Part 7, Begging
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June 23, 1999 -- Wednesday
Refreshed from his shower, Sam went to the kitchen to get something to eat. He trailed his fingers along Dean's back as he walked by, thrilling in he older brother's cringe and sob. Sam was looking at what was on the stove when he heard Dean beg.
"P-plea-ss l-lle' m-me uf-f S-ss-aa-mm-m," his voice barely recognizable from his ragged breath.
Sam turned his head and said, "What was that, Dean? I did not understand you," with a laugh.
"P-pp'eess S-ssa-aam," his pleading could not get more pathetic but Dean did not care, plus he knew Sam enjoyed it and if he played into that, Sam might just let him up.
"Why would I do that, Dean?" guessing the reason but Sam asked anyway.
"II h-hha'fa'g-go t'da'b-bba'r-rrmm," Dean was slurring his words whimpering in pain, resting his forehead on the tabletop attempting to focus. Dean knew Sam was being mean, he was always mean, he knew he should not have asked but he had to go and did not want to risk Sam's wrath if he urinated in the kitchen. He could not shift not even a fraction to relieve the pressure on his bladder. He needed to pee, wanted to get cleaned up, and desperately wished he could just disappear.
Sam leaned against the counter and considered leaving Dean there all night, but thought better of it. Sam crossed the space between them and placed his hand on Dean's back, again feeling the taunt muscles and jagged scars. Sam leaned down to whisper into his brother's ear, "You are such a pussy, Dean. Hold it." No need in letting him up too soon. 'Just how much control do you have big brother?'
Dean sobbed at the words and the touches. He thought after the many times he had been "treated" to Sam's needs, wants, and desires that he would get used to it, Sam's hands on him, but he could not. He could deal with the hits, slaps, punches, kicks but every intimate touch sent burning humiliation through him he could not shed. Sam let Dean have no personal space and demonstrated it every chance he got. 'You are mine to do with what I please.'
An hour later, after Sam had eaten and was watching TV, Dean was released. It was subtle, just a hint of relief from the pressure that was holding him down. Dean had been so focused on other things that he almost did not realize it, but when he did he wanted to move. When he tried to stand he slid off the table then fell into an ungraceful heap on the floor with a long moan of pain. His legs and back were cramping, his arms numb, and his bladder close to bursting. The sudden movement and being unable to hold it any longer caused him to let go in a painful stream. Dean had been holding his pee for so long that when he was done he still did not feel relief. Now having no urgent need to move Dean lay there in the puddle, tangled in his jeans bunched at his ankles, attempting to push away the pain. However, he did need to move, he could not have Sam finding that in the kitchen, he could not face another punishment tonight. So flexing one limb then another Dean slowly pulled his jeans up over his bloody legs and ass and moved to get something to clean up the mess he had made. After what seemed like an eternity of cleaning not only the floor but the dishes as well, then a mile of stairs, Dean made it to his bathroom.
Careful inspection reveled that 'FAILURE' was no worse for the table treatment, he had the bleeding stopped within a couple of minutes, though he did use some super glue to close up the more deeper cuts on the 'I', 'L', and 'R'. His ass had stopped bleeding before he was released so all he had to do was clean off the dried blood in the shower, apply some antibiotic ointment, and then get dressed. Dean did all this clinically, roboticly, but when he was finished he was shaking so bad he had slumped down on the floor attempting to steady himself. 'i can't do this anymore, i can't...'
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