So, a few notes going into this last chapter.
1. People keep asking me in comments if Dean and Cas are going to meet. The answer is yes, eventually, but not in this story. I have five or six stories in mind for this 'verse. Further, I had been waffling on whether to write them all now or if I should go focus on another story and then come back to this one after...I've decided to finish this 'verse off before I go work on other stuff, so I'll be starting the next story in the series immediately now that I've finished this one. If you're on AO3, subscribe to the series, NOT the individual stories, to get further updates. If you're on ...you're SOL cause I don't yet know what I'm gonna name the next one, but if you Follow me, you'll get updates on anything I post.
2. I got some questions on FFdotnet asking for clarification on a few points regarding Dean as a dom and the exclusivity of their relationship. First - in case people reading on FFdotnet didn't realize, this story is a sequel to my story SextersAnondotCom. So read that first or else this'll make no sense at all. Second...that's a good question, ain't it, and it hasn't been addressed yet... (for folks who only use AO3, on , people can post reviews but I can't reply to them directly and it's annoying...)
3. Cock Rings. So, this chapter features a cock ring. If you've read a lot of fic you've probably read stories where cock rings are used to prevent orgasm. That's what cock rings do, right? NO THEY DON'T OMG IT DRIVES ME CRAZY. I hate to burst bubbles but that's a total myth and the extent to which it's perpetuated in fanfic really bugs me because literally 60 seconds on Google can debunk it. So, I use a cock ring in this story and no, they don't prevent male orgasms, though they can improve male pleasure, and they can help a man stay harder longer, and various other pluses. And the one that Dean got Cas vibrates! So that's a good thing. For Cas, anyway. ;) I mean don't get me wrong enjoy whatever fantasy you want that's all cool with me, but I prefer a bit more realism than that personally...
4. Um...so...I love you guys, and I love comments, but can you please stop leaving me comments that beg me to update faster? I update as quickly as I can; I work full time and I have a newborn to take care of and a house to see to and a relationship to maintain and I'd like to have some kind of social life and I really enjoy NOT be stressed out of my mind all the time. When you urge me to update faster, while I appreciate the sentiment, it has literally no impact on how quickly I'm able to produce but it does make me feel lousy. Since I'm sure that's no one's intention...please just don't do it anymore.
...anyway, onward!
Dean (June 12th, 6:15 AM): And no masturbating!
Dean's final text before Castiel boarded his plane taunted him during the weeks he was away. They'd agreed not to communicate by text while he was abroad, though they'd exchanged a few emails renegotiating their boundaries and discussing the issues that had arisen in the wake of their first scene. Dean had recommended Castiel online resources with which he could reeducate himself, and while he was skeptical of some of what he read, he was also optimistic. Castiel wanted to believe that couples as happy as Charlie and Gilda were real and that he might be able to achieve something similar someday, wanted to believe that there was a chance he could have a relationship with someone he cared about and who cared about him that he would also find sexually fulfilling. Wanting to believe wasn't the same as actually believing. Though his understanding was expanding he resolved not to get ahead of himself. Until he could trust himself to know his own limits, there was no point in considering a serious relationship.
Work occupied most of Castiel's time. While he was in flight, he reviewed documents, dealt with e-mails, wrote reports, and communicated with his team and his superiors. Upon arrival at his locations, he prepared for his meetings, spoke with clients and potential clients, negotiated and sealed deals that would help propel the company to even greater success in the future. His schedule did not leave much down time; usually his lightest work weeks were around sixty hours and while he was abroad it was normal for him to work eighty or more. Usually, Castiel didn't find it difficult to focus on work, even over such long hours.
Knees grinding against the hard tiles of the bathroom floor as he thrust himself up and down on the large cock suctioned in place beneath him.
Usually, Castiel wouldn't have considered masturbating over a two week period when he was so intensely busy.
Trying to keep his cool, trying to keep from coming, as the cock ring vibrates with ever-increasing intensity, rattling his bones.
Usually, sex was the last thing on Castiel's mind, his self-control making it easy to ignore his urges as he'd ignored them for years before.
Bound from sternum to knees, arms affixed to his sides, the only stimulation to his aching body coming from the plug wedged hard against his prostate.
Usually, Castiel was not confronted by a delicious array of sex toys every time he opened his suitcase.
Gagged with his tie, hands tied with a tight slip knot, his cock buried in the fleshlight, watching Dean get himself off with the cock he used as a surrogate for Castiel.
Ignoring the toys was impossible. Not thinking about them, about how Dean might use them, was impossible. Castiel was allowed to desire again, and with that permission came want, simple and unadulterated. Dean was gorgeous and smart and talented and apparently famous and fucking perfect. Whatever awaited Castiel, he was sure that it would be phenomenal and he craved it like an addict craved their next fix.
Blindfolded, cuffed, worked into senseless pleasure by nothing but the sound of Dean's gorgeous voice.
It scared him. It scared him that he wanted so badly so soon, it scared him how often he thought about their next scene, it scared him that he went to sleep hard so many nights, and it scared him that his attention wandered during his meetings. No amount of reprimanding himself could maintain his focus. He was able to keep up the appearance of focus, but actual focus eluded him. It was mortifying how much time he spent thinking about Dean.
Sitting in a meeting, vibrator up his ass, trying to stay calm as the vibration ramps up and up and up.
He couldn't continue this way. The time separating him from his day off in Seattle felt endless and his low-key arousal was a constant distraction. If he couldn't get the situation under control after he and Dean next scened, Castiel really would have to end things. He couldn't afford to be consumed by this. Self-control was about more than sustaining his erection or forestalling his orgasm. He had to find the strength to keep his thoughts on task, to not dwell and obsess over their nascent relationship.
Lying in bed, bruised and aching, strong arms around him, a firm chest pressed to his back, soft fake fur on a plush cat toy soothing against his aching skin as he held it close.
No. That, at least, he definitely was not allowed to have. He couldn't meet Dean. He didn't dare indulge in person. If he couldn't control himself when they were thousands of miles apart, there was no way he could keep from getting in too deep if they were together.
But it would be nice, it would be so nice…
The arrangements Dean had made for Castiel's after care came the same day that Castiel arrived in Hong Kong. A massage was scheduled at 6 PM at a place called Heavenly Spa, followed by dinner at a restaurant on the same block that had exceptional reviews and a James Beard Award-winning chef. Castiel did only minimal research; he wasn't worried that Dean was secretly a serial killer, Castiel was worried about his own ability to handle the emotional rigors of a sexual relationship. Part of him still persisted in thinking Dean perfect, even though he could understand intellectually that Dean wasn't, that even their first scene and initial negotiation had been flawed. The initial deficiency of aftercare had been an issue and had been, undeniably, entirely Dean's oversight. Being cared for and looked after had made a significant difference in how Castiel felt. On some level, he doubted that the same would prove true again, but he'd give it another try at least.
Of course I feel terrible after a scene. The things I enjoy are twisted, and I'm disgusting for wanting them.
But what if I'm not? What if Dean and Charlie and Gilda are right, that it's alright to desire these things?
Would that mean that Naomi was right too? Was she right about me?
I don't want to hurt Dean.
Dean isn't Naomi.
Dean isn't perfect, but he isn't Naomi.
Every time Naomi crossed Castiel's mind, he felt ill, anxious, disgusted with himself. Every time he thought of her, he realized after a few days, his symptoms mirrored the subdrop that he'd experienced after the scene with Dean. It was a troubling pattern and one that scared him as surely as his obsession with his next scene scared him. On the plus side, when he thought of her his arousal dimmed and he was able to focus. The determination that had pushed him through the fifteen years since he'd left her inevitably rebounded whenever he reflected on the things she had said to him, the things they had done together, and with that determination stiffening his resolve he was able to focus on work. Compounded by his decision not to repress his past any longer, he found himself thinking of her more often than he had at any point since they'd separated. Feeling sick with self-recrimination was better than growing hard during important meetings.
Dean isn't Naomi.
But if he ever knew what she said about me, what she did to me, he'd become like her. If he became like her, would I revert to behaving as I did when I was with her? Why am I doing this to myself again?
Because I want it, I want this, I want to give over control, I want Dean, I want so much.
Castiel had signed up for SextersAnon because he'd finally reached the point where the extent to which he desired was more than he could ignore. Instead of scratching the itch and resolving the issue, Castiel had one scene and now he wanted more than ever.
I'm scared.
Educating himself more about BDSM didn't help.
I'm scared.
Contemplating his desires and needs didn't help.
I'm so damn scared.
Sometimes, it felt like nothing helped.
But when I talk to Dean, when we exchange texts, when we send each other e-mails, I don't feel frightened. I feel good. I feel good enough.
I can't wait until I get to Seattle.
Castiel's plane landed at Sea-Tac punctually at 9:20 AM landing time. The flight had left Hong Kong at 11 AM local time, and though they'd spent only twelve hours in transit, it was the next morning. Excited about the day to come, Castiel had been unable to sleep during the trip despite the lowered cabin lights and the quiet, soothing hiss of the ventilation. As soon as the plane landed Castiel turned his phone on and was greeted by a slew of text messages from Dean.
Dean (6:33 AM): Welcome back to the United States, Thursday.
Dean (6:34 AM): I hope you had a good flight. Let me know you've landed safely.
Dean (6:35 AM): I've had a lot of ideas, but I still haven't been able to make up my mind.
Dean (6:35 AM): Hardly slept last night thinking about finally having you at my mercy again.
Dean (6:38 AM): You make the prettiest sounds when you're trying to hold yourself back.
Dean (6:39 AM): I loved watching you hold yourself back.
Dean (6:39 AM): I loved watching you crack.
Dean (6:40 AM): Are you gonna crack for me today Cas?
Dean (6:41 AM): I haven't decided if I'll let you yet.
Dean (6:55 AM): So many possibilities…
Dean (6:59 AM): Fuck if I don't stop now I'm gonna lose it and I still have to wait like four hours.
Dean (7:02 AM): One last question. Exhausted or not exhausted?
Castiel (9:24 AM): We've landed in Seattle.
Castiel (9:24 AM): Sir.
Reading through Dean's messages again, heart pounding with anticipation, Castiel stared at Dean's concluding question. He simultaneously loved and hated that Dean kept giving him choices. Dean was his dom, he should be responsible for all of the important decisions related to their scenes. Yet, having choices meant Castiel felt powerful, he felt important and cared for and cared about. In the past, Castiel had felt strong only when he maintained his self-control, but when Dean let Castiel indicate his preferences, it leant Castiel at least the illusion that he had some control over their scenes – that he had some control over the ways in which Dean would cause him to lose control. Part of him rebelled against that – the whole point is that Dean is in control and I am not! – but the part of him that was afraid that he'd lose too much of himself loved that Dean wanted to share decisions with him.
Castiel (9:28 AM): Exhausted, sir.
Dean (9:31 AM): Don't worry Cas. I'm going to take such good care of you and I'll tuck you in safe and sound when we're done. You've earned a rest.
Castiel (9:32 AM): If you say so, sir. I'll do my best.
Removing his clothing felt good. He'd been wearing the same suit since he'd left his hotel room in Hong Kong almost twenty hours earlier, and he felt rumpled, dirty, used up. His jacket came off first, unbuttoned and hung on a hanger that he'd set on his bed for the purpose. He'd have the hotel staff dry clean it for him tomorrow.
"Fastidious, aren't you?" said Dean, humor warming his voice.
"I try to take care of my belongings, sir," Castiel said, tugging his tie loose as he spoke.
"Funny, so do I," Dean chuckled. Without saying another word, Dean conveyed a world of insinuation with the quirk of an eyebrow. Castiel's laptop sat open on the cherry-wood desk of his hotel room, camera facing towards Castiel as he unbuttoned his dress shirt. Dean watched Castiel's every move, and Castiel watched Dean with equal attention. "What, no sexy strip tease?"
"You didn't tell me I should be sexy about it, sir," said Castiel, troubled. Is he upset with me? Have I done it wrong? He shrugged out of his shirt. All that Dean had said was that Castiel should remove his clothing, he hadn't specified how Castiel should do so.
"Don't worry 'bout it," Dean said, shaking his head. "You'd be sexy reading the phone book while dressed as a Teletubby."
Settling on to the edge of the bed, Castiel leaned over to remove his shoes and socks. "Furries and juvenilization were both on my 'red' list, sir, and on yours as well, I believe," he deadpanned.
"Sassy, Cas? I had no idea…" There was the hint of a reprimand in Dean's voice. "I'll let it go, but be careful. That kind of attitude will get you in trouble."
I'm not sure I'd mind getting in trouble today… "Yes, sir."
Castiel unbuckled his belt as he rose, undid the fly and button on his pants and let them fall to the ground. Retrieving them, he folded them neatly. Even if he was having them cleaned tomorrow, that was no reason to let them grow wrinkled and messy. Down to only his undershirt and underwear, he paused for a moment. He was half-hard simply from observing Dean's perusal of him; Dean's eyes skimmed over his body, expression neutral. Flushing under the inspection, Castiel averted his eyes, removed his shirt quickly, balled it up and tossed it aside. His underwear followed.
It was strange to think that, as intimate as they'd been in their first scene, Dean had yet to see him naked. Returning his gaze to the screen, Castiel inspected Dean's face for a hint of his reaction, but Dean remained impassive. Nonetheless, Castiel knew Dean was taking in every detail.
Is this how he looks at his models? Assessingly, coldly, distantly?
Castiel looked away. The room was silent save for the distant rush of traffic passing by on the street below. The carpet was plush and burgundy, scratchy beneath Castiel's feet. Standing still and waiting for Dean to give him further instructions, Castiel allowed his sight to go out of focus. He was tired and nervous, unpleasantly tense, and his skin prickled into goosebumps in the chilly air of the room.
"You cold?" asked Dean abruptly.
"Yes, sir."
"I told you to make sure the room was comfortable," Dean reprimanded.
"I'm fine, sir." Castiel resisted the urge to shift guiltily. He was fine, he liked the cold: it kept him grounded, kept him alert despite his fatigue.
"Turn the thermostat up," Dean said with a sigh.
Reluctantly, Castiel crossed the room to the temperature controls and switched it from sixty-five to sixty-six.
I don't need it warmer, I like the bite of the air against my skin. This is what I want, this is what I deserve. I've been so full of doubt even after all the sweet, reassuring things he said to me, the things he bought me, the kindness that Gilda and Charlie showed me. I haven't been a good sub.
"Cas!" Dean barked angrily. Castiel's shoulders tensed in response, wondering how much Dean could make out of the room. "Turn it to 75." Repressing a sigh, Castiel obeyed. "What is with you today?"
I've been looking forward to this so much and I shouldn't be, it's wrong that I want this, it's wrong that I want you to whip me for my disobedience, it's wrong, I'm all wrong.
"Nothing, sir." Stripped bare, across the room from his monitor, Dean had a sustained view of Castiel's back, of the scars striping him from past whippings, the exterior flaws that revealed every internal failing. His front was mostly unmarred, the small marks left by burns and cuts invisible unless Castiel reddened, but no one could see his back without knowing something out of the ordinary had happened to him.
"I gave you the opportunity to opt out of doing a scene today when you logged on to Skype," Dean's voice was stern, exasperated, and Castiel thought he heard a hint of disappointment in there as well. The combination was like a blow to the gut. Castiel wanted Dean to be angry with him.
I want him to punish me, that's why I'm being difficult, I want him to punish me because I'm useless, because shouldn't I want to be his completely, shouldn't I want to give myself over to him? Isn't the fact that I want to continue my job, that I consider my dom an interference to my daily life, isn't that a problem? He claimed me. I'm supposed to be his, entirely his, but I don't want that. I want to be his some of the time, and my own the rest of the time.
"I want to scene with you today, sir," Castiel said firmly, turning to face the camera once more. Dean's eyes were narrowed, his lips thin, expression unhappy.
"Are you going to tell me why you're being a brat?" asked Dean. Castiel shook his head. "Cas…" Dean added warningly.
"No, sir."
"No, nothing is the matter, or no, you're not going to tell me?"
"I'm not going to tell you," Castiel said, well aware of how sullen – how bratty – he sounded.
"Even understanding the consequences?" Dean continued.
"The consequences are for you to decide, sir," Castiel replied, staring through the image of Dean on his computer monitor.
"Fine," snapped Dean. "Cas, you won't be coming today. That's not your punishment – that was always part of the plan – but you will be stimulated, and you will be watching me come. Further, I'll let you get away with not telling me now but we will be discussing this before we scene again. I do not like disobedient boys and I do not like bratty subs. It's not my job to punish you or pester you into behaving with basic manners. If you cannot be bothered to at least try to act like an adult, I can't be bothered to reeducate you. Do you understand?" Grimacing, Castiel nodded. He'd earned the reprimand and then some. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Castiel said crisply. He already felt better. Dean, his dom, was firmly in control and all was right with the world. Castiel didn't have to make any more decisions. He was back in a world where things were simple: obedience earned rewards, control earned release, and misbehavior earned punishment.
"Good," said Dean. "Color?"
"Green, sir," Castiel replied. He could meet Dean's green-eyed gaze now, demure from it as he ought.
Dean released his irritation with a disgruntled sigh. "Very good. Alright. Our first time together was enjoyable and the pictures you posted on SextersAnon were adequate – barely – but now that we are at our leisure I'd like to examine my boy. Sit on the bed."
After all the mental anguish and consternation, obedience was, as it had always been, easy. Too easy. Castiel took a seat on the edge of the bed facing the camera, body harshly illuminated by the midmorning light suffusing the room through the large window overlooking the city.
"Hands above your head."
Castiel lifted his arms high, stretching out the fine muscles of his chest and torso.
"Twist left."
Castiel obeyed.
"Twist right."
Over the hour that followed, Dean put Castiel through his paces as if he were a prize pony. He knelt, stood, lay down, and squatted. He displayed his arms, leg, chest, back, ass, mouth, even his fingers for the camera. He did stretches, held poses, and even did jumping jacks, limp cock and balls slapping against his thighs with each jump. Dean called out commands crisply, unequivocally, and Castiel obeyed mindlessly, blissfully empty of any anxiety or reflective, reflexive introspection. Throughout, Dean gave no indication of what he thought but even that didn't concern Castiel. Dean was not one to pretend to satisfaction he did not feel; if he were unhappy with Castiel's performance, Dean would tell him forthrightly.
"One final thing," Dean said at length. Waiting patiently, Castiel didn't nod, didn't move, didn't betray with heavy breathing that the jumping jacks had winded him slightly. All he had to do was heed Dean's instructions. "Bend over the bed, back to me, ass to the camera." The air in the room was warm now, almost overly so, helping to fuzz out Castiel's thoughts as he took up the requested position. "Spread your cheeks." Reaching back, Castiel grasped his ass, pulled his cheeks apart to expose his perineum and taint to the camera. Silence stretched out; the longer it went the more heavily Castiel felt the weight of Dean's gaze upon him. His heart rate jumped, his muscles flinched and clenched involuntarily. The ring of his rim fluttered at nothing; he preferred to top but he'd bottomed as well: he enjoyed prostate stimulation an embarrassing amount, he'd been rimmed and fucked and pegged by past partners until he was delirious with pleasure. He'd come from nothing but vibration against his prostate; he'd gone to bed still achingly hard with a toy wedged deep inside him; he'd begged for release and been denied while riding another sub for his dom's amusement. Some activities he'd enjoyed more than others, but with comfortable certainty Castiel knew he'd do any again if Dean asked. His hardening cock thickened against the coarse, dark cloth of the bedspread.
"Nice," said Dean appreciatively. "Very nice, Thursday. You've taken excellent care of that body for me."
"Thank you, sir," Castiel's voice had dropped low and grown rough. Dean admired him. Dean was, finally, pleased with him. The approval spread hot through Castiel, loosening his muscles, freeing his thoughts. All that existed was Dean's next command.
I belong to him.
A flash of panic threatened to pull Castiel from his comfortable headspace.
No, no, I belong to me, I chose to be here and I can choose not to be, he doesn't own me, I'm not his—
No!
Dean spoke, but Castiel couldn't hear over his frantic thoughts.
Dean doesn't mean forever.
Determined to keep Dean from seeing the extent of his distress, Castiel attempted to self-correct.
Dean only means in the context of this scene – and I know when this scene will end. My massage is at 6 tonight. The scene will be over by then and I'll be my own person again.
"Is there a problem, Thursday?" Over the rush of blood and air that filled his ears, Castiel could make out Dean's voice again.
Dean is not Naomi.
"Yes, sir." He sounded steady and in control when he spoke.
I am in control. I am in control of myself.
"Color?"
I'm in control of the scene. If I said 'red' right now, I know he'd stop. I know it.
"Green."
How can I be sure until I try it?
Because Dean isn't Naomi. I have to be sure that Dean isn't Naomi.
"Spread that pretty hole open for me," ordered Dean, voice husky.
Releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Castiel shifted his hands so that only one was holding his cheeks spread. With the other, he brushed dryly over his ass. The muscles were tight, the pucker pinched, wrinkled and tight. He hadn't touched himself there in years. He'd been tempted from time to time, but it had been too much of an indulgence and so he'd denied himself. Dean gave him permission to indulge, though. I'm not doing this for me – I'm doing it for him. Pressing his pointer against the rim, he rubbed hard, sparking long-forgotten pleasure that tickled through his limbs, though his body, promised so much more. Thinking of the toys that Dean had bought him, Castiel pushed the tip of his finger in, breathing carefully so as not to betray by sound or movement how good it felt. He was in control. What he did he didn't do for himself. But fuck did it feel good, he'd forgotten how good, he'd forgotten how difficult it was not to gasp, not to groan, not to arch his back, not to thrust into himself as hard and deep as he could. The burn of penetrating himself dry was fantastic, the stretch of his rim was amazing, the feeling of having something inside him was beyond stimulating. His vision blanked to nothing but the deep brown of the coverlet and he blinked slowly and deliberately, trying to keep himself calm as his blood ran molten.
"I said spread it, Cas," Dean snapped. Castiel flinched at his tone. He'd gotten too distracted by how good it felt to have something inside him again, he'd gotten too distracted from his order. For a moment, he'd forgotten whose pleasure he was supposed to be gratifying. Using a second finger, Castiel thrust into himself once, a burst of mingled pain and pleasure searing through him, then withdrew both fingers to the rim and pulled them apart, stretching the opening as wide as he could. Shame colored his cheeks faintly; he hadn't cleaned himself, not expecting anal play. He'd contacted Dean as soon as he'd arrived in his hotel room. It hadn't even occurred to him to do further preparation, he was so eager to begin the scene.
I should have known, I should have anticipated my doms desires and expectations…
"Nice," said Dean. "Just like the rest of you – damn nice, Cas. Make such a pretty picture for me, bent over that bed with your asshole just begging to be filled."
It's okay, he's not upset. I didn't make him unhappier with me.
There was a faint sound, the swish-swish of flesh on flesh, and though Castiel could see nothing but the bedding before him, he was certain that Dean was touching himself. The realization flared hot through his body as he imagined Dean masturbating to the thought of filling Castiel. His hips twitched up towards the hand on his cheek, his muscles tried to clench against his fingers and instead forced them unsatisfyingly out of his body, his cock bucked and rubbed at cloth, and Castiel couldn't repress a gasp at the heady burst of combined sensations. Dean chuckled. "You'd like that, huh, Thursday? And here I thought you were a top."
"Am…" Castiel managed. He could hear Dean's hand more loudly now and it was all he could do not to rock his hips in time to the sound, in time to the imagined thrusts of Dean into his body. "I am, sir, but it'd feel good…I want to make you feel good…"
"Don't worry, you do," Dean said soothingly. The simple words brought a surprising surge of relief. "One of these days we'll have to explore this more thoroughly. I wonder if I could get you off just like this – you listening to me, knowing what you do to me, knowing what I'd do to you, lying there still and so damn well behaved. Such a pretty little hole for me, Cas, such a well-behaved boy. Bet you'd beg for me to let you use one of those toys, bet you'd make the pretty noises when I said no, bet you could come just from me talking you through it, just from that delicious imagination of yours conjuring up every little feeling as I punch into your body over," Dean snapped the word out harshly, Castiel's hips thrust against the bed, dragging his cock over the fabric, pleasure so bright Castiel couldn't help but gasp, "and over," Castiel could hear the wet sound of Dean stroking himself; he could imagine thick, gorgeous cock buried deep inside him, strong thighs slapping against his hips, fuck, it would be glorious, "and over again." Dean was right. Castiel could absolutely come this way.
"But not today. And if you come today, maybe never," Dean threatened. Bunching the blankets in clenched fists, Castiel forced himself back to calm, forced himself back into stillness, forced himself back into control. "Get the cock ring and the rope and then kneel on the bed facing the camera."
The bins in Castiel's suitcase had been rearranged to accommodate his new collection of sex toys, which fortunately took up much less space unpacked than they had when he'd first collected them. Sparing a fond look for the stuffed kitty, which was packed in with them, Castiel retrieved the bundle of rope and the ring. Returning to the bed, Castiel lay the two where Dean could see and then settled on to his hands and knees. Dean wasn't before the camera, so Castiel waited patiently for his return. When Dean did, he was holding a rope of his own; he sat further back from the camera so that Castiel could see Dean's entire body. He was fully clothed, only a bulge in the front of his jeans to betray his arousal.
"No, not like that," Dean said. "Settle back on your ass." Uncertain what Dean meant, Castiel lowered his hips. "Sit up, Cas." Blushing, embarrassed – that should have been obvious, he said kneel - Castiel settled back on his haunches and sat up. His erect cock stuck out before him obscenely, bright red compared to the pale flesh of his thighs. The heat flowing through flushed Castiel's skin in places, patches scattered over his chest and belly, revealing the occasional pale scar left by the attentions of past doms. Dean frowned. "Someone sure marked you up good, didn't they," he observed. There was something to Dean's tone that Castiel couldn't name but that hurt.
"I'm sorry, sir," Castiel said unhappily, frantically considering the ways he could fix whatever was wrong.
I have to fix it, I have to figure it out and rectify my errors, I have to guess and if I guess wrong he'll punish me. I should know what the problem is, I should be able to understand my dom, anticipate my dom's needs.
"Don't be," grunted Dean. Relief nearly blinded Castiel. "I'll just have to add my own. I'm not usually territorial but I don't like that someone's left their signature on my property."
Dean is not Naomi, Dean is not Naomi, Dean is not Naomi…
"Again, that's not for today, though. Put the ring on."
Hands trembling minutely, Castiel retrieved the ring. He'd not used it yet, so it took him a moment to figure out how to open it, but once he did he placed it around his cock, settled it against his balls, and closed it once more. Though it wasn't too tight, his cock seemed to strain against it and ache for freedom. As Castiel looked up towards Dean for his next command, a faint buzz and a thrum of vibration emanated from the ring and Castiel gasped as his cock throbbed, bucked, thickened painfully against the restraint.
"Good," said Dean throatily. The vibration amped up, shuddering pleasure that billowed out from Castiel's cock to suffuse his entire body, and Castiel's Adam's apple bobbed and stuttered against whimpers that he barely kept silent. "Excellent, Thursday. You're beautiful to watch, you know. Pretty as a picture. Some subs, I turn something like this on…" The vibration shifted to an intermittent pulse; Castiel's heartbeat instantly matched it, his entire body syncing to the rhythm. "…and they squirm like crazy. Makes for shit photography, pisses me the fuck off. It ends up coming down to luck if I get a good shot. With you, though? Man, I could take a whole mess of pictures, the beautiful strained look on your face, the leaking tip of your cock, people'd pay a fortune for photos of that shit, you could be spank bank material for people all over the world. But that'd mean I'd have to share you and, like I said, I'm not usually the jealous sort but there's just something about you, Cas…the shit you do to me? I don't want anyone else to have that. You're mine, right?"
"Yes," Castiel croaked. It was all he could do to speak, he had to time the words into the void between the bursts of pleasure brought by the ring. Light flared in his eyes at every surge, his thoughts washed momentarily blank. He was barely aware that he was panting in time with the vibration; he wanted to stop, to control his breathing, to control himself, but he couldn't. Dean tsked. "I'm yours, sir. Please!"
"What do you want, Cas?" asked Dean approvingly.
"Use me, sir, please, I want you to use me," Castiel gasped.
"Even though you know I won't let you come today?" Through tear-blurred vision, Castiel could barely make out Dean's mischievous smirk.
"Yes!"
"Perfect, Cas," Dean said. "So fucking perfect for me." The ring switched modes again, back to what Castiel thought was the first setting Dean had used. In comparison to the intense pulses, the vibration felt mildly and manageable. As long as that didn't change, Castiel wouldn't have difficulty forestalling his climax. "Take the rope, Cas. I'm going to teach you a basic tie, called the tortoise shell." With fingers that felt awkward and unresponsive, Castiel took up the bundle of rope. "Start by finding the middle point." Undoing the tie that held it closed, Castiel let the long ends stream free; he thought it maybe 15 feet long. As he adjusted it to find the mid-way point, Dean did the same with the rope he'd fetched. "Loop it around your neck."
Calmly, step by step, Dean explained to Castiel how he should tie the rope, demonstrating on his own body. Under Dean's gentle direction, such a strange and wonderful contrast to his earlier aggressive assertiveness, Castiel's tension drained away as it had when Dean was examining him. The ends encircled his neck and hung together down his chest, secured by a series of three knots that rested over Castiel's heart, sternum, and below his belly button. Step by step they wove the shell of the tortoise, ropes a protective layer over Castiel's chest, threaded between his legs, running along his ass crack and up his spine, clasping his sides. As he threaded the ends through the spaces between the knots, his breathing stuttered at the rough feel of the rope against his sensitized skin. Every movement he made rubbed the length over his cock, shifted his balls, nestled within his crack to abrade gently against his hole. He wasn't sure if the cock ring was even still vibrating; it didn't matter. Arousal hummed through his veins but he was in no danger of it overcoming him. Instead, the cock ring and the warm buzz that suffused him were enough in and of themselves. He didn't need more.
The ropes hung about him like the comfortable embrace of a lover and as they entwined him, he allowed his taut muscles to relax against them. The interlinked lengths broke his torso up into a series of diamonds, another allusion to the pattern of a tortoise shell. Castiel had been tied up before, handcuffed, bound by spreader bars, chained to the wall and ceiling, but none of those experiences were like this. Those times, he had been bound to keep him from moving, to restrain him and trap him, ensure that he was unable to escape. The restraints forced to subject to whatever plan his dom had. Unlike those times, this binding felt like it was for him, for his pleasure and comfort. He was bound, true, but he was also protected. He thought even if he was tied in a way that constrained him, such as some of the ties he'd seen in the photographs of Gilda, it still wouldn't feel imprisoning in the same way.
"How's that feel, Cas?" asked Dean when the final tie had been made over his belly.
"I love it," Castiel whispered, moved more than he could credit or explain. Tears prickled in his eyes, matched the prickling of pins and needles in his legs, matched the prickling of pleasure vibrating at the base of his cock and balls. "Thank you, sir."
"You look fuckin' stunning like that," Dean breathed, shucking off the demonstration he'd tied about himself. "Don't close your eyes, I wanna see 'um – love the way the blue rope brings them out." With effort, Castiel forced his eyes open. The temptation to let them slip shut, to fall away into comfort and ease and sleep, was immense.
Can a scene really be like this, so comforting, so heartening? It's never been like this before. I thought he was supposed to be punishing me for being recalcitrant earlier. This isn't punishment. This is glorious.
Dean isn't Naomi. Even if he's bound me, even he's claimed me, he's not her. She'd never do something like this for me. She'd never have done.
"Just let everything go," murmured Dean. "The ropes have got you. I've got you. All mine, so beautiful all trussed up." As Dean spoke, he lowered the zipper on his jeans, deftly worked his fingers into his boxers and pulled out his hard cock. A flare of heat burned through Castiel at the sight and then faded back into the background warmth of arousal. He didn't need more. He didn't want more. How he felt just then was already perfect. "Talk to me, Cas."
"What should I talk about, sir?" Each breath Castiel took inflated his chest, pressed his flesh against the ropes; each exhalation removed the pressure and left him feeling momentarily bereft until the next inhale. Each subtle movement he couldn't restrain shifted the hemp against his skin, scratched him subtly. He was hyper-aware of every touch, in love with the slight roughness caressing him. He wanted to feel it everywhere, want it to cradle him and secure his arms and bind his legs. There was no way he could do that for himself.
Dean could do it for me. But for that I'd have to meet him. I can't do that. Maybe I could ask Charlie next time in Dallas.
No. It's simply something I can't have. This is enough. This has to be enough.
Doesn't it?
A chuckle interrupted Castiel's thoughts. "You still with me, Thursday?"
"Sorry, sir," he whispered.
"Whatever it is, let it go," Dean encouraged. For a wonder, Castiel did. He slumped against the ropes, not sure how he was still upright, and all his tension and worry disappeared. There was only Dean's voice, Dean's pleasure, Dean's control, Dean's surrogate touch in the form of the ropes that Dean had lovingly instructed Castiel how to bind about his body. Lovingly? "You're safe. You're held." Dean's palm rubbed slowly over his cock. "I'm glad you like it. Tell me how it feels."
"So good, sir," Castiel tried to hold on to any thoughts, to formulate the scattered sensations he surrendered to into a coherent response. The vibration in the cock ring amplified slightly, enough to intrude on Castiel's awareness again, little enough not to push him out of contentment. "Like I'm…like I'm floating, like I'm held, like I've got nothing to worry about…it's…I don't…" Dean wrapped fingers around his cock and stroked, making approving sounds that helped Castiel feel that he wasn't being disobedient despite his struggles to put his feelings in to words. "It's like…like I've surrendered to it – to you, sir – but I'm still in control. I don't understand – why does it feel like this?"
It's not supposed to feel like this.
"Say my name, Cas," Dean ordered, tone firm yet gentle, the vocal equivalent of the ropes that encompassed Castiel, trapped him, freed him.
I'm supposed to hurt.
"Dean," he breathed. He gasped as saying the name aloud flared hot through his groin, through his belly, momentarily painted his vision in bright shades of colors he couldn't find the names for.
I'm supposed to give, not receive.
"Yeah, Cas – that's good," Dean said, stroking himself harder, faster. "You're so good."
No, I'm not, I'm not allowed to have this.
"Fuck, you're perfect," Dean continued, voice growing breathier. "Giving yourself over to me like this, trusting me like this, a perfect little present just for me to tie up, to wrap, to use and enjoy."
That's right.
"Talk to me, Cas."
Just because I like this too doesn't mean it's for me.
"What should I say?"
I'm not even allowed to come.
"Anything you want," Dean panted. "Love the sound of your voice, Cas, love how wrecked you are right now."
This is entirely for him.
The vibration of the cock ring intensified again and Castiel groaned.
I'm entirely for him.
"Dean I…I'm yours," he gasped. Ropes pressed hard against his skin as he strained for air, his cock dripped wet on his thigh, and unexpected pleasure spread intense bliss through him.
And I love the things he does to me, I love the way this feels.
"Yeah, ya are," Dean huffed. Castiel wasn't sure if his eyes were still open; he couldn't see Dean, couldn't see the room, all he could see was the disembodied reflection of all that he imagined, all that he felt: Dean circling him and tying him, Dean holding him as the ropes held him, Dean wrapping a hand around Castiel's cock and stroking and teasing as the cock ring teased.
I want this.
"Please, sir…please, Dean…"
I want this so badly.
"Tell me what you need, Cas."
I need…
"I need—" The answer caught in this throat, a burst of contradictory desires filling his thoughts as heat filled his body. No, those aren't needs, those are wants. "I want…"
I'm not supposed to…I can't…
"Tell me what you need," insisted Dean, tone harsh, undeniable.
They're all…everyone is…
"You!" Castiel gasped. Dean groaned, deep and guttural, and Castiel couldn't help but echo the sound. Dean's desire, Dean's pleasure, was tantamount to Castiel's pleasure, overwhelming in its immediacy. Hemp brushed against him intimately and stole the last threads of his reason. "I need you, sir, I need this, God, is that okay? Please, tell me…tell me…I don't know, I don't know anymore, I'm supposed to know, I'm supposed to…"
I'm not supposed to want this, I'm not supposed to enjoy this, I'm not supposed to have this. I'm supposed to hurt, I'm supposed to suffer for my desires, I'm supposed to serve with no hope of anything in return, I'm supposed to obey no matter the order, I'm supposed to submit, I'm supposed to be hers, only hers, to accept whatever pittance she gives and want nothing more.
No!
Dean IS NOT Naomi.
"You're allowed to have this, Cas," snapped Dean with authority.
I am?
"Because you're letting me?"
Please!
"Because you want it."
I do!
"Dean!"
I want this, I want you, want this, want you, want, want-want-want-want-need-want-want-want…
"Fuck, Cas – fuck, I want you so bad, so perfect, absolutely fucking perfect for me." Even with his vision seared blank Castiel knew that Dean had come. Desperately trying to get enough air, Castiel drew in frantic breaths, every one causing the ropes wrapped around his torso to strain and dig gloriously into his flesh. He loved the feeling, wanted more of it, arched his back to chase the abrasion of hemp on skin, to force the rope deeper in to the crease of his ass, force it to at his balls. The vibration of the cock ring blurred his vision to oblivion, and for long moments he could see nothing, hear nothing, taste nothing, smell nothing, but fuck he could feel everything.
"Cas?"
Dean's beautiful voice pierced through Castiel's euphoria and Castiel came back to himself. Rope dug into his crack and his side, his cheek was pressed against the bedding, and one arm was pinned beneath him. The quiet buzz of the cock ring was notable by its absence, the stimulation gone. His legs tingled painfully, but it was perfect, just what he needed, a mild counterpoint to the bliss that might otherwise have obliterated him. He hadn't come. A smile graced his face.
"Hello, Dean." Castiel's eyes flicked to the computer monitor. Dean was watching him with an open, friendly expression. His green eyes had never looked brighter, gathering the light and shimmering like sunlight through the tree canopy. Castiel's smile widened.
He wants me. I'm good enough for him.
"You good?"
I wasn't good enough for Naomi, but I'm good enough for Dean.
"That was fantastic," Castiel said.
Thank God.
"Comfortable, are ya?" There was a laugh in Dean's voice that Castiel couldn't understand until he finally registered what a ridiculous position he was in.
"Don't wanna move," he mumbled.
"Well, you gotta," Dean still sounded happy but there was a hint of authority in his voice that was enough, barely, to pull Castiel from his daze. "Not gonna let you hurt yourself, so straighten out your legs and get your arm out from under you. The ropes feelin' okay?"
"Yes," said Castiel. Forcing his limbs to obey him despite the hot haze suffusing his limbs, he stretched, tugging the ropes around him as he did, and lay flat against the bed, one eye gazing unfocusedly at the computer screen. "They feel wonderful. May I…" He hesitated until Dean made an encouraging noise. "May I leave them on?"
"Gonna wear it to your massage?"
"That'd be weird, wouldn't it," said Castiel with a disappointed sigh.
"Ya think? But sure, you could leave 'um on 'til then," Dean was smiling at him even more broadly, showing perfect white teeth that Castiel could imagine nipping at his lips, his nipples, his balls. A tingling shudder sparked fresh arousal through him. "Like that idea, huh? That's one of the awesome things about the tortoise shell – feels good but is totally safe. Lotsa folks wear it under their clothing, even."
"Would that be alright?" asked Castiel, strangely breathless at the prospect.
It'd be like he was with me, even when he wasn't. I'd like that – I'd love that – no, wait, do I need his permission for that? I don't even know any more, I don't know how much I can allow, how much I can have.
But this feels alright. This feels good.
"How 'bout this – if you want that, you text me in the morning, and I'll walk you through doing the tie, and you can wear it as long as you want. Sound good?"
"Yes," Castiel managed around a yawn so wide it cracked his jaw.
"Get some sleep now; I'll wake you at 5 so you can get ready for your evening."
"Thank you, Dean," he murmured. "That was…you are…this feels…" He shook his head. Indescribable.
Despite his fatigue, sleep didn't come immediately. The room was bright with light that filled his mind with pink and peach as the sun struck his eyelids. With the computer screen still up and Skype yet active, Castiel could hear the faint sounds of Dean doing something – a rustle of fabric, the metallic ting of a zipper being pulled, the creak of a mattress spring, a click of a keyboard, the deep, lilting hum of a song he didn't recognize, singing him to rest. A pleased sigh eased Castiel against the bed, trapped the rope between the bedding and his body, the warm air ensuring he was comfortable even without a blanket – Dean takes care of me, he cares that I'm comfortable, did he make me change it with this moment in mind? His arousal slowly ebbed, his cock softening despite the ring still nestled around the base.
"Hey, Cas, you awake?" Dean spoke softly enough that had Castiel been asleep, the question would not have woken him.
"Yes, Dean?"
"Who is Naomi?"
An image of her sprang to Castiel's mind for one crystal-clear moment, her blue eyes cold and unsympathetic, her hair pulled back in a severe bun, her beautiful body hidden by a suit that she wore like armor. For once, the memory brought no terror. She had no power over him, not any more.
"She's no one," Castiel said, and for the first time since he met her when he was 19, he meant it. "She's nothing. Just someone I used to see."
"A dom?" Dean pushed.
"She's no one."
Dean is not Naomi.
Castiel slept peacefully, a smile yet quirking the corners of his mouth.
I'm so sorry about the lack of a picture of a man tied in the tortoise shell, but I wasn't able to find one - only women. However, there's a youtube video at youtubedotcom watch?v=OLRLG7aE4OE I found demonstrating how to do it, and there's a cute graphic I found that explains it step-by-step that I posted on my Tumblr.
Hope you've enjoyed this story! I'm starting the next story in the series as soon as I finish posting this one, and will post the chapters as I finish them - first one will probably be up Wednesday or Thursday of next week, if I had to guess. :)
For updates, rambling, fun chatting, loads of pretty fanart reblogging, and more, follow me on Tumblr at unforth-ninawaters!
