Hi everyone, I am out for winter break and I come bearing gifts. I am so sorry for the long wait for such a short chapter but hopefully, you guys like it.

Enjoy.

Start of the second week of captivity

Sam was ashamed to say that he had gotten better on the ballet boots. He could walk smoother and faster on them. Sam's knees didn't hurt as much, and he could walk on them for almost two hours without tiring.

He hated it.

"Okay, pet, stop."

Sam did so gladly. He might be getting better, but it had been close to three hours since Sam had been walking on the boots, and he could use a rest.

"Now, sweetie, Harold and the rest of the gang are probably going to be here by tomorrow. Maybe, it depends how much fun they're having with the werewolf."

Harold began playing with Sam's hair and stroking his hand through it.

"I think you've gotten better on the boots, so I think it's time we took this outside."

Sam wanted to protest; he wanted to beg. He couldn't go outside and walk on uneven grown on those things. It wasn't fair. He shouldn't be forced to do shit like that.

He kept his mouth shut. There was no point in arguing, in fighting back. Harold would do what he wanted to Sam, and Sam would be powerless to stop him.

Sam could slowly feel his resolve to fight back diminishing.

Harold's voice became distant, and Sam was painfully aware of his heartbeat. Sam could swear that it was beating slower, and his breathes stuttering in his lungs. He wanted to let go.

No, Sam, fight!

Sam jumped a little. Dean's voice was loud in Sam's head. It was telling him to fight, to stay strong, to come back. Sam's heartbeat picked up again, and his breathing was returning to normal.

Without warning, Sam felt a sharp pain on his buttcheeks.

"Are you listening, Sam, or should I whip you to get your attention?"

Sam shook his head. He did not need one of those, hell, his asscheeks tensed just thinking about it.

"No, sir, I don't need a whipping."

Harold grabbed hold of Sam's chin. Harold forced his tongue in Sam's mouth while he passively allowed it to happen. Harold broke the kiss and spoke.

"How many times do I have to say this, sweetie, it's Uncle Harold, not sir."

Sam's stomach heaved. What kind of sick bastard wanted their rape victim to call them 'uncle'? Then again, what kind of sick bastard wanted a rape victim in the first place?

"I'm sorry...Uncle Harold."

"Atta boy," Harold said while patting Sam's head. It was official; Sam was nothing more than a dog to him. A dog Harold could fuck and torture all he wanted.

Harold picked up Sam's rope and started walking toward the bed. Sam followed like a fucking whipped puppy.

Isn't that what I am, thought Sam, a whipped mutt.

Harold led Sam to the bed and handcuffed Sam to the bedpost. Sam was happy to be off his feet.

Sam laid down so that Harold could take off the boots. As soon as he did, Harold threw them away from the bed and then got on top of Sam. Sam turned his head; he didn't want to see Harold's face. Harold kissed Sam's neck and sucked on it. It would most likely bruise.

Without warning, Harold penetrated Sam. Sam grunted at the sudden invasion of his body and then kept quiet. There was no point in fighting, now was there? Harold would do whatever the hell he wanted, and Sam would be powerless to stop him.

Sam cringed when he felt Harold wiping away tears that he hadn't been able to stop. From his peripheral, Sam saw Harold give a predatory smile. His teeth were white, and he resembled a wolf. For just a second, it wasn't Harold over him, raping him; it was Lucifer.

Sam blinked, and the image of Lucifer's face was gone. Sam was still looking at a monster.

Sam let go of any thoughts as Harold sped up. He let Harold wrap Sam's legs around his waist. What did it matter anyway? There was no point in fighting back.

Harold grunted as he started speeding up.

Don't give up, Dean's voice said loud and clear in his head, fight, Sammy.

Sam closed his eyes and waited for Harold to finish.

OoOoOoOo

Sam grunted in pain as he was pulled along. The boots were back on, and he was being forced to walk on uneven ground. Sam didn't know how he had climbed the stairs out of the basement to make it outside. Now, he had sweat stinging his eyes, making it impossible to see any obstacles in his way.

"That's it, Sam, look at me. Look into the camera."

Sam wanted to glare. If it wasn't bad enough that he was forced to do this, Harold had to film it.

"Faster, Sam. You don't want me to persuade you to keep walking again."

Sam tried to pick up as much speed as he could without breaking his ankles. The last time Harold felt Sam had walked to slow ended up with Harold whipping Sam with a switch. Sam's thighs and buttocks carried evidence of abuse.

He didn't know how long he had been forced to walk, but Sam cried in relief when Harold told him to stop.

"I think you've been doing well. I say we take a few minutes and you can drink some water. Then we can start again."

Sam wanted to yell and rant. What did Harold mean by 'we'? Sam was the one suffering while Harold got his rocks off being an asshole toward Sam.

He didn't fight when Harold took off the ballgag. Sam licked his lips and opened his mouth to cuss Harold out when he saw a water bottle.

Well, 'water bottle' was a loose term. It was blue and shaped as a penis. Sam felt his body heat up with shame. Would the humiliation never end?

He kept his mouth shut and let Harold pour water down his throat; Sam needed to stay alert and hydrated if he ever wanted to escape. Sam had to escape. It was the only way he would be able to find Dean.

After having to climb down the stairs with those damned boots still on, Sam was glad when Harold made him get on his hands and knees. Sam flexed his toes to bring some feeling back into them and waited as Harold filled up his food bowl.

Sam was ravished, and in some pavlovian effect, his stomach growled louder as Harold began filling his bowl. Sam knew he was going to be fed beef stew. Sam hoped it wasn't going to be cold. Sam almost thanked Harold when he saw him heat up the food. He kept his lips shut. Sam didn't want to show any gratitude toward one of his captors. That way led to a dangerous path.

Harold put down the bowl, and just as Sam was going to start eating, Harold stopped him.

"Ahh, ahh, ahh, Sam. Not yet. I still have something else to add."

Sam was confused when he saw Harold pulling out his dick before his eyes widened in disgusted understanding. Harold began masturbating over Sam's food, and before long, cum had decorated the beef stew.

"Bon appetit, sweetie. I hope you enjoy it."

Sam clenched his fists. What the fuck is the matter with these people? They pissed in him, raped him, tortured him, gave him enemas for no fucking reason, and now, one of them had jizzed all over his food? Sam wanted to get up and beat the smirk out of Harold. Unfortunately, Sam was tied down to a D-ring so he couldn't get up. Even if he could, he was tired, hungry, and in pain.

Sam could easily throw the food, but that would accomplish nothing. Except staying hungry and having Harold beat the shit out of him.

Sam swallowed and then started eating. He barely even noticed the taste of cum.

OoOoOoOo

A few hours later, the rest of them came home. They laughed and joked around as they told Harold everything they did to the werewolf.

"She was crying like the little bitch she was. You should've seen her face when we started taking out her fangs and claws," Billy commented

Sam squealed as both Fred and Joe fucked him at the same time. He had tears of frustration and pain flowing down his cheeks.

"Holy shit, make him do that sound again. He sounded like a little piggy," Billy said.

Sam tried to make no sound as they started pounding into his tender hole harder and faster. After a few minutes, they must've gotten tired of not hearing Sam's sounds of pain because both Billy and Joe began slapping Sam's stomach and twisting his nipples.

Sam was so glad when he felt both men cumming. He just wanted it to be over.

As soon as Joe and Fred got out of Sam, both Billy and Harold took their place. Sam wanted to cry, he wanted it to be over. Sam was tired, he was sore, and his feet were screaming bloody murder. He just wanted to rest.

He sobbed out loud when two more dicks impaled him.

"So," Fred began, "anything good happened while we were gone?"

Sam felt Harold as he laughed.

"Oh yeah, I got some good videos for you, boys."

Sam closed his eyes and tried to get lost in his mind.