Spn_Meme: Kink-Mpreg: Consort Of the Boy King 6/?

Author's Note 1:This entry is a response for the prompt made over at the Spn_hardcore meme: kink-mpreg:

Grabbed by worshipers of the Boy King, Dean is set to be the main attraction in a summoning/consort perfecting ritual. Dean is tied to an altar and given something to drink that sets his body on fire, making him hard, but he isn't allowed to cum until the Boy King lets him so his cock is wrapped in a tight cock ring.

As part of the ritual, every believer gets a turn at fucking Dean – filling him with their cum, slicking his passage so they can plug Dean with larger and larger plugs, to keep all the cum in and to stretch his hole to receive the Boy King's large cock.

Bonus points: (1) Dean still believes Sam will "save" him until Sam becomes an active participant in the ritual; (2) Sam fucks Dean talking dirty and telling Dean how lovely Dean will look heavy with Sam's children.

Warnings! This fic will contain:

kink: hurt!dean, kink:bloodplay, kink: bondage, kink: dirtytalk, kink: biting, kink: knifeplay, kink: angst, kink: object pentration, kink: voyeurism, kink: mindfuck, kink: exhibition, kink: fingering, kink: evil!sam, kink: gangbang, kink: mpreg, kink: non-con, kink: sex magic, kink: slave/master, pairing: dean/multiple ofcs, pairing: dean/multiple omcs, pairing: dean/sam, supernatural, top!sam, wincest, bareback, bottom!dean, firsttime.

There may be more warnings added later...but for now, you have been warned!

Author's Note 2: Ok, kids…darkness has began to descend at last…but we have so much farther to go… *wicked laugh*

Chapter Six:

Screaming In Silence In A Crowded Room…

Everything was murky and shifting and Dean felt himself shifting in and out of consciousness. For some reason, he was utterly sure he didn't want to wake up completely, that there was something horrible waiting for him if he did. He trusted his instincts, after all, they had saved him time and time again so he just let himself drift. Whenever the darkness appeared, he let himself be swallowed down by it and when he wasn't in the black nothingness, he drifted in the hazy place between sleep and awake. The other constant, he knew in that state was the pain. It was a deep, low ache, like a pain that was somewhat held at bay by at least some sort of medicine but it wasn't enough to mask the pain completely. Dean had all sorts of experience with pain, though, so he pushed it into a compartment in his mind and locked it down to a manageable level, just like his father had taught him to do, just like he'd been doing since he was just a boy.

At some point, despite his intentions, something triggered him awake. It took a few moments to come to his senses, but once he did, he really wished he hadn't, just like his sub-conscious had tried to warn him. The trigger turned out to be a touch. Nothing sexual, just a touch to his stomach and bam! Dean was all at once terribly awake. There were two women touching him, all over, rubbing and kneading his tender flesh, massaging in sweet, spice-laden oils into his skin. Another, a man, was examining various parts of his body, checking wounds and bandages and what not. They were all touching him, examining him, without his consent and he couldn't handle it. He couldn't stand anyone touching him, probably never could again. He felt filthy, not in the hygienic sense, not really, but in his soul. He felt filthy and used up and he wanted nothing more then to scream and cry and scrub himself down until he bled so that maybe he could scrub out some of the taint he felt writhing all over him and inside him.

He tried to scream at them to stop, but he could do little more then croak out his pleas. He tried to pull away, run and hide away from them, but he couldn't move, he was still strapped to the altar and he couldn't get away no matter how hard he tried. He couldn't stop the tears that poured out of his burning eyes as he begged and pleaded with them to stop touching him but they wouldn't. They wouldn't stop. They wouldn't listen. Dean was shaking and tensing up hard at their touch and still they wouldn't listen, they just tried to hush him and kept massaging at the tensing muscles. Dean was hyper-aware now and out of control. Every touch, every murmur brought the memories of the ritual back and as they continued, Dean was having trouble distinguishing between the here and now and the past until he finally tipped over into the horror of the memories of that night. He was gone, lost in the pain and humiliation and fear and then he was overwhelmed and consumed in the ultimate act of betrayal. That was all his damaged psyche could take and he tumbled into the darkness once again.

When his mind finally climbed out of the darkness again, he was alone for the moment. It was dim around him but he could tell he was in the same space as before. His body swung widely between worrying numbness and deep aching pain that he could feel all the way down to his bones. Dean could see he was draped with a blanket for warmth, but he could tell that he was still naked beneath it. He shifted, trying to ease ache but as he did he felt distinct, uncomfortable tugs in several places. He turned his head carefully, noting that he felt rather dizzy for such a small move and it took longer then he would have liked to quell the sickness that was trying to creep up his throat and out of his mouth. From the new position, Dean could see the IV lines snaking their way from beneath the cloth covering him. He could also see what he knew to be a catheter hanging from a makeshift hook on the side of the altar. He could most definitely feel that damnable thing tugging at deeply tender and sore flesh of his cock.

Dean's eyes fluttered closed as he realized that they had touched him again, intimately so even, as he lay unconscious. He shuddered again, quivering with the ghostly feel of their hands all over him while he was at his most vulnerable. He was almost choking on the bile that rose up inside him at the thought. Then, as he shifted again, he became aware of another, more terrible ache. Every movement shifted the hard, unforgiving object forced into his entrance, scraping at the torn, raw flesh and stroking the overwrought nerves inside him. He felt like he was touching a live wire, sending shockwaves of agony and unwanted pleasure every time he moved even fractionally. He could feel the feeling of liquid shifting around inside himself as well and realized they had trapped all the vile fluids spilled inside him during the ritual within his body.

Dean couldn't stop the overwhelming surge of disgust as it triggered the bile to flood up and out of his body. He barely had time to turn his head before it was pouring out of his body. He shook and seized as his body violently revolted. Every whiff of the putrid scent of vomit sent him right back into another round of vomiting and then painful dry-heaves. He vomited until he was choking and seizing and unable to breath, his body tensed so tight that he felt like he was on fire. He throbbed and shook and vertigo ran amuck inside his head. Just when his panic had reached its peak, he distantly felt others enter the room, his hunter instincts still tingling in warning of other's presence near him. He could tell they were speaking but it was far away and muddled sounding, like he was hearing them from under water and Dean felt the darkness rising up fast to claim him and he didn't fight it, letting it drag him under, hoping it would be the last time.

It wasn't. Sometime later, he couldn't tell how long, Dean drifted back to the surface. He felt a presence nearby and slowly shifted to find it. His eyes finally landed upon the familiar shaggy mop of chocolate brown hair, and slumping posture that was the hallmark of his brother. Just as soon as he registered who it was beside him, the memory of Sam's betrayal flooded over him. Dean couldn't stop the choked sob that slipped out, drawing the dozing figure's attention. The thing that used to be Sam was on him in moments, a concerned smile tipping his lips crookedly. That look, so familiar and yet so wrong on the evil being wearing his baby brother's face made him feel the horror and betrayal and utter sense of failure all over again. Dean turned away, sobbing quietly in his misery, distantly hearing the familiar sound of Sam's voice speaking quietly to him as well, which just tipped him even further into despair. He felt the huge paws of hands that had once held so much comfort for him, though he rarely allowed them to give it to him, settle over him again. He could feel the strokes and touches and soft presses of lips on him and it made him sob and cry even harder because it was just too much to handle. He felt the thing's hands rub over his shaking belly and he unwittingly heard what it was murmuring as it did so. It purred about how much it loved him and how beautiful he would be with child and how it couldn't wait to raise their children together…Dean shook all the harder in utter revulsion. The words and touches blurred again with the night of the ritual and the juxtaposition of the once comforting touch and voice with the monster that was using them as well as the flashes of memories of the night of the ritual were making Dean shudder violently and feel like he was coming apart at the seams. Every second he endured of it make him react even harder until he was practically convulsing. The flashbacks got worse and worse until Dean could no longer tell reality from memory and he tipped over once again into the horror that never seemed to end, unable to fight it as it dragged him under again.

Every time Dean went under, he prayed that it was the last, that this nightmare would finally end and he could die and maybe find peace or even just oblivion. Every time that failed to happen, he lost a little bit more of the tattered remains of himself. When Dean woke again, he was in a different room. It was dark but Dean could feel it was a different place. Whatever he was laying on was softer, the smell was different, even the air felt different. It didn't really matter, though, because he still couldn't move. He didn't feel the weight of restraints any longer at his wrists and chest and ankles but he was so weak and sick that even moving a few inches made everything shift and tumble like he was in a funhouse. Wherever he was, Dean was staying there for the foreseeable future.

Dean could feel the IV and catheter still in place, unfortunately, but noticed as well that he couldn't feel the agony of the thing that had been forced inside his body to hold the fluids that had been spilt inside him in. He felt something soft, giving as he shifted his body cautiously. Bandages of some kind, he guessed. He had to have been damaged by what had happened to him and it would have needed repair/healing, just like any other wound. But it wasn't like any other wound. It was so, so much worse. Shame and despair wracked him, causing tears to leak once again from his swollen, burning eyes. The things that had happened to him just wouldn't leave him alone. He shuddered again as he realized that not only had he been bandaged, thus touched again without his consent, but he'd also been cleaned up and clothed, too, because Dean could feel the cloth wrapped around his body, as well as covers or blankets. He had been touched and prodded and scrubbed while he was unable to stop it yet again. He felt the disgusting, ghostly feel of their unwanted touches all over again and he felt sick again. He curled in on himself, shuddering and sobbing quietly, sick in body and soul, until he eventually slipped unconscious again.

After the night of ritualized rape, Dean had remained in the altar/fertility contraption, built specifically for him, of course, for about 3 days he'd later found out. How his body ached…Everything was still so mind-boggling and stomach twisting…Whenever he was awake, he longed for the numbness of the darkness, but that in and of it itself was problematic because when he was exhausted enough to fall into the darkness, he was either woken by a nightmarish memory or he was being touched against his will and it was triggering another nightmarish memory and a panic attack…There was no damn escape...

Dean's mind drifted back to the night over and over again. He drifted to the day before and the hunt and all the other events surrounding it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the sequence of events out of his head, especially from after he had been grabbed.

He remembered the feeling of eyes on him. He remembered the hands grabbing him, the bindings, the motions of the van or truck. He remembers his struggle to get free and the sudden retaliation and resulting concussion. It had been relatively mild but it had been enough, in combination with the beating he taken as he'd fought to get free, had left him muddled and his head had ached something fierce. The motion of the vehicle had made the pain and nausea all the worse and he had panicked as he had started becoming ill even though his mouth was still taped shut. He had fought to live, struggling in the men's grasps as he was choking to death on his own vomit. He wishes now that he had just been able to let it happen, that he hadn't fought so hard to live…

He remembered the 1st potion the priest had given him, it had helped, he had to admit, even if he hadn't been given a choice to take it. He had to admit that it had settled his stomach and taken the edge off his pain and the symptoms of the concussion. He remembers the potion the priest had shoved down his throat a short time later to "prepare" him…it had all but set his body on fire! His blood had boiled and his nerves had spiked into hypersensitivity and awareness and every touch and breath had become almost an agony. Then he remembered as his bruised body was strapped into the incredibly uncomfortable contraption to hold his body in the position that best suited their purposes: hips at the edge and canted up to allow for easy access. Dean had figured that at the time, he was lucky that the position and bindings had screwed with the blood flow enough to cause some areas to be slightly numbed down. He remembered struggling against the bindings, leaving bone-deep bruising up his arms, on his legs and on his chest. Not only had they bruised, they had also been so tight that any shift cause their edges to grind and slice into the tender, vulnerable flesh, leaving gashes as well. Some were practically cut down to the bone. His continued thrashing throughout the night had reopened the wounds over and over again, causing him to bleed heavily, his life-blood pooling on the altar and the floor below. He'd thrashed so hard at one point that he'd dislocated his shoulder. If he could have screamed at that point, he would have, but his abused throat could only croak out a long, low, shuddering groan and the agony he'd already been in amplified at least 10-fold. The chest strap made breathing harder and harder as the night wore on, grinding into the flesh, bruising and cutting him, squeezing his ribs mercilessly. He knew he had bruised and probably cracked a few ribs as well.

The worst though, was his cock and balls and his hole. For his cock, innumerable hours of being restrained in it's engorged and erect state, along with the potion roaming his blood stream and raking over his nerves, it had made the chaffing of skin over skin that much worse, feeling like it was burning and tearing into the super-sensitive and delicate skin. His poor cock was raw and torn and so goddamn hard he wanted to sob and the need for release was an overwhelming and excruciating torture.

His entrance was beyond torn, the skin so used and ripped apart that he had no doubt he'd have scar tissue for the rest of his life, a constant reminder of what he'd endured. Inside, he was bloodied and torn and his intestines felt like they'd been skewered over and over again and his prostate felt like it had been (unintentionally) been slammed so many times that the already sensitive tissue was overloading with the all the painful stimulation it was enduring.

Finally, it seemed all the over-stimulation and pain had triggered some sort of threshold and mercifully, he fell in to a state of hazy non-reality, away from himself and what was happening to him. He wasn't completely out, but it was enough to spare him from his personal Hell for a little while.

When he'd come back to himself and felt Sam near by, his whole body had veritably sagged in relief. Then, everything went to shit and his whole world turned upside down and Sam had gone Darkside and took from him what 27 years of hard living, unfathomable evil and never-ending personal loses hadn't managed to accomplish… Sam had ripped out his very soul and crushed it, just because he could…just because he wanted more from his big brother then Dean could ever or would ever give willingly. The tiny flame of hope and faith that had clung tenaciously to life inside him had guttered out and died forever. The moment Sam had forced his way inside his body, everything that made him who he was burned away leaving a shell of himself to deal with the aftermath.

Dean hadn't realized, even though he and Sam had practically lived in each other's pockets for years, just how big Sam was…He was practically walking around with a third leg in his pants and despite how wide he'd been torn open by God knew how many cocks and the ever growing size of the plugs shoved inside him, it still wasn't enough to prepare him for what came next. When the Sam rammed into the swollen, torn muscle and flesh, he ripped it so deep that Dean couldn't even breathe. As Sam began to jerk back and ram back in, Dean's body stopped working properly. He couldn't even scream out for the pain because his throat was already so torn and bleeding, all he could do was take in choked, wheezing breaths and let out soul-deep sobs that shook his entire body all the more.

Dean was so lost in the pain and betrayal that he didn't even notice when his hand slid open and the once beloved pendant dropped away to the ground into a pool of his own blood and god knew what else that coated the ground beneath him. He didn't hear most of the filthy words Sam was moaning and whispering to him, thankfully, nor did he feel Sam shifting his thrusting angle until he was mercilessly slamming into the already delicate tissue he had sought for. Sam battered Dean's prostate over and over again, sending spikes of overwhelming pain and pleasure through his already dangerously overwrought body. Inside his head, Dean was shattering, his mind tunneling down to black. The words 'No…not Sammy…not Sammy…please not Sammy… No NO NO!' began repeating endlessly. Then, all of a sudden, a brilliant explosion burst inside him and then everything faded to black.

A/N: Sorry its taken me so long to update, but now that I have two jobs, I'm finding my enegry has been a little lackluster lately...So, SO Sorry! I'm updating now and hopefully I'll be able to et some more work done this week and get more posted up. Thanks for your patience everybody, I really do appreciate it!

Please, please, PLEASE Read & Review! (Reviews are my deep-fried crack…. ;) )

Also, I have the links to my Supernatural line of jewelry I have for sale on eBay, including replicas of the Mary Winchester Hunter's Protection Bracelet (as seen in the episode 'In the Beginning') and the Dean Winchester Skull Bracelet (worn from season 2 to present), and other Supernatural-themed bracelets!

My newest piece is the Castiel-themed "Have A Little Faith In Me" charm bracelet. Please, check out the link and tell me what ya think!

I can provide links if you wish to see them, just let me know and I will get them to you!

I can also get a hold of replicas of the Dean Winchester Protection Amulet, if anybody is interested.

Thank you everybody for reading my work! *hugs*