A/N: Dean finds out the true business of the 'GoodBoy' agency.

Bought And Sold (Chapter 2: Marriage Matriarchal Style) by frostygossamer

Dean soon discovered that the 'GoodBoy Domestic Service Agency' his dad had innocently sent him to was nothing more than a front. 'GoodBoy' was a marriage broker. Their semi-legal business consisted of obtaining nubile young males to be mail-order man-brides for well-off daughters from what were know as the 'Selective' States.

The Selective States were the members of the USC in which infant gender selection, in other words aborting male babies, had been both legal and common practice. Many of these states had lately found themselves with a decided shortfall in numbers of marriageable males. Shady agencies like 'GoodBoy' had sprang up to cater to that deficiency.

The morning after he arrived at the hostel, Bela picked Dean up early and took him to an andrologist's office for an unpleasantly thorough medical exam. She waited outside, flicking through a magazine, until he was done. From there, they went straight on to a photographic studio.

The studio was a single dingy room above a pizza parlour, a couple blocks from the agency. Bela left Dean in the hands of the photographer and disappeared. The photographer was a scruffy, middle-aged guy with a shaggy moustache.

"OK," he said. "We're gonna start with a few facial and then get some full body."

He grabbed Dean's chin, jerking his face up into the light, and examined him with an appraising eye.

"Won't need no special lighting or editing with you, my boy," he commented. "Look mighty tasty the way you are."

The creepy guy rested his cold, clammy paws on Dean's shoulders.

Dean pulled out of the guy's grasp. "Hey," he objected.

The guy chuckled. "It's OK, boy. Not gonna soil the merchandise."

He took a few conventional portrait snaps of Dean to begin with. That much Dean actually didn't mind. He couldn't remember when he had last had his picture taken. John had shown him a couple baby photos, but he knew his dad sold his mom's camera a long time ago. The guy had bills to pay.

"OK," said the photographer suddenly. "Now for the money shots. Strip, boy."

Dean's mouth dropped open. "Wh-what?" he stammered.

The guy grinned. "Don't act like an innocent, kiddo. The ladies wanna see what they'd be getting. Don't want any wedding night surprises. Right?"

When Dean still hesitated, the photographer put down his camera and started toward him.

"You gonna strip or you want me to do it for you?" he threatened. "Gotta do this thing, one way or another."

Dean suspected the strange guy would probably have enjoyed any excuse to manhandle him, so reluctantly he complied.

"OK. Sure," he said. "Whatever you want, I guess."

He slowly pulled off his clothes, piling them on the floor to the side, until he stood there buck naked. He felt painfully vulnerable, bare-assed and all alone with this weird stranger. Nonetheless, he bit his lip and held his head high.

He faked a cocky grin and asked, "How'd you want me?"

Once the shoot was done, Bela returned Dean to his room at the hostel. He was a little shaken and upset, though, as always, he tried manfully to hide it. All the same, he couldn't help feeling sullied.

Dean Campbell was NOT some piece of meat. Right?

~o~

Dean didn't see Bela again for a while. He was simply told to stay in his room and wait until he was called for. Meantime, meals were brought to him on a tray by a skinny kid who never spoke. Dean wondered how long he would have to wait for something to happen.

Then, early in the second week, Dean was ordered to the boss-woman's office. The elderly woman was at her desk, tiredly thumbing through a folder of paperwork, when Dean entered the room. Glancing up, she affixed a phoney-looking smile, steepling her fingers.

"Ah, Dean Campbell," she began. "Looks like your time with us is almost over. It seems we have signed a contract on your behalf this very morning. You'll be leaving for Appalachia early tomorrow. You will meet your new missus-to-be there."

Dean eyes widened. They had promised him to some strange woman without even telling him, let alone asking him if he was OK with her?

He gasped, "I- I figured... Don't I even get to see her first?"

"See HER?" the boss-woman asked, frowning in puzzlement. "Now why would YOU need to see her? She's seen your photos, read your resume, medical reports. She's the one who's paying, isn't she?"

Dean sighed. This wasn't fair. He hadn't even had one chance to turn down the deal before it was signed and sealed. Looked like he was stuck with it.

"I- I need to tell my dad," he stammered.

The woman raised an eyebrow. "You want to telephone out? That isn't allowed here."

"Uh, that's OK. We don't have a telephone anyways," Dean explained. A telephone was a luxury his dad never could hope to afford. "I, uh, I meant a telegram."

"Not allowed," she snapped.

"Can't I even mail him a letter?" he asked desperately.

"Sorry," she retorted, without any trace of regret.

So that was it? Dean was going to be forcibly married out of state, and his dad wasn't even going to know? He groaned. This was so damn unfair.

"Don't worry," the woman consoled him, smiling sweetly. "Could've been worse. Marriage is better than the alternative."

Dean left her office wondering what the 'alternative' might have been.

~o~

Appalachia didn't look like such a bad place, Dean thought, as he sat in the train next to Bela, chugging toward their destination. Perhaps things would turn out OK after all? He had accepted his fate. His dad had taken the agency's money for his brother and that was it. Perhaps an arranged marriage needn't be so bad. Dean had secured his younger brother's future. Sam would be happy at least.

The train halted at the station printed on their tickets, and Dean and Bela got down. Bela glanced around the platform before spotting the Harvelle family. She grabbed Dean by the arm, dragging him behind her as she headed over to the waiting huddle.

"Missus Harvelle?" she asked the evident matriarch of the group.

"Yes," the woman snapped haughtily. "I'm Ellen Harvelle. You must be the agency... person."

She looked Bela up and down with an air of disapproval.

"Indeed, ma'am. I represent 'GoodBoy Matrimonial Agency'," Bela responded. "Missus Harvelle, allow me to introduce your man-bride-to-be." She pushed Dean forward. "This is Dean."

Missus Harvelle surveyed her new acquisition with the merest hint of a sneer. Dean omitted to respectfully lower his gaze. Not a good sign, the older woman thought.

"Hmm," she murmured, less than enthusiastic. "He's tall at least."

She gestured to a younger, straw-blonde girl who trotted over directly. Dean realized the girl was clearly her daughter. Missus Harvelle Jr squealed in delight, clapping her hands.

"Ooh, Momma," she squeaked. "He's pretty."

That was the moment Dean first met his future wife and mistress.

~o~

Jo Harvelle wasn't the most voluptuous woman in all Appalachia, but she was pleasant enough looking. Given the choice, Dean would have probably gone for a more curvaceous mate, but beggars couldn't be choosers. At least he wasn't intended as a plaything for the older Missus Harvelle, something he had feared at first.

Dean decided he could put up with what fate had allotted to him. Maybe Jo had a nice personality? Unfortunately she had no such thing.

The heir to the Harvelle family business was her momma's only child and the apple of the matriarch's eye. In other words, she was a spoilt brat. Since Jo wasn't exactly the sharpest businesswoman in the drawer, the elder Missus Harvelle had determined that her dear daughter should wed, as soon as she could arrange it. She had hopes that there might then be future, less softheaded, heirs to her considerable fortune.

After a brief but adequate ceremony at the Harvelles' lawyer's office, Jo returned to the Harvelle house with her new man-bride, ready to spend their wedding night together. Jo was ridiculously gigglesome, full to bursting with cake and champagne. Dean was tipsy enough to make the idea of diddling his new missus not seem like too much of an ordeal.

However, Dean was a stripling of fifteen and a few weeks. His experience of sex was absolute zero. Apparently Jo's experience wasn't much better, but she was way harder to please. Not exactly a pocket Venus with her clothes on, Dean soon discovered that the skin-and-bone little miss was even less enticing with them off.

So much depended on him getting things right first time. But nerves tingling with adrenaline, apprehension at the newness of the situation and the pressure of performing, meant it was hardly surprising Dean found Little Dean less cooperative than he could have hoped for. Petulant Jo began to get mad at him. And then she started to laugh, which really didn't help. Not at all.

"Looks like Momma bought me one defective little toy," she japed, cruelly.

Bought? Toy? Dean hardly needed to be reminded. Defective? He tried to hold his tongue. He really did. But, after a string of such mocking comments, finally he snapped.

"Oh yeah?" he growled, sitting up in their marital bed. "And if YOU coulda tried to be a little less freakin' SKANKY I might've gotten the job done already."

Jo gulped, stared at him wide-eyed for a full second, and then started to bawl loudly.

"You bastard no-good non-girl," she wailed. "I'll tell Momma!"

Dean was horrified. He didn't know what would happen if the elder Missus Harvelle should actually show up to see what was going on with her whiny daughter. But it wouldn't be good, he was sure. He knew he was going to have to perform his duty sometime, somehow. So he tried his darnedest to persuaded Jo to lay still and let him try again.

"C'mon, uh, Jojo," he begged. "You gonna lay quiet and lemme do this? I can make it feel good, I promise."

Jo frowned at the unauthorized nickname but consented to be still and let Dean try again.

"You better do it good, boy," she scolded him. "Or I'm gonna throw your ass in the trash like some no-use, broken-ass old pinwheel."

Thus motivated this time, Dean succeeded in getting 'Part A' into 'Hole A' before his new missus lost patience with him. That was fine for a few seconds, until he tried to penetrate a little deeper, to seal the deal so to speak. In his inexperience, he managed somehow to hurt her, a tiny twinge. She freaked out, lashing around, and landed a square punch to his jaw.

Dean fell to the floor on his ass, while Jo howled for "Momma". He tried to make her hush up, tried to calm her down, but it was no use.

"Lady, you're one spoiled-ass little freakin' princess," Dean growled, trying to hold her down with one hand and cover her mouth with the other. "Free to choose I wouldn't touch that highfalutin' pussy with freakin' boxing gloves. 'Bout as sexy as a shaved skunk. You wanna lose that cherry, you better hire yourself a freakin' cherry picker."

Right at that moment, 'Momma' appeared in the doorway with a look of thunder on her face. Dean froze, his heart sinking as a sense of dread settled in his stomach.

His marriage only went south from then on.

TBC

A/N: So what becomes of a lippy man-bride in this world? More soon.