya know? I mean, you were out of state and off your game. Hell, maybe somethin’ back home has changed and you don’t know about it ‘cause you’ve been gone. Might even be that they saw ya on TV as part of the brothel goin’ down and felt like you brought shame to their little gang of swamp water, alligator wrestling bigots. Hard tellin.”

“Yeah,” sighed Benny. “Can I pass out now?”

“If you must,” Dean conceded. “But I’m gonna be wakin’ your ass up the minute I find a motel.”

“Fine by me,” said his friend, body already sagging. 

Turning his attention fully to the road, Dean drove past two motels that seemed viable, hoping for one that would afford a bit more privacy. By the time he found one, his friend had been sleeping deeply for almost an hour. Parking in an adjacent lot to avoid security cameras, he left his friend in the parked car and walked over to the office of the Bluebird motel. With peeling paint, sagging awnings, and a half burnt out sign, Dean was hopeful that any security cameras posted would be non-functional. He requested a specific room at the outer edge of the facility, he paid in cash and never took off his sunglasses. 

He headed back to the car and roused his friend as he drove his baby over to the appropriate parking lot. There were no cars parked on their end of the lot and the nearby rooms were all dark. Still, it seemed best to stay as quiet as possible. Letting himself into their rented room with a keycard, he left it standing open while he went back to get his friend. 

Opening the passenger door of his car, Dean once again assisted the man in swinging his legs around. They were much better at it this time, having done it before, and once the man was in position, Dean encouraged Benny to hug him as he snaked his own arms around the larger man’s waist and began to lift. Pulling him into a vertical position went well but the very second that Benny had two legs under him, one of them buckled and the other gave out completely. 

Falling onto Dean with the weight of an ox, Benny couldn’t assist at all in holding himself up. But at least he was able to stifle the sound of the pained scream that formed in his throat. Behind his locked jaw and closed lips, the pitiful wail was mostly muted. In fact, it was comical. “You sound like Kermit the frog,” Dean teased his friend.

Then, buttressing one shoulder under Benny at his core, Dean hefted the man up. With most of the weight spread over his back, Dean was able to stagger into the room. But, with his initial burst of adrenaline from the crime scene used up, Dean was losing his strength fast and he was barely able to support the Benny’s weight all the way to the bed. Once he was next to it, Dean abandoned any hope of setting the man down gently and just settled for not letting himself wind up trapped beneath him.

Taking a moment on the bed to catch his breath, Dean hopped up a few seconds later and headed back out to the car. Grabbing his own bag and the blanket he’d used to pully Benny out of the woods from the back, he locked Baby up and returned to the room. One of the phones he’d taken from a corpse was ringing when he finally flopped down on the bed next Ben. 

The man was out cold but Dean didn’t rouse him. Then, set on getting the blanket between his friend and the hotel comforter, he leaned in to lift the man’s leg up. “Hope those meds are kickin’ in,” he muttered under his breath. Then, he lifted. Benny roared as he woke to pain and quickly quieted as he saw what Dean was doing. “Bite a pillow or somethin’,” Dean groused. “This is about to get a whole lot worse.” 

Before setting to work, Dean pulled a bottle of rubbing alcohol from his souped up first aid kit and took the time to clean his tools with it. He also took the plastic liner from a nearby trash can and slipped it directly under Benny’s skin. Satisfied that he’d done all he could to keep this room from looking like a crime scene when they checked out, he bent down and began tearing the leg of Benny’s jeans all the way off. Thanks to the tourniquet, the blood flow from the gunshot wound had nearly stopped. 

Turning on the overhead light and repositioning the lamp so he could see better, Dean then washed his hands and returned ready to play doctor. “You want me to do it quick, or gentle?” he asked, holding his knife. 

“That thing sharp?”

“Is a frogs ass water tight?”

“Be quick then.”

Holding his breath, Dean bent to his work. Pulling the inflamed, ragged tissue open, Dean tried to visually locate the bullet. Holding thigh meat back with his elbow and digging deeper, he plunged the knife in and tried to focus on the bullet. As soon as he pushed the blade in, blood gurgled up around his tiny target to hide it from view. Knowing how easily it could slip away from him, Dean pursued it single mindedly and completely ignored Benny as the man struggled to stay still beneath him. 

Swearing, cringing, crying, and begging in equal measure, Benny’s muscles twitched and flexed as he writhed on the bed and the soft tissue jiggled and flopped as Dean dug deeper. Holding perfectly still was impossible in this situation and he didn’t bother yelling at the Benny for his abortive movements. All things considered, the guy was doing pretty well. 

He both heard and felt it when his knife hit bone, and based on the sickening sound that Benny made, he knew what had happened.

“There’s no nerve endings in bone,” spat Dean, “no pain. The pain is only in the tissue.”

“Shut up and dig!” barked Benny angrily. “Get it out!”

“It’s coming,” he whispered hopefully. Sadly, the extraction wasn’t an immediate success. It wasn’t until after he’d hit bone a third time that he successfully got a clamp on the bullet. “I got it,” he said, stilling to steady his hands. “If you fuckin’ move an inch, I’ll lose it.”

“Do it,” growled Benny through gritted teeth. 

Holding his breath again, Dean retracted his hand with the utmost care. When he was free of the wound, he let the clamp fall to the plastic and shot to his feet. “Don’t move,” he said, already halfway to the sink. “I still gotta clean and close.”

“I’m gonna jus’ rest,” answered Benny weakly. The man didn’t even raise a hand to his face to wipe away tear tracks. He just relaxed onto the bed as if the worst was over. Sadly, Dean knew it wasn’t. 

“If you were ever gonna punch me,” he whispered, kneeling back down, “this is when it’s gonna happen. Then, without further delay, he began irrigating the wound with salt water. Without a knife in his wound, Benny had far less incentive to stay still. His body bowed on the bed as though he were being electrocuted. He swore at Dean again and cursed a blue streak in the most colorful cajun Dean had ever heard.

By the time Dean had stitched and packed the wound, Benny was fresh out of curses and threats. Whimpering softly, he looked at Dean and said, “Thanks, man.”

“Hey,” said Dean, taking a second to smile warmly at him, “that’s what friends are for. Now, let’s get a look at this other leg.”

“No,” sobbed Benny pitifully. “I need a minute, man, jus’ gimme a fuckin’ minute to rest.”

“It’s better this way,” he countered. 


Going for a laugh, Dean said, “Hey man, you think this easy for me? My back is fuckin’ killin me.” 

Benny looked at him hatefully. 

“Too soon?” he guessed. “Sorry man.” Then, relenting, he added, “Okay. Take a minute if ya need it. You’ve fucking earned it.”

“Thanks brotha,” breathed his friend. A minute later, he was dead to the world again. Dean cleaned up the sloppy, bloody mess around his friends leg and then wiped up the unbroken skin. Using salt water on a cloth this time, he cleaned the exterior of the closed wound and went about getting it bandaged. Then, moving around the bed, Dean made a small cut in the denim of Benny’s other pant leg so he could rip that side too. Now that the broken leg was positioned normally, it looked less nauseating. But still, there was deep bruising already setting in. Resolved to what he’d be doing with this leg, Dean took a few minutes to visit the ice machine and he took another trash bag with him. Upon his return to the room, he set aside the ice. Stepping up to the bed with a handmade splint that once been tightened around his own leg, Dean roused Benny by saying, “Hey man, we gotta get this leg set.”

The man didn’t protest. He just nodded and visibly rallied his strength for another painful procedure. Dean ran his hands gently up the man’s shin and as he approached the knee, easily felt the fracture point. “I’m not a doctor,” he said, “and even a doctor wouldn’t make a diagnosis like this without a fucking x-ray. But I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that the bone isn’t displaced. That’s the good news… I don’t have to actually push a broken bone back in line before putting this splint on ya.”

“Yeah? What’s the bad news, then?”

“Well, I still have to tighten the splint.”

“If you tell me not to punch you again, I’m gonna jus’ do it.”

“Punch me if you want,” Dean snapped, “but keep in mind that I’m the only one who can go out and get another bottle for ya.”

“I’ll try ‘n keep that in mind,” Benny replied, a mocking smile sliding into place on his face. 

“You ready?” Dean asked. 

“Gimme a three count again,” he answered, taking a deep breath.

“Gut up,” said Dean firmly. “C’mon, man, you got this.”

Benny nodded to him and Dean counted down. Then, with a firm hand, he pulled the lacing tight. This time, Benny passed out. He only stayed out for a few seconds, but it was all the time Dean needed to tighten again and get the splint tied off. When Benny came around, he looked miserable and beaten down. Pathetic. 

He asked for a bottle and Dean said he’d go get one. It didn’t take him long; there was a liquor store right down the street. When he returned, he had a few bottles, more pain medicine, and some actual food. Though Benny probably shouldn’t eat for a few hours, Dean was starving. Of course his friend had fallen back into a stupor while he was gone so Dean simply put his things at the side of the bed, covered the man over, and let him sleep. He ate his food at the rickety wooden table while looking through the phones he’d taken from three dead men.

When he’d finished eating, Dean pulled one of the bottles into his lap. Glancing at the time, he wondered how long they could spare for Benny to rest. There were things they needed to talk about - plans to make. And, based on what the two decided, there might be some work that needed to be done. He didn’t want to waste valuable time sleeping. Deciding that an hour seemed reasonable, he set the alarm on his phone just in case he fell asleep too. 

Sitting in that chair and thinking over the information he’d found on the stolen phones, Dean found his thoughts turning first toward Ronald Reznick and then to Castiel Novak. More than anything, he wondered how he could still be so attracted to Novak when the list of reasons to hate them had grown so long. Additionally, he wondered why it was that his gut instinct was to trust a man that was so clearly untrustworthy. 

He could vividly remember several different versions of Castiel - and each was drastically different from the other. First of all, there was the timid and shy man whom Dean had initially seen and then disregarded in the auction house. Then there was the domineering man who Dean had mistaken for a Federal Agent. Cool, calm, collected, and dominant.  

Then, there was the more human version of the man he’d thought was an agent. This softer and more empathetic embodiment was what Dean had often seen through cracks in the man’s veneer during questioning. Until recently, he’d thought that version of Novak was the real one. But now he knows that the real Castiel Novak is likely the mousy version - the accountant who volunteered his time for ICIS. That version of the man had been bolstered by intense training in the art of interrogation, his false persona feeling real only because of endless practice sessions with professionals. 

“Dean?” called Benny, waking up.

“Hey man,” he answered, his thoughts pulled jarringly from Novak and back to the present. Pointing toward the things he’d left out for his friend, he said, “everything ya need is right there.”

Benny turned to the bedside table and saw his bottle and pain meds. Reaching for them, he asked, “How long was I out?”

“Long enough,” Dean answered, hoping that the man’s time had felt longer than it really was. “I’ve got a question for ya, Ben.”

Tossing back some pills and chasing them with whiskey, Benny gave Dean a nod to indicate he should proceed. 

“Who is ‘The Boss’?”

“I’m too drunk for jokes. I don’t get it.”

“The Boss, Benny, I need to know who that is.”

“You ‘n me both, brotha.”

“You really have no idea?”

“Nope. Should I?”

“Well,” he said, gesturing to the phones they’d taken from Benny’s dead friends, “All three of these fuckers have messages and missed calls from the same number. And all three of them have that number in their contacts list as ‘The Boss’. I guess I figured you’d at least have a guess as to who that might be.”

“No,” he said. Then his face turned thoughtful for a moment as he seemed to ponder the question more deeply. But, when he looked up, he repeated the word again with more conviction,“No.” 

“Too bad,” sighed Dean. “I thought it was a lead.”

“I guess it is,” Benny replied. “I mean, if the gang’s got a new leader, a new boss-man, that goes a long way towards explaining why my old crew might want me dead.”

“I s’pose,” Dean allowed. Then, leaning forward in his chair, he said, “We’re runnin’ outta daylight, Ben. The scrapyard is gonna be closin’ up soon. What are we gonna do about the car? The bodies?

“M’not sure,” he said. “I mean, I kinda feel like you were onto somethin’ when you said burying them would buy me some time. But I’m clearly in no shape to go dig a grave. I can’t even walk.”

“I’ll go,” said Dean. He’d known all along that was how it would have to go down.

“I don’t wantcha to, Dean. You’re already far enough into this mess, I don’t wanna drag you down with me.”

“I’m already your accomplice, Ben. I was at the crime scene and didn’t call the cops. Just doing that was enough to earn me some prison time. So, besides givin’ me a backache, what harm can it do to go pack and plant some asshole trees, right?

“How you gonna move the car alone if you go?”

“I never said anything about movin’ the damned car,” he sighed. “I figured I’d just burn it. That’ll be enough to get your prints off it. Eventually they’ll connect the car to the bodies when they’re found, but they won’t be able to get your prints from it.”

“I called the yard today from my own phone,” Benny reminded.

“That you did,” sighed Dean. He shouldn’t have let that happen, he’s just so used to every phone being a burner phone with no ties to him that, in the moment, he hadn’t considered the link such a call would provide. 

“The way I figure it, Ben, we can’t really decide what we’re doin’ about the bodies until you decide your next move. I mean, technically, you’re the victim in all this. We could call the cops and tell them what happened - fill out a report - actually get you to a real hospital.” This thought, as foreign to him as owning a traceable cell phone, was so far out of his normal range that it hadn’t even occurred to him until now.  He’d been making decisions based on his own instincts and logic and Benny’s life was different from his own. Though, it would seem they had more in common than Dean had originally thought. 

Suddenly aware that he could use a clear-headed outside opinion, he felt an urge to call Ron. On the heels of that was the urge to call Novak. 

“I wanna find out who ‘The Boss’ is,” said Benny. "What if we bury the bodies, ya know, just to buy me some time. Then I can go back home and start kickin’ over rocks.”

“Can you drive, Ben?” His question was like a dart hitting it’s mark. Benny deflated. “How ‘bout if I come with ya? It’s been ages since I had some gumbo.”

Watching Benny’s face closely, Dean saw a half-smile take root. “You and that whole ‘friend’ thing. Man, you’re just determined to see me through this aintcha?”

“I am,” he nodded. 

“I keep tryin’ to help ya get out of this fuckin’ mess. But you jus’ keep on steppin’ in it right along with me. When I signed out of custody at the civic center, they told me not to leave the state. I’m assuming they said the same to you?”

“They did,” he nodded, taking a pull from his bottle.

“So, roadtrippin’ to Louisiana with me might not be in your best interest, right?”

“Left the state when I crossed the river, Ben, we both did.”

“Fair point.”

“How ‘bout this,” Dean said, leaning forward to pitch his idea. “Why don’t you stay here and get some rest. I’ll go plant some trees and light up that car. Then, before anyone even knows we’ve left town, we’ll be halfway to… wait, where the fuck are you from?”

“Carencro,” grinned his friend, “in Lafayette Parish.”

“Okay,” Dean said, getting to his feet, “I’m gonna go take care of a little business and when I get back, we’re gonna go find out who the fuck ‘The Boss’ is. We’re gonna show ‘em what happens when you fuck with Benny Lafitte, and then we’re gonna get me some crawfish and a souvenir “I sucked the head” t-shirt.”