Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6041998.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Sam_Winchester/OMC, Sam_Winchester/Original_Male_Character(s)
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Original_Male_Character(s), Dean_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      BDSM, Heavy_BDSM, Age_Difference, Kink_Negotiation, Public_Sex,
      Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Oral_Sex, Deepthroating, Safewords, Safe_Sane
      and_Consensual, Flogging, paddles, Spanking, Anal_Fingering, Anal_Sex,
      Prostate_Massage, Coming_Untouched, Aftercare, Bottom_Sam, Bottom_Sam
      Winchester, Top_OMC, Dom_OMC, Sub_Sam, Sub_Sam_Winchester, Bondage, Dom/
      sub, Cuddles, Fluff, Fluff_and_Smut, Is_17_underage?
  Series:
      Part 2 of The_Sammy's_Time_at_Stanford_Series
  Collections:
      Sammy's_Time_at_Stanford_-_Related_Works
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-02-17 Words: 5784
****** Sammy's First Time ******
by ZoyciteM
Summary
     Sam's seventeen, with a fake ID and a plan. He knows what he wants,
     and he's determined to get it.
     (Set in my Sammy's Time at Stanford AU)
Notes
     This is what I wrote when I was SUPPOSED to be writing the next
     chapter of my main work, Sammy's Time at Stanford.
     And then cr0wgrrl put THIS idea in my head, and refused to write it,
     so I had to!!
     Y'all can blame her for this.
Sam was ready for this.
Well, he was pretty sure he was ready for this.
He was... he could do this, right?
Sam tugged at his form-fitting black T-shirt, half a block away and around the
corner from the club. He ran sweating palms down the thighs of his dark jeans.
He had done his research. Research was his forte, after all. It was what he was
best at. And he knew the protocols, knew what was expected.
His newly-acquired fake ID listed him as Sam Wesson, age twenty one, of
Bismarck, North Dakota. He, his brother, and his father were in Detroit,
investigating several young women who had gone missing. Dean had taken the
night off from the hunt, to have a little fun.
At seventeen, they thought Sam too young to have the sort of fun that he was
very nervously seeking tonight.
Marshalling his resources, Sam squared his shoulders, and walked around the
corner, towards the club. Burnt-out neon announced 'Vertigo'. There was no
lineup, and Sam had had to use considerable skills to get his name on the guest
list for the very private party which was being hosted tonight.
The bouncer looked utterly bored, checking Sam's ID against the guest list on a
clipboard. He stamped a black star on the back of Sam's hand, and gestured him
inside.
Sam stepped into a dim sort of twilight and the muted thumping of some sort of
bass-heavy music. There was a table just inside the entrance. Sam signed a
confidentiality agreement, and a second agreement to abide by the rules of the
club. There were piles of optional wristbands, which could be worn to indicate
what you were looking for. Sam took a bright blue one, fastening it around his
left wrist, indicating his interest in dominant males.
Sam rounded the corner, passing the coat check girl, who flashed him a wink,
and his jaw dropped.
Sam knew the functions of the heavy wooden equipment. He knew the names of the
implements being swung against willing flesh, and what they supposedly felt
like. He'd watched videos. And none of it had prepared him to see it live.
There were a lot of people in attendance. The density of bodies astonished him.
Every station, every piece of equipment was in use. Many people were watching,
and many more were sipping drinks and chatting at the bar.
Sam didn't know where to look first. There was a curvy redhead bound to a
cross, being flogged by a man simultaneously wielding two heavy floggers.
Florentine. Sam was entranced by the man's skill with his tools. A slender
young man was strapped to a spanking bench, his ass bright red and still being
worked on by a buxom blonde with a heavy wooden paddle. Sam could hear the
man's groans and whimpers over the music. Sam stared wide-eyed as a man in
surgical gloves pierced the skin of a smiling, glassy-eyed woman with needle
after needle, fine-gauge hypodermics spreading in an intricate pattern across
her upper back.
Hey, idiot. You're not here to rubberneck like a tourist. Find the corner with
the subs, sit your ass down, and look pretty. Sam gave his head a small shake,
bringing his focus and situational awareness back online.
It didn't take long to find them, a small group of women kneeling on the floor,
speaking softly amongst themselves. One guy was with them, fairly young, with
short blonde hair, looking a little out of place. He had on a pair of leather
pants, a bright red wristband, and nothing else.
Sam slipped to his knees a respectful distance from the guy. He glanced over.
The blonde shot him a curious look, and then smiled, before resuming his form.
Sam focused on trying to remember the pose he had read about online. He spread
his knees a little, and rested his hands, palms up, against his thighs. He
straightened his back as much as he could, and kept his chin high, but his eyes
on the floor.
A slender woman in a blue rubber dress crouched before Sam. She tsked, when she
saw his blue wristband. “Now that's a real shame.” She turned to the blonde man
next to Sam, and after a short conversation, he stood, following her.
And now it was Sam's turn to feel a little uncomfortable – the only guy in a
group of nattering female subs. He kind of wished they'd just be quiet. He'd
never really been one for gossip.
Sam saw a heavy pair of boots enter his field of vision. The women beside him
all stopped speaking at once. The owner of the boots seemed to be considering
the women, before moving to stand directly in front of Sam.
Sam's heartrate spiked, but he concentrated on being still and calm.
A large hand entered Sam's view, and hovered just below his chin, but not
touching. “Look at me.” Sam's eyes darted up, and fixed on a pair of brown
ones, staring down at him. “I'd like a word with you, if you're agreeable.” Sam
nodded, and the large hand retreated. Sam stood on legs tingling from being
folded under him for too long.
The guy was big. Several inches taller than Sam's own 6'1”. Short, dark hair.
Much broader in the shoulders, and muscular, where Sam was slender and lithe.
Sam thought he might be in his late twenties. He was quite handsome, and had
that rugged jawline thing going on. He was wearing a crisp black dress shirt,
open at the throat, and dark jeans. Sam followed a pace behind the man, to a
quiet table in a corner.
The man folded his hands on the table, and stared at Sam, who began to grow a
little uncomfortable.
“So. How old are you?” The man asked with a smile.
“T-twenty one, sir.” Sam answered nervously.
The man's smile grew. “I'm sure that's what you told them to be permitted entry
here. But if we're beginning a discussion, do you really want to begin it with
a lie?”
Sam felt a spike of fear. Was he busted? Was this guy about to turf him out to
the curb? But the way the guy was smiling... he didn't seem angry, only
curious.
“Seventeen.” Sam admitted, blushing a little.
“That's very, very young to be in a place like this, wearing a wristband like
that.” The man tapped the bright blue on Sam's wrist.
“I know what I want.” Sam insisted mulishly.
“And what's that?” The man asked, curiously.
“T-to be dominated. To experience impact play.” Sam lifted his chin defiantly.
“Little lamb, you are so lucky that I found you, before some of the less
scrupulous wolves that seek fresh meat did.” The man shook his head and smiled.
“There are some who would dominate you, sure. And then roofie your aftercare
water, take you to a vehicle out back, and take turns raping your mostly-
unconscious body, before dumping you in a nearby alley.”
Sam blinked, horrified at this factual account of what might have happened.
“I'm going to go ahead and assume that this is your first time in a BDSM club,
and your first time seeking play of any variety.” The man continued calmly.
“Yes, sir.” Sam's voice was faint.
“A virgin, so to speak.” The man smiled. “And what's your name?”
“S-Sam, sir.”
“Sam. I'm going to go ahead and call you boy. You can keep on addressing me as
sir.”
Sam felt a surge of lust, and hardened in his jeans. “Yes, sir.”
“You strike me as a bright young man, though perhaps a little over-eager. Tell
me. What are your limits, with regards to what this club permits?”
“N-no bloodplay. No fireplay. No unprotected in-intercouse.” Sam blushed. He
wasn't only a virgin in the sense the man had mentioned. And he was seventeen,
damnit. It was high time he got fucked. Dean came home all the time, smelling
of perfume and smeared with lipstick.
“That's very pretty.” The man brushed a fingertip down Sam's cheek, making Sam
blush a little deeper. He was used to being called a lot of things, but pretty
wasn't one of them. “And those are wise limits to have. And what's your
safeword, boy?”
“Green, yellow, red. Sir.”
“And what do you hope happens to you, this evening? If you could have whatever
you wanted, what would it be?”
Sam's mouth opened to answer, but nothing came out. That was a very, very
personal question. And yet, this was Sam's opportunity to make something
happen. And he wasn't going to deny that he'd given it a lot of thought. He
tried to pluck up his courage.
“I... I'd like to be spanked. B-bare hand on bare ass. F-flogged. Heavily, I
think. M-maybe paddled. And...” Sam swallowed, his throat making a dry clicking
sound. Say it. Who knows the next time you'll be able to arrange something like
this? Say it! “And... and I'd like my... my mouth and ass used.” Sam flushed
brilliantly scarlet.
The man chuckled softly. “Bravo. It takes a great deal of bravery, to make a
request like that. Tell me.” The man laid his right hand, palm up, in the
middle of the table. Sam stared at it – it was huge. “Would you like this
particular bare hand, spanking your bare ass?”
Sam squeaked. He squeaked. Fuck yes. “Y-yes, sir. Please.”
“Such a polite young man. Then we seem to have an accord. Come.” The man stood,
and held out a hand, to help Sam up. Sam took it gratefully - his knees were a
little wobbly.
Sam followed the man silently, watching and listening as he picked up what
looked like a large gun case and a blanket from the coat check, spoke to a
dungeon monitor and reserved a spot at a padded spanking bench. The couple that
were using it right now were just finishing – the small blonde woman was
wrapped in a soft, warm blanket, while her partner wiped the equipment down
with several antibacterial wipes. When they moved away, the man guided him
towards the piece of equipment, which seemed to look more intimidating the
closer Sam got to it.
Sam fought not to balk and run like hell. He reminded himself that this was
what he wanted. And if he got scared, and safeworded, there were dungeon
monitors everywhere that would help him. And the one watching the scene he was
about to begin knew what his safewords were. Sam pulled in a couple of deep,
shaky breaths.
The man was smiling at him encouragingly, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt.
“Go ahead and strip, boy.”
Sam pulled his boots and socks off, and pulled his T-shirt up and over his
head. His hands fumbled on his belt as the man took his shirt off, folding it
neatly and setting it aside. He was all tight muscle, tanned skin, and a sense
of strength held in check. Sam wouldn't have wanted to be in the position of
having to fight him. Sam felt skinny and gangly in comparison, having recently
gained several inches in the arms and legs that he hadn't quite grown into yet.
Sam lowered his pants and boxer briefs, stepping out of them.
Naked, Sam felt as if every single eye in the building was on him. He
stiffened. His cock, which had been semi-hard, wilted.
The man moved to stand directly in front of Sam, so close that their chests
were nearly touching. He lowered his head a little, a stubbled cheek brushing
against Sam's smooth one. He whispered. “Close your eyes.”
Sam's eyes closed automatically.
“Focus on me. On my touch, on the things that I'm doing to you.” Fingers
trailed down Sam's arm, and he shivered. “Ignore the rest of them. They're not
important.”
And somehow, suddenly, they weren't.
The warm presence in front of Sam moved off to his side. Sam fought not to
move, to chase it, and just to feel. The fingers touched the nape of his neck,
and slid down his spine to the curve of his lower back.
“You're beautiful. Your submission is a gift, and I thank you for it.” The
voice was a warm rumble in his ear. A warm hand cupped Sam's left ass cheek.
“Your virginity, in more ways than one, is a gift as well. Thank you.” The hand
lifted, and a finger trailed down the crack of his ass.
Sam trembled. How could the guy possibly know he was a virgin?
“Yes, I know.” Sam could tell he was smiling. “Only virgins blush that sweetly,
when asked what they want. I'll be gentle.”
“Don't want gentle.” Sam whispered, his throat tight. Sam had worked himself
open, before leaving for the club. And he wasn't a fragile flower. He wanted to
be fucked, not made love to.
“Perhaps 'gentle' is the wrong word. I'll be careful. I can make your ass ache
for days, if that's what you want.” A hand wrapped possessively around Sam's
hip.
“Oh God, yes.” Sam whimpered.
“Get on the bench.”
Sam's eyes flickered open, and the man moved from his side, bending to open the
gun case on the floor, setting the blanket beside it. Sam was blown away by the
number of toys inside it. He watched the man select two paddles, two different
floggers, one lighter, and one heavier, and watched him slip some condoms into
his pocket.
Sam turned, and swung a leg over the sawhorse-like bench. There were ledges on
both sides, for his arms and legs, and it held him spread wide. He scooched
down on it, so that his cock was hanging off the end. Sam thought it was the
most exposed he'd ever felt in his life.
Sam felt warm denim move between his legs, and warm hands on his hips. He
sighed softly.
“Do you want to be strapped down, boy?”
Sam didn't trust himself to stay still. “Yes, please, sir.” He watched wide-
eyed as the man crouched to fasten straps at his elbows and wrists. He couldn't
see the man fix the straps at his knees and ankles, but felt them cinch snug,
but not tight. Sam rested a cheek against the top of the bench, the leather
cool against his skin. His head was quite close to the end. If he'd been a
couple of inches taller, he wouldn't have fit. Sam closed his eyes.
He knew the man was beside him, when he felt a hand drop onto his lower back,
while the other brushed his ass cheek.
“Safeword if you need to. Are you ready?”
“Yes, sir.” Sam whispered.
The hand lifted from Sam's ass. Sam held his breath, which escaped him in a
huff a moment later, when the hand slapped, hard, against his skin.
It was glorious. Sam felt his dick twitch and harden.
The man laid smack after smack across Sam's ass and the backs of his spread
thighs. His skin warmed, and his cock was rock-hard. Sam felt it leak a bead of
precome.
The blows on his skin stopped. Sam wondered for a moment what was happening,
before a voice spoke close to his ear. “You're going to make a mess of the play
area. I'm going to put a condom on you, all right?”
Sam nodded and blinked, slightly dazed. A moment later, Sam felt the familiar
pressure of latex sheathing his cock.
“Good boy.” Sam heard, and a hand brushed through Sam's hair. “You go ahead and
come, whenever you need to.” Sam shuddered, and the smacks continued. His skin
was warm and tingling, and he wondered if it was as red as the other guy's had
been, earlier.
“All right.” A hand stroked over Sam's sensitive skin, and Sam felt himself
leak more precome. “For comparison, this is a leather paddle.”
Sam gasped at the snap of leather against his skin. It was a completely
different sensation than a warm palm. The man hit him with it several times,
and Sam squirmed in his bonds. It wasn't a bad feeling, it was just...
different. Sam knew which one he preferred.
The blows stopped. Silence for a moment, and then words. “And a wooden one.”
Sam's eyes flew open as the wooden paddle thudded against his ass. Sam swore he
felt it in his bones, completely unlike the bare hand or the leather paddle.
Dull thud and ache, and Sam knew sitting in the Impala was going to be tricky
for the next couple of days.
A few more solid blows landed, rocking Sam forward a little, before they
stopped. Sam panted against the leather.
“Which would you like more of, boy?” Soft lips and warm breath against Sam's
ear.
“Your... your hand, sir. Please.” Sam begged.
Sam heard a soft chuckle, and the huge hand smacked down against Sam's flushed
skin, over and over. Sam was feeling a little floaty, very warm, and completely
relaxed. The blows against his ass seemed to be getting harder, and Sam arched
his back a little, which lifted and presented his butt a little more.
Sam heard a soft groan, and two hands gripped his ass cheeks hard enough to
hurt, before releasing them. Hard smacks continued to rain down, and Sam was
pretty certain he had died and gone to heaven.
When they stopped, he felt a little bereft. And then he felt cool leather trail
across his upper back. Sam shuddered.
The flogger trailed gently across his untouched skin. It was pulled back, and
then stinging lines of pain spread across Sam's back. Sam recognized, in an
abstract sort of way, while swimming in sensation, that the man wielding the
flogger was quite talented with it. There was little wrapping of the falls
around Sam's shoulders and ribs, and his spine was carefully avoided. As much
as Sam was enjoying it, he wished it was a little... heavier. He squirmed, and
the blows stopped. A hand touched his lower back.
“What do you need?” A rumble in his ear.
“M-” Sam coughed, his throat dry.
“Open your eyes.”
Sam did, blinking against the light, which seemed too bright. The man was
crouched before Sam's face, holding up a still-sealed bottle of water. He
removed the cap, and Sam heard the sound of the plastic seal tearing. With his
help, Sam lifted his head and drank a little, the cool water a balm on his
throat.
Sam cleared his throat. “More, please, sir.”
The man gently laid Sam's head back down. “Harder or heavier, boy?”
Sam wasn't really sure. “B-both?”
The man nodded, and Sam closed his eyes again.
Sam jolted on the bench as a much heavier flogger hit his upper back. It felt
harsher, the edges harder, biting into Sam's skin. Sam groaned, loving the new
sensation. Sam heard the pleased chuckle again, and a rain of blows fell
against his upper back. It didn't take long for Sam's back to ache and burn,
even through the haze of endorphins. He wondered if he was bleeding.
Don't be stupid. He's not going to want a stranger's blood on his flogger.
Reassured, Sam sank back into feeling, rather than thinking.
When the blows slowed and stopped, Sam was breathing deeply, boneless against
the bench. His ass seared, and his back seared, throbbing in time with his
pulse, and it was everything Sam had hoped for. He had absolutely no idea of
how much time might have passed.
“Here. A little more water.” Another crack of a water bottle opening, and Sam
drank thirstily, draining the small bottle. When it was gone, Sam let his head
fall against the leather again. The hand stroked through his hair. “Ready to
get fucked, boy?”
Sam was amazed that he didn't come on the spot. “Y-yes, sir. Please.”
“So polite. Turn your head and open your mouth.” Sam did, propping his chin on
the leather bench, and opening obediently. He heard a soft groan, and watched
the man step in front of him, pop his fly and lower his zipper. The cock he
pulled out was substantial – definitely proportional to the rest of him. Sam's
mouth watered. As he rolled on a condom, the man spoke again.
“Can you deep throat, boy?”
Sam blushed. He'd sucked a couple of cocks, sure, fumbled experiences behind
buildings and in dark closets. He'd never gagged or anything. He hadn't had a
lot of experience with ones this big, though.
“Not... not sure, sir.” Sam hedged.
“Well, we can try, and see how you do, all right?”
“Yessir.” Sam whimpered, opening his mouth again. He was careful to cover his
teeth, and was surprised as the cock entered his mouth without the noxious
taste of latex. He supposed the condom must've been one of the latex-free
polyurethane ones. Whatever it was, it felt thin and Sam loved the heat and
weight of the cock against his tongue. He moaned softly, and opened his jaw a
little wider, as large hands sank into his hair.
“Keep moaning like that, boy, and I won't even make it to your ass.” The man
warned, thrusting shallowly into Sam's mouth. Sam sucked, hollowing his cheeks,
and ran his tongue across the underside.
“You... you sure you're a virgin, boy??” The man above him panted, and Sam felt
a smug satisfaction that he could take the man apart, even if just a little.
Crack that calm facade.
“All right. A little more, now. Try to relax.”
Relaxing, Sam decided, was a non-issue. He'd never been more relaxed in his
life. He felt the cock nudge the back of his throat, with gentle pressure. The
man seemed to be waiting for him to gag, or choke, or something, but Sam just
wanted more. A little more pressure, and the tip slid into Sam's throat.
More, more, more... Sam begged silently.
“Jesus Christ.” More smooth pressure, until Sam's lips were against the man's
pelvis, his nose against short curls. Yes, this, all of this. Sam couldn't
breathe, but he'd been expecting it, and stayed calm. He swallowed reflexively
a couple of times against the length stretching his throat.
“Oh my fucking God.” The man's hands tightened in Sam's hair for a moment,
before loosening, and the cock slid from Sam's throat.
Sam coughed softly, eyes watering, gasped a couple of deep breaths and opened
his mouth wide again. The man guided his cock deep into Sam's throat, holding
it there until Sam's vision started to grey out a little, before pulling back
out. More tears leaked from Sam's eyes, and he pulled in more deep breaths. The
man did it several more times, sliding his length all the way down Sam's
throat, holding it there, and pulling back out, and Sam loved every second.
“With the ability to do that, boy, you're going to make some man very happy,
some day.” Sam felt gentle thumbs brush away his tears. The man moved from in
front of him, and Sam laid his cheek back against the leather, panting a
little.
He gasped when hands grasped his ass firmly, heat and pain and electricity from
the sensitized nerves in his skin.
“You sure you want this, boy?”
Sam had never been harder, and never been more sure of anything in his life.
“Please, please, sir...”
The hands released him, and Sam felt cool, slick fingers at his opening. One
dipped inside, just a little, with almost no resistance.
“Hmm. Someone prepped himself, before coming out to play tonight, did he?” Sam
could hear the man's smile in his voice.
“Yes, please, yes, sir...” Sam wiggled, and the man swatted his butt lightly in
reprimand. Sam stilled, breathing a little more heavily as two, and then three
large fingers – much larger than his own – slipped inside him, working him
open.
Sam arched against the restraints as the man's fingers rubbed against something
inside him that felt absolutely fucking phenomenal, and made him spurt precome
into the condom. Prostate, Sam's brain supplied helpfully.
“Sensitive.” The man observed. “I could probably make you come like this, just
on my fingers, with that kind of sensitivity. But I think I'd rather you come
on my cock.” Sam groaned and shuddered.
The fingers withdrew, and Sam felt blunt pressure against his hole, which gave
as something substantially larger than three fingers slid in slowly. Hands
gripped Sam's hips, and Sam stiffened under the burning stretch of the cock
sliding into him. It seemed to take a long time before the man bottomed out,
and Sam felt denim-clad groin against his ass.
He simply held Sam like that, as Sam trembled and whimpered underneath him,
overwhelmed by the sense of fullness. The hot pain seemed to fade, leaving
something else entirely behind.
“Not... not a virgin any more, boy. How's that cock feel, up inside you?”
Sam whined, feeling an urgency he didn't really understand. His confusion was
resolved when the man started to move, thrusting slowly and shallowly.
Sam groaned gutturally, broken pleas of 'more', 'sir', 'please' falling from
his lips.
The man's thrusts gradually deepened, becoming longer and harder, hitting Sam's
prostate with every stroke. Each one tightened something within Sam, leaving
him panting and begging, until at last it snapped, and Sam came explosively
into the condom, completely untouched.
As Sam's body spasmed around him, the man's hands gripped punishingly tight on
Sam's hips, and his thrusts became erratic. He slammed into Sam a final time
with a groan, spilling into the condom. He panted heavily for a moment,
loosened his grip, and carefully withdrew. Sam felt sated, exhausted, and
empty.
Sam was only peripherally aware of the man removing the condom from Sam's dick,
of the straps being loosened and released. The man helped Sam from the bench,
wrapping the soft blanket around him and lowering him to kneel, naked and
dazed, nearby, while he quickly cleaned the play area and gathered his tools.
The man passed the gun case to someone Sam didn't recognize, slung his own
shirt and Sam's clothes over his arm, and helped Sam to stand, pulling the
blanket snugly around him.
And then he picked Sam up in his arms, carrying him bridal style, as though he
weighed nothing at all. Sam simply let it happen, allowing his head to fall
against the man's shoulder. He closed his eyes, hearing people murmuring their
appreciation and admiration of the scene, and the man answered quietly, but no
one addressed Sam or touched him, for which he was grateful.
Sam was jostled a little as the man sat, lowering Sam into his lap, his arms
wrapped around him. Sam snuggled his head into the crook of the man's neck. A
gentle hand rubbed Sam's lower back, over the blanket.
“Do you think you could drink some juice for me? We were up there for a long
time.” The man asked softly.
Sam opened his eyes, and saw an unopened bottle of apple juice on the table in
front of him, and a package of cookies. He extricated an arm from the blanket,
snagging the juice, and opened it with trembling fingers. He drank half, before
reaching for the cookies as well. He ate them, and finished his juice. He put
the empty wrapper and bottle back on the table.
“Good boy.” Sam smiled and blushed. Then he frowned a little... 'We were up
there for a long time.'??
“How...” Sam coughed softly, his throat aching. “How long...?”
“Nearly two hours.” The hand resumed its soft rubbing on his blanket. Sam
thought it would feel better on his skin, and pulled the blanket down to just
above his butt.
He had been right, the gentle circles on his lower back did feel a lot better,
on his skin.
Wait... wait a minute... two hours?!? No. No way. There was no way that was
more than twenty minutes or so.
When Sam tried to explain it, the man smiled at him. “It really was two hours.
That's fairly common, to feel as if it was much shorter. The soup of adrenaline
and endorphins in your head plays tricks on your perception of time.”
“Wow.” Sam whispered, tucking his head back into the crook of the man's neck.
“Quite the snuggle bunny, aren't you?” The man chuckled.
Sam blushed, embarrassed, and pulled away a little, but the man simply pulled
Sam tight against his bare, warm chest. “It's fine. Absolutely fine. Take what
you need, for as long as you need it.”
And Sam did need it, for quite some time. The sensation of skin on skin was
astonishingly soothing. Sam thought that this part was almost as good as being
over the bench. Gradually, his mind and senses cleared, and he felt a little
more like himself, and a little mortified to be snuggled in, buck-naked, half-
wrapped in a blanket on a stranger's lap.
Sam wanted to thank the man, for giving him two incredible first times, but he
wasn't sure how to express something like that. He fidgeted a little, trying to
find the words.
“Uh... um... I... I just wanted to say that that was amazing. It was perfect.
If... if there was anything better than perfect, that would be what that was.
Thank you.” Sam blushed, suddenly convinced that the words coming out of his
mouth were making him look like a complete idiot. He sat up a little, keeping
his eyes down, somewhere in the vicinity of the man's sternum.
The man tilted Sam's chin up with a finger, and Sam's eyes met his.
“Trust me when I say that that was purely, absolutely my pleasure. You were
perfect. Flawless. The purity of your submission is astonishing. It was my
honour, to be your first.” The man smiled warmly.
Sam gave him a crooked little smile in return.
The man's face turned serious. Sam blinked. “I feel obliged, though, to warn
you. You trust so freely, so openly – please, in the future, be careful who you
give that trust to. There are a lot of bad people out there who will abuse it.
Please. In the search to feel again the way you did tonight, be careful who you
trust.”
Sam nodded. He remembered the man's earlier warnings, and from a life growing
up as a hunter, he knew that some of the monsters were human. “Yes, sir. Do...
do you think I could get dressed now?”
“Of course. Our scene ended when we walked from the dungeon floor. You're free
to do what you like, with whom you like, forevermore.” The man grinned.
The man thoughtfully shielded Sam from curious eyes with the blanket as he
pulled his clothes back on. The worn denim and soft cotton felt like steel wool
against his skin. It made Sam harden in his jeans.
When he was done, he sat down on the chair, groaning softly at the ache in his
ass. His cock hardened even more.
The man took a seat beside him, staring out at the room full of people.
“Well...” he began, sounding thoughtful. “If I had to attempt to label you, I'd
say you're naturally submissive, Sam, without ruling out the possibility of
being a switch. Quite the masochistic streak.” He grinned, and Sam blushed.
“Which can be a very good thing, very fulfilling, in the hands of a talented
sadist. The bondage seemed to work for you, which will open more possibilities
in the future for you. And you're definitely homosexual, without ruling out the
possibility of being bi.”
Sam full-out laughed until his stomach hurt, and he was wiping tears from his
eyes. “Was...” Sam hiccuped and giggled. “Was... it the fact that I came with
your... your cock up my ass that... that gave it away??” Sam collapsed in a
renewed fit of laughter, slumped over the table. The man beside him laughed, as
well, and between the two of them, they got a couple of odd looks from the
people at the tables nearby.
“Well, sweet boy, as delightful as this has been, I must be on my way. I trust
you're okay now?” The man asked solicitously.
Sam nodded and smiled. “Yes. Thanks... I'm... I'm good. Really good. Thank
you.”
The man leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Sam's cheek. “Be careful. Don't
let anyone dim the light inside you. It shines so very bright.”
“Yes, sir.” Sam answered softly, feeling a twisted-up mix of happy and sad.
The man stood, gave Sam a small wave, turned, and walked away. Sam watched
until he couldn't see him any more.
Sam turned his eyes back to the dungeon floor, watching a little
disinterestedly. He didn't stay much longer, and walked slowly back to the
motel room that he was sharing with his brother.
Dean wasn't back yet, from his drinking and pool and picking up girls. Sam
showered in the small bathroom - the sensation of the water over his welts was
mind-blowing. It took him no time at all to come, stroking himself to
completion with the thoughts of... sir... filling his head.
As he leaned panting against the tiles, he had a pang of regret that he hadn't
asked for the man's name - not that he was at all convinced that he'd have told
Sam, even if Sam had asked. There was a certain poetry, though, to having an
experience like that, with only the name 'sir' to attach to it.
Sam mentally took that 'sir' and capitalized the 's'. Sir. Yes. That was much
better, much more fitting. The man that had been so accommodating, so amazing
to Sam very definitely deserved that capital 's'. Sam smiled to himself.
He finished rinsing off, feeling his dick trying yet again to rise. Sam ignored
it, towelling off, blotting the water carefully from his skin. After he
scrubbed the water from his hair, he looked at himself in the mirror. He was
surprised that he didn't really look any different, when inside, he felt like
so much had changed.
Sam was in a T-shirt and boxers, reclining on his bed and savouring his aches
and pains when Dean stumbled in, tipsy, and smelling of beer and perfume. He
hadn't been puttering around long, kicking off his boots and shucking his
jacket, before he stopped and stared at Sam.
“What's got you so happy?” Dean asked curiously.
Sam blinked. He hadn't even known he looked happy. “Uh. Pacific Rim was on TV.
You missed it.” Sam ad-libbed wildly.
Dean rolled his eyes. “I don't get why you like that movie so much, Sam. Giant
robots??” Dean shucked his T-shirt and tottered into the bathroom, closing the
door behind him.
Crisis averted.
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      Sir by cr0wgrrl
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