Eliot tried to turn from Sam's approach but there wasn't much space for him
to retreat to. The rocky wall behind him offered little leeway, and even
when he tried, whatever power held him in place also prevented him from
escaping. The demon's caress across his cheek raised the hairs at the back
of his neck, and he felt bile rising up when Sam leaned in.
To his relief, the demon didn't kiss him. It was just a brush, a feeling of
warm skin over his and then it was gone, with Sam stepping back and Eliot
stumbling away from the wall.
The second Eliot realized he was free, he tried to attack. It didn't matter
that Sam was right, that he had no nowhere to go even if he won, that
winning was as futile as his struggles, he just knew he had to keep
fighting. It wasn't so much a moral right or wrong than Eliot simply
couldn't stand giving up. The end game wasn't the issue, or whether it
would be much worse than this to surrender, he wasn't surrendering to it
without fighting.
He sprung again like a released spring, aiming to throw several solid quick
jabs to Sam's abdomen. If he could catch him in his solar plexus, that
should wind and knock the larger man back to give Eliot a slight advantage.
Even in terms of size, Sam read larger, taller than him by nearly a full
head, but Eliot had taken down bigger people... in life.
Sam knew he was going to attack, and he knew he was fighting someone with a great deal of fighting experience, and so he didn't hold back. When the attack came he was ready for it, and he fought back just as fiercely as he would if they were scrapping for their lives. He knocked aside the attempted blow to his solar plexus, and drove his forearm up into Eliot's jaw instead, a crunching straight up attack that he followed through with. His right leg crossed behind him, to knock the other man off balance, and then Sam slammed his right elbow down, moving for Eliot's belly, so that the blow would literally flip him down across his knee.
He wasn't going gentle. He pressed in, wicked fast and devilishly strong, moving to jam his hand into Eliot's throat to continue the effort to throw him down with a pin. By physically pinning him, he'd have opportunity to move the rest of his body into position, the whole weight and length of him.
To be fair, nothing about this was even footing. Eliot may be desperate, but Sam was strong, well fed, and he hadn't been physically tortured in...he didn't know. Years now. He did what he was told. He held Eliot in place and struck him across the face with the fist of his other hand.
And then he growled, low, intensely: "I see we have to start right from the beginning, huh?"
Eliot had fought many opponents in life before, but never at such
unbalanced odds that had him completely outmatched. His blow was swiped
aside like it was a child's punch and he found himself falling before he
even caught the counterattack that hit him. He was normally fast, relied on
his speed and compact attacks to gain advantage over larger, stronger
opponents. But what could he do when met up against someone who was larger
and stronger and faster than him?
His back hit the solid ground with a whistle of air as his breath was
knocked right out of his lungs. Before he could recover, roll out of the
way, Sam was on him, hand to his throat -a real one this time- and keeping
him down with a strength that Eliot couldn't hope to match. He couldn't
even budge as he pushed up with all his might, but the demon who laid
lengthwise along him was too strong and Eliot stayed where he was.
"You can go fuck yourself," he growled back, voice low and rumbling from
the depths of his chest.
He returned the statement in just the same tone of voice as Eliot's, and Sam reached his free hand down, pressing it up underneath Eliot's shirt, riding it higher as he shoved upward.
"Not only that, but you're going to like it. That's the difference, Eliot. Torture is one thing, you can resist torture; it's horrible, it hurts, but you can be defiant in the face of it. Pleasure will break you. You can't change the way your body responds. Friction, and orgasm--"
He pressed in closer, kissing Eliot's throat between his thumb and fingers, against the center of his chest.
"I'm going to make you come for me, even though you hate me."
He reached down, tugging at Eliot's nipple as he went. Down, down, sliding into the slack pants that he'd been left in after his last session. It was easy to wrap his hand around Eliot's cock.
Eliot tried to buck up, anything that could help dislodge the demon that
was getting handsy all over him. His own hands went up, or tried to, when
he realized the power that kept him pinned to the wall was back again, this
time holding his arms down. They wouldn't let him lift more than half an
inch off the ground, and completely useless at stopping what was happening.
He felt Sam's hand reach under the loose shirt he was given, more like
hell's version of a hospital gown, that was as easy to shove up as an
oversized cloak. The hand was dry and warm, and, Sam was right, had it been
any other situation, it would be pleasant. Had it been any other
situation.
"Just because my body's respondin'--" Eliot's words stalled when Sam
twisted his nipple, and gritting his teeth, the hitter tensed his abdominal
muscles to bring his concentration back. "--doesn't mean a fuckin' thing."
It was harder to do the same when the demon found his way to Eliot's cock
though, the hand wrapping around him being firm but gentle, not at all
painful or demanding except for Eliot's inability to twist free. He tried
to kick as well, or free one leg so he could knee Sam where the light won't
shine, but the demon was smart and the way he knelt over his legs kept even
those limbs pinned down.
For now, there was nothing he could do. "Doesn't mean a fuckin' thing," he
repeated, closing his eyes.
"It means something. I know it does, because it did for me too. I wanted anything - anything - but to get hard." He stroked gently, steadily, smoothing upward, circling the tip with just the pad of his thumb, and then dropping down again, letting his knuckles thump lightly against Eliot's balls before he pulled back up again.
"I tried my hardest to resist. I thought of all the worst, most horrible things in the world, and Lucifer stroked me, just like this. He was gentle. He spoke filthy words in my ear as he did it. He told me that if I was as pure as I wished I was, then his semen would burn me, like holy water burns demons. But I wasn't pure. I'll never be pure again."
Sam paused, squeezing the tip deliberately between thumb and forefinger, and then he began to stroke once again, firmly, steadily.
"I told myself it didn't matter, but I got hard, and he fucked me, and I came. I came harder than I've ever come before, and I was so ashamed."
He pulled his hand away, and showed it to Eliot, showed him the glistening precome between his fingers. "See what I mean?"
Eliot turned his head away as Sam stroked, his large, warm hand wrapped
around Eliot's cock and raising it to hardness under his careful, gentle
ministrations. There was no way to prevent himself from getting hard, not
when Sam played him so expertly, twisting slightly with each pull just the
way Eliot liked it when he stroked himself, the pad of Sam's thumb brushing
the sensitive tip to send pleasurable shocks through his groin to pool
hotly in his abdomen.
He was getting hard, and as Sam continued explaining his rape to him,
Eliot's breath started to pant slightly with his arousal. His head remained
turned though and eyes remained closed, at least until Sam released him and
brought his hand up for Eliot to see the first signs of his body's betrayal.
Eliot had opened his eyes to stare stonily up at it, then to Sam's smug
expression behind it. "I haven't been pure for a very long time, I'm in
hell. Ya think bendin' my body'll break me?" Eliot's eyes fell shut again, like looking at Sam disgusted him. "I ain't that weak." Like you, hung heavy in the silence that followed.
Sam couldn't find anger in himself. He'd grown past anger, had no energy left for it. He sighed, and licked the precome from his palm, leaving a wet stripe behind, so that when he wrapped his hand around him again, it was cool and slippery.
He stroked, perhaps a half dozen more times, being just rough enough to make an impact, and then, when he was done, Sam withdrew his hand completely.
Now, Sam began the process of stripping Eliot down. He ripped everything, using his bare hands, tearing the thin, useless fabric into several strips, and bundling them up, tossed them aside. He'd remove them later.
"You're done with clothes," he told him. "From now on, all you wear is what I put on you."
Sam stood, slowly, and leaving Eliot where he was, pinned as he was, he stepped across him, moving back to the door, which he unlocked. A demon on the other side handed him a briefcase, and Sam locked the door again before returning to Eliot's side.
"I have as long as I want. Years. We can do this over and over again, for years. It took me almost...four. Four years, I managed to insist to myself it was rape. I wasn't involved. The fifth year, I gave in. Instead of three times a day, I cooperated, and we only fucked once a day. Sometimes I blew him. It was the first reprieve I'd had in years.
"It could take years for us, too. I have the time, and so do you."
Eliot was a man who was very comfortable in his own skin. He wasn't ashamed
of nakedness, he had a body of balanced strength and good assets that
pleased a lot of women. So even being stripped of the joke that was his
clothing, baring to the world the full dripping erection that Sam had all
but forced on him, he wasn't ashamed.
More importantly, he wouldn't allow himself to be because that would be
exactly what Sam wanted.
He was dispassionate to the announcement he would be naked from now on, not
to be given even that tiny bit of dignity that even the lowliest tortured
souls were given after their sessions. He didn't even have to tell himself
it didn't matter, because it didn't. It was just one layer of fabric that
held no protection and being taken away could be used as a form of
humiliation.
He did open his eyes though when he felt Sam moving away, but soon he
discovered he was still pinned and couldn't move even his legs to get them
up. He tried a few times before giving up, choosing to conserve his energy
for any trials ahead. Sam's return had glancing to the briefcase and back
at Sam.
"Sure," he said, trying to show how little he cared. "If you get yer rocks
off that way. So you'll come 'fore an' after yer pals string out my guts?"
"No, Eliot. You're mine now. Mine completely to finish. When we're done here, you'll come to live with me, in the Master's chamber. I'm allowed to sleep on the bed now, so you'll have my crate. It'll be more roomy for you than it ever was for me."
He said it calmly, as he set the briefcase down beside the bed, opening it wide so that Eliot could see. There were brutal looking rubberized sex toys, as well as slender silver instruments, some with ratchet gears, others more phallic in shape. There was - unusually, considering it was Hell - a tube of lubricant, but it was a cockring, a short length of chain and a pair of shackles that Sam took out first.
The cock ring he attached, tightening it matter of factly as though he'd done it a thousand times before, before Sam attached the clip at the end of the chain to the base of it. Then, with the aid of his telekinesis, he flipped Eliot over, shackling his wrists before attaching the other end of the chain to them.
The pressure came off. With augmented strength and a grip at the back of his neck, Sam pulled Eliot up to his knees, his arms behind his back, wrists chained to his cock under his body. He'd have to splay his legs to even stay comfortable, and getting up wasn't an option. The position Sam had put him in, Eliot could look straight down into the items in the briefcase.
"Nobody's going to torture you except for me. Nobody's going to have you except for me...maybe Lucifer. But if I succeed? If I succeed, I can make it stop. That's all I want. You're my ticket out, Eliot."
There was nothing Eliot could do while Sam trussed him up like some kinky
sex slave, cock in a tight steel ring and linked back to the cuffs that
tied his hands together. Once again Eliot got the breath knocked out of him
when Sam flipped him to get the cuffs on. He cursed, cussing out in general
low growls as everything got locked into place.
Then up he went, just a force that lifted Eliot to his knees like he
weighed nothing at all, which was just as well since in his current
position there was no way he could've done that himself. Even knelt he had
to keep his knees parted, almost to shoulder width, and arms down,
shoulders pulled back so his wrists stayed low past his waist. The chain
was so damn short that in any other position, he would be pulling
incredibly uncomfortably on his privates.
If Sam's intention was to instill fear in Eliot by showing him the
instruments of his torture, Eliot made sure it didn't happen. He glanced
down, briefly, but only long enough that it would seem he was merely
curious and was now satisfied.
And suddenly, everything made sense. Sam was still on hell's probation and
Eliot would be his final test. When Eliot grinned up at the demon, it was
cruel and without a shred of sympathy. "Then too bad for you, you ain't
goin' anywhere." Eliot wasn't breaking anytime soon.
Sam crouched in front of Eliot again, just in front of the kneeling man, and raised his hand back to his cheek. This time, even though he had room to twist his face away, they could be no response, and no escape. Sam followed any resistance, and after a moment raised the second hand to force him still, looking back into his eyes cooly.
"If you think you're going to last longer than I did, then you misunderstand my strength. Before I came to Hell, I hunted demons. I killed angels. I fought these creatures for my entire life, and I knew their ways intimately. It was a demon that murdered my mother. A demon that killed my father.
"I fought with every shred of my being. I lost my pride and I fought. I lost my dignity and I fought. I lost my family, and I fought. You're strong too, but you have to be strong and smart. You have to know when folding is better, and I promise you, this is one of those occasions. You can be warm, and comfortable, and fed. Sex with me can be on your terms. And best of all no torture. No more bleeding, no more broken bones. Don't take so long coming to understand what took me years, Eliot. It isn't worth it.
"Fighting is pointless if you lose all of yourself doing it. The layers get flayed away. You forget who you are. I know you don't want that to happen to you."
Eliot did try to turn away, but only until he saw it was futile and that
Sam would follow his moments. At that point he met the demon's cool gaze.
No matter what Eliot thought of the man, there was truth to his words.
Sam didn't have to tell him, he had seen it happen before, to prisoners
that were kept for years, decades, in lightless holes that broke a person's
spirit as well as their body. Eliot was thankful to never have stayed in
those places for long, but he was in Hell now and this was for eternity. He
will break, eventually, this was the type of place that certainly wore a
person down, but not today.
"It has happened to you," Eliot noted, studying the man who told him
these things, "if you're convincin' me t'fold right now." Although his face
was held Eliot still shook his head with the leeway he was given, without
breaking their eye contact. "Some things are worth fightin' for. An' it's
when y'stop that you forget who you are."
"It has happened to me," he agreed. "And if you think I'm ashamed of it, I'll remind you that I've lost my pride. There's nothing of it left. I still remember who I was, but it feels like a distant dream; I'm not doing this because I have expectations of anything ever being better. I'm not doing it because I was ever really the kind of man who would take the whip to someone innocent rather than accept the beating myself. I know I wasn't. But now? What's the point? The other person will be beaten eventually, I may as well save myself the wasted empathy.
"But that was never me."
Sam Winchester, the hero? He's evaporated. Sam isn't even sure he could countenance facing himself, considering what he's been through, what he accepts as normal. He'd be ashamed to look himself in the eye, but if Lucifer insisted that he bend over in front of himself for a steady fucking, Sam would do it without flinching. He had lost himself; he didn't need to be reminded.
But he was just so calm, as he admitted these things. He bent in, brushing his lips against Eliot's ear, sighing softly. "Honor used to mean something to me. Heroism. Now I'm willing to fuck you three times a day if it means that, one day, I'll get the Devil off my back." His tone went lower, more sultry. "Have you ever been fucked in front of a room full of impassive demons? Stripped down, humiliated, buried inside yourself to try and escape the cold eyes all around you, their judgement, their muted laughter as you cry and bleed into the dirt? I have. It happens all the time. Trust me, Eliot, I will do anything it takes, even if it means you're the one taking my place. That's the price of freedom in this place. You'll see."
Eliot almost felt bad for the demon, almost. If Sam was once all that he
said he was, then he had fallen so low that he had lost himself like he
said he had. That, partially, scared Eliot, more than all the tortures and
threats he had faced up to this point. To think that one day he would
degenerate to such a degree, to no longer care about what he did, he
would cease to exist.
Since the question was rhetorical, Eliot doubted the question required an
answer. But his body language, the slight stiffening of his already set
shoulders, the crease that appeared between his brows, were replies enough.
Those words still meant something to him. The answer was? He had, before
men who were evil enough to have been demons, restrained and helpless as
they tried to break his spirit in the quickest way possible. It wasn't Hell
that invented this as the direct way for breaking someone, but they merely
elaborated on what humans had come up long ago, fine tuned through time and
resources to make it a new category of torture.
Eliot didn't break when it happened before, there was nothing he could do
didn't mean he had to be ashamed of the humiliation forced upon him. He
didn't shame himself with how he took it, and he was determined that he
wouldn't this time either, not by crying, begging, or giving in.
Meeting Sam's flat, cool gaze, he leered and asked simply, "When do we
start?"
It would be different this time. It would never end. If Eliot held out for centuries then it would be centuries. Sam had stopped caring about time, and by the time they'd been doing this for that long, it might as well have stopped existing. They never aged, they would never die; that was the meaning of eternity.
He nodded at Eliot's bravery though, his confidence, recognising what was once himself in those eyes, or perhaps...perhaps Eliot was more similar to his brother in that way. Dean would have taken the challenge head on...but then, Dean had broken too, in his time. It was strength that would give Eliot hope to hold onto himself, but years would pass. Years would pass, and he'd have to wonder why he was holding out. What was it for?
He tipped in, so that his knee came to rest between Eliot's, supporting his weight as he bent in to brush a kiss to his throat.
"We already began." Another kiss, and then the whisper of metal against bare skin, before Sam set a matching collar in place about Eliot's throat. As he closed it, the metal magically sealed closed, and came to rest fluidly against his skin, leaving no room for Eliot to so much as scrape a fingernail underneath it. But he could breathe easily, almost as though it wasn't there. It bore his name.
Sam stayed close, when he was done, reaching one free hand down to tug on the chain, before curling his fingers underneath Eliot's balls. "You sleep where you're told to sleep, eat when I tell you you can eat. You come when I tell you that you can come. Everything you took for granted before is now granted only by my permission. Mine. The ring will come off when I decide, and if need be I'll leave you aching in it for days. However long it takes. The things I put you through will feel like torture, if you displease me."
He teased the tender, delicate skin as he spoke, tickling lightly, before sliding just the pad of his thumb across the underside of Eliot's trapped erection.
"At least if it falls off, it'll grow right back, hm?"
The collar was slipped on as a band of cold, and Eliot couldn't see it but
he knew it was there. Without a mirror he could only guess the unflattering
thing it might say, or perhaps nothing at all, or like Sam's, just his
name. He had no way of knowing until he saw a reflection, and in truth, he
didn't want to know. The cold metal warmed quickly though and felt
misleadingly comfortable, almost forgettable. He pressed his lips to a
straight line at the kiss, and it wavered slightly, just slightly, when Sam
tugged at the short chain.
His expression remained impassionate while Sam rolled his sensitive
genitals, playing with them, stroking the engorged vein that ran in the
erection above, just getting a feel for him. If Sam was a woman, if this
wasn't Hell, Eliot would be enjoying it. Yet here he remained stock still,
back uncomfortably straight like he was at attention to keep his shoulders
back and trying to stay as detached as possible.
Still, Eliot couldn't help the shiver down his spine at Sam's whispered
suggestion. No self respecting man wouldn't and if it wasn't for the
contraption around his cock, he was sure his erection would flag a little
too.
"Gotta love how everythin' heals," Eliot answered sarcastically while
breathing heavily through his nose. He knew he had no control over his
biological response, couldn't keep his erection from getting harder to
Sam's teasing or his balls from filling. No control over his lifestyle or
autonomy, will be made to live in humiliation and degradation, and he
accepted that, but Sam will never control how Eliot will feel about it. He
will never hear Eliot beg, or break, or fold just to make things
easier.
Maybe, years down the line when the line blurred so badly it became a
smudge, but then that wouldn't be Eliot, would it?
Sam was pleased with Eliot's responses. They did well enough, mostly, to satisfy what he wanted from him, what he could have expected on their first excursion together. Sam knew he couldn't expect more, after all if Eliot fell apart so easily, he wouldn't be sufficient challenge.
Sam stroked for a moment longer, before pulling away again, climbing back to his feet and stepping back. He moved to a distance, and began to slowly undress, lifting his jacket and shirt off and folding them neatly. He folded, laid the items down, and then undid his fly, removing his pants. He wore no underwear underneath, unsurprisingly, and his erection instantly sprang into the still air.
A thought and he could get hard. It had been that way for some time, now. He needed to be able to perform that easily, and he was ready to perform now.
But then, Lucifer could switch him off with a word, too. Sam stroked his own erection, palming it with a kind of steady ferocity, a focus, like he was working his way toward getting off at speed. His steady stroking and urgency--he watched Eliot as he did it, lucid and focused through every moment.
Regardless of what Eliot said, it was still a relief when Sam stopped
playing with him and stepped away. Eliot hadn't reached that point where
his cock felt too hard and his balls turned painfully blue from prolonged
erection yet, and he probably wouldn't, not for a while further, but any
delay to that fate was good in his books. Instead while Sam undressed,
Eliot made himself calm down through breathing exercises, a slow in and
out, deep even breaths. It was the same between pain management and this,
and although it did nothing to calm his raging erection thanks to the
hellish ring, it calmed his mind.
When he looked up, he found Sam had stripped and was there in his own naked
glory, standing large and tall. The first thing Eliot noticed, besides the
huge bouncing erection the jutting from the Sam's groin, was the huge brand
on Sam's chest. It was created in some sort of triangular design, a symbol,
that clearly marked Sam. Maybe all demons were marked that way, Eliot
wouldn't know, he had never seen one naked before. Then there were the
piercings, small tiny silver rings that seemed to wink in the light with
the collar, made more prominent now that it was all Sam wore.
But what caught Eliot's attention weren't the glaring obvious, but the
subtle marks, scars, that curved their tips around Sam's front from behind.
On the hips, peaking here and there. They were just darkened shadows on the
skin, but no doubt only the tip of a very large iceberg.
Eliot finished studying the demon to stare sullenly at the him stripping
his cock. And tried not to feel anything for how large the creature
was. It will hurt. May even rip him apart. Eliot made himself prepare
mentally for that.
Sam didn't give anything away. Besides the scars and piercings, the markings, and a small scar to his breastbone that was almost invisible, unless seen up close, nothing was outwardly visible, at least in so far that it was exposed, or open. Sam concealed what everything meant with his simple pose.
No, it was only the one marking that could mean something to anyone, and Eliot would have to be educated to be able to read it--after all it was Lucifer's sigil, in enochian. A brand left there by the archangel himself, as ownership. Eliot would never bear any similar mark.
Sam stroked himself, steadily, standing solidly with his legs squared shoulder width apart. Even so, as he approached the edge of orgasm, quickly and efficiently, he didn't so much as tremble where he stood. He halted seconds before spilling over, his face pink, cock engorged, a fine sheen of sweat over his body, and approach Eliot, carefully crouching down to take a fine blade from the suitcase.
"This was mine, when I was still...still me. I used it to fight demons; kill them. It's one of the few things that can. It was the first blade that was ever used on my back." He placed it high, at the point of Eliot's shoulder, and dragged it down, cutting - not deeply - as far as his spine. The cut matched his own perfectly, even to the point of depth, and to complete the act...
Sam almost made no sound as he came, but the hot splatter of his come on the wound and down Eliot's back was unmistakable. He came down to his knees behind him, just a moment later, almost trembling where they touched, his breath a little fast, his body radiating heat, and his voice was shaky and rattled as he spoke:
"That's all you'll wear until I say otherwise. Blood and come. I'll decide when it's cleaned away. I'll decide when you're worthy to wear clothes again. It stings, doesn't it?"
Eliot thought Sam was going to rape him, stick his giant demon cock in,
break him both in body and resistance by using the simplest, and most
powerful weapon given to man... But he was wrong.
The blade had a wicked serrated edge and some markings etched into its
side, but nothing said it was anything more than a fancy hunting knife. It
felt no different when it rested for a brief second on his shoulder; it was
just as cold as normal metal and just as sharp when it cut down.
Eliot gritted his teeth when the blade dragged through skin and flesh, hot
and burning across his back in a wet swathe as blood quickly welled up.
From feel alone Eliot knew it was deep enough to hurt and bleed but not
enough to severely damage nerves and numb it.
The hitter started to bend forward at the pain but froze when that pulled
on the short chain and jerked on his cock, dragging the length of it across
the sensitive skin between his balls and pulling infuriatingly on his
erection. He stopped and forced his shoulders down to relieve the pressure,
back shaking marginally, quivering like a fleeting breeze on a leaf, in the
effort to remain in position. And at the humiliating climax, Sam's hot,
burning cum spraying like a mark of shame onto his wound, he could only
grit his teeth until his gums hurt.
Seconds later, Eliot was breathing heavily like he had came himself. It
felt hot and wet behind him, blood and cum mixing together to roll down his
back. His eyes were closed but he had finally relaxed his jaw. "Least I
won't be cold in down 'ere." Yeah, it stung like Hell.
"I won't let you be cold," he promised, and now Sam slid closer, wrapping his arms around Eliot's back. His chest pressed against Eliot's back, just about clipping the wound, instantly smudging the mixture of liquids between them.
Sam didn't care. He'd been so filthy for so long that he had no hesitation. Lucifer's come had layered so thick on his back that when he'd finally been allowed to wash it away, Sam had needed to spend hours under the water, just to make sure that the crust didn't tear away half of his skin at the same time. He'd never been more raw, or more grateful to be clean.
He'd teach Eliot everything that he'd learned. He'd teach him the way he'd been taught because he already knew that it worked. It had worked on him.
Sam bent in to brush his mouth against Eliot's pulse, and reached his other arm around him, taking hold of his cock. He stroked gently, tenderly, working on Eliot's arousal now, everything about his approach was meant to melt those rigid defenses, take advantage of his body's natural responses.
"I want you to come. I do. But I'll hold back if need be. I want you to ask me to let you come. That's all you need to do."
Eliot's eyes opened briefly when he felt the demon sink down behind him and
just lay himself against him, around him, like holding a large teddy bear.
It pushed against his wound, smudging cum and blood in disgusting squelches
between them that made Eliot's stomach roll with revulsion. The demon had
no sense of dignity, no cleanliness or pride as it all but rolled in its
own spend while pressing more into his cut.
Eliot flexed his trapped hands behind him when Sam found his cock. Not only
were they cuffed and forced low from the chain, but Sam's body pressing
against him trapped them down there. If he reached back, he might be able
to grab the demon's newly spent package, find one nut perhaps and twist,
but with Sam's hands on Eliot's own privates, retaliation would doubtless
be swift. He left that idea for later.
For now, Eliot flexed his fingers, making it seem like it was a natural
reaction to having his cock stroked. It pulled a little against his balls
and he grimaced at that but he had to know where his hands were relative to
Sam's groin. He let his eyes drop close again to concentrate on the feeling
of his fingers.
"Y'said it'll grow back if it falls off. Guess we'll have to see." And if
it happened, he planned to make sure his wasn't the only one that'll need
to grow back.
The difference between himself and Eliot was that Sam would get a chance to wash all the mess off afterward. Dignity and cleanliness meant very little down here. There was no one to impress, nobody who would ever see past the name on his collar. Sam knew that even though he'd put the collar on Eliot, it didn't mean the man was his. He belonged to Lucifer just as much as Sam did.
"You shouldn't feel this way, Eliot. You have a great advantage over all the other people down here. The Hell you could face if I gave up on you...it would be terrible. You should be grateful for me."
Eliot's fingers grazed the inside of his thigh, and Sam snarled suddenly, pushing him forward, shoving him right down toward his face. He'd have to go flat, or else suffer a brutal tug to his cock in the process.
Sam put the knife back in the case, then withdrew one of the dildos, making it wet with lube. It was one of the smaller devices, but it had a trick in its sting. A moment later, Sam was nudging it into place, keeping his distance as he did. Once it was past the first, resistant ring of muscle, he slammed it home with brutal abandon. It was too slim to tear anything, but an unwelcome invasion it undoubtedly was.
Eliot ignored all that Sam was saying, hellish propaganda, he knew how it
worked. It meant nothing to him, he wasn't in hell to take a vacation after
all. Normally, he would fold, live to fight another day, but that didn't
work in hell when there was no other day. And what they wanted was for him
to work for evil, plain and simple, and Eliot had honestly tried it before,
was great at it, and knew he wanted nothing to do with it again. Anyway,
Eliot Spencer didn't give up easy.
The slight brush of his fingertips against the heated inner thigh of the
demon gave Eliot a split second of hope before he found himself pushed
forward.
With his hands locked behind him, Eliot had nothing to catch himself with
as he fell. His fighter's instincts had him try to take the landing with
his shoulder but that tugged so horribly on his cock that he cried out, and
ended up falling flat on his face. Pain exploded in his groin, the chain
having pulled taut during the fall and his arms going out of position to
minimize the damage. He gasped, hands flexing helplessly as he tried to
spread his legs and get his hands down to minimize the damage. He barely
noticed that his nose was on fire or that the salt he tasted on his lips
was blood from his nose.
Even the dildo, that blunt, cold thing suddenly hitting home, although it
couldn't be ignored, it's pain was still inferior to the fire that spread
from his cock. It was hard biting back his groan when all he wanted to do
was to curl up over his hurt privates. It took several quick deep breaths
before Eliot trusted his voice to say anything. "Yeah?" he wheezed, "I
think this hurts me more than you."
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Eliot tried to turn from Sam's approach but there wasn't much space for him to retreat to. The rocky wall behind him offered little leeway, and even when he tried, whatever power held him in place also prevented him from escaping. The demon's caress across his cheek raised the hairs at the back of his neck, and he felt bile rising up when Sam leaned in.
To his relief, the demon didn't kiss him. It was just a brush, a feeling of warm skin over his and then it was gone, with Sam stepping back and Eliot stumbling away from the wall.
The second Eliot realized he was free, he tried to attack. It didn't matter that Sam was right, that he had no nowhere to go even if he won, that winning was as futile as his struggles, he just knew he had to keep fighting. It wasn't so much a moral right or wrong than Eliot simply couldn't stand giving up. The end game wasn't the issue, or whether it would be much worse than this to surrender, he wasn't surrendering to it without fighting.
He sprung again like a released spring, aiming to throw several solid quick jabs to Sam's abdomen. If he could catch him in his solar plexus, that should wind and knock the larger man back to give Eliot a slight advantage. Even in terms of size, Sam read larger, taller than him by nearly a full head, but Eliot had taken down bigger people... in life.
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He wasn't going gentle. He pressed in, wicked fast and devilishly strong, moving to jam his hand into Eliot's throat to continue the effort to throw him down with a pin. By physically pinning him, he'd have opportunity to move the rest of his body into position, the whole weight and length of him.
To be fair, nothing about this was even footing. Eliot may be desperate, but Sam was strong, well fed, and he hadn't been physically tortured in...he didn't know. Years now. He did what he was told. He held Eliot in place and struck him across the face with the fist of his other hand.
And then he growled, low, intensely: "I see we have to start right from the beginning, huh?"
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Eliot had fought many opponents in life before, but never at such unbalanced odds that had him completely outmatched. His blow was swiped aside like it was a child's punch and he found himself falling before he even caught the counterattack that hit him. He was normally fast, relied on his speed and compact attacks to gain advantage over larger, stronger opponents. But what could he do when met up against someone who was larger and stronger and faster than him?
His back hit the solid ground with a whistle of air as his breath was knocked right out of his lungs. Before he could recover, roll out of the way, Sam was on him, hand to his throat -a real one this time- and keeping him down with a strength that Eliot couldn't hope to match. He couldn't even budge as he pushed up with all his might, but the demon who laid lengthwise along him was too strong and Eliot stayed where he was.
"You can go fuck yourself," he growled back, voice low and rumbling from the depths of his chest.
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He returned the statement in just the same tone of voice as Eliot's, and Sam reached his free hand down, pressing it up underneath Eliot's shirt, riding it higher as he shoved upward.
"Not only that, but you're going to like it. That's the difference, Eliot. Torture is one thing, you can resist torture; it's horrible, it hurts, but you can be defiant in the face of it. Pleasure will break you. You can't change the way your body responds. Friction, and orgasm--"
He pressed in closer, kissing Eliot's throat between his thumb and fingers, against the center of his chest.
"I'm going to make you come for me, even though you hate me."
He reached down, tugging at Eliot's nipple as he went. Down, down, sliding into the slack pants that he'd been left in after his last session. It was easy to wrap his hand around Eliot's cock.
"But you'll hate to love me, in time."
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Eliot tried to buck up, anything that could help dislodge the demon that was getting handsy all over him. His own hands went up, or tried to, when he realized the power that kept him pinned to the wall was back again, this time holding his arms down. They wouldn't let him lift more than half an inch off the ground, and completely useless at stopping what was happening. He felt Sam's hand reach under the loose shirt he was given, more like hell's version of a hospital gown, that was as easy to shove up as an oversized cloak. The hand was dry and warm, and, Sam was right, had it been any other situation, it would be pleasant. Had it been any other situation.
"Just because my body's respondin'--" Eliot's words stalled when Sam twisted his nipple, and gritting his teeth, the hitter tensed his abdominal muscles to bring his concentration back. "--doesn't mean a fuckin' thing."
It was harder to do the same when the demon found his way to Eliot's cock though, the hand wrapping around him being firm but gentle, not at all painful or demanding except for Eliot's inability to twist free. He tried to kick as well, or free one leg so he could knee Sam where the light won't shine, but the demon was smart and the way he knelt over his legs kept even those limbs pinned down.
For now, there was nothing he could do. "Doesn't mean a fuckin' thing," he repeated, closing his eyes.
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"I tried my hardest to resist. I thought of all the worst, most horrible things in the world, and Lucifer stroked me, just like this. He was gentle. He spoke filthy words in my ear as he did it. He told me that if I was as pure as I wished I was, then his semen would burn me, like holy water burns demons. But I wasn't pure. I'll never be pure again."
Sam paused, squeezing the tip deliberately between thumb and forefinger, and then he began to stroke once again, firmly, steadily.
"I told myself it didn't matter, but I got hard, and he fucked me, and I came. I came harder than I've ever come before, and I was so ashamed."
He pulled his hand away, and showed it to Eliot, showed him the glistening precome between his fingers. "See what I mean?"
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Eliot turned his head away as Sam stroked, his large, warm hand wrapped around Eliot's cock and raising it to hardness under his careful, gentle ministrations. There was no way to prevent himself from getting hard, not when Sam played him so expertly, twisting slightly with each pull just the way Eliot liked it when he stroked himself, the pad of Sam's thumb brushing the sensitive tip to send pleasurable shocks through his groin to pool hotly in his abdomen.
He was getting hard, and as Sam continued explaining his rape to him, Eliot's breath started to pant slightly with his arousal. His head remained turned though and eyes remained closed, at least until Sam released him and brought his hand up for Eliot to see the first signs of his body's betrayal.
Eliot had opened his eyes to stare stonily up at it, then to Sam's smug expression behind it. "I haven't been pure for a very long time, I'm in hell. Ya think bendin' my body'll break me?" Eliot's eyes fell shut again, like looking at Sam disgusted him. "I ain't that weak." Like you, hung heavy in the silence that followed.
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He stroked, perhaps a half dozen more times, being just rough enough to make an impact, and then, when he was done, Sam withdrew his hand completely.
Now, Sam began the process of stripping Eliot down. He ripped everything, using his bare hands, tearing the thin, useless fabric into several strips, and bundling them up, tossed them aside. He'd remove them later.
"You're done with clothes," he told him. "From now on, all you wear is what I put on you."
Sam stood, slowly, and leaving Eliot where he was, pinned as he was, he stepped across him, moving back to the door, which he unlocked. A demon on the other side handed him a briefcase, and Sam locked the door again before returning to Eliot's side.
"I have as long as I want. Years. We can do this over and over again, for years. It took me almost...four. Four years, I managed to insist to myself it was rape. I wasn't involved. The fifth year, I gave in. Instead of three times a day, I cooperated, and we only fucked once a day. Sometimes I blew him. It was the first reprieve I'd had in years.
"It could take years for us, too. I have the time, and so do you."
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Eliot was a man who was very comfortable in his own skin. He wasn't ashamed of nakedness, he had a body of balanced strength and good assets that pleased a lot of women. So even being stripped of the joke that was his clothing, baring to the world the full dripping erection that Sam had all but forced on him, he wasn't ashamed.
More importantly, he wouldn't allow himself to be because that would be exactly what Sam wanted.
He was dispassionate to the announcement he would be naked from now on, not to be given even that tiny bit of dignity that even the lowliest tortured souls were given after their sessions. He didn't even have to tell himself it didn't matter, because it didn't. It was just one layer of fabric that held no protection and being taken away could be used as a form of humiliation.
He did open his eyes though when he felt Sam moving away, but soon he discovered he was still pinned and couldn't move even his legs to get them up. He tried a few times before giving up, choosing to conserve his energy for any trials ahead. Sam's return had glancing to the briefcase and back at Sam.
"Sure," he said, trying to show how little he cared. "If you get yer rocks off that way. So you'll come 'fore an' after yer pals string out my guts?"
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He said it calmly, as he set the briefcase down beside the bed, opening it wide so that Eliot could see. There were brutal looking rubberized sex toys, as well as slender silver instruments, some with ratchet gears, others more phallic in shape. There was - unusually, considering it was Hell - a tube of lubricant, but it was a cockring, a short length of chain and a pair of shackles that Sam took out first.
The cock ring he attached, tightening it matter of factly as though he'd done it a thousand times before, before Sam attached the clip at the end of the chain to the base of it. Then, with the aid of his telekinesis, he flipped Eliot over, shackling his wrists before attaching the other end of the chain to them.
The pressure came off. With augmented strength and a grip at the back of his neck, Sam pulled Eliot up to his knees, his arms behind his back, wrists chained to his cock under his body. He'd have to splay his legs to even stay comfortable, and getting up wasn't an option. The position Sam had put him in, Eliot could look straight down into the items in the briefcase.
"Nobody's going to torture you except for me. Nobody's going to have you except for me...maybe Lucifer. But if I succeed? If I succeed, I can make it stop. That's all I want. You're my ticket out, Eliot."
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There was nothing Eliot could do while Sam trussed him up like some kinky sex slave, cock in a tight steel ring and linked back to the cuffs that tied his hands together. Once again Eliot got the breath knocked out of him when Sam flipped him to get the cuffs on. He cursed, cussing out in general low growls as everything got locked into place.
Then up he went, just a force that lifted Eliot to his knees like he weighed nothing at all, which was just as well since in his current position there was no way he could've done that himself. Even knelt he had to keep his knees parted, almost to shoulder width, and arms down, shoulders pulled back so his wrists stayed low past his waist. The chain was so damn short that in any other position, he would be pulling incredibly uncomfortably on his privates.
If Sam's intention was to instill fear in Eliot by showing him the instruments of his torture, Eliot made sure it didn't happen. He glanced down, briefly, but only long enough that it would seem he was merely curious and was now satisfied.
And suddenly, everything made sense. Sam was still on hell's probation and Eliot would be his final test. When Eliot grinned up at the demon, it was cruel and without a shred of sympathy. "Then too bad for you, you ain't goin' anywhere." Eliot wasn't breaking anytime soon.
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Sam crouched in front of Eliot again, just in front of the kneeling man, and raised his hand back to his cheek. This time, even though he had room to twist his face away, they could be no response, and no escape. Sam followed any resistance, and after a moment raised the second hand to force him still, looking back into his eyes cooly.
"If you think you're going to last longer than I did, then you misunderstand my strength. Before I came to Hell, I hunted demons. I killed angels. I fought these creatures for my entire life, and I knew their ways intimately. It was a demon that murdered my mother. A demon that killed my father.
"I fought with every shred of my being. I lost my pride and I fought. I lost my dignity and I fought. I lost my family, and I fought. You're strong too, but you have to be strong and smart. You have to know when folding is better, and I promise you, this is one of those occasions. You can be warm, and comfortable, and fed. Sex with me can be on your terms. And best of all no torture. No more bleeding, no more broken bones. Don't take so long coming to understand what took me years, Eliot. It isn't worth it.
"Fighting is pointless if you lose all of yourself doing it. The layers get flayed away. You forget who you are. I know you don't want that to happen to you."
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Eliot did try to turn away, but only until he saw it was futile and that Sam would follow his moments. At that point he met the demon's cool gaze. No matter what Eliot thought of the man, there was truth to his words.
Sam didn't have to tell him, he had seen it happen before, to prisoners that were kept for years, decades, in lightless holes that broke a person's spirit as well as their body. Eliot was thankful to never have stayed in those places for long, but he was in Hell now and this was for eternity. He will break, eventually, this was the type of place that certainly wore a person down, but not today.
"It has happened to you," Eliot noted, studying the man who told him these things, "if you're convincin' me t'fold right now." Although his face was held Eliot still shook his head with the leeway he was given, without breaking their eye contact. "Some things are worth fightin' for. An' it's when y'stop that you forget who you are."
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"But that was never me."
Sam Winchester, the hero? He's evaporated. Sam isn't even sure he could countenance facing himself, considering what he's been through, what he accepts as normal. He'd be ashamed to look himself in the eye, but if Lucifer insisted that he bend over in front of himself for a steady fucking, Sam would do it without flinching. He had lost himself; he didn't need to be reminded.
But he was just so calm, as he admitted these things. He bent in, brushing his lips against Eliot's ear, sighing softly. "Honor used to mean something to me. Heroism. Now I'm willing to fuck you three times a day if it means that, one day, I'll get the Devil off my back." His tone went lower, more sultry. "Have you ever been fucked in front of a room full of impassive demons? Stripped down, humiliated, buried inside yourself to try and escape the cold eyes all around you, their judgement, their muted laughter as you cry and bleed into the dirt? I have. It happens all the time. Trust me, Eliot, I will do anything it takes, even if it means you're the one taking my place. That's the price of freedom in this place. You'll see."
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Eliot almost felt bad for the demon, almost. If Sam was once all that he said he was, then he had fallen so low that he had lost himself like he said he had. That, partially, scared Eliot, more than all the tortures and threats he had faced up to this point. To think that one day he would degenerate to such a degree, to no longer care about what he did, he would cease to exist.
Since the question was rhetorical, Eliot doubted the question required an answer. But his body language, the slight stiffening of his already set shoulders, the crease that appeared between his brows, were replies enough. Those words still meant something to him. The answer was? He had, before men who were evil enough to have been demons, restrained and helpless as they tried to break his spirit in the quickest way possible. It wasn't Hell that invented this as the direct way for breaking someone, but they merely elaborated on what humans had come up long ago, fine tuned through time and resources to make it a new category of torture.
Eliot didn't break when it happened before, there was nothing he could do didn't mean he had to be ashamed of the humiliation forced upon him. He didn't shame himself with how he took it, and he was determined that he wouldn't this time either, not by crying, begging, or giving in.
Meeting Sam's flat, cool gaze, he leered and asked simply, "When do we start?"
no subject
He nodded at Eliot's bravery though, his confidence, recognising what was once himself in those eyes, or perhaps...perhaps Eliot was more similar to his brother in that way. Dean would have taken the challenge head on...but then, Dean had broken too, in his time. It was strength that would give Eliot hope to hold onto himself, but years would pass. Years would pass, and he'd have to wonder why he was holding out. What was it for?
He tipped in, so that his knee came to rest between Eliot's, supporting his weight as he bent in to brush a kiss to his throat.
"We already began." Another kiss, and then the whisper of metal against bare skin, before Sam set a matching collar in place about Eliot's throat. As he closed it, the metal magically sealed closed, and came to rest fluidly against his skin, leaving no room for Eliot to so much as scrape a fingernail underneath it. But he could breathe easily, almost as though it wasn't there. It bore his name.
Sam stayed close, when he was done, reaching one free hand down to tug on the chain, before curling his fingers underneath Eliot's balls. "You sleep where you're told to sleep, eat when I tell you you can eat. You come when I tell you that you can come. Everything you took for granted before is now granted only by my permission. Mine. The ring will come off when I decide, and if need be I'll leave you aching in it for days. However long it takes. The things I put you through will feel like torture, if you displease me."
He teased the tender, delicate skin as he spoke, tickling lightly, before sliding just the pad of his thumb across the underside of Eliot's trapped erection.
"At least if it falls off, it'll grow right back, hm?"
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The collar was slipped on as a band of cold, and Eliot couldn't see it but he knew it was there. Without a mirror he could only guess the unflattering thing it might say, or perhaps nothing at all, or like Sam's, just his name. He had no way of knowing until he saw a reflection, and in truth, he didn't want to know. The cold metal warmed quickly though and felt misleadingly comfortable, almost forgettable. He pressed his lips to a straight line at the kiss, and it wavered slightly, just slightly, when Sam tugged at the short chain.
His expression remained impassionate while Sam rolled his sensitive genitals, playing with them, stroking the engorged vein that ran in the erection above, just getting a feel for him. If Sam was a woman, if this wasn't Hell, Eliot would be enjoying it. Yet here he remained stock still, back uncomfortably straight like he was at attention to keep his shoulders back and trying to stay as detached as possible.
Still, Eliot couldn't help the shiver down his spine at Sam's whispered suggestion. No self respecting man wouldn't and if it wasn't for the contraption around his cock, he was sure his erection would flag a little too.
"Gotta love how everythin' heals," Eliot answered sarcastically while breathing heavily through his nose. He knew he had no control over his biological response, couldn't keep his erection from getting harder to Sam's teasing or his balls from filling. No control over his lifestyle or autonomy, will be made to live in humiliation and degradation, and he accepted that, but Sam will never control how Eliot will feel about it. He will never hear Eliot beg, or break, or fold just to make things easier.
Maybe, years down the line when the line blurred so badly it became a smudge, but then that wouldn't be Eliot, would it?
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Sam stroked for a moment longer, before pulling away again, climbing back to his feet and stepping back. He moved to a distance, and began to slowly undress, lifting his jacket and shirt off and folding them neatly. He folded, laid the items down, and then undid his fly, removing his pants. He wore no underwear underneath, unsurprisingly, and his erection instantly sprang into the still air.
A thought and he could get hard. It had been that way for some time, now. He needed to be able to perform that easily, and he was ready to perform now.
But then, Lucifer could switch him off with a word, too. Sam stroked his own erection, palming it with a kind of steady ferocity, a focus, like he was working his way toward getting off at speed. His steady stroking and urgency--he watched Eliot as he did it, lucid and focused through every moment.
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Regardless of what Eliot said, it was still a relief when Sam stopped playing with him and stepped away. Eliot hadn't reached that point where his cock felt too hard and his balls turned painfully blue from prolonged erection yet, and he probably wouldn't, not for a while further, but any delay to that fate was good in his books. Instead while Sam undressed, Eliot made himself calm down through breathing exercises, a slow in and out, deep even breaths. It was the same between pain management and this, and although it did nothing to calm his raging erection thanks to the hellish ring, it calmed his mind.
When he looked up, he found Sam had stripped and was there in his own naked glory, standing large and tall. The first thing Eliot noticed, besides the huge bouncing erection the jutting from the Sam's groin, was the huge brand on Sam's chest. It was created in some sort of triangular design, a symbol, that clearly marked Sam. Maybe all demons were marked that way, Eliot wouldn't know, he had never seen one naked before. Then there were the piercings, small tiny silver rings that seemed to wink in the light with the collar, made more prominent now that it was all Sam wore.
But what caught Eliot's attention weren't the glaring obvious, but the subtle marks, scars, that curved their tips around Sam's front from behind. On the hips, peaking here and there. They were just darkened shadows on the skin, but no doubt only the tip of a very large iceberg.
Eliot finished studying the demon to stare sullenly at the him stripping his cock. And tried not to feel anything for how large the creature was. It will hurt. May even rip him apart. Eliot made himself prepare mentally for that.
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No, it was only the one marking that could mean something to anyone, and Eliot would have to be educated to be able to read it--after all it was Lucifer's sigil, in enochian. A brand left there by the archangel himself, as ownership. Eliot would never bear any similar mark.
Sam stroked himself, steadily, standing solidly with his legs squared shoulder width apart. Even so, as he approached the edge of orgasm, quickly and efficiently, he didn't so much as tremble where he stood. He halted seconds before spilling over, his face pink, cock engorged, a fine sheen of sweat over his body, and approach Eliot, carefully crouching down to take a fine blade from the suitcase.
"This was mine, when I was still...still me. I used it to fight demons; kill them. It's one of the few things that can. It was the first blade that was ever used on my back." He placed it high, at the point of Eliot's shoulder, and dragged it down, cutting - not deeply - as far as his spine. The cut matched his own perfectly, even to the point of depth, and to complete the act...
Sam almost made no sound as he came, but the hot splatter of his come on the wound and down Eliot's back was unmistakable. He came down to his knees behind him, just a moment later, almost trembling where they touched, his breath a little fast, his body radiating heat, and his voice was shaky and rattled as he spoke:
"That's all you'll wear until I say otherwise. Blood and come. I'll decide when it's cleaned away. I'll decide when you're worthy to wear clothes again. It stings, doesn't it?"
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Eliot thought Sam was going to rape him, stick his giant demon cock in, break him both in body and resistance by using the simplest, and most powerful weapon given to man... But he was wrong.
The blade had a wicked serrated edge and some markings etched into its side, but nothing said it was anything more than a fancy hunting knife. It felt no different when it rested for a brief second on his shoulder; it was just as cold as normal metal and just as sharp when it cut down.
Eliot gritted his teeth when the blade dragged through skin and flesh, hot and burning across his back in a wet swathe as blood quickly welled up. From feel alone Eliot knew it was deep enough to hurt and bleed but not enough to severely damage nerves and numb it.
The hitter started to bend forward at the pain but froze when that pulled on the short chain and jerked on his cock, dragging the length of it across the sensitive skin between his balls and pulling infuriatingly on his erection. He stopped and forced his shoulders down to relieve the pressure, back shaking marginally, quivering like a fleeting breeze on a leaf, in the effort to remain in position. And at the humiliating climax, Sam's hot, burning cum spraying like a mark of shame onto his wound, he could only grit his teeth until his gums hurt.
Seconds later, Eliot was breathing heavily like he had came himself. It felt hot and wet behind him, blood and cum mixing together to roll down his back. His eyes were closed but he had finally relaxed his jaw. "Least I won't be cold in down 'ere." Yeah, it stung like Hell.
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Sam didn't care. He'd been so filthy for so long that he had no hesitation. Lucifer's come had layered so thick on his back that when he'd finally been allowed to wash it away, Sam had needed to spend hours under the water, just to make sure that the crust didn't tear away half of his skin at the same time. He'd never been more raw, or more grateful to be clean.
He'd teach Eliot everything that he'd learned. He'd teach him the way he'd been taught because he already knew that it worked. It had worked on him.
Sam bent in to brush his mouth against Eliot's pulse, and reached his other arm around him, taking hold of his cock. He stroked gently, tenderly, working on Eliot's arousal now, everything about his approach was meant to melt those rigid defenses, take advantage of his body's natural responses.
"I want you to come. I do. But I'll hold back if need be. I want you to ask me to let you come. That's all you need to do."
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Eliot's eyes opened briefly when he felt the demon sink down behind him and just lay himself against him, around him, like holding a large teddy bear. It pushed against his wound, smudging cum and blood in disgusting squelches between them that made Eliot's stomach roll with revulsion. The demon had no sense of dignity, no cleanliness or pride as it all but rolled in its own spend while pressing more into his cut.
Eliot flexed his trapped hands behind him when Sam found his cock. Not only were they cuffed and forced low from the chain, but Sam's body pressing against him trapped them down there. If he reached back, he might be able to grab the demon's newly spent package, find one nut perhaps and twist, but with Sam's hands on Eliot's own privates, retaliation would doubtless be swift. He left that idea for later.
For now, Eliot flexed his fingers, making it seem like it was a natural reaction to having his cock stroked. It pulled a little against his balls and he grimaced at that but he had to know where his hands were relative to Sam's groin. He let his eyes drop close again to concentrate on the feeling of his fingers.
"Y'said it'll grow back if it falls off. Guess we'll have to see." And if it happened, he planned to make sure his wasn't the only one that'll need to grow back.
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"You shouldn't feel this way, Eliot. You have a great advantage over all the other people down here. The Hell you could face if I gave up on you...it would be terrible. You should be grateful for me."
Eliot's fingers grazed the inside of his thigh, and Sam snarled suddenly, pushing him forward, shoving him right down toward his face. He'd have to go flat, or else suffer a brutal tug to his cock in the process.
Sam put the knife back in the case, then withdrew one of the dildos, making it wet with lube. It was one of the smaller devices, but it had a trick in its sting. A moment later, Sam was nudging it into place, keeping his distance as he did. Once it was past the first, resistant ring of muscle, he slammed it home with brutal abandon. It was too slim to tear anything, but an unwelcome invasion it undoubtedly was.
"I'm really disappointed in you."
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Eliot ignored all that Sam was saying, hellish propaganda, he knew how it worked. It meant nothing to him, he wasn't in hell to take a vacation after all. Normally, he would fold, live to fight another day, but that didn't work in hell when there was no other day. And what they wanted was for him to work for evil, plain and simple, and Eliot had honestly tried it before, was great at it, and knew he wanted nothing to do with it again. Anyway, Eliot Spencer didn't give up easy.
The slight brush of his fingertips against the heated inner thigh of the demon gave Eliot a split second of hope before he found himself pushed forward.
With his hands locked behind him, Eliot had nothing to catch himself with as he fell. His fighter's instincts had him try to take the landing with his shoulder but that tugged so horribly on his cock that he cried out, and ended up falling flat on his face. Pain exploded in his groin, the chain having pulled taut during the fall and his arms going out of position to minimize the damage. He gasped, hands flexing helplessly as he tried to spread his legs and get his hands down to minimize the damage. He barely noticed that his nose was on fire or that the salt he tasted on his lips was blood from his nose.
Even the dildo, that blunt, cold thing suddenly hitting home, although it couldn't be ignored, it's pain was still inferior to the fire that spread from his cock. It was hard biting back his groan when all he wanted to do was to curl up over his hurt privates. It took several quick deep breaths before Eliot trusted his voice to say anything. "Yeah?" he wheezed, "I think this hurts me more than you."
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