Warnings: Slavery, mentions of torture, d/s and objectification.
Author's note: So, um, yeah… Something little different after In This Life Or the Next… I just had to get this out of my system, ok? *hides* You have been warned.
Prologue
Dean Winchester used to be happy.
He lived on his own at Lawrence, Kansas. He had a little apartment of his own and he worked at a garage and drove a '67 Chevy Impala, which was a great joy of his life. He was quite happy man. He had little problems and life was rather easy at most. It was good enough for him as he couldn't even dare to ask more.
That was before his brother, Sam, died. Before when he still had something to live for.
They said it was a brain tumor. There was nothing to be done, and Sam had only one week left live.
Dean tried everything. He tried to speak to doctors, said there was something they could do, he even tried faith healers.
But there was nothing.
Week later Sam died, Dean next to his bed.
If Sam only had known, that Dean had died with him.
Dean Winchester used to be alive.
Then his brother had died and so he had died too.
But he was still breathing and moving. He was still there, while Sam wasn't.
He had lost his family, and in his book it was the same as having nothing. He lost his will to live, but as much as he wanted to kill himself, he didn't. That's not what his brother would've wanted, so he kept going. Kept living as it made him completely numb.
Dean didn't even realize when a year had passed after Sam's death. He gave a little notice to anything that happened around him. It was fine, because no one gave rat's ass about him. Even he didn't.
One night, when he was coming home from a bar, he was attacked.
He was drugged and showed to a truck. Dean didn't even try to resist.
He woke up in a huge building, which he recognized to be a slave facility. He immediately knew what was going to happen to him, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
His physical health was checked, a code was tattooed to his chest, above his heart and he was collared. He was officially given a slave's status and he was going to be sold as a one. Most likely he was going to die as one too. He was no longer a human being.
Dean wondered when he had last been a one.
Other slaves tried to talk to him, tell horrible things about what was going to happen to him. Dean was too pretty, he wouldn't be used for house chores or anything like that, oh no. That'd be waste. He had full lips, bright green eyes; he was perfect in so many ways… Can you imagine what it would feel like when I fucked his face? What my come would like on that pretty face of his? Oh, the lucky bastard who gets to try… I almost envy him.
Dean just stared the dirty wall ignoring them.
He knew what they said was probably true.
He had nothing to lose, nothing to live for.
Might as well go for it.
Dean Winchester used to be a free man.
Then his freedom was taken away from him.
It could have been tragic and horrific event, if he had even given a fuck about it.
He didn't. Even when he was sold, he didn't care when people checked his teeth, touched his half-naked body and told how well-behaved slave he was. Not to him, of course. Some even wanted to check how tight he was. It was unpleasant, but if Dean as much as left a sound, he was slapped, so he choose to stay silent.
He didn't look who bought him, and the next thing he realized was that he was taken away.
His first owner was a man named Alistair.
The first day he made very clear how he planned to use his new slave and what kind of master he was.
Dean's room, or to be more accurate, his cage was cold, small and dark, right next to Alistair's own room. Alistair said it was a place for his pets and their 'toys'. Dean would soon become very familiar with those as for now he was too afraid even to try naming them.
Alistair started Dean's training immediately, and chained him to a wooden table.
It didn't take long before Dean was writhing in pain and gasping air. His flesh was turning blue from places where Alistair had hit him, and red where he was being tied up. He was bleeding from several places as Alistair enjoyed using whips and knives.
And Alistair was just getting started.
Dean Winchester used to have mind of his own.
It was tortured away from him and, even if Alistair made sure he didn't leave any visible scars, some did never fade.
It took three months for Alistair to break Dean's will completely, and only a month to get bored of him.
When he was asked why he was even willing to sell such an obedient and well-behaving slave, he only answered he liked challenge, and as Dean provided him none, he might as well sell him.
In next auction Dean was advertised as 'well-trained sex slave, with a skillful mouth and a needy hole.' His price went incredibly high and in the end he was bought by a man called Michael.
Michael took Dean 'skills' to good use, heck, he even shared them with his friends. Showed Dean off like a new cock sucking car. At least Michael didn't abuse Dean like Alistair had, but Dean still woke up in the middle of the night feeling sore after day's...Activities.
And all he could feel was gratitude.
Master Michael is so good to me. He takes better care of me than Alistair. He is so kind and gentle.
Master is a good man, I'm so glad I can be useful to him.
All this, after he had been fucked sideways, at least by five different men, meanwhile his ass and face was dripping off their come.
Alistair had trained him well, since Dean didn't complain not even once.
And what an obedient slut he was…
Still it didn't matter how much Dean pleased Michael, he was still sold after a year.
Dean didn't understand what he did wrong, why master wasn't pleased with him anymore, why was he being sold again.
His mind was filled with confusion and determination to be better as he was brought to an auction again.
Dean Winchester used to be many things.
He used to be a son, a big brother, a mechanic, a lover, he used to be Dean.
As months went by, so did the bits of his personality. Those necessary parts which made him Dean. There was so little left anyway, and soon the person Dean withered away. What was left…Well, there was practically nothing left. He lived, he breathed, he moved and offered his body for others to use, but his soul was dead. Had been a long time.
Dean's owners changed often. He was usually kept about a half a year, before he was sold again. Every time he asked himself, wasn't he good enough. Why would they sell him, he did his best, why didn't it please them?
He didn't understand why he wasn't wanted.
Everyone left him. His parents did, and so did his brother. Now his owners left him, one by one.
Dean didn't even realize when his soul started to yearn again.
Please, went a silent plea somewhere inside his head.
Need me.