Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2255898.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural_RPF
  Relationship:
      Jensen/JDM, Jensen/Sebastian_Roche, Jensen/Jared
  Character:
      Jensen_Ackles, Jared_Padalecki, Sebastian_Roché, Jeffrey_Dean_Morgan
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Slavery, Underage_Sex, Abuse, Bad_BDSM_Etiquette,
      Puppy_Play
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-09-04 Chapters: 5/5 Words: 4528
****** Seeking Shelter in Five Acts ******
by Syls_Darkplace_(sylsdarkplace)
Summary
     Training is hard, but Jensen is a good student.
***** The Aged *****
At age 14, Jensen’s parents sold him to an elderly couple. It wasn’t that his
parents didn’t love him, but what with the way the economy was, his dad losing
his job, and his mother’s work hours being cut back, they could barely keep a
roof over their heads. His brother had joined the Army, but they still had his
younger sister to support, so the money that they got for Jensen and not having
to support him, allowed them to survive awhile longer.
Strictly speaking, slavery was illegal, but the disparity in wealth between the
top 2% and everyone else made laws like that meaningless. The desperate do what
they have to and the powerful take advantage.
The elderly couple who bought Jensen, Mr. and Mrs. Otis, assured his parents
that there would be nothing sexual in his duties. They’d kept their word. They
didn’t touch Jensen in a sexual way. He mixed their drinks and fetched books,
searched for lost reading glasses and cell phones, helped them learn how to use
new electronic gadgets that his family could never afford.
He learned to end every sentence with ma’am or sir. He learned to obey quickly
and never show reluctance or give them attitude. They never raised their voices
or struck him. They didn’t have to.
“Boy,” Bitty Otis called from the sunroom. “Boy!”
Jensen was in the media room trying to get the video discs back into their
proper places after Bitty had spent the morning searching for a movie she was
sure she’d bought. He was sure she hadn’t, but there was no arguing with her.
He sighed when he heard her call. The collar around his neck vibrated and sent
a shock to the back of his neck that made him flinch. Sweat dampened his
hairline and forehead. He quickly rose to his feet.
“Coming!” he yelled back. How loudly to speak was always a gamble. She didn’t
hear well, so he wanted to be heard, but too loud and she’d be upset with his
insolence.
“Boy!” she yelled again and immediately a second shock hit. It took his breath,
and he went to his knees, shaking and gasping.
“Bitty! Stop that infernal caterwauling!” her husband yelled from the library.
“It’s that damned boy!” she yelled. “Where is he?”
“How should I know!” James yelled back. “Go find the damned lazy cur and quit
that damned yelling!”
Jensen was struggling to his feet, trying to answer.
“Boy!!” Bitty yelled. “You answer me now!”
The third shock made every muscle in his body contract. It sizzled down his
spine like a bolt of lightning, shot up into his skull. His eyes rolled back in
his head and he hit the floor, flailing, back arching, his heels beat a tattoo
on the finely polished wood. A pained gurgling sound came from his throat.
He went limp. The overload of electrical impulses seemed to momentarily burn
out his neural system. He couldn’t form a coherent thought or control his body.
He didn’t know how long he lay there twitching until he became aware of the
hard floor beneath him or the cooling wet between his legs.
Bitty stood above him and wrinkled her patrician nose at the smell of urine.
“There you are,” she sniffed. “Clean yourself up and find my reading glasses.”
 

***** Lap of Luxury *****
At age 16, Jensen was sold by the Otis estate to Jeffrey Dean Morgan, the high-
profile entertainment mogul who owned a string of hotels and casinos from Las
Vegas to Monte Carlo.
Morgan knew James Otis through business and had visited the Otis mansion. His
heavy, heated gaze had followed Jensen the entire evening. Jensen was somehow
not surprised to find himself handed over to Morgan when the elderly couple
expired within weeks of one another – James from a heart attack after a
particularly strenuous appointment with his personal trainer Richard, and Bitty
after a popular new alternative medicine high-colonic treatment.
Jensen found himself in an opulent suite of one of Morgan’s casino hotels in
Las Vegas. It was as garish as the Otis mansion was tasteful. There was marble
and gilt, velvet and brocade.
“The bedroom is this way, Jenny,” Morgan said. Jensen was a thrown by the
nickname. He’d ever been called that except as a taunt by his older brother,
and it sounded wrong coming out of Morgan’s mouth, but he knew not to argue and
he knew to follow Morgan. The Otises had trained him well.
The bedroom was dominated by an enormous bed draped in gold and cream brocade.
The headboard arched toward the mirrored ceiling. Morgan was draping his suit
jacket over a chair and pulling at his tie. “Take off your clothes, pretty,”
Morgan said.
Heat rose in Jensen’s cheeks, and he bit his lip, but he lowered his gaze and
pulled his shirt off. His fingers fumbled with his belt and Morgan approached.
He was wearing just his boxers and black socks. Jensen didn’t look up when
Morgan pushed his hands away from his fly. He couldn’t seem to look away from
the grizzled curling hair that disappeared into Morgan’s shorts. Morgan
chuckled as he lowered the fly on Jensen’s pants. “How shy you are,” he said.
His voice was rough and deep. “I like that. You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”
Morgan’s shorts were tented. There was no doubt where this was going.
“Yes, sir.”
“Jesus,” Morgan growled. He shoved one hand down the back of Jensen’s pants and
cupped his ass. The other hand grasped Jensen’s hair and pulled his head back.
His mouth closed over Jensen’s, biting and sucking at his lips, tongue plunging
deep inside. Jensen wanted to fight, wanted to scream no, but all he could do
was tense up.
Morgan backed off slightly. “Don’t worry, baby boy. You’re going to want this.
In a few weeks, you’ll beg for it.” With that, Morgan spun him around and
tipped him face down on the bed with his legs dangling over the side. He pulled
off Jensen’s shoes, briefs, and pants, before dropping to his knees beside the
bed and pulling Jensen’s ass cheeks apart with this thumbs.
“Look at that,” he said. “Yeah, so tight, perfect.” Jensen flinched when a gob
of spit landed on his asshole. Morgan’s thumb rubbed it over the puckered
flesh, up and down, a little more pressure each time. He spit again and a
fingertip pushed inside. Jensen gasped at the intrusion. The digit wiggled,
pressing in and out. It didn’t hurt. I felt kind of good. He relaxed slightly,
but then the finger retreated.
He heard the sound of the bedside drawer and the flick of a plastic cap. The
finger pushed back into him – wet and cold and slick this time. It didn’t stop
with the tip. It went deeper and burned. His muscles clenched. “Relax,” Morgan
ordered. The finger thrust in and out and second joined it.
Tears filled Jensen’s eyes when he thought of the deal his parents had made
with the Otises. This is what they hadn’t wanted, wasn’t it? “Don’t,” he
murmured. “Please, don’t.”
A hand came down on his ass with a crack, and he jumped. His anal muscles
clenched around the fingers inside him. They pulled out. “You’re as ready as
you’re going to get,” Morgan said. Fingers gripped Jensen’s hair and yanked his
head back as Morgan blanketed him. The thick head of his cock nudged Jensen’s
hole. “This is going to happen, so just relax and enjoy it.”
Jensen whimpered as Morgan’s cock forced open the rings of muscle at his
entrance. The pain was sharp and unrelenting as it continued to push inside.
Morgan let his forehead rest against Jensen’s shoulder when he was fully
sheathed in Jensen’s ass. “Jesus fucking Christ, kid, you are awesome. I don’t
think I’ll ever get enough of this.”
He snaked a hand under Jensen’s chest and rubbed a nipple, twisted and tugged.
Morgan pulled his cock out to the head before plunging back in. Jensen buried
his face in the bedding and wept. He wished the Otises had accidentally
electrocuted him or at least fried his brain so he didn’t know what this was,
what he was. He couldn’t imagine this ever being anything but painful and
humiliating.
He was wrong. He didn’t know how insidious Morgan could be. How the pain would
ease and the pleasure could seduce, how Morgan’s fingers curled against his
prostate could make him beg for release and cover himself in hot slick to the
sound of Morgan’s satisfied amusement. It wasn’t just the sex, it was the life
that seduced him. He sat at the dining table with Morgan and ate truffles and
oysters, shrimp and Wagu beef. He learned which fork to use and that the
dessert spoon was the one at the top. He drank wine and gin and bourbon in
small amounts to learn what fine liquor tasted like. He flew in Morgan’s
private jet and looked pretty. He learned when not to speak, which was most of
the time.
And Morgan was right. Jensen learned to love getting fucked. He learned to beg
for it. He learned to be Morgan’s slut.
 
***** A Dungeon in Hell *****
At age 19, Jensen was sold to French actor Sebastian Roche because Morgan liked
young, innocent boys, and Jensen was no longer either one. His voice was
getting deeper and his body hair thicker. He was becoming more muscular, and he
had seen the want dying in Morgan’s eyes. He’d tried to keep Morgan’s interest,
dreading what it would mean to lose it. There was a time that he thought Morgan
would keep him forever, maybe even loved him, but he wasn’t naïve. He was a
slave and a fairly worldly one at that. He’d traveled. He’d seen the world.
That all changed with Roche who at first glance seemed like a quiet homebody
who liked to cook and watch old movies with his cat. That was just the surface.
That was Roche’s upstairs persona. Downstairs, in the basement, he was another
man, and Jensen was kept downstairs out of sight.
It wasn’t unusual for Jensen to be strung up by his wrists to a rafter in the
basement with and a spreader bar attached his ankles keeping him on his toes,
muscles taut and straining. He was naked – always naked – and collared. It
wasn’t a shock collar the Otises put on him but a wide black leather collar
with a number of D-rings attached that chains could be hooked to. The collar
and similar cuffs on his ankles and wrists were all he was allowed to wear. He
was almost always chained or, when he was allowed upstairs, caged in Roche’s
bedroom.
Roche had left the room giving Jensen time to anticipate what was next. His
chin dropped to his chest and he looked down the length of his body. Rings
pierced his nipples and where a light treasure trail had once led to his groin
was now an expanse of silky, smooth skin. His balls, crack, even his cheeks
were equally hairless thanks to laser removal. Another ring pierced the slit of
his cock and yet another his perineum. A light padlock connected a chain to the
Prince Albert piercing that ran back to the guiche piercing. He’d quickly
learned that he couldn’t get an erection without pain.
That wasn’t enough training for Roche though. Almost daily he’d string Jensen
up like this. Roche returned and stood back admiring his work.
“So, are we ready?” he asked. “Feeling in control today, are we, cowboy?”
Roche unlocked the padlock and removed the chain from Jensen’s groin. Jensen
sighed as the weight was removed from his cock. It was torment to have the
weight and pressure constantly drawing his attention to his cock but being
unable to get hard or do anything to relieve the sexual tension that less and
less often filled him.
Roche smirked and tweaked Jensen’s nipples, twisted and tugged at them. He
glanced down at Jensen’s cock which remained flaccid.
“Look at that,” Roche said. Jensen saw the challenge in his narrowed eyes.
Roche dropped one hand and began stroking the soft, limp flesh between Jensen’s
legs. There was a time when he hadn’t been able to stop the blood from running
to his cock. Then, Roche would get out the flogger. He was a master with it. He
knew just how to cause the most pain without breaking the skin. He would leave
Jensen’s cock and balls throbbing and swollen for hours.
But not today, today his cock wouldn’t respond to Roche’s expert manipulations,
and the man stepped back. “You’re learning, slave.” Roche went to the counter
that stretched across the opposite wall and slicked his gloved fingers with
lube. Stepping behind Jensen, he pushed two into his anus and crooked them.
Jensen let his head fall forward again as they rubbed over his prostate. There
was no point fighting this. Even though his cock wouldn’t respond as it had
with Morgan, he knew that his balls would become heavy and tension would build
as it was. The sensation was both pleasurable and uncomfortable, pain and
humiliation tangled up with release and satisfaction. He grunted and shook as
fluid ran from his limp cock onto the floor.
“Well done, slave,” Roche said. He could hear the amusement in the man’s voice
as the fingers slid from his ass. “I’ll go easy on you today, shall I?” Jensen
heard the whistle of the can and agony exploded across his back.
Roche’s house was perched up high, cantilevered out over thin air as though one
good shake of the ground could send it crashing over the edge. There was a big
room upstairs where Roche had parties. It had tall windows that looked out over
the Hollywood hills. Anyone with a good telescope could have see the depravity
that went on there.
Roche had been plying Jensen with wine as he knelt at his Master’s feet. He
felt strangely lightheaded and vaguely wondered if the wine was drugged. He
blocked out the conversation around him as Roche chatted with his friends and
associates. His head was heavy, and he just wished that game time was over, so
he could sleep. Roche lifted his chin with a fingertip and smiled.
“I think he’s ready,” Roche said. He rose and dragged Jensen to his feet with
the help of a friend. They pulled Jensen to the center of the room and bent him
over a breeding bench, strapped him down. Jensen wasn’t alarmed. It wasn’t the
first time he’d been on a breeding bench or the first time he’d been used. Then
he realized that he was the only slave in the room tonight, and every eye was
on him.
He wanted to protest. He wanted to scream, but he’d learned a long time ago to
be quiet, to obey, to suffer.
 
***** A Gentle Hand *****
At age 20, Jensen was sold to a slave broker. He lay on a thin mattress in a
stainless steel crate with a wire door. He could see slaves in similar crates
stacked three high across the corridor from him. He was in the second tier on
his side of the aisle, just below eye level. He shifted on the cushion. His
ribs ached. He figured they were broken, and his wrist was in a cast. But at
least when he was allowed out to relieve himself that day, he was no longer
shitting blood.
He didn’t clearly remember the last night with Roche, and he didn’t want to.
But he knew that he was damaged goods. He wondered what would happen if a buyer
for him wasn’t found soon.
“What else do you have?” a deep voice asked. “What about in here?” The voice
came closer.
“Not what a man of your caliber would be looking for, sir,” the broker said.
“Seconds, old, damaged …”
“Don’t fuck with me, Sheppard,” the voice said. There was somehow both
amusement and threat in the tone. Jensen tensed as footsteps came down the
walkway.
“As you can see, sir, mostly maids, whores, laborers,” Sheppard said. “I’ll
probably end up selling them as a lot to a plantation or factory overseas.”
“What about this one?” The footsteps stopped beside Jensen’s crate. His heart
was hammering. Labor overseas – that’s what it had come to? He opened his eyes.
All he could see were long, lean legs clad in charcoal silk trousers, but he
imagined the $300 haircut, smoothly shaved cheeks, and hard eyes of the wealthy
businessman looking for a new slave to abuse.
“Not for you, Mr. P. Trust me, it’s far too damaged.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” the man said. “Open the crate.”
“Sir, really … Allow me to show you …”                 
“Open the damned crate.”
Jensen heard the broker sigh, but he unlocked the crate door and swung it open.
The man bent down, and Jensen was surprised to see not the well-groomed
businessman he was expecting, but a messy crop of chestnut hair and scruffy
cheeks. Fox-tilted hazel eyes met his and a broad mouth pulled into a slight
smile revealing a hint of dimples. The man extended a huge hand with long
elegant fingers and stroked Jensen’s cheek.
“I’ll bet he’s a beauty under those bruises,” the man said. “Aren’t you,
darlin’?”
Jensen felt a dangerous desire to go home with this man and obey him in every
way. Something about him reminded Jensen of silk sheets and fine wine and
orgasms that made him scream. He leaned into the palm cupping his cheek and let
his eyes fall shut.
“And such a good boy,” the man said. “I’ll take him, Sheppard.”
“Sir … he came from Roche,” Sheppard said as though that was enough to change
the man’s mind.
The hand dropped from Jensen’s cheek and his eyes flew open. Without thinking,
he grasped the man’s wrist. His lips formed the word please, but no sound came
out. The man was no longer smiling. The long fingers stroked Jensen’s hair.
“All the more reason to take him,” the tall man said. He patted Jensen’s arm
and stood. “If you want to make a sale today, get him ready to go.”
Jensen thinks he must be an idiot. There’s never been a time that he was sold
that wasn’t out of the frying pan and into the fire. He has no reason to
believe that this time will be any different.
And that night in a hotel bed, his new Master spoons him and pushes his lubed
cock into Jensen’s still sore hole. He moves slowly, kisses Jensen’s neck, rubs
a thumb over his nipple. His Master’s cock rubs over his prostate again and
again, and Jensen’s balls grow full and tight. A big, warm hand cups his
flaccid dick, massages it, but it won’t respond. It remains soft and
vulnerable. But as his Master groans and spills deep within Jensen, he
continues moving, The head of his cock massages Jensen’s prostate until Jensen
gasps, fluid spills across his Master’s hand.
“My poor Pet,” he whispers.

***** Shelter *****
At age 21, Jensen moves with his Master, Jared, to a house in the country.
Jared works from home. Jensen is lying beside his Master’s chair. The sun is
warm on his back, music plays softly in the background, but the perpetual
clicking of the computer keys prevents him from sinking back into sleep. He
rises to his haunches and looks up at his master who absently ruffles Jensen’s
hair.
“Good boy,” he murmurs but doesn’t take his eyes off the monitor.
Jensen huffs and crawls under the desk. He first presses his face between his
Master’s legs and then shoulders them farther apart. He rubs his face across
the tightly drawn fabric of his master trousers until he begins to feel the
flesh harden. He begins pushing the rolling chair away from the desk and hears
a chuckle above him.
“Okay, Pet,” his Master says. Fingers tangle in Jensen’s hair. “It’s been a
long day, huh? And I’ve neglected you.” The fingers slip down, trace the edge
of his collar, and tip his head up. “You hungry? Let’s get something to eat.
I’ll bet Mrs. Devine left something in the warming oven for us, hm?”
Jensen kneels beside his Master chair as the tall man eats at the kitchen
table. It’s already dark outside and the windows look like black glass. The
scent of roast beef and vegetables makes Jensen’s stomach growl. Jared offers
Jensen a bite of roast from his fingers. Jensen takes it gently between his
teeth and lets it sink onto his tongue. He chews slowly, savoring the rich,
delicate flavor.
“Good, huh?” his Master says.
Jensen inches closer and sits in perfect form. He wiggles his hips, making his
tail swish along the tile floor. Jared chuckles.
“Yeah, okay. You’re a good boy.” There’s a clatter of utensils on china, and
his Master sets a plate on the floor in front of Jensen. There was a time when
his hands would have instinctively reached for the food but not anymore. He
leans down and begins to delicately eat directly from the plate. When he can’t
manage to pick up anything else with his teeth and lips, he licks the plate
clean. He sits back and looks expectantly up at his Master.
“No, you know pets don’t get sweets,” his Master says.
Jensen rises up slightly and wiggles closer. He nudges Jared’s thigh with his
nose and looks up with wide eyes. Seeing the expression, his Master snorts out
a laugh and shakes his head.
“You’re spoiled. You know that , right?”
Jensen rises to his hands and knees and wags his tail.
“Okay, one bite.” Jensen sits again, and his Master offers him the fork with a
large section of chocolate meringue pie on it. Jensen opens his mouth and waits
for the morsel to be placed on his tongue. He closes his teeth just enough to
capture it as the fork retreats. He lets his eyes close as he chews the flaky
crust and creamy chocolate and slightly sweet, sponginess of the browned egg
white.
A kiss is pressed to the top of his head. “Such a good boy,” his Master says.
He rises and picks up his dirty dishes, which he takes to the sink.
Lights come on outside illuminating a wide expanse of the backyard, and a
moment later the security officer comes in through the back door. “Everything
has been secured for the night, sir,” Kane says. He reaches down and ruffles
Jensen’s hair.
“Thanks, Chris,” his Master says. “Listen, I have to make a phone call. Could
you take Pet out before you leave?”
“Yeah, sure. Come on, Jen.” Kane says. He opens the kitchen door, and Jensen
follows him out to the mud room. He stops and lets Kane pull the plug  that the
tail is attached to from his hole. Kane lays it on a paper towel next to the
sink, and opens the door to the backyard.
The night air is humid and slightly cool. It smells of coming rain. The grass
feels damp, and he hurries to squat and piss. The sound of the stream used to
surprise and embarrass him, but he no longer notices. He wanders for a moment.
“Are you done?” Kane asks.
Jensen doesn’t respond but squats again and defecates. There was a time when
this was just about the most humiliating thing he could think of. He’d fought
it at first, but not allowed to go elsewhere, he’d learned to comply. It was a
lot easier knowing that neither his Master nor any of his employees expected
anything else from him.
“Good boy,” Kane says. “Come on. Let’s go in. I’ve got things to do.” Kane
doesn’t sound impatient or angry. It’s just encouragement to a pet he expects
to behave anyway and isn’t going to answer him one way or another.
When they enter the house, Jensen kneels on a bench in the mudroom and lets
Kane clean his backside and get him ready for bed. In the middle of the
procedure, he hears his Master whistle from the other end of the house. He
looks at Kane.
“Go on, your Master’s callin’ you, son,” Kane says. Jensen heads for the
bedroom.
Jared has already stripped down to boxer briefs, and he’s turning the covers
back.
“Hey, you ready for bed?” he asks. He pats the mattress. “Come on then.”
Jensen climbs up on all fours and wiggles his ass.
“Chris forgot your tail,” Jared says.
Jensen just looks back at his Master over his shoulder and sways his hips back
and forth again.
“Yeah, no point in putting it in at that now anyway, right?” Jared slipped his
briefs off his slim hips and cock arched, blood dark toward his flat belly. He
knelt on the bed behind Jensen. One big hand caressed Jensen’s hip, fingertips
gripped the cut while the other hand went to his ass. “Yeah, Chris got you nice
and slick.”
Jared’s finger slipped lower, cupped Jensen’s balls, rolled them, tugged
gently. Blood rushed to Jensen’s cock. It had been a long time coming, but his
Master had been patient and trained Jensen to respond again. Fingertips slide
around his balls to the base of his fattening cock.
“Feel good, Pet? Yeah? Good boy,” he reassures. The fingers move away then, and
the head of Jared’s cock pushes into his hole, filling him in the most
satisfying way. Jared knows just how to angle his thrusts to rub over Jensen’s
prostate. He never fails to get off on his Master’s cock alone, but tonight
Jared reaches around and strokes his cock as well. In no time, Jensen’s balls
pull up and he comes with a gasp. His muscles clench around Jared’s dick
“Fuck,” Jared groans and pushes deep into Jensen, ruts against him. His fingers
flex rhythmically, kneading the flesh of Jensen’s hips. “Mm, your ass, Jen,
fuck.” He gives Jensen’s hip a pat and lets his cock slide free.
Jensen’s hole feels too empty. Cool air blows over his crack and a trickle of
come dribbles from his hole and over his balls.
“Come on. Let’s get cleaned up,” Jared says. Jensen follows him to the bathroom
and Jared washes Jensen’s ass and groin. “Okay. We’ll skip the tail, shall we?”
He turns away to wash himself up.
Jensen heads back to bed and stretches out on his stomach on the cool linens. A
contented hum escapes his throat. He hears Jared chuckle behind him. Jensen
twists around and looks at his Master who is standing naked beside the bed.
He’s smiling, dimples creasing his cheeks, and he bends forward, hands flat on
the bed. He crawls toward Jensen.
“I love you, you know,” he says. “Such a good boy.” He kisses Jensen, pushes
him onto his side and spoons him. His hand splays across Jensen’s belly, and he
nuzzles Jensen’s neck. “Never gonna let you go, Jen.”
Jensen tries to fight the warmth that fills him, but he can’t. He laces his
fingers through the ones resting on his belly. He dares to hope.
 
                                     -30-
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