Fanfic - SPN: Whore Academy - Ch. 2 - Enduring
Title: Whore Academy [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Two: Enduring
[063.Mischievous]
The room quieted with only a few chuckles. Most of the students, including Sam, Dean noticed, were sighing and rolling their eyes or looking up at him with pity in their eyes. It made him remember what Sam had said about keeping his attitude in check.
He found Mr. Winchester leaning against the back wall, watching him, and something shifted in his stomach, his eyes slipping down to one of the many unattractive spots on the floor. "Umm. Sorry."
Dean heard the soft clack of wood-heeled dress shoes moving over tile as the teacher walked his way. He watched the rise and fall of his own chest as it sped up, searching his memory for anything that might help him lessen this punishment and avoid the more extreme methods Sam had mentioned. Something about the corner of the room kept swimming into his mind, but it was vague and he couldn't connect it to any of the rest of the fuzzy mess purporting to call itself his memory. In moments, though, it didn't matter. Mr. Winchester's shined brown shoes, well-pressed slacks, and deep red sweater vest were filling his vision and he was out of time.
A hand cupped the side of his face gently, which he hadn't entirely expected, but instead of flinching or knocking it away, he tried to focus on his breathing. Sam had pretty much said not to give the guy any excuse to go seriously psycho on him and a lack of personal space really wasn't worth whatever Sam was afraid of, right?
"Do you know why you need discipline?" Sam's- no, Mr. Winchester's voice was low and smooth, spreading warm air over Dean's cheek because, yes, he was really that close.
Dean worked to keep his breathing even, eyes memorizing the way the tie fit perfectly in the buttoned collar of the teacher's shirt. "Because I … failed … the test and … maybe have an … attitude problem?"
"I'm more worried about your attitude, honestly. If you were less hostile all the time, then you'd absorb a lot more information, a lot faster, and I wouldn't have to pull you aside and beat your lessons into you. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"
"Yeah." Dean felt Mr. Winchester still, breath coming in slow drags, once, twice, then he realized his error and corrected himself. "Yes … sir."
"Good boy." The teacher's voice was nearly a purr just then and it slid along Dean's skin like faux fur, soft and sleek and meant to fool. "You know you're leaning on my desk, right?"
Dean hadn't really realized that, but now that it seemed the time to straighten up, there just didn't seem to be enough room. Well … not unless he was planning to inhale each of Mr. Winchester's exhales or something. They were just too close. Of course, he didn't want to get in trouble, either for not standing properly or for showing his supposed attitude problem, but … it didn't seem like that could be helped at this point.
He cleared his throat, propping his hands on the desk to lean back even more, enough to slip his face from the teacher's grip and to add the distance necessary to actually look up into his eyes. "I know, but … this space seems a little tight right now, so … maybe you could give me some room?"
Mr. Winchester smirked, hair tossed to the side as he glanced off for a moment before looking back at Dean. "There's plenty of room, Dean. Nothing wrong with being close. Hell, in a minute, you're gonna be bent over my desk with your pants around your ankles, so … I really don't see what there is for you to be prudish about right now."
Something hot slid through Dean's system as the image hit him for the first time. Sam - or some kind of Sam - 'correcting' him about his behavior in school? With a ruler? In front of all these people? It was fucked up, yeah, and he wasn't going to like it, no way, but … damn, it was kind of dirty.
"Get up." Mr. Winchester's voice wasn't quite so sweet anymore and Dean found himself rolling his jaw and dreading things to come, but he pushed himself up until he was fully on his feet and almost nose to … well … mouth (when did Sam get that tall?) with the demanding instructor.
Mr. Winchester smirked a moment, then parted his lips, leaning even closer. Dean held his breath, almost thinking that the guy would try to kiss him, but then he just chuckled and moved off to the side and back a bit.
"Turn around."
Dean could see the mixture of amusement and lust playing over the faces of some of his classmates, but he tried not to think about it as he turned to face the blackboard, just … breathing.
"Drop your pants."
He took a deep breath, reaching to unbuckle his belt and undo his fly, all the while reminding himself that he'd been in various states of undress around all kinds of people for more reasons than he could even remember. As he went for the waistband, though, he realized there was only one and he huffed. What a day to go commando. When his pants hit the floor, however, he got an even bigger surprise. A flash of silver caught his eye and he pulled back the bottom flaps of his shirt, revealing the strip of leather wrapped around the base of his cock and balls with a metal D-ring built into the top.
"Yes?" The heat of Mr. Winchester's breath over his right shoulder made Dean's own breath rush in as he dropped the edges of his shirt again. "Is there a problem, Dean? Something not where you left it?"
"No. No, it's just- … Nothing."
"Oh, I'm pretty sure it's something. I mean … it might be smaller than you thought, but …" Dean huffed, shaking his head because Sam had said the guy would just try to fuck with him, but it was easier to say 'stay calm' than to actually do it. "Isn't it good enough for Sam when he wants to play with something that's not attached to him?"
"Yeah, actually." Dean nodded, smirk sliding easily onto his face. "And for so many others."
"Is that really something to brag about?" There was a hint of disdain in the teacher's voice, but Sam threw that his way enough to be pretty used to hearing it when this issue came up.
"Not bragging. Just … stating facts." He was sexual. So? It wasn't really a crime and he spent enough time outside the law to not care even if it was.
Mr. Winchester's voice dropped even lower, almost as angry as it was mocking. "The facts suggest that you're a slut."
"Whatever." He'd been called a hell of a lot worse.
"Let's say … just to be nice … that you fuck a different person, on average, once a week." Dean shook his head at his brother's- the teacher's need for even estimated mathematical accuracy. "That's at least five hundred people since you became sexually active, Dean. Wouldn't you say that's a lot?"
His smirk plunged down nearly into a frown. Put it like that. It did kind of sound like a lot, and not really in a good way. "I had some steadies and … I wasn't always this- … Well, maybe, but … still. I think that number's a bit high."
"Even if you've had 'steady' partners who you might have been faithful to for a little while, you've also had plenty of weeks where you were in bed with someone new every other day or three times in one day, right?" Mr. Winchester let out a strained sound that might have been a laugh, but it would be the kind that only came into use when something was just the opposite of funny. "Hence … the 'on average' bit of what I said."
"Fine. Okay. So?" Dean shrugged deeply and turned his hands up uselessly in a gesture of 'and … ?' He was kind of over this whole discussion, really.
"So … can you really just do one for the rest of your life?" The teacher leaned in closer as he spoke as if asking for the location of something hidden and highly sought after.
"What do you mean?" Dean could kind of figure it out, but … just to be clear here.
"I mean … Sam. Could you handle it just being you … and him?"
Dean scoffed. Wasn't that question already answered by … well … everything? "It already is."
"You know what I mean."
Dean breathed in deep, wanting to be able to say 'yes' in the most absolute sense, as in yes to Sam and only Sam until curtains close, but he just … wasn't sure. It wasn't like Sam didn't already know that, unwritten rules aside. Their situation was … out of the ordinary, at best … and wholly fucked to hell, at worst, so … it wasn't like either of them might not just … need something else sometimes. The truth was that Sam might bitch and huff about him fucking around, but … he never really could stay mad because … that was just who Dean was. Wasn't it? And really … he wasn't one to stand in the way if Sam would be happier … not being with him, but … if Sam wanted to … whatever, then- … He shrugged, his mind sick of running in circles. "Someday, maybe. I dunno. What does it matter?"
"Guess it doesn't." Mr. Winchester exhaled slowly over Dean's shoulder and it seemed like Dean could feel the mood shift on the tail of that answer. "Bend over and put your hands on the desk."
He didn't want to do this, but it would be better to get it over with quicker, so he didn't hesitate, just leaning down to press his hands into the worn wood of the desk's surface. There was a short stack of papers a few inches under his chest now, a multi-tiered inbox to his right, writing utensils, rulers, and other random teacherly accessories taking up space on his left, and his ass? Yeah, it was up flashing the class, though not very effectively, considering the length of his shirt.
The bottom of the back of his shirt was pinched up in the teacher's hand then, folded and scrunched further up his back until he could feel the air of the room on the lower curve of his spine. "Well, you're certainly well put together - physically, at least - that much I can see."
It felt like he was being studied, but he could form no response except internally and even there it just seemed like the feeling echoed, multiplying and empty, like it had been there before and kept running into itself. Had this happened before too? Everything was such jumbled blankness in his mind until could never quite be sure if how much was really new.
He startled at the brush of fingers over his ass, twisting up and around to gape at the teacher with his eyebrows bent in an angry V. "Hey!"
Mr. Winchester rolled his eyes and shook his head in a very Sam-like way before twirling a hand downward in a gesture of 'turn around'. "I'm just lining up. Get back in position."
Dean glared a moment longer, but looked away when Mr. Winchester's eyes narrowed, slowly turning back around with a sarcastically mumbled, "yes, sir."
The teacher threw the hem of Dean's shirt back up, exposing him again before running his fingers over each globe of Dean's ass. Dean found his breath speeding up, body heating, but that was only embarrassment, right? So many people watching, one of them Sam, just sitting there watching this pervy teacher - lining up? Yeah fucking right. More like feeling up.
When the pad of one finger skated lightly up the sensitive middle, though, Dean was fifteen seconds from a total blowout, Sam's warnings be damned. The touch was brief enough, however, and it seemed like Mr. Winchester had done all the 'lining up' he planned to do for the moment, because the next thing Dean felt was the flat of a wooden ruler set against the middle of his ass.
For a moment, it was all slow-motion breathing, the thrum of anticipation over his newly bared skin as the teacher pulled the ruler away, and the minor rush of wind as the ruler swept through the air over his ass. Then … Thwack!
"Fuck!" Dean gasped as Mr. Winchester's ruler landed squarely in the center of his ass with a searing sting like nothing he'd experienced before. Except … he could almost, almost, sort of remember some kind of punishment like this, only- …
Thwack!
The blow was higher this time and he sucked in air through his teeth, but didn't say anything. All he could recall about the time before was that it had hurt like hell, that it didn't end quickly, and … that he'd cried in the end. Fuck. Seriously?
Thwack!
He stifled a squeak as the ruler hit lower this time, below the first stripe and nearly to his thighs. The memories bleeding through and the spread of warmth from all the impact sites told him his skin would be burning with hurt in no time and that Sam- … Mr. Winchester would revel in his handwork when he was through.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwackthwackthwackthwackthwackthwackthwackthwack!
Dean choked down breaths in pieces, bucking some into the edge of the desk as Mr. Winchester's ruler rained down on his skin, and whenever there was a pause he found himself heaving in air like he'd been running or fucking or something. This wasn't like getting whipped, though he didn't know how he knew that. The strokes were hard and quick, the edges of the ruler sinking into his skin as the width of it pressed a deep ache into him, likely leaving inch-wide strips of mottled pink.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwackthwackthwackthwackthwackthwackthwackthwack!
His ass was tingling, almost wholly covered with pins and needles, but this wasn't about numbness at all. No, his skin was radiating heat, sweat misted over his whole body, and he was aching deep enough to make sitting sound like punishment for a good long while. But then … a pause lasted longer than any had before and he relaxed some, thinking the worst might very well be over.
Dropping his head down between his shoulder blades, he shifted as he heard the rustle of Mr. Winchester's clothes move away, his heels seeming to click around the desk propping him up. He was pretty sure that he wasn't free to go until Mr. Winchester explicitly told him so, but he used the breather to take stock of his situation, thinking about all those eyes on the now blazing red of his ass as he bent over a desk at the insistence of a Sam-like teacher. It all made his mouth feel dry, really, but his mind? It wandered off when he licked his lips, charging down into dirty places that didn't, definitely didn't, make his body hum.
Sam … slipping out of his chair to slide up behind him, broad hands spreading over his abused ass, claiming him, but having that not be enough. Sam … fucking him, fingers gripped in his hair as he marked Dean as his in front of everyone, including that arrogant teacher who thought he had everything all figured out. Sam … coming in him, long fingers wrapped tight around his cock, making him spurt hot over his fist, and shouts and shudders and … fuck
He wanted contact now, his cock thick and straining up for friction and heat as his hips rocked subtly as if imagining the feel of hands, of cock, on him and in him. This should not be hot. "Fuck."
Mr. Winchester's snicker made Dean's head snap up. "Enjoying this more than you thought?"
His hands tensed against the tabletop, but he tried to fade all the heat from his eyes. "Don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course not." Mr. Winchester smirked, sarcasm lying thick. "But if you're really not preoccupied, then we can finish the lesson." He waved the ruler and started on his way back around the desk while Dean shifted his jaw, trying to keep his cool even with the taunting and the images his brain seemed hell-bent on ruining him with.
Dean could hear and feel the shifting air near him as Mr. Winchester took up position beside and behind him again, but this time he lay a firm hand at the small of Dean's back and Dean bit hard into his lip to keep from barking for his personal space. Sam had said it would be over soon enough if he just stayed calm and he'd just have to hope that was true.
"Now then." The teacher's tone had returned to business with only a hint of derisive cockiness. "I want you to look up at the board and read one word for every stroke of the ruler. You even get to start."
Dean looked up at the blackboard and saw writing that hadn't been there before, all traces of the blurry mess he'd seen before were gone. This was a list of only four items inscribed in the center of the constantly re-appearing seven-pointed star. Sam had said they would just be 'words', but that was utter tripe, because these words were menacing yet vaguely familiar as a set and they'd be bizarre to read off like this with no context, as if- … as if they were about … him.
"What are those for?" His voice was shaky as he spoke because they just … couldn't be. He didn't want them to make any sense and they didn't, not entirely, but there was something tugging him towards the words, making him roll them around in his mouth like bitter candy.
"Do you remember the first question I asked when you started your exam?" Mr. Winchester sounded curious more than cocky now, as if Dean's reaction was the product of some unique experiment.
Dean nodded at first, but shook his head as he realized the implications of all this. "No. No. I'm not- …"
Thwack!
"Say one word per stroke." The ruler was the lead-in to the teacher's words and it fell heavy enough for Dean to gasp, but he wouldn't bow that easily.
"No. I won't- …"
THWACK!
Dean cried out and reared up at the double-strength smack, only settling again as he blinked wet eyes and told himself a hundred times over to just shut up like Sam had said.
"I'm fairly certain that 'ahhh' isn't one of the words. Try again."
Thwack!
"Property." He didn't like it, but his voice held steady. He wouldn't let these words be anything more than just words.
Thwack!
"Whore." It didn't mean anything.
Thwack!
"Always." Not listening.
Thwack!
"Everywhere." Just words.
Thwack!
"Again."
Mr. Winchester had him cycle through the words to the rhythm of the ruler until Dean didn't even have to think about them anymore. They were becoming second-nature, a given, like the throb in his rear and the ache in his arms, both of which told him they'd been doing this too damn long. Short pauses let Dean breathe, though he worked hard not to process the syllables on his tongue, and they allowed the teacher time to ask the rest of the class, Sam in particular, if they were taking detailed notes, about what exactly, though, Dean couldn't fathom.
Then there were new words replacing the old ones, long strings of words about submission and punishment, masters and use. Altogether they only half made sense, his eyes taking them in and mouth spitting them out without letting his mind keep them long enough to understand. The litany seemed endless and Dean was starting to drown in it all, aching and mumbling and drifting away, so when Mr. Winchester finally stopped snapping the ruler against his ass, his eyes were watering, lungs nearly hyperventilating, and he shook with the effort it took to not squirm and earn himself a string of quick blows. He had no doubt that his rear end was the same flaming red as the local fire truck.
"You're done. For now."
The teacher's voice filtered slowly into the repetitious murmurings that continued to plague Dean's mind, but when he finally understood their meaning he straightened up, stiffly, and reached for his pants without comment.
"Don't! Stay as you are."
Dean nearly laughed, but he was fucking tired now and just- … It didn't even matter. "I thought you said I was done."
"You are, for the moment, but I don't trust you to behave without direct supervision, so … you'll stand in the corner until your brother is done with his recitation."
Tilting his head to the right some, Dean scoffed with cynical smirk. He could see where this was going and fuck if that wasn't just needlessly twisted. "And … you want me to stand there with my pants down." Not a question, just a fucked up fact of dealing with sadistic teachers, apparently.
"Of course." Mr. Winchester's voice slid back into something liquid and dark. "I have to make sure that I can administer discipline at a moment's notice if you start to get unruly again."
"Great." Dean grumbled, but wasn't seriously going to protest. Everyone had already kind of seen his ass anyway and, really, standing sounded much less painful than sitting right now. "Can I at least pull them up, so I don't kill myself getting over there?"
"No, actually. Just walk … very … slowly." Mr. Winchester's laugh grated over Dean's skin, but the man moved away from him then and it felt like he could really breathe for a moment, so he reminded himself not to complain. This had to be better than the actual spanking itself, right?
Turning, Dean's eyes refused to connect with those of the teacher or any of his fellow students, but he and the pants bunched at his ankles half-stepped half-slid their way slowly around the teacher's desk to the corner by the door, ignoring the occasional unfriendly chuckle and the flush of humiliation creeping across his skin. When he got there, though, Mr. Winchester was back in his space, standing behind him, too close.
"Put your hands on your head and your feet further apart."
No number of calming breaths would be enough to stop Dean from grinding his teeth right then, internally fuming, but he slowly maneuvered into position, shirt hiking up with angle of his arms.
"Good." The teacher almost sounded pleased right then and Dean almost wanted to do something to show the cocky fuck that his 'discipline' hadn't actually been successful. Almost. "Now … don't move. Not an inch. Not at all. You got that? Don't. Move."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Winchester." There was only a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but he felt the teacher lean in for a moment as if to say something. In the end it was just breath and body heat, though, which made Dean's pulse run a little quicker, but he could stand it long enough to not mouth off again.
Mr. Winchester stepped away then, calling for Sam to begin his recitation as he made his way back into the heart of the classroom. Dean could hear the shifting of desks, then Sam's voice filling the space as he explained the rights and responsibilities of an owner, including not only the use and punishment of a slave, but also their care and protection. For some reason Dean couldn't or wouldn't name, the talk frightened but warmed and calmed him, curling in his mind like tendrils of sating smoke.
It was a lengthy explanation, though, filled with formal, even archaic, phrases, some of which Dean didn't really understand, not to mention the whole question about the relevance of all this near nonsense. He tried to keep his head in the material, hoping to find further clues about these bizarre circumstances, but his focus strayed as his position slowly became more and more uncomfortable. He certainly wasn't out of shape, but standing with his legs wider apart than his shoulders built a strain in his bottom half that met the waning throb in his ass and the start of an ache in his lower back, and the muscles of his arms were starting to stiffen and tire, begging to move.
Chancing exposure, he subtly shrugged his shoulders a few times, bent elbows swaying gently as he tried to offer movement without really moving. In seconds, he heard Mr. Winchester's clipped "stop," halting Sam's words, and he steeled himself for more punishment. The tap of the teacher's shoes closing in on him across the tiled floor made him tense with expectation, but he still grunted in surprise when the first blow landed without a word.
Thwack! His hips rocked deeper into the corner with the force of the ruler hitting his skin.
"What did I tell you?"
"Not to move … sir." He swallowed, not because of this, he could handle this, but because he really would rather be a little sore than have to deal with whatever measures this teacher would consider 'extreme'. Shifting around had really only been a stupid mistake. He was just kind of used to getting away with things.
Thwack! Dean gasped as the ruler fell again, the edge feeling as if it nearly sliced into him.
"But you did move, didn't you, whore?"
Whore? What? Just words. "Yes, sir."
Thwack!
"Is that because you're an attention whore as well as just a whore?"
What? "No! I- …"
THWACK! He stifled a curse, water springing to his eyes as he knocked his head against the wall, body swaying.
"No excuses. I don't care if it's not fun or not easy or not comfortable. Do as you're told. Period."
Damn, this guy was tough. Dean couldn't muster up even a dash of sarcasm or a trace of a smirk. He kind of fucking hated him right then, but … respect wasn't so far afield. "Yes, sir."
Thwack! Dean bucked up with a hiss of pain, losing his position, but fixing it quickly as he settled.
"Are you going to be good now? Or do I need to beat you to tears so Sam can really see how much of an embarrassment you'll be to him?"
Dean closed his eyes, trying not to think about Sam watching the way he was being rapidly reduced to some obedient red-bottomed slave boy standing on display in the corner of the room. Wait. Not … slave. He had to stop internalizing this craziness. It wasn't- … It had nothing to do with him.
Thwack! With the crack of the ruler, Dean's mind clicked back to the issue at hand but brought all the others with it.
"Well?"
"Um … yeah- yes. I'll be good … sir." A good slave? No. Wires got crossed somewhere. They were just words.
"And I'll be amazed." Leaving Dean with his thoughts, Mr. Winchester moved away and Sam started up his prepared response again, backtracking some from where he'd left off.
Header - One - Two - Three - Four - Five
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Two: Enduring
[063.Mischievous]
The room quieted with only a few chuckles. Most of the students, including Sam, Dean noticed, were sighing and rolling their eyes or looking up at him with pity in their eyes. It made him remember what Sam had said about keeping his attitude in check.
He found Mr. Winchester leaning against the back wall, watching him, and something shifted in his stomach, his eyes slipping down to one of the many unattractive spots on the floor. "Umm. Sorry."
Dean heard the soft clack of wood-heeled dress shoes moving over tile as the teacher walked his way. He watched the rise and fall of his own chest as it sped up, searching his memory for anything that might help him lessen this punishment and avoid the more extreme methods Sam had mentioned. Something about the corner of the room kept swimming into his mind, but it was vague and he couldn't connect it to any of the rest of the fuzzy mess purporting to call itself his memory. In moments, though, it didn't matter. Mr. Winchester's shined brown shoes, well-pressed slacks, and deep red sweater vest were filling his vision and he was out of time.
A hand cupped the side of his face gently, which he hadn't entirely expected, but instead of flinching or knocking it away, he tried to focus on his breathing. Sam had pretty much said not to give the guy any excuse to go seriously psycho on him and a lack of personal space really wasn't worth whatever Sam was afraid of, right?
"Do you know why you need discipline?" Sam's- no, Mr. Winchester's voice was low and smooth, spreading warm air over Dean's cheek because, yes, he was really that close.
Dean worked to keep his breathing even, eyes memorizing the way the tie fit perfectly in the buttoned collar of the teacher's shirt. "Because I … failed … the test and … maybe have an … attitude problem?"
"I'm more worried about your attitude, honestly. If you were less hostile all the time, then you'd absorb a lot more information, a lot faster, and I wouldn't have to pull you aside and beat your lessons into you. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"
"Yeah." Dean felt Mr. Winchester still, breath coming in slow drags, once, twice, then he realized his error and corrected himself. "Yes … sir."
"Good boy." The teacher's voice was nearly a purr just then and it slid along Dean's skin like faux fur, soft and sleek and meant to fool. "You know you're leaning on my desk, right?"
Dean hadn't really realized that, but now that it seemed the time to straighten up, there just didn't seem to be enough room. Well … not unless he was planning to inhale each of Mr. Winchester's exhales or something. They were just too close. Of course, he didn't want to get in trouble, either for not standing properly or for showing his supposed attitude problem, but … it didn't seem like that could be helped at this point.
He cleared his throat, propping his hands on the desk to lean back even more, enough to slip his face from the teacher's grip and to add the distance necessary to actually look up into his eyes. "I know, but … this space seems a little tight right now, so … maybe you could give me some room?"
Mr. Winchester smirked, hair tossed to the side as he glanced off for a moment before looking back at Dean. "There's plenty of room, Dean. Nothing wrong with being close. Hell, in a minute, you're gonna be bent over my desk with your pants around your ankles, so … I really don't see what there is for you to be prudish about right now."
Something hot slid through Dean's system as the image hit him for the first time. Sam - or some kind of Sam - 'correcting' him about his behavior in school? With a ruler? In front of all these people? It was fucked up, yeah, and he wasn't going to like it, no way, but … damn, it was kind of dirty.
"Get up." Mr. Winchester's voice wasn't quite so sweet anymore and Dean found himself rolling his jaw and dreading things to come, but he pushed himself up until he was fully on his feet and almost nose to … well … mouth (when did Sam get that tall?) with the demanding instructor.
Mr. Winchester smirked a moment, then parted his lips, leaning even closer. Dean held his breath, almost thinking that the guy would try to kiss him, but then he just chuckled and moved off to the side and back a bit.
"Turn around."
Dean could see the mixture of amusement and lust playing over the faces of some of his classmates, but he tried not to think about it as he turned to face the blackboard, just … breathing.
"Drop your pants."
He took a deep breath, reaching to unbuckle his belt and undo his fly, all the while reminding himself that he'd been in various states of undress around all kinds of people for more reasons than he could even remember. As he went for the waistband, though, he realized there was only one and he huffed. What a day to go commando. When his pants hit the floor, however, he got an even bigger surprise. A flash of silver caught his eye and he pulled back the bottom flaps of his shirt, revealing the strip of leather wrapped around the base of his cock and balls with a metal D-ring built into the top.
"Yes?" The heat of Mr. Winchester's breath over his right shoulder made Dean's own breath rush in as he dropped the edges of his shirt again. "Is there a problem, Dean? Something not where you left it?"
"No. No, it's just- … Nothing."
"Oh, I'm pretty sure it's something. I mean … it might be smaller than you thought, but …" Dean huffed, shaking his head because Sam had said the guy would just try to fuck with him, but it was easier to say 'stay calm' than to actually do it. "Isn't it good enough for Sam when he wants to play with something that's not attached to him?"
"Yeah, actually." Dean nodded, smirk sliding easily onto his face. "And for so many others."
"Is that really something to brag about?" There was a hint of disdain in the teacher's voice, but Sam threw that his way enough to be pretty used to hearing it when this issue came up.
"Not bragging. Just … stating facts." He was sexual. So? It wasn't really a crime and he spent enough time outside the law to not care even if it was.
Mr. Winchester's voice dropped even lower, almost as angry as it was mocking. "The facts suggest that you're a slut."
"Whatever." He'd been called a hell of a lot worse.
"Let's say … just to be nice … that you fuck a different person, on average, once a week." Dean shook his head at his brother's- the teacher's need for even estimated mathematical accuracy. "That's at least five hundred people since you became sexually active, Dean. Wouldn't you say that's a lot?"
His smirk plunged down nearly into a frown. Put it like that. It did kind of sound like a lot, and not really in a good way. "I had some steadies and … I wasn't always this- … Well, maybe, but … still. I think that number's a bit high."
"Even if you've had 'steady' partners who you might have been faithful to for a little while, you've also had plenty of weeks where you were in bed with someone new every other day or three times in one day, right?" Mr. Winchester let out a strained sound that might have been a laugh, but it would be the kind that only came into use when something was just the opposite of funny. "Hence … the 'on average' bit of what I said."
"Fine. Okay. So?" Dean shrugged deeply and turned his hands up uselessly in a gesture of 'and … ?' He was kind of over this whole discussion, really.
"So … can you really just do one for the rest of your life?" The teacher leaned in closer as he spoke as if asking for the location of something hidden and highly sought after.
"What do you mean?" Dean could kind of figure it out, but … just to be clear here.
"I mean … Sam. Could you handle it just being you … and him?"
Dean scoffed. Wasn't that question already answered by … well … everything? "It already is."
"You know what I mean."
Dean breathed in deep, wanting to be able to say 'yes' in the most absolute sense, as in yes to Sam and only Sam until curtains close, but he just … wasn't sure. It wasn't like Sam didn't already know that, unwritten rules aside. Their situation was … out of the ordinary, at best … and wholly fucked to hell, at worst, so … it wasn't like either of them might not just … need something else sometimes. The truth was that Sam might bitch and huff about him fucking around, but … he never really could stay mad because … that was just who Dean was. Wasn't it? And really … he wasn't one to stand in the way if Sam would be happier … not being with him, but … if Sam wanted to … whatever, then- … He shrugged, his mind sick of running in circles. "Someday, maybe. I dunno. What does it matter?"
"Guess it doesn't." Mr. Winchester exhaled slowly over Dean's shoulder and it seemed like Dean could feel the mood shift on the tail of that answer. "Bend over and put your hands on the desk."
He didn't want to do this, but it would be better to get it over with quicker, so he didn't hesitate, just leaning down to press his hands into the worn wood of the desk's surface. There was a short stack of papers a few inches under his chest now, a multi-tiered inbox to his right, writing utensils, rulers, and other random teacherly accessories taking up space on his left, and his ass? Yeah, it was up flashing the class, though not very effectively, considering the length of his shirt.
The bottom of the back of his shirt was pinched up in the teacher's hand then, folded and scrunched further up his back until he could feel the air of the room on the lower curve of his spine. "Well, you're certainly well put together - physically, at least - that much I can see."
It felt like he was being studied, but he could form no response except internally and even there it just seemed like the feeling echoed, multiplying and empty, like it had been there before and kept running into itself. Had this happened before too? Everything was such jumbled blankness in his mind until could never quite be sure if how much was really new.
He startled at the brush of fingers over his ass, twisting up and around to gape at the teacher with his eyebrows bent in an angry V. "Hey!"
Mr. Winchester rolled his eyes and shook his head in a very Sam-like way before twirling a hand downward in a gesture of 'turn around'. "I'm just lining up. Get back in position."
Dean glared a moment longer, but looked away when Mr. Winchester's eyes narrowed, slowly turning back around with a sarcastically mumbled, "yes, sir."
The teacher threw the hem of Dean's shirt back up, exposing him again before running his fingers over each globe of Dean's ass. Dean found his breath speeding up, body heating, but that was only embarrassment, right? So many people watching, one of them Sam, just sitting there watching this pervy teacher - lining up? Yeah fucking right. More like feeling up.
When the pad of one finger skated lightly up the sensitive middle, though, Dean was fifteen seconds from a total blowout, Sam's warnings be damned. The touch was brief enough, however, and it seemed like Mr. Winchester had done all the 'lining up' he planned to do for the moment, because the next thing Dean felt was the flat of a wooden ruler set against the middle of his ass.
For a moment, it was all slow-motion breathing, the thrum of anticipation over his newly bared skin as the teacher pulled the ruler away, and the minor rush of wind as the ruler swept through the air over his ass. Then … Thwack!
"Fuck!" Dean gasped as Mr. Winchester's ruler landed squarely in the center of his ass with a searing sting like nothing he'd experienced before. Except … he could almost, almost, sort of remember some kind of punishment like this, only- …
Thwack!
The blow was higher this time and he sucked in air through his teeth, but didn't say anything. All he could recall about the time before was that it had hurt like hell, that it didn't end quickly, and … that he'd cried in the end. Fuck. Seriously?
Thwack!
He stifled a squeak as the ruler hit lower this time, below the first stripe and nearly to his thighs. The memories bleeding through and the spread of warmth from all the impact sites told him his skin would be burning with hurt in no time and that Sam- … Mr. Winchester would revel in his handwork when he was through.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwackthwackthwackthwackthwackthwackthwackthwack!
Dean choked down breaths in pieces, bucking some into the edge of the desk as Mr. Winchester's ruler rained down on his skin, and whenever there was a pause he found himself heaving in air like he'd been running or fucking or something. This wasn't like getting whipped, though he didn't know how he knew that. The strokes were hard and quick, the edges of the ruler sinking into his skin as the width of it pressed a deep ache into him, likely leaving inch-wide strips of mottled pink.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwackthwackthwackthwackthwackthwackthwackthwack!
His ass was tingling, almost wholly covered with pins and needles, but this wasn't about numbness at all. No, his skin was radiating heat, sweat misted over his whole body, and he was aching deep enough to make sitting sound like punishment for a good long while. But then … a pause lasted longer than any had before and he relaxed some, thinking the worst might very well be over.
Dropping his head down between his shoulder blades, he shifted as he heard the rustle of Mr. Winchester's clothes move away, his heels seeming to click around the desk propping him up. He was pretty sure that he wasn't free to go until Mr. Winchester explicitly told him so, but he used the breather to take stock of his situation, thinking about all those eyes on the now blazing red of his ass as he bent over a desk at the insistence of a Sam-like teacher. It all made his mouth feel dry, really, but his mind? It wandered off when he licked his lips, charging down into dirty places that didn't, definitely didn't, make his body hum.
Sam … slipping out of his chair to slide up behind him, broad hands spreading over his abused ass, claiming him, but having that not be enough. Sam … fucking him, fingers gripped in his hair as he marked Dean as his in front of everyone, including that arrogant teacher who thought he had everything all figured out. Sam … coming in him, long fingers wrapped tight around his cock, making him spurt hot over his fist, and shouts and shudders and … fuck
He wanted contact now, his cock thick and straining up for friction and heat as his hips rocked subtly as if imagining the feel of hands, of cock, on him and in him. This should not be hot. "Fuck."
Mr. Winchester's snicker made Dean's head snap up. "Enjoying this more than you thought?"
His hands tensed against the tabletop, but he tried to fade all the heat from his eyes. "Don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course not." Mr. Winchester smirked, sarcasm lying thick. "But if you're really not preoccupied, then we can finish the lesson." He waved the ruler and started on his way back around the desk while Dean shifted his jaw, trying to keep his cool even with the taunting and the images his brain seemed hell-bent on ruining him with.
Dean could hear and feel the shifting air near him as Mr. Winchester took up position beside and behind him again, but this time he lay a firm hand at the small of Dean's back and Dean bit hard into his lip to keep from barking for his personal space. Sam had said it would be over soon enough if he just stayed calm and he'd just have to hope that was true.
"Now then." The teacher's tone had returned to business with only a hint of derisive cockiness. "I want you to look up at the board and read one word for every stroke of the ruler. You even get to start."
Dean looked up at the blackboard and saw writing that hadn't been there before, all traces of the blurry mess he'd seen before were gone. This was a list of only four items inscribed in the center of the constantly re-appearing seven-pointed star. Sam had said they would just be 'words', but that was utter tripe, because these words were menacing yet vaguely familiar as a set and they'd be bizarre to read off like this with no context, as if- … as if they were about … him.
"What are those for?" His voice was shaky as he spoke because they just … couldn't be. He didn't want them to make any sense and they didn't, not entirely, but there was something tugging him towards the words, making him roll them around in his mouth like bitter candy.
"Do you remember the first question I asked when you started your exam?" Mr. Winchester sounded curious more than cocky now, as if Dean's reaction was the product of some unique experiment.
Dean nodded at first, but shook his head as he realized the implications of all this. "No. No. I'm not- …"
Thwack!
"Say one word per stroke." The ruler was the lead-in to the teacher's words and it fell heavy enough for Dean to gasp, but he wouldn't bow that easily.
"No. I won't- …"
THWACK!
Dean cried out and reared up at the double-strength smack, only settling again as he blinked wet eyes and told himself a hundred times over to just shut up like Sam had said.
"I'm fairly certain that 'ahhh' isn't one of the words. Try again."
Thwack!
"Property." He didn't like it, but his voice held steady. He wouldn't let these words be anything more than just words.
Thwack!
"Whore." It didn't mean anything.
Thwack!
"Always." Not listening.
Thwack!
"Everywhere." Just words.
Thwack!
"Again."
Mr. Winchester had him cycle through the words to the rhythm of the ruler until Dean didn't even have to think about them anymore. They were becoming second-nature, a given, like the throb in his rear and the ache in his arms, both of which told him they'd been doing this too damn long. Short pauses let Dean breathe, though he worked hard not to process the syllables on his tongue, and they allowed the teacher time to ask the rest of the class, Sam in particular, if they were taking detailed notes, about what exactly, though, Dean couldn't fathom.
Then there were new words replacing the old ones, long strings of words about submission and punishment, masters and use. Altogether they only half made sense, his eyes taking them in and mouth spitting them out without letting his mind keep them long enough to understand. The litany seemed endless and Dean was starting to drown in it all, aching and mumbling and drifting away, so when Mr. Winchester finally stopped snapping the ruler against his ass, his eyes were watering, lungs nearly hyperventilating, and he shook with the effort it took to not squirm and earn himself a string of quick blows. He had no doubt that his rear end was the same flaming red as the local fire truck.
"You're done. For now."
The teacher's voice filtered slowly into the repetitious murmurings that continued to plague Dean's mind, but when he finally understood their meaning he straightened up, stiffly, and reached for his pants without comment.
"Don't! Stay as you are."
Dean nearly laughed, but he was fucking tired now and just- … It didn't even matter. "I thought you said I was done."
"You are, for the moment, but I don't trust you to behave without direct supervision, so … you'll stand in the corner until your brother is done with his recitation."
Tilting his head to the right some, Dean scoffed with cynical smirk. He could see where this was going and fuck if that wasn't just needlessly twisted. "And … you want me to stand there with my pants down." Not a question, just a fucked up fact of dealing with sadistic teachers, apparently.
"Of course." Mr. Winchester's voice slid back into something liquid and dark. "I have to make sure that I can administer discipline at a moment's notice if you start to get unruly again."
"Great." Dean grumbled, but wasn't seriously going to protest. Everyone had already kind of seen his ass anyway and, really, standing sounded much less painful than sitting right now. "Can I at least pull them up, so I don't kill myself getting over there?"
"No, actually. Just walk … very … slowly." Mr. Winchester's laugh grated over Dean's skin, but the man moved away from him then and it felt like he could really breathe for a moment, so he reminded himself not to complain. This had to be better than the actual spanking itself, right?
Turning, Dean's eyes refused to connect with those of the teacher or any of his fellow students, but he and the pants bunched at his ankles half-stepped half-slid their way slowly around the teacher's desk to the corner by the door, ignoring the occasional unfriendly chuckle and the flush of humiliation creeping across his skin. When he got there, though, Mr. Winchester was back in his space, standing behind him, too close.
"Put your hands on your head and your feet further apart."
No number of calming breaths would be enough to stop Dean from grinding his teeth right then, internally fuming, but he slowly maneuvered into position, shirt hiking up with angle of his arms.
"Good." The teacher almost sounded pleased right then and Dean almost wanted to do something to show the cocky fuck that his 'discipline' hadn't actually been successful. Almost. "Now … don't move. Not an inch. Not at all. You got that? Don't. Move."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Winchester." There was only a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but he felt the teacher lean in for a moment as if to say something. In the end it was just breath and body heat, though, which made Dean's pulse run a little quicker, but he could stand it long enough to not mouth off again.
Mr. Winchester stepped away then, calling for Sam to begin his recitation as he made his way back into the heart of the classroom. Dean could hear the shifting of desks, then Sam's voice filling the space as he explained the rights and responsibilities of an owner, including not only the use and punishment of a slave, but also their care and protection. For some reason Dean couldn't or wouldn't name, the talk frightened but warmed and calmed him, curling in his mind like tendrils of sating smoke.
It was a lengthy explanation, though, filled with formal, even archaic, phrases, some of which Dean didn't really understand, not to mention the whole question about the relevance of all this near nonsense. He tried to keep his head in the material, hoping to find further clues about these bizarre circumstances, but his focus strayed as his position slowly became more and more uncomfortable. He certainly wasn't out of shape, but standing with his legs wider apart than his shoulders built a strain in his bottom half that met the waning throb in his ass and the start of an ache in his lower back, and the muscles of his arms were starting to stiffen and tire, begging to move.
Chancing exposure, he subtly shrugged his shoulders a few times, bent elbows swaying gently as he tried to offer movement without really moving. In seconds, he heard Mr. Winchester's clipped "stop," halting Sam's words, and he steeled himself for more punishment. The tap of the teacher's shoes closing in on him across the tiled floor made him tense with expectation, but he still grunted in surprise when the first blow landed without a word.
Thwack! His hips rocked deeper into the corner with the force of the ruler hitting his skin.
"What did I tell you?"
"Not to move … sir." He swallowed, not because of this, he could handle this, but because he really would rather be a little sore than have to deal with whatever measures this teacher would consider 'extreme'. Shifting around had really only been a stupid mistake. He was just kind of used to getting away with things.
Thwack! Dean gasped as the ruler fell again, the edge feeling as if it nearly sliced into him.
"But you did move, didn't you, whore?"
Whore? What? Just words. "Yes, sir."
Thwack!
"Is that because you're an attention whore as well as just a whore?"
What? "No! I- …"
THWACK! He stifled a curse, water springing to his eyes as he knocked his head against the wall, body swaying.
"No excuses. I don't care if it's not fun or not easy or not comfortable. Do as you're told. Period."
Damn, this guy was tough. Dean couldn't muster up even a dash of sarcasm or a trace of a smirk. He kind of fucking hated him right then, but … respect wasn't so far afield. "Yes, sir."
Thwack! Dean bucked up with a hiss of pain, losing his position, but fixing it quickly as he settled.
"Are you going to be good now? Or do I need to beat you to tears so Sam can really see how much of an embarrassment you'll be to him?"
Dean closed his eyes, trying not to think about Sam watching the way he was being rapidly reduced to some obedient red-bottomed slave boy standing on display in the corner of the room. Wait. Not … slave. He had to stop internalizing this craziness. It wasn't- … It had nothing to do with him.
Thwack! With the crack of the ruler, Dean's mind clicked back to the issue at hand but brought all the others with it.
"Well?"
"Um … yeah- yes. I'll be good … sir." A good slave? No. Wires got crossed somewhere. They were just words.
"And I'll be amazed." Leaving Dean with his thoughts, Mr. Winchester moved away and Sam started up his prepared response again, backtracking some from where he'd left off.
Header - One - Two - Three - Four - Five