A prompt fill from an anon: "I need bottom!Dean. I don't care how, I just really need Cas topping the shit out of Dean. Fisting, cockrings, fucking machines, Slave!Dean, I don't care, I just need top!Cas". Your wish is my command!

Kinks and warnings: non-con, slavery, slave!Dean, heavy bondage, cockrings, gags, fucking machines, fisting

He shifted back and forth on his knees, settling the joints into the soft leather pads. He'd woken up like this, but that was nothing new. Dean's master enjoyed disorienting him; the food and water was sometimes laced with drugs that zonked him so far out he lost time and he'd come to in a variety of humiliatingly creative situations. The worst by far had been the small stage in a sea of men who had all been more than willing and able to take their turns using him as he was spread out on a platform for their pleasure. They'd had toys and tools at their disposal, and they'd been so rough with him his master had let him sleep the entirety of the following day.

Compared to that nightmare, the framework into which he was locked, the fat plug holding his hole open, and the ring gag in his mouth were a small blessing. Now, he was on his hands and knees. His chest was held up by a pillowed platform while his arms and legs came down to the top of what appeared to be a table. Metal bands circled his thighs, waist, torso, holding his chest down to the cushion, while his wrists and ankles were fastened to the table with padded shackles, legs splayed wide. Immobile and accessible. Dean pulled a bit at his bonds, but he didn't waste too much energy on it. He knew it wouldn't do him any good. If this was where Castiel wanted him, this was where he would be.

It was definitely not the worst way he'd ever awoken, but he could feel the throbbing tightness of a cockring squeezing the base of his dick and he knew he was in for a long ride. Despite his less than voluntary service, long periods of denial always had him squirming and begging wantonly for release. He knew he'd end up like that, crying for climax, before the session was over. He closed his eyes, feeling ashamed at how desperate his violation made him and how he was powerless to stop it.

"Hello, slut."

Dean's eyes snapped open at the low honey of his master's voice. He was out of sight, somewhere behind him. A warm, calloused hand slid over his flank and Dean's buttock spasmed. It earned him a smack.
"I have some business to attend to before I can work you over today, but never fear – I'll make sure you're properly occupied while I take care of it." Castiel came into view on his left but was turned away, walking toward a desk Dean hadn't noticed before. It was solid, made of a dark wood and his own sturdy table lay parallel to it. His surroundings were actually quite plush; it seemed like he was set up in the middle of an old-fashioned study, complete with wooden paneling and rich armchairs.

Castiel turned around and Dean's eyes were drawn to a small, gray rectangle his master held in his hands. It looked like a remote. He approached Dean and once again walked out of view behind him.
"While I work, you'll be stretched out, preparing you for what I have planned for later. I've wanted to try out my new machine for a while, and now I have the perfect opportunity to set it and watch it open up your pretty little hole for me. Killing two birds with one dildo, so to speak," he chuckled at his own joke. Dean was not laughing.

As his master talked, he could hear him moving things – heavy things – behind him. A fucking machine, God. A mindless motor would pump a dildo in and out of him without mercy while Castiel filled out paperwork. Look ma, no hands. Dean could feel himself beginning to breathe heavily, panting around the gag and his dry tongue. A hand stroked a long line down his spine.

"You can take it," Castiel murmured, not at all soothing Dean's panic. "Though," he tsked, "I suppose you don't really have much of a choice." The hand left his skin and fell upon the plug sticking out of his ass, tugging it slowly from his body, spreading the muscles there wide around the bulb. Dean huffed as Castiel worked the silicone out, leaving him feeling empty.

Castiel traced a finger around his rim, dipping inside and hooking around the muscle to pull it gently outward. He slid one, two, then three fingers in with a generous amount of lube, and the next thing Dean knew he had a large dildo pushing the first inch or two into his hole. The rounded head nestled into his channel past tight muscles and Castiel ran the pad of one finger around one more time. Dean's breath caught again, the panic edging back up. Oblivious to his plight, his cock was sticking straight out and Dean could feel it leaking precome.

"There you are, nice and filled. I'm going to turn this on and let the program I've created for you run while I do my work. Whether you enjoy yourself is entirely up to you, but you have about an hour to decide." His master gave his turgid dick a pull and Dean wanted to moan, but his training held. Involuntary noises like that had been shocked out of him long ago.

All at once, a whirring started and Dean felt the first push into him. There was a firm, steady power behind it and as it changed directions a hitch before it began pulling out. It was nothing like getting fucked by a cock. Flesh and blood were fluid, an almost circular movement in and out. But this was cold and mechanical, uncaring. "It's a big dildo, but trust me, you will thank me later."

Dean watched his master settling behind the desk, sitting back and enjoying the sight for a moment. He was a curiosity, put on display, mounted like a trophy while his ass was speared open by a machine and he hung his head in defeat. Castiel turned his attention toward the stacks of papers on the desk and Dean was alone despite his presence.

The dildo vibrated strong and noisy as its thrusts deepened. Dean felt so stuffed, packed with the phallus as it punched in and out of him unforgivingly. It pulled over his prostate in unpredictable intervals, making him jerk and shudder as his cock twitched uselessly. He wasn't sure he could take an hour of this.

But his master was right: he didn't really have a choice.

His existence had narrowed down to the hum of the machine and the feeling of the vibrator ramming in and out of him. All he felt was the stretch of it, and the machine never allowed him to fall into a sense of complacency. It started and stopped. It vibrated at various levels. It alternated between fast and slow, deep and shallow. Dean was mindless with the pleasurable, painful torture and the cockring had it work cut out for it as he writhed in his restraints. Silent tears slid down his face. Dean didn't even notice.

An eternity later, fingers massaged his jaw, bringing Dean out of his stupor. The machine was still buzzing in his ass, but the strokes decreased until, mercifully, the cock slid free. His ass felt sore and hollow.
"What a gorgeous, open hole you have now." His master rubbed small circles into his muscles, ass, thighs, back, shoulders. "Don't worry, though. We'll fill it up soon enough." Castiel came to stand in front of him and unzipped his fly, freeing his long, thick cock and allowing it to point up toward the ceiling in a proud curve. Using a few fingers, he brought Dean's chin up, forcing him to make eye contact. The other hand's fingers threaded through his hair.

"Get this nice and wet for me, slut. You're sloppy already; I'm not giving you any more lubricant than what's in you and what saliva you can get on my dick. I suggest you start sucking."

Castiel tightened his grip on his hair and cupped Dean's jaw with the other. He pushed through the ring holding Dean's mouth open, the head of his cock rested on his slave's tongue for a moment before he was thrusting halfway down its throat. The cockhead pulled some wetness up from the depths, relieving the painful dryness of his mouth and soothing his leathery tongue. Sucking was relative in a gag, but he did his best to coat the organ with spit. When his master pulled out, a string of saliva tickled his bottom lip, connecting it to the flushed tip.

With a swipe of his thumb, Castiel stroked Dean's swollen lip and broke the spit string. The thumb completed its arc, stroking an elegant cheekbone damp with tears. "You have no idea how beautiful you are, debauched like this." He graced his slave with a small smile and Dean swallowed involuntarily. "And you're about to be wrecked." There was a cold, predatory glee wrapped around that last word. Dean was no longer sure he preferred this day over the gangbang.

Once again Castiel slipped from view, but this time he kept his hands on Dean. The prone man felt his cheeks pulled apart and his master's hip bones settle against them. He exhaled as Castiel entered him, easily hilting himself in Dean's loose, wet hole. The man behind him made a noise of content as he began to track his pelvis forward and back at a punishing pace. Dean, for his part, barely felt it after the fucking machine; the dildo that had pistoned in and out of him for the better part of an hour had desensitized him and opened him more than enough for his master's cock.

Castiel took his time plundering Dean's ass. He took obvious pleasure in making his slave twitch with every shot at his prostate. The little nub was swollen and Dean felt it drag painfully on the penis inside him. It didn't help that he was well past the point of desperation – sobbing and dry heaving with need – with no end in sight. Finally, his master's hips stuttered and he hilted himself all the way inside Dean as his climax shuddered through him. He stayed like that until his cock softened and then pulled out slowly, using his fingers to push all the lube and come back into Dean's swollen hole.

"Can't waste any of that. You're going to need it."

God. That meant they weren't done. The fingers kept sliding into him, developing a sort of lazy pattern of pulling, scissoring, and thrusting. Dean was so open they did nothing but frustrate him further.

"The machine is fantastic, no? It opened you up nice and wide." Castiel wiggled three fingers inside him, just playing with the hot swollen tissue inside. He must have added some more lubricant because all of a sudden Dean felt cold inside. "You made such a pretty show, trussed up and fucked by a cold, impersonal machine. I had a tough time concentrating on my work, watching your slutty hole suck in that huge cock." He was up to four fingers now, knuckles bumping against Dean's rim every few pumps. "When I saw all ten thick inches of it disappearing inside you, I knew you would be loose enough."

Dean tensed as he followed his master's reasoning. No. No, no, no. He couldn't -

Even as he thought it, Dean felt Castiel put more force behind his hand and the widest part began to stretch his hole. It was huge, wider than anything Dean had ever taken, and his tears fell in earnest. He began to buck in his bonds, though little good it did him. He didn't move even a quarter of an inch.

Whispers of breath that would have said "no" had his lips been free whistled through the gag and Dean's chest felt like it was going to explode in between his sobs. That was nothing, of course, compared to the pressure splitting his ass open as Castiel rotated his wrist and screwed his hand in further. Dean's ass was on fire; it was simply a pit of pain and intense heat. He could feel the thumb, the same thumb that had brushed away his tears before, adding to the girth slowly but inexorably entering his body. Cool, slick fingers rubbed at his rim, trying to coax it open just that little bit more to admit the width of his master's hand. The digits already inside crooked and twisted, carving a space for themselves out of Dean's flesh. He was shaking now and was held up only by the platform. The metal ring around his pulsing dick burned, though that pain was nearly lost in the struggle his body was putting up against his master's fist.

"Come now, slut. I saw you taking quite the dicking earlier today and I know you are open enough for this. Let me in." He wiggled his fingers inside and stroked Dean's rim firmly with the outside of his thumb. "I will get my fist in one way or another, but it would be easier for us both if you relaxed."

Dean gave another dry heave as his master punctuated his demand with a hard shove that sunk another whole inch of his hand into Dean. It pushed the widest part inside and Dean couldn't help the breathless cry that forced its way up from deep in his chest. His ass was screaming, but at least the pressure had decreased. That didn't stop Castiel, though.

"Good boy, good whore," he praised as he stroked the small of Dean's back with his free hand. "You look scandalously hot with this much inside you, stretching your little pink hole around my hand. The hard part is over, but you're not done yet. Bear down and let me in."

All Dean could hear was rushing in his ears as the hand began its inexorable slide home. Trying his best, he did as his master ordered. He was being violated in the most obscene way, but it would continue no matter what he did. He might as well make it as painless as possible. Painless, ha. As if that were even an option at this point.

More lube and a few rough thrusts had the heel of Castiel's hand through. Christ. One last mighty shove, one last wet twist and Dean could feel his tired hole close around his master's narrow wrist.
The man behind him gave a soft moan of approval. "You were made for this, slut. Made to take my fist inside you. You are just gorgeous like this. Simply glorious. So tight and hot."

He couldn't breathe – the sweat cooling on his skin electrified it and prickles picked themselves out across his shoulders and in the dip of his back, but he was still so hot. He was so full, stuffed and frozen with the sensation of pain with an edge of dark pleasure. There was a fist – a whole entire fist – inside him, housed in the shell of his body. It pumped gently, worming its way deeper. Castiel clenched and unclenched his hand and the sensations made Dean cry out despite his training.

"I shouldn't let you come for that, you know," his master teased, almost conversationally. If Dean needed any more proof that his captor was off his rocker, the fact he could speak so casually as he worked his arm up into Dean's ass would have been more than enough. Still, he despaired at the thought of not even getting and orgasm out of this nightmare and it must have shown in the slump of his shoulders.

"Don't worry, I think you deserve a reward for this, don't you? We can always punish you later."

In spite of his relief, his whole body strained around the arm embedded so deep. At least half of his forearm must be in him. That fist felt like it was in his throat and Dean sucked in gulps of air around the choked feeling. He found himself sympathizing with puppets, for it felt like all Castiel had to do was open his hand and Dean would beg for it like a whore. Or maybe scream. He wasn't sure which.

Castiel punched in deep once more, then began to pull his forearm out slowly and with care. He stopped once only his fist remained inside. He then started to twist his wrist in tight semicircles, finding Dean's prostate with his knuckles and banging at it over and over. Pleasure laced with pain and fatigue burned through Dean, but he couldn't help his body's rocking into the hand, rutting to find an end to all this. Another hand tweaked his balls, then moved to circle the ring clamped tight around Dean's cock. This was it, his master was finally going to let him come and with that would come rest. Castiel's thumb rubbed firm circles over Dean's prostate and when his pleasure was at its peak Castiel unclipped the ring.

It was like a dam burst, and all of Dean's pent up frustration, anger, fear, and pain shot out of his body with his release. His muscles weren't his own as a cool wash of endorphins bathed his nerves and left him shaky and exhausted. Dean couldn't even hold his head up as his master carefully worked his hand out of his wet, molten hole. He barely felt the thickness pass through his loosened rim before he drifted down into the blissful black of unconsciousness.