Dean had spent the entire weekend happily bonding with Castiel. The two had hung out in their motel room, playing cards, playing guitar, and watching bad television while Dean perused the paper and made calls, trying to find them a decent place to stay. Unfortunately, the only place that seemed reasonable required a five hundred dollar deposit that Dean didn't have. The problem was that his current funds would be depleted by Tuesday, but Dean wouldn't get paid until Friday. When his alarm went off Monday morning, Dean had to face the uncomfortable reality that he and Castiel might very well end up spending time in a homeless shelter after tonight, hoping that the apartment wouldn't be rented out from under them before Dean got paid Friday.

Then he got to work, spotted Bela watching him with a smile on her face, and realized that he had more immediate problems. When his lunch rolled around, he got up without a word and headed to her office.

Bela's desk was large, mahogany, and cost more than Dean's last car. It was also jammed into his ass as Bela shoved him against it, one hand pushing against his chest, the other fumbling with his belt. Dean's shirt and tie were already on the desk, but otherwise she appeared to have cleaned it off. That was, in Dean's considered opinion, not a good sign. "Bela?" he managed between kisses. "We're not going to do this on your desk again, are we? You've got a perfectly fine divan right over there." In fact, the divan was where they normally spent Dean's lunch breaks.

"Nuh uh. Today, we do whatever I want," she reminded, "and what I want happens right here."

Dean had been afraid that she'd have something weird in mind. Apparently, he was right. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him again. "Pick me up," she ordered against his lips. "I want to wrap my legs around you."

Dean sighed and lifted her up, keeping the presence of mind to lift with his knees. Bela was curvy in all the right places, and certainly not heavy. Dean had little trouble picking her up. But the last thing he needed was to throw his back out. She didn't seem to care. She immediately wrapped her legs around his waist and one arm around his neck. The other hand grabbed a tight fistful of his hair, holding his mouth against hers as she kissed him again.

Earlier, before she'd called Dean into her office, Sam had asked him how he managed to get an erection when he despised this woman as much as he did? Dean had replied, "I have an excellent imagination." But it was a shame he had to use it. There was no doubt that Bela had a body that any heterosexual man would enjoy. If only she wasn't such a bitch! And married. And his boss. And the wife of the company CEO. And currently using her position as his superior to get him to have sex with her when he would rather be back at work, in his motel room, back at the police station, in a train accident, lost in space, anywhere but here!

Bela pressed against the desk with her legs, raising herself up until she could shove his face into her cleavage. "I want to take you home with me tonight," she moaned. "I want you to stay over for a couple of days while my husband's away. I'll make it so worth your while!"

Dean's response was muffled. He twisted his head free and looked up at her. "No thank you. Can we just get this over with so I can go back to work?"

Her eyes grew frosty as she looked down at him. She climbed down and then pushed hard against Dean's chest, forcing him back until he was lying back on his elbows on the desk. He looked around anxiously. "Uh, what are you doing?"

"The deal was, you'd do whatever I wanted today," she purred, rubbing at his chest as she went behind her desk. "Well, Dean, this is what I want. Lie back."

Uh oh. Reluctantly lying back on the desk, he eyed her as she rummaged through her purse. "Um, I don't suppose we could do whatever it is you wanted to do on the divan?" he asked nervously. "This desk is really uncomfortable. And cold."

"No. I already told you, we're doing this here." Producing a key, she locked her desk. Then she reached into her purse again and took something out. Dean could hear a rattle as she did something at her desk, out of his sight as he lay on top of it. She took his right arm and pulled it back, up over his head and down out of sight over the edge of the desk.

When something cold and hard suddenly closed around his wrist, Dean yelped. "Oh, hell no!" He tried to pull free, but quickly discovered he was caught. "Hold it! Too far. You are so not handcuffing me, Bela. Let me go, let's finish up and I'll get back to work."

Bela scowled like a spoiled child being told she couldn't have her own way. "You said if I left you alone on Friday, today you'd do whatever I wanted," she reminded. "Well, baby, this is what I want!"

Dean jerked on the cuff. "Come on, let me go. What the hell did you just cuff me to?"

"The handle of my desk drawer," she explained cheerfully. "And it's locked, so it's not moving. You're not going anywhere, baby! I've got you right where I want you." She reached for his other hand.

"Quit it!" Dean held his left hand away. "Let me go, Bela! I seriously do not like this, ok?"

"Whatever. I. Wanted," Bela said, jabbing her finger into his chest. "That was the deal. You going to back out now, Winchester? So close to when you're getting a raise?"

"Oh, don't do this to me now," Dean groaned. "Can't we do something else? I'll make it worth your while?"

She beckoned with a finger. "Give me that hand, Dean."

Dean cursed under his breath, but reluctantly let her take his free arm. "I'm telling you, this isn't going to work," he warned as she fastened it to the desk drawer. "I'm not going to be able to give you what you want because I am really not into this." He paused as she kissed him again. Turning his face away, he pulled unhappily on the cuffs. "Just let me go! We can go to the divan and I'll fuck your brains out, ok? I'll even go down on you again. What do you say? Let me go? Please?"

But one look at her was enough to tell him that he wasn't going to get out of this that easily. Bela was practically purring. Her eyes were bright as she climbed on top of him on her desk, her hands rubbing up his torso. "What do I say? I say that you wanted promoted anyway. Now you have a desk position!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, ha ha. Very funny."

He couldn't say anything after that. Her lips and tongue were rough with his mouth. She lay flat against him on the desk, pressing her body to his, one hand clutched again in his hair while the other squeezed his bicep. Dean suppressed a groan and tried to pull free of the cuffs. He'd had some small hope that they'd be trick cuffs, but no such luck. They were securely locked and snug around his wrists, two sets with one cuff on each of his wrists and the remaining cuffs attached to the desk. It was obvious he wasn't getting out of them on his own. He'd been fastened to the elaborate brass handle on the top drawer of her fancy desk. The expensive manufacturing meant that neither the drawer nor the handle gave so much as an inch when he pulled. To his dismay, he realized that he was stuck until she decided to let him go. But he'd told her the truth. He'd never been interested in bondage, especially not being bound himself, and he was acutely uncomfortable. Having sex with Bela was bad enough. This was, by far, the worst thing she'd made him do. Well, not like he could do anything to change it now. She'd find out soon enough. Dean forced himself to relax, even as he vowed she would never, ever get handcuffs on him again.

Before long, her hand slipped into his pants and discovered his complete lack of interest. "Told you," he called. "I don't like this, and nothing is going to happen until you let me go. Now please get off of me?"

But oddly enough, she didn't seem upset. Smiling like a Cheshire cat, she climbed down off of the desk over his legs, undid his pants, and took him into her mouth.

Ok, that was new. She'd ordered Dean to go down on her many times, but this was the first time he'd been on the receiving end. Her husband, it seemed, was a lucky man, at least in this aspect. Bela was skilled, her tongue and lips working expertly up and down his length. Dean lay back and let it happen. He still wasn't happy about being handcuffed, but at least now he was starting to enjoy himself a little. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all?

That was when Bela's intercom went off. Bela gave a snarl, leaned over Dean and pressed the button. Georgia, you know better," she snapped. "This had better be good!"

"Ma'am, your husband is in the building. He's on his way up to your office. In fact, he's probably there now!"

A loud knock echoed through the office as Bela and Dean both went pale. "Oh, shit!" Dean cursed quietly. He rolled off of the desk, ducking under it as much as he could and tugging at the cuffs. "Let me go!" he hissed.

"No time!" she hissed back. She threw his shirt and tie under the desk with him, quickly straightened her clothing, and ran her fingers through her hair. Then, to Dean's horror, she opened the door.

Dean had seen pictures of Benny Lafitte, Bela's husband and the company CEO, many times before. The man wasn't as tall as Dean. But he was a big, tough Cajun man, easily strong enough to pick Dean up and snap him in two like a twig. As the company CEO, Lafitte's smiling face was hanging all over the building. Ironically, one such picture hung directly across from Dean's cubicle, where he seemed to be smiling at Dean personally. But Dean was not prepared for how much the man's presence seemed to fill the room now, even though Dean couldn't see him.

As the big man strolled into Bela's office, Dean was terrified. The rumors were that Benny had connections to the mafia, where he'd once been known as the Ragin' Cajun. He'd worked his way up to his current position by eliminating everyone on front of him, one by one. Once upon a time, he'd been feared on the streets, personally responsible for half a dozen murders and God only knew how many assaults, robberies, and whatever else thugs like him did. The rumor mill had it that he still carried a set of brass knuckles in his pocket, and never went anywhere without his glock. But everyone agreed that he was completely in love with his notoriously unfaithful wife. He spoiled Bela shamelessly, lavished her with attention and expensive gifts, and God help anyone who came between them. The last man rumored to be with Bela before she'd set her sights on Dean had disappeared, never to be seen again. What would Benny do if he looked behind the desk and saw Dean now, handcuffed, topless, and with his pants hanging open, his cock hanging lewdly out and still wet with her saliva?

He was dead, Dean decided. He was worse than dead. They'd find pieces of him all up and down the interstate, wrapped in black plastic bags and tossed out the window as Benny drove by, rocking out to gangsta rap.

"Hey, ma belle femme," Benny was cooing. "Thought I'd surprise you."

"You certainly did!" Bela giggled. "I thought you were leaving for a business meeting?"

"I still am, but it's been delayed. So I get to spend a bit of time with my beautiful wife." Kissing sounds. "I thought I'd show you how much I missed you, and then take you out for dinner. What do you say?"

"Benny, I have a ton of work!"

"I have it on good authority that your boss thinks it's ok. C'mere!"

The desk suddenly shook, and Dean couldn't hold back a short, high-pitched, girlish yelp of terror. Fortunately, it was hidden beneath Bella's giggling. "Benny! You're crazy!"

"Yeah, I know it's tacky to have sex on a desk, but you know your big man needs the room that the divan doesn't provide." Benny cooed, and Bela giggled again. "Ooo, you're wearing those silk thongs I gave you? How about the lace bra? Ma chérie tu es trop belle!"

Bella moaned. "You like what you see, big man?"

"You kidding me? Just look at you! Oh ma chérie, you drive me crazy, just crazy! Damn, girl, you already wet?"

"You know how much you turn me on speaking French like that," she purred. "How about we get to that tacky desk sex?"

"Bien sûr, you know what I like!"

Dean wanted to cry. He was in complete agreement about sex on a desk being tacky. Seeing as how he was currently handcuffed to the desk in question, with his randy boss and her murderous husband going at it directly above him, his opinion as only reinforced. Dean pulled himself back as far under the desk as he possibly could, but his hands were cuffed to the top desk drawer. The chains between the cuffs on the handcuffs allowed him a few inches of wiggle room, but there was no way to pull his hands out of sight under the desk. All Benny had to do was peer over the desk, and Dean was doomed. They'd find him in Central Park, sliced and diced like the Black Dahlia. His mother would cry and wail that she couldn't even have an open casket at his funeral.

Dean had been all too aware that Bela was a moaner. Now he knew that Benny was a yeller. That was information he'd never wanted to know. He would gladly drink bleach if it could wash that knowledge from his mind. His head pounded in time with his racing heart. Bela's hair was dangling practically in Dean's face as it hung over the edge of the desk. Then Benny's fingers appeared, curled over the edge of the desk as though reaching for Dean, and he had to bite his lip to keep from screaming in terror. They would find his bloated, mangled corpse floating in the Hudson. The cops would shake their heads, even the most seasoned among them feeling slightly ill at the evidence of how Dean had been beaten to death, every bone broken, his entire body one giant bruise.

The desk rocked, the noisy couple above him obviously nearing climax. Dean closed his eyes and wished he could close his ears.

"Oui tu es parfait! How the hell did I get so lucky?"

"I'm the lucky one, baby! Oh, Benny!"

Dean felt like throwing up. He suppressed a sigh of relief and said a silent prayer of thanks that it was over.

From behind the desk came the sounds of dressing, punctuated by wet sloppy kisses and giggles. "Let me take you out and show you what that was worth," Benny said. "Here, I'll grab your purse."

Dean stared in horror at the purse, lying on the chair a few feet from his face. If Benny came around to get the purse, three was no chance he wouldn't see Dean. They'd never find his body. Benny wouldn't kill him right away. Instead, he'd beat Dean bloody, tie him up, and then dump him at a construction site where his thug friends would bury Dean alive in concrete. He'd be sealed forever in the floor of a new dive bar, thrown up and pissed on by unsuspecting drunks on a regular basis.

"I've got it!" Bela called. She stepped quickly around and picked up her purse. For a moment, her eyes met Dean's.

Dean mouthed "Keys" and mimed turning a key in the lock. Give me the damned keys so I can get loose! Don't leave me like this!

But Bela either didn't understand, didn't want to risk pulling handcuff keys out of her purse in front of her husband, or simply didn't care. Whatever her reason, she looked away and smiled at Benny, slipped her purse over her shoulder, and started out.

A moment later, the lights in her office went out and the door closed. The sound of the lock clicking shut echoed in the room.

Did that bitch seriously just lock me in her soundproof office, to which only she has the key, half naked and still handcuffed to her desk?

She had.

What a life.

Dean's head throbbed. He'd tried twisting his hands out of the cuffs and succeeded only in chaffing his skin. He'd tried prying the handle off the drawer with no luck. He'd even resorted to jerking with all his strength on the cuffs, ignoring the way the steel dug into his wrists and left marks. But he couldn't get away. He'd wracked his brains and still he was trapped. There was nothing he could do except wait for Bela to come back and let him go.

Unfortunately, that meant he was in for a long wait.

Dean had quickly discovered that there was no comfortable position when one was handcuffed to a desk. When the hard floor hurt his butt, he'd gotten up and managed to get into Bela's chair. But besides being far too low for his six-foot-one frame, he couldn't sit straight on it. The handcuffs pulled him forward, making his lower back ache. He tried lying on the desk. But not only was it hard and uncomfortable, he also felt very exposed, still topless with his trousers opened. Finally, Dean opted to simply sit behind the desk on the floor, leaning against the drawers with his elbows on his knees and his hands up to keep the cuffs from digging into his wrists. No one would ever, ever cuff him again. If the cops ever tried to arrest him, he'd make sure they shot him instead. What bondage freaks saw in this was beyond him.

As the hours crawled by, he sang to himself to keep sane. He'd gotten through "American Idiot," dedicating it to himself and changing some key lyrics to remind himself of just how badly he'd fucked up his life to get into his current position, literally and figuratively. He could not bring himself to feel badly for himself. Everything that had happened, up to and including getting handcuffed to the desk, was his fault and his alone. Looking back, he simply could not understand what had gone through his mind when he'd let her lock up his second hand.

Then again, he'd be just as trapped if she'd left him here, caught by just one hand.

Now he was singing along with Screamin' Jay Hawkins in his head. "Watch my eyes when you light them up, bing! Listen to me whine like a harpsichord. When you touch me, I warm right up. I'm in a frenzy, blblblblblblblb! Blblblblblblah!"

He leaned his head wearily against the desk, glanced at the clock, and discovered he'd just passed his third hour trapped in here. He thumped his head back against the desk in frustration, heedless of the fact that he'd probably end up with another headache from that and went back to his song. "This love gushes from my heart, like water from a spout, pffft! You build a flame from a tiny spark. You can really knock me out, yeah!"

Dean wished someone would knock him out. He had deep red marks on his wrists from struggling with the cuffs that would likely bruise. How he was going to explain that to Castiel and Sam, he had no idea. Sam, he was all too aware, would never, ever let him live this down. He couldn't imagine what Castiel would think of the whole thing. But he didn't see any alternative to telling him the truth about his relationship with his boss now. Well, the two of them had plans to eat dinner at Sam's tonight anyway. Dean supposed that was as good a time as any to spill his guts and bear the shame.

"Fill my mind with your real cool lines, daddy! Fill my soul with love divine. When you say you're mine, all mine, I'm in a frenzy, blblblblblblblb!"

Finally, right when Dean was sure he was about to go insane and start drooling, he heard a key turn in the lock at the door. He immediately bounced up. But then, afraid it might be Benny, he ducked back down under the desk. When the light came on and the door closed and locked again, he barely dared to breathe. But then he heard Bela's voice. "Dean?"

"Oh, thank God!" Dean exclaimed, popping back up. "Get over here and fucking let me go!"

"Wow, first time I've ever seen you so happy to see me," she noted as she came over. She carried a bag in her hand. A wonderful smell was coming from the bag that made Dean's stomach growl, reminding him that he'd once again missed lunch.

"I'm delighted to see you Bela, because you've got the keys to these fucking cuffs!" Dean jerked on the cuffs. "I've been trapped here for hours. Hurry up and let me go!"

She put the bag and her purse on the chair. Then to Dean's surprise, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. "What are you doing?" Dean demanded, twisting his face away. "Just let me go already!"

"We didn't get to finish," she told him.

Dean blinked. "You are out of your mind if you think...!"

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," she breathed, kissing him again. "Half naked and trapped here, helpless, just waiting for me to come back? I am so turned on right now!"

He scowled and twisted his head away again. "Get off of me, Bela! I cannot believe you left me here like this for over three hours. Let me go."

"Mmm, not just yet," she called. She was smiling that Cheshire cat smile again, and the gleam in her eyes made Dean's heart sink. "Why don't you get back up on that desk?"

"Dammit, let me go! There is no way in hell that I am getting back on that desk. We're done! Let me go, and leave me alone. No job is worth this, I quit!"

Bela's eyebrows shot up, but to Dean's dismay, her smile never faltered. "Get up on the desk, Dean. I'll make it worth your while."

"There is nothing that you could offer me that could possibly convince me to get back up on that desk," Dean declared.

"You sure about that?" She indicated the bag. "I brought you part of my lunch."

"Seriously? You brought me a doggie bag like I'm a pet, and you think that's going to convince me to get back on your desk?" Dean laughed. "I'm hungry, but not that hungry. Let me go. At least if I have to go back to tending bar, I'll get to eat."

She laughed. "Oh come on, Dean, we both know you're not quitting. And I brought you lunch to get you to stop bitching about being hungry. No, I have another offer for you."

Dean eyed her. "What is it?"

"This." She reached into her purse, produced a wad of bills, and shoved them into Dean's pocket. "That's eight hundred dollars in cash," she announced. "I convinced Benny to give up one of the cars for charity, as a tax write-off. I happen to know that it's going up for auction next week. However, I made a call. For five hundred dollars, that car will go to you, free and clear, everything signed over and in your name, no questions asked. Then you can keep the remaining three hundred as additional compensation."

He stared at her. "Seriously?"

"Mmm hmm!" She moved closer, ducking between his arms and wrapping her arms around him, reaching down to squeeze his ass. "And all you have to do to earn it is to get back up on that desk and let me do what I want."

Dean tugged on the cuffs, frustrated and hating the fact that there was nothing he could do to make her let go of him. "Why won't you just let me go and leave me alone?" he pleaded. "I have work to do. I've been trapped in here for over three hours! What's everyone going to think?"

She licked at his ear. "Just stay in here until everyone leaves. I marked you as leaving early, going home sick."

"I'm sick, alright," Dean growled, jerking his head away. "Besides, Sam's my ride home."

"Don't worry. I'll pay for a cab to take you to the auction house so you can pick up your car." She traced a finger over his chest. "I know you need a car, Dean, and I'm sure you need the money, too. How about I give you another couple hundred, make it an even thousand, and you have five hundred dollars to keep? Just get up on the desk, and it's yours!"

Five hundred dollars? That was exactly what Dean needed to secure that apartment he'd wanted. That, and a working car, all but dropped into his lap? He desperately wanted free from the cuffs, out of the office and away from Bela. But could he really afford to turn this down? "Let me get this straight," he said slowly. "You want to basically give me lunch, a car, and five hundred dollars. And in return, I get up on your desk and let you ride me while I'm handcuffed? Basically, you want me to whore myself out to you in exchange for food, cash, and a car?"

She smiled. "And you can call me whatever nasty names you want. In fact, please do?" She shivered, her eyes shining as she looked at him. "I have wanted to do this to you for a long, long time."

"You're such a sick bitch," Dean groaned.

"There we go!" She moved out from between his arms. "Get up on the desk, Dean. I'm really going to enjoy this, and you know you need what I'm offering you."

He wasn't sure if she was referring to her body, or the additional compensation she'd offered. But unfortunately, he couldn't argue with the latter. He sighed deeply. "Promise you'll let me go as soon as you're done, and you'll never do this to me again?" he asked miserably.

"Of course I'll let you go!" Dean didn't miss how she neglected to mention anything about not doing this again. Then he jumped as she slapped his ass. "On the desk, baby. Let's get busy! And don't worry. I can make sure you're ready for action."

Dean sighed again. Then he wordlessly climbed back up on the desk.

What a life. What a fucking life.