"Dean. What the heck is that?"

You stared in disbelief at the skimpy black dress he had laid out over the kitchen table.

"Um, it's your disguise. I found it in one of the men of letters' closets and got it cleaned for you."

"I can't wear that."

"I thought you were planning on coming with us tomorrow?"

"Yeah, but . . ."

"y/n, the hotel where these guys have been turning up dead is super fancy. Sam and I have to wear our monkey suits. You have something in your closet that will fit the bill?"

You leveled a glare at him. "You know I don't."

"Then I don't understand the issue here."

Your panic rose at the thought of wearing that thing out in public. Of standing next to Sam and Dean who would look like sex on legs in their tuxes while your outfit just showed the world everything that was wrong with your body.

Hot fury followed, at Dean, at yourself, at society, and especially makers of stupid revealing black dresses. You could feel the eminent explosion, but you couldn't seem to stop it.

"The issue, Dean, is that I will look disgusting if I put that on. I'm not doing it! I KNOW, okay, I'm ruining everything being a bitch, but I. Can't. Do. It. I'm sorry I'm such a screw up!" Your volume was rising along with your panic and anger as you continued your tirade.

"Enough."

You jumped and spun around to see Sam had walked in and was standing right behind you. His face was unreadable and his voice calm. He briefly scanned your face, but you honestly couldn't tell what he was thinking and it was freaking you out . . Different than the freak out he'd just snapped you out of.

He turned to his brother. "Dean would you mind making yourself scarce for the evening?"

"Dude, I didn't mean . . . I wasn't trying to-"

"I know. You two can talk about it later. I think y/n needs some time to calm down and she'll be able to do that better if you could give us some space."

"Sure man. Is it okay if I'm back around 10?"

"That should be fine. Thank you."

Dean shot you an apologetic look and ducked out of the room.

Your mind was spinning during this exchange. You knew you'd screwed up big time, committing the most serious offense in Sam's book, but he wouldn't just start hitting you would he? That's not how this worked, you'd always been the one to instigate your scenes. What if he was going to break up with you because he finally realized how messed up you really were?

You could feel tears come to your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Sam waited for the bunker door to close before halfway turning back to you and holding out his hand. You reflexively slid your hand into his and the warmth and safety in his grip eased your fears slightly.

Sam led the way to his room and you felt a pit form in your stomach. You knew what was in his room. You didn't drag your feet, but you were tempted. He was really going to do it. You stifled a whimper. This was going to be bad, you'd messed up big time. Daddy was so mad.

Wait? Daddy? Wtf. This was so backward, but there was also something right about it that your body - and mind apparently - were responding to instinctively. You'd heard of littlespace, but never really considered that as a component of your scenes with Sam. The persona had always been a tool you used to be able to get around talking about things you would normally bury. To be able to allow yourself to be vulnerable and accept Sam's help. As far as you knew.

You hadn't even realized you'd reached your destination until Sam gave your hand a little squeeze. You were both standing near the foot of his bed and he gently requested, "Wait here."

You had never felt like running from Sam before. You trusted him and knew he would never really hurt you. Daddy only wanted what was best for you.

Your confusion and anxiety finally reached its boiling point when Sam pulled his heavy wooden hairbrush out of his nightstand drawer.

"NO!"

Sam gave you another appraising glance, but calmly grabbed the box of tissues as well and went to sit on the edge of his bed. He placed the tissues out of the way and the brush near at hand before responding. "Baby girl, you know I'll always wait until you're ready. And I know you hate dragging it out when you're due for a spanking, but take all the time you need."

"But, but I didn't even . . . We always talk first." You were shocked at the whiny edge to your voice.

Sam's was even and kind, but firm, when he replied, "We've talked about this already. You know exactly why we're here. You know exactly why this is involved." He tapped the brush and you flinched. "And we will talk - in a little bit."

Your thoughts continued to war between running to him, begging him to make it all better; and telling him you were an adult, you hadn't asked for this, and you didn't need a freaking spanking for crying out loud. You just wanted him to fix the part of you that believed everything you'd told De' and you knew that he would once you went over there and - Oh gosh it was going to hurt you hated the hairbrush so much.

Tears hit your cheeks and you realized you'd started hyperventilating.

Sam opened his arms, his expression full of concern. "Oh, baby, come here."

You went and buried your head in his chest. He held you for a moment and you could feel your breathing calm. "I'm sorry, Daddy!" You mumbled wetly into his shirt.

"I know you are. You're such a good girl. We're going to fix it okay?"

He gently pulled you away so he could see your face. "You're ready now?"

You wiped your eyes and nodded.

He undid your pants and pulled them with your underwear down to your knees. The sick feeling in your stomach was back, but you also felt strangely safe and even a sense of relief.

He brought you between his legs and bent you over his lap. He held out one of his hands. "Why don't you give me your hands, baby girl, so I can hold them for you."

You felt a spike of adrenaline at this new step. Was it going to be so bad he didn't think you would be able to keep your hands out of the way by your own will? Fuck! His large hand wrapped over the both of yours, you gripped it tightly, and for a moment you just felt supremely at peace - completely surrounded and held secure by the one person who loved you unconditionally and whom you trusted implicitly.

Then the brush descended for the first time.

CRACK

You gasped as he gave you a short pause.

THWACK - THWACK - CRACK

Your gasps turned into a yelp and there were already tears springing from your eyes. Yeah, this was not a joke.

SMACK - THWACK

He continued like this, two or three swift swats broken up by short pauses, until you were sobbing. Unless your sense of time was completely thrown off (which can happen when your entire bottom and the tops of your thighs are being methodically set on fire) it was drawing close to when you would normally be done. None of this had been normal though, and you were tempted to do what he'd always made clear was available to you, but you'd never acted on, and ask for a break. You felt a gentle touch on your back and you realized he'd put the brush down.

"We're not done yet, baby girl, but we're taking a break." a whine was added to your sobbing that hadn't had a chance to get under control yet. At least Daddy would never play mind games with you - make you think you were done only to start whaling on you again. And you knew whatever he did, he wouldn't be cruel or push you past what you could take. You were able to calm down a little as he drew soothing shapes on your back.

"You're doing so well." He gently squeezed your hands that he still held. "I'm going to let go of your hands for a minute so you can move them. Let me know if they're painful or numb anywhere."

You flexed your fingers obediently. "They're fine, Daddy. Thank you."

He passed you a couple tissues. "Of course, precious girl. We can have that talk now. Can you tell me what happened?"

You sniffled, "I guess, I was just picturing standing next to you in that dress and everyone would see me, and everyone would know that . . . I mean I felt like I didn't - don't deserve you."

His hand stilled on your back and you could feel him take a shuddery breath. "Oh, baby girl. That's, that's the furthest thing from the truth. Every day I think about how lucky I am to have you. Please, you know you don't have to feel that way. Can you tell me something you could have done instead of believing those lies?"

You felt terrible for making him sad. "I'm sorry, Daddy, I should have talked to you about how I was feeling . . . Or, or De' . . ."

"That's right, baby. You know I would drop anything at any time to work through something like that with you. And Dean cares about you a lot; even if he can be a clueless jerk sometimes, he wouldn't want you to feel that way. He would do his best to help."

He took one of your hands, brushing the back of your knuckles with his thumb. "You are good; strong; one of the most badass hunters I know; compassionate; selfless; and so, so beautiful. That's the truth and I will tell you every day until you start to believe it."

You blinked as more tears spilled into the blanket and you tried to get it under control so you could answer. "Thank you, Daddy. I love you."

"I love you, so much, precious girl. Now. You have twenty-four left. I'm going to give you another break halfway through. Let me know when you're ready."

Twelve, you just had to get through twelve . . . And then twelve more. You bit your lip. Damn it, there was no way you were going on any freaking hunt tomorrow because you weren't going to be up for sitting in the impala's backseat all the way to Oklahoma. You shoved that thought aside. You'd better bite the bullet quick; you knew the anticipation was the worst. You put your other hand in his and he gripped both of them reassuringly.

"I'm ready, Daddy."

It took him a brief second to pick up the freaking demonic hairbrush and then:

WHACK

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

WHACK

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

WHACK

He'd changed the tempo for this part, single strikes alternating left to right with longer pauses in between. Long enough to really feel the pain and just start to dread the next one.

You were already wailing each time the brush fell, turning to sobs until the next stroke. You'd completely lost count, but you were sure you had to at least be on number six. You let out a garbled yell as one of the strokes landed on your thigh. Then several seconds later a matching blow to the other one. Each sit spot got attention, then one to the center of your bottom and the hand on your back alerted you that you'd made it to that halfway mark.

You just cried for a moment your face plastered to the blanket. It smelled like Daddy and, together with his hand rubbing your back, the other one holding your hands, and his strong lap under you, made you feel safe and loved. Which you were.

Twelve more. Did you really want to wait until you'd stopped crying all the way just to start crying again? Couldn't we just get through it to the part where Daddy was holding you in the bed and saying nice things and petting your hair and it was all over?

You choked back the sobs enough to get it out. "Can we just get it over with? Please, Daddy!"

"Okay, baby. Okay. These are going to be very fast; then it will be all over. Hold on."

A second while he picked up the brush and you gripped his hand for dear life.

Four rapid-fire strikes to the right side were followed by four matching ones to the left. You were already howling in pain when he directed the last four to your thighs. You weren't counting, you hadn't even yet realized he'd stopped until it registered he was carefully maneuvering you up onto the bed so you were both laying, you draped on top of him on your stomach.

Your pants and underwear were still dangling below your knees, but neither of you cared about that at the moment. Your face was buried in his shirt and you lost track of time as you drew comfort from his scent and his arms wrapped around you. You were a little concerned that your snot and tears were soaking into the fabric, but you couldn't really do anything about it. It was a little while before you could really comprehend anything; when you could, you realized Daddy was talking to you. You quieted your whimpering so you could hear him better.

"Oh, baby girl. I'm so sorry. I love you so much. I wish you could see how special you are, how beautiful you are. You are enough. You always have been. You're everything."

He stretched one of his arms so he could soothe your hair and occasionally he would say something else: "My good girl . . . I love you . . . I've got you, baby girl."

Finally your crying had mostly stopped; there were still the odd tears trickling down your face. He helped you wipe your nose. "I'm going to grab you some water, baby. Here," he carefully shifted you so you were laying on the bed, "I'll be right back."

He was, and he'd brought a long straw so you didn't even have to sit up: he held the cup near the edge of the bed and snaked the straw over so all you had to do was lean your face to the side a little bit. Once you were done he carefully removed your pants and underwear and returned to lay with you, shifting you again so your torso was resting on his. He used one of his hands to caress your hair while the other ran lightly up and down your back. Your eyes closed while you buried your face into his chest again and you . . . just . . . let go.

You woke up slowly, feeling disoriented, but somehow you couldn't manage to be distressed about it. Actually, you felt deliciously content. You weren't sure why you and your boyfriend had decided to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon, but if it meant waking up to feeling one of his hands absently trailing across your back and opening your eyes to the mouthwatering sight of his chest covered only by his short-sleeved Henley, you wouldn't mind making it a regular thing.

You stretched and everything came back. Mainly the pain in your ass that stretching had wakened with a vengeance. You yelped and collapsed against aforementioned boyfriend and Sam leaned up on his elbows and looked down at you in concern.

"I'm okay, Sam," you grumbled. "Apparently my butt isn't okay with me moving just yet." You knew it was petty and this was definitely your fault, not his, but it was his stupid hairbrush, and stupid super hot and buff arms.

His chest was hot and buff too. Really all of him. Wait - you were trying to maintain a little grumpiness. Maybe if you got him to feel a little guilty he would say yes to the great idea you just had. You were already both in bed and one of you was half undressed . . .

You tilted your head to look at him and licked your lips at the sight of his so close. No, grumpy, remember?

He looked back at you a little sceptical. "Are you sure you're okay? I know that was different . . . And I've never been that hard on you before." He scanned your face, concerned. You sighed.

"Yes, Sam. You were right. I would have been coming to you eventually, it just would have taken me some time and a lot more distress to figure it out. It freaked me out at first, but you gave me everything I needed to be okay with it, and took care of me like always. I think we can officially add that as an established protocol when you see that I need . . . to scene, but I haven't figured it out yet."

He gave a relieved smile that made you grin back. "I'll admit I was a little worried. You cried a long time and I was thinking I must have gone too far."

You rolled your eyes. You weren't a dainty flower, you were a freaking hunter. Who was going to avoid chairs, and similar made-for-sitting objects, for the foreseeable future.

"I'll tell you what, I know how you can make it up to me." You batted your eyelashes dramatically.

Sam snorted, "Absolutely not! There is no way I'm going to pound your ass into the mattress when you can't even shift positions. No."

"We could-"

"No. Not until the marks are gone."

You pouted, "No sex for a week, Sam?! That's cruel and unusual, I didn't sign on for that!"

He broke out in laughter. "Settle down. I've got an idea."

He crawled out from under you and gently arranged your torso so you were propped on your elbows. He pressed his lips into yours and the following kiss was so satisfying, but sparked you to a deeper desire at the same time. When he pulled away, you were panting and your lips tried to chase his.

He smirked and caressed your cheek before disappearing from your view as he went around to the foot of the bed.

He arranged your legs, using even more caution, until you were propped on your elbows and knees on the bed. He ran the knuckles from one hand along your spine, stopping just before he reached your tailbone. Your back arched and every nerve in your body felt like it was buzzing in anticipation.

"Okay, how is that position? Anything hurts or feels like it will if you hold it for any length of time?"

"No, Sam; I'm good!"

He huffed, "y/n. If it's no good, I'll figure something else out. Are you sure this position is okay?"

"It pulls a little when I arch my back. Which I'm probably going to do, but it's more than manageable. Especially assuming you're planning on providing some other sensations to distract me?"

He chuckled, "That's the plan. Okay. I'll be right back. Stay just like that."

"Huh?" he was gone and you honestly felt a little bereft. He's coming right back, y/n, he said so, calm down.

You heard him enter the room again, but he paused at the doorway. You could not crane your neck around enough to see him. "Sam?"

"Admiring the view."

You scowled, "Really?"

You could hear the smirk, "I'm not talking about the bruises, I'm talking about your cute ass in the air all ready for me."

You snorted.

"The position still good?"

"Yeeees, Sam! Just, please, I need you to touch me!"

"Of course; have a little patience! I got some of the arnica gel out of one of the first aid kits."

"Oh. OH! Yes, please, Sam!"

You pushed your bum out towards him in anticipation of the relief the arnica and aloe gel would bring.

You weren't surprised by how gentle his touch was - he had applied first aid to countless of your wounds before when returning from hunts - but you certainly appreciated the fact you barely felt a sting mixed with the soothing cool sensation of the gel. The delicious relief coupled with your current very-turned-on state made it impossible to hold back a moan.

Sam chuckled again and wiped his hands off on the washcloth he'd brought with him. "Better?"

"Yes, much. Thank you Sam."

"Of course. How about this?" He gently trailed his fingers on the inside of your upper thigh, very carefully avoiding any sore spots and you whimpered.

"Good, more please . . . Sam!" He had done as you asked and just missed touching your entrance before moving his fingers away again. He repeated the motions on your other leg and you were panting again.

He gently caressed the outside edge of your pussy before swirling away again. You thought about complaining, but everything felt so good, you just relaxed and let him do what he wanted.

After bringing his fingers to the edge a few more times, he finally dipped one inside, causing your hips to jerk, and you let out a gasp of pleasure.

Your gasps quickly turned to small moans as he pumped his finger in and out at a glacial pace. A few minutes later, his thumb came up to circle lazily around your clit and you involuntarily moved to try to create the contact you craved.

"Nah, ah. Not yet, love. Let me take care of you." You sighed as he removed his finger and returned to circling around your entrance. This time he pressed two of his long fingers inside, dexterously caressing every sensitive place inside you until you were whimpering and your legs were shaking.

He removed his fingers again and you whined in protest, but you felt the bed shift and you suddenly realized he had turned on his back and was creeping up until his head was between your legs.

He gently placed one of his hands around your leg to help secure you, making sure his finger placement didn't put him too close to any painful areas.

He started repeating the torturous process from before, but this time it was his tongue skimming your thigh, dancing around your entrance. When you were almost sobbing with want he finally flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe, traveling the length of your pussy and pausing right before he touched your clit. He repeated the motion, but this time he circled it, finally closing the distance and giving you that contact you needed.

As he massaged, teased and sucked your sensitive bundle of nerves, he brought the fingers of his other hand slowly back to your entrance before dipping them inside. Within such a short amount of time, you'd gone from not enough to almost too much - almost, not quite.

He drew it out as long as possible before a final suck of his lips and caress of his fingers brought you falling over the edge. He continued to lick and pump gently as you experienced a series of aftershocks. When you'd finished your whole body felt like jelly. You had long since fallen forward onto your arms and Sam's other hand supporting your leg was the only reason you were still on your knees.

He painstakingly managed to crawl out from under you and gently lowered you to the mattress. You reached out with one of your arms and suddenly he was there lying next to you and wrapping you in an embrace.

As you recovered, he placed drowsy kisses from forehead to collar bone. At one point he kissed the top of your ear and whispered, "I love you," causing goosebumps to break out all down your neck.

When you could speak you ran your fingers through his hair. "What about you, Sam?"

He kissed the top of your head. "You can take care of me when I get back. That way you'll know I'm doing my best to wrap it up as fast as I can." He pulled back so you could see his smirk.

"You're leaving in the morning?"

He watched your face closely as he replied, "I was planning on it. I know you'll be . . . out of commission . . . as far as Oklahoma is concerned, but I'd rather go so Dean has back up. Only if you'll be okay here by yourself, though . . ."

You knew you had no one to blame but yourself, but it still sucked. You were too content, though, to be super upset by the news, especially since you'd guessed as much.

"What are we telling Dean?" So far, he hadn't picked up on your recent - less than conventional - activities and you'd prefer to keep it that way.

"I was thinking we'd tell him we decided you'd be more comfortable helping with research support from here at the bunker."

You had to laugh at his clever wording. "Fine by me."

"You should know, though, eventually, I'm planning on getting you in a slinky dress - doesn't have to be that one, I'd love to get one custom-made for you - and proving to you just how worthy you are, but you never have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, never, you got it?"

You snuggled back against his side and smiled. "Yes, Sam."