Your interpretation of my prompt Last words was sheer genius and one I never would have imagined but it was beyond perfect and so, so beautifully Sam and Dean and everything I love about them and their lives and deaths and realtionship. Have read it multiple times and I still tear up and get a lump in my throat. Am friending and stalking you as I want to read EVERYTHING!!!! So beware!!!!
My fic for spnspringfling 2016. One year I really want to write gen fluff. This year was not that year!!! Oh well. :-P Also thanks heaps to everyone who left awesome comments. I will reply to each and every one as soon as I can.
TITLE: The Carvery
WRITTEN FOR: quickreaver for her prompt: My peculiar boy
WARNINGS: darkfic, non-con/rape, drug use, mouth-fucking, permanent injury, torture.
TITLE: The Carvery
WARNINGS: darkfic, non-con/rape, drug use, mouth-fucking, permanent injury, torture.
It was simple. I saw him. I wanted him, so I took him. I approached him from behind and stripped him naked right there in the middle of the packed dancefloor. I bound his hands behind his back and wrapped a heavy black blindfold over his eyes before leading him out of the nightclub. Dozens of people witnessed his abduction and not one raised a finger to come to his rescue, despite his terrified struggles and pleas for help. He never saw my face and I never said a word.
I knew he loved me. He told me so, of his own free will, on our third night together. He was barely conscious, mostly due to the fact that I hadn't let him sleep, eat or drink since leading him into my basement apartment and straight into my bed almost seventy hours previously. Rewarded him with a double shot of my best whiskey. Probably not my best idea ever. Liquor on an empty, extremely dehydrated stomach doesn't stay in said stomach for long. Only just got him to the bathroom in time. Still, fucking him whilst he was bent over the toilet throwing up was an interesting experience. The sensations caused by his rectal muscles spasming were beyond my wildest dreams. I couldn't even move whilst he was actually vomiting, but managed to get a few good thrusts in between convulsions. It was one the best fucks of my life and first thing next day I bought some Ipecac and made him drink two large bottles of water.
"Thank you," he said in a hushed voice as I carried him back to my bed after the washing the sweat and come and puke from his body for the second time that day.
I couldn't help laughing. My Angel really is the most peculiar boy. Thanking the man who has abused and battered his body non-stop for days for a few brief moments of comfort.
"You're welcome, Angel. Trust me, it's been my pleasure."
His reward that time was a quarter piece of dry toast, twelve hours sleep and a saline drip. His last words as I tightened his blindfold and checked the soft leather cuffs around each wrist and ankle were, "Thank you," he repeated. He didn't say my name because he didn't know my name and I had no intention of ever telling him. There was only one thing I ever wanted to hear him call me.
He fell asleep while I was kissing him. I placed a loose cotton hood over his head, covering his face and left him to rest and recuperate.
He semi-woke six hours later as I was removing his hood so I could fuck his mouth. I did say he could sleep. Never said I wouldn't interrupt those twelve hours to molest him.
"Anything you want to do to me, anything at all, you can do it." His words were full of sadness and resignation. He didn't want this, not really, but he knew that I did. He had already ceased to exist as a person with wants, needs and desires of his own, as a human being. He was just a thing, a possession. His sole reason for living was to satisfy my needs, my desires, to ensure my happiness at all times. These words were the last things that were truly his. They were his ultimate gift and he was giving them and all of himself, body, mind, heart and soul to me.
"Anything?" I asked, desperately trying to keep the surprise out of my voice. I always knew he would one day say these very words to me, repeating after me as I buried myself inside my Angel's battered body or beating him for hours with flogger, cane and whip til my Angel's blood flowed freely from shoulders, back, ass and thighs. Just never thought he would speak them so soon into our relationship or of his own volition without any prompting whatsoever from me.
"Anything." Surrender, so sweet but hot that I felt my cock go from soft to stiff in an instant.
"I prom-." Submission so innocent yet sexy that I brutally rammed my weeping cock between his lips and down his throat.
He didn't choke this time as I made him deep-throat me. Simply relaxed his mouth and jaw and throat, allowing me to fuck him as hard and fast as I pleased. I was getting close so I slowly forced my cock further down his throat and then held perfectly still.
"I'm not all the way in yet," I said as he struggled to draw breath. "I know you're hurting right now but I need you to relax more, Angel, so I can push my cock deeper."
Felt his powerful muscles clench just once then they went completely slack, letting me push my cock in another inch, then two. My balls were almost in his mouth, my crotch pressed tightly against his nose, cutting off his air. I was in heaven with no intention of leaving anytime soon. Less than a minute later my Angel stopped breathing.
Knowing I had time, a few minutes at least, before brain damage became a serious concern, I began thrusting again, slowly, gently as if he was merely sleeping and I didn't want to wake him. I withdrew completely on the verge of what I was certain would be the most explosive orgasm of my life.
"C'mon, Angel. Breathe for me, baby." I lightly slapped his cheek, put my lips to his as I exhaled a few quick breaths into his slack mouth. It took ninety terrifying seconds and some desperate praying to get my Angel breathing again and insert my still rigid cock back into his mouth.
Breathing was good, semi-conscious would be even better, deciding I wanted him at least partially awake to accept my offering, that I wanted him to forever remember the taste of me on his lips and tongue and all the way down his throat.
"C'mon, Angel. Wake for me, baby." I slapped his cheek again, a lot harder this time, hard enough to leave an imprint of my palm against his pale flesh.
He came around quickly, his limp body jerking beneath me as panic flooded his system. I felt his jaw move, felt his teeth scraping my cock and panicked a little myself.
"Don't move." My hand on his abused throat, my fingers squeezing his windpipe and cutting off his air reinforced my command nicely and though it was an obvious struggle for him to obey, understandable under the circumstances, he did calm down promptly.
"Good boy. Just relax for me." I stroked two fingers over his sore cheek and he leaned into my touch, hungry for any little scrap of comfort I chose to bestow on him.
"I'm going to finish fucking your mouth now," I told him as I moved my hips forward. A tear appeared from under his blindfold and slid down his cheek where my fingers still caressed his skin. I was very tempted to remove it so I could look into his eyes as I fucked him, but decided that he was so much more beautiful and vulnerable deprived of his sight. He looked like a lost little boy, utterly alone and defenceless. I can and will do anything I please to him and he has no choice but to submit without question to my every desire, surrender his body without hesitation to my every fantasy.
A couple of short, sharp thrusts and I came like a volcano erupting. A copious amount of thick, warm semen filled his oesophagus and flooded his mouth. My Angel simply swallowed it all and fell asleep again with my softening cock still inside his mouth. He was breathing once more, not easily, but he would survive which was good enough for me.
"Master. I want you to call me Master," I whispered after pulling out and kissing him sweetly. I was sure he wouldn't have heard me but, much too my delight and not for the first time, my Angel proved me wrong.
His first word as I was fucking him awake precisely five hours and fifty-five minutes later, was, "Master." His next were the last words I ever thought I would hear from him. "I love you."
For the next month, they were the only words he was permitted to speak. I kept him gagged or hooded the rest of the time.
Those four words became a mantra, his mantra to me alone, spoken when he was laughing, crying, screaming or sobbing, depending on what I was doing to him at the time. They became as precious to both of us as the most sacred text and I knew the perfect canvas to engrave them on for eternity.
Over the next four days, I carved those very words into the broad expanse of flesh on my Angel's back. One word a day. He never knew when I was going to do it. All I had to say was, "Angel," and he would hand me the curved skinning knife I kept strapped to his left thigh. I would remove his blindfold and he would go to the table I had set up in the corner of my bedroom and lay down on his stomach, arms and legs perfectly positioned so I could lock his wrists and ankles into his restraints. It was surrounded by mirrors so he could watch me as I worked.
He threw up just before sunset on the second day when I said his name and was shaking so violently it was almost an hour and fully dark outside before he was capable of shuffling the short distance from the bathroom to the table I had quickly dubbed the Carvery.
Another fifteen minutes before he could gather the strength to climb on to the table. He collapsed twice, falling to his knees, breath impossibly fast and shallow as he hyperventilated, enveloped by terror. I didn't say anything to him, didn't reach down to help him up, didn't touch him at all or acknowledge him in any way. I just stood at the head of the table and waited patiently for him to obey my command. I knew he would submit eventually, even if it took all night. I hope it wouldn't take that long, the urge to cut and mark and hurt was becoming almost insatiable by this stage, but I knew my patience would be rewarded with Angel's surrender and it was and it was simply stunning.
He finally lay face-down on the Carvery, I secured his arms and legs and got to work with a hunger that I never knew I possessed. I was in a zone, The Zone, where no sounds penetrated except for my rapidly beating heart and my Angel's agony-filled screams. It wasn't until I had started on the third letter, that I realized what word I was carving into my Angel's flesh.
I began crying as my Angel started sobbing silently, the pain too extreme for any noise to express. I wanted to stop, to end the brutal torture I was inflicting on the boy who had just confessed his love and devotion for me the previous day.
I wanted to stop but I couldn't so I didn't. I had to be strong for both of us, strong enough to endure the pain not just for this word and this time but also for the next two words and the next two days.
It was my Angel who, once again, came to my rescue, giving me the strength to carry on, to finish this hellish task fate had put in motion in the nightclub over a month ago. I lent down to kiss his cheek, to offer what tiny amount of comfort I could to my beautiful, brave Angel.
He was whispering a word, the same word over and over. It was so quiet I could barely hear it even with my ear pressed close to his lips.
That one solitary word brought fresh tears to my eyes, broke my heart into a million pieces and pierced my soul. And yet it didn't change the way I felt about him. It didn't make me instantly fall in love with him. I felt pride and satisfaction and awe, but not love.
Day four was my favourite. It was my birthday and now it would be his. A day for both of us to celebrate. I took my time, wanting to scar not just his flesh, but his memory as well, to carve myself so deeply inside his body, inside his psyche, right down into his very soul that he would never forget who and what I was to him no matter how long I let him live.
M A S T E R. Six letters across his lower back, one letter every two hours between dawn and dusk. Ten minutes to carefully and precisely engrave each letter into his already heavily scarred back. For his comfort, I kept him strapped to the Carvery for that entire wonderful day. Though he protested, I also kept him lightly sedated with diluted heroin.
"You will still feel plenty of pain, my Angel" I assured him as I inserted the needle into the vein just below his elbow. "This will just take the edge off. You don't want to pass out on me, do you?"
After I was done, blood was still streaming from the deep incisions, trickling over his ass and down his thighs and pooling under his hips and belly. I ran my hands through the thick red fluid, coating my fingers and smearing them over his lips and across his tongue and through his hair. I pushed two bloody fingers into his anus and fucked him as gently as I could. He sobbed the whole time and I cried with him, even as I slid one hand beneath his belly, nudging his knees in and under, deepening the angle of his rectum and my thrusts.
"Good boy," I said. I rubbed his prostate as hard as I could, milking him and making him come once, twice, three times in quick succession. He was shivering and trembling and moaning, obviously in shock and agony. I draped myself carefully over his back, licking and lapping at his wounds, savouring the taste of him like the rarest of fine wines. He tasted divine, sweet with his love for me and bitter with the pain I had inflicted.
As the sun set, I helped him sit up, bound his hands in front, put his blindfold over his eyes and a choke-chain around his throat and pulled him to the balcony where we had a special birthday dinner by candle light of lobster and chocolate-coated strawberries and champagne.
Ten years later, he is blind, deaf and paralysed from the waist down. He looks even more beautiful.
My peculiar boy.