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."
"It hurts me too, Eliot. I had to be broken to be this jaded. Before I came here, I was a righteous soul, a good person. I didn't earn my place here like you did, I was ripped down by Lucifer, twisted, forced into this life."
"I would never have hurt anyone who didn't deserve it, certainly never raped another person. But you would have. If it got you out of this, now, you'd do it to me. So what's torturing strangers? People who deserve their fate? Someone has to do it."
Sam shook his head. He spoke frankly about what had befallen him here, but that was because the words had hollowed him out. They had little emotion to spare.
Bending inward, he pressed his face against the small of Eliot's back, and his hands came forward, just brushing the ring so that the magic that held it released. The ring opened, fell away, giving Eliot some freedom with his arms, and Sam reached up to knot a hand in his hair, pulling his head up off the ground. The damage to his face would heal...in a few hours.
His other hand reached down, curling around Eliot's bruised cock. "Sam," he said, and all of a sudden the dildo he'd thrust into position shifted inside Eliot, found his prostate and began to vibrate. It was conditioning at its simplest.
Eliot exhaled in relief when the pressure to his aching cock fell away and
his hands were no longer restricted into that difficult position. They were
still locked behind him, but it was a release to his shoulders as much his
cock that he didn't have to pull them back even while sprawled onto the
ground. This allowed Eliot to sag down a little, catch his breath, while
Sam pulled his head up.
He spat to one side, both in disgust and to get the coppery taste of blood
out of his mouth. "I've done many things, but I've never raped
anyone," Eliot growled like Sam had insulted him personally with that
insinuation. He was a killer, as cold and hard as they came, but drew the
line at rape. To suggest he was an animal like some of those others that
had disgusted him so much, he would've punched Sam if this arms weren't
locked behind his back.
He bucked a little, now that he was free to do it, when Sam's hand wrapped
around his engorged cock once more but it did little to actually dislodge
the demon either from his body or his grip. What was worse was it somehow
got that thing inside him to move, and it was digging into
that one area that sent uncomfortable waves of pleasure all through his
nether regions. It made him buck again, moaning at the touch on both his
already sensitive cock and the dildo vibrating against his prostate.
It was hard to find the strength to fight the demon when he couldn't summon
any while it continuously stimulated his spot of pleasure. It was like his
muscles were alternating between being tensed and relaxed, and even when he
could concentrate, he couldn't get his muscles to cooperate. "Fuck," he
muttered under his breath.
"It's useless fighting it," Sam murmured, against the small of Eliot's back. "Fighting Hell, fighting me. It's all just useless. You had your chance out in the world. You died. That's it, now, it's over, and if you were prepared for eternal damnation then you should have been ready for it to be like this."
Sam poured all of his sadness and defeatism into his words, but not out of anything but his own inability to understand. Eliot kept fighting, even after he kept telling him it was pointless. Why? Why bother? Why try? Not only was it going to get Sam into more trouble, night after night until he broke, but it would mean desperate means for Eliot too. It would be torture until he broke--and it could all have happened so very much sooner, if he only listened.
Sam didn't tighten his grip - he barely needed to touch at all, just brushing his slippery palm against Eliot's already throbbing erection. His free hand returned to the dildo, unsheathing it slightly only to thrust it, vibrating, back into position, like he was steadily fucking him with it.
"You're thinking you can just hold on until you come, aren't you? You're thinking I'll leave you alone when you orgasm, go away, and come back another day. Nothing's like that down here. There's no night and day. There's no beginning or end. There's just this until it stops."
Sam already knew what was coming next. It wasn't like Eliot would be able to fight him, before or afterwards.
The pain from the fall and awful pull on his cock had lessened his body's
interest somewhat to bring stimulated again, but the ring, up until it was
removed, had ensured Eliot remained physically ready and the vibrating
thing against his prostate revived any fading interest. He gritted his
teeth, bit back a moan, and his whole body trembled within Sam's arms. It
wasn't due to Eliot trying to fight though, at least not in the sense he
would prefer, but from keeping himself still against thrusting into the
demon's tantalizing grip.
This wasn't painful, the dildo, the hand, and now that the ring was gone,
there was nothing physically painful about the whole ordeal. The slash on
his back stung, but it was hardly felt, a drop in the ocean of pleasure
that Sam was drowning him in. That was the worst part, the hardest to
resist.
Eliot knew what Sam was telling him, that there was no fighting it, that
there would be no reprieve even after he held out, but he couldn't justify
it to himself to just surrender on this most important battle of his
identity. So he held back as long as he could, breathing rapidly as heat
pooled into his groin and rushing him towards the inevitable. His eyes fell
closed and his hands continued to flex behind his back. Sam wasn't in
danger of Eliot plotting retaliation though, the hitter was having
difficulties keeping his control.
"Do what you want," he pushed out through gritted teeth. His body was
shaking from the effort of his resistance and he was close. Whether he
would be allowed to cum or not though, he was determined to not ask
for it.
It wasn't like Sam was doing this because he wanted to--it just was. This was what his life had become now. He had to do these things because if not, he'd be in Lucifer's bed forever. It wasn't an option. He'd been tortured every way he could possibly be tortured, fucked every way he could possibly be fucked. If making Eliot bend to him was his way out then he'd take it unflinchingly. He needed to, for the sake of his own mind, and his own survival.
But he was aware that he'd slipped too. He could look at how he was and recognize that he wasn't the same man as he'd always been. He'd once been something. He'd been a hero, a man whose efforts to save the world had actually meant something once upon a time. He'd let that slip, and now he just looked at that version of himself with a kind of desperate sadness. How had he lost sight of being who he'd once been? There was no path back to that, no solution he could feel out, or even dream of.
It was like the ability to make truth out of hope had passed him by. Things like finding their father had always seemed possible, for example; or finding God; convincing an archangel to help them. Sam thrived on hope--he had once upon a time. Now that hope had been turned into a weapon to use against him. Like now: his hope was to escape Lucifer's bed, and he'd damn well do anything to make that happen.
He squeezed his fingers, intensifying the friction, the pressure, little by little. He stroked harder, pounded harder, rubbing his cheek against Eliot's back as he worked.
"I already intend to," he told him, softly. "But you'll work it out soon enough."
There was only so much Eliot could resist against the natural needs of his
body. It was sooner or later, and with how Sam was pushing him worse than
any aphrodisiac, that sooner was going to be very soon. Even though he
forced himself to remain still, his whole body trembled with the the
mounting lust. Each thrust of the dildo behind him aimed perfectly into his
prostate, each twisting pull of the fist around his cock pumped more blood
into his shaft.
Three more minutes, three, each minute more intense than the last, and
Eliot began the convulsions that marked the beginning of his orgasm. He
couldn't fight it, didn't even try, but only bit down on his lower lip
instead of crying out. He tasted the blood from his bleeding nose and added
some fresh drops when he broke the skin, but managed to stay quiet even as
he came like a volcano, exploding thick white ropes of liquid heat all over
Sam's fist.
He felt the demon pump him through his orgasm, twisting with each hard pull
like he wanted to milk out the last of Eliot's seed from his abused nuts.
Eliot's locked hands were balled into fists behind his back, and as the
last of his orgasm was wrenched from him, he opened them again, forcing
himself to be ready in case anything else happened. Yet there was little he
could do. He hadn't come that hard in a while, hadn't come in a
while, and following his explosive orgasm, Eliot's legs felt weak. He
doubted he could put up a fight again, at least, until he caught his second
wind.
"Thanks," he said, voice hoarse and rough, "That was just what I needed in
Hell."
It was easy enough. Bringing Eliot to orgasm, after every inch of effort he'd put into it, was fluid, and simple. Sam drew every inch of it out of him, until he would be left aching, and he drew his chin up just a little bit so that he could watch Eliot spill over, see the expression on his face.
"And it was me that brought you to it," Sam murmured, very softly, bending up so that he could press his mouth against Eliot's ear. He had to straddle him to do it, keeping his weight off Eliot's back.
"Let me guess. You feel weak; every muscle in your body is aching, and more than anything you just want to close your eyes, let your pulse keep slowing the way it wants to and slip into sleep. But you can't, because I'm here, because who knows what I might do next, and what opportunity you might miss."
He drew his hand up, licked the tips of his fingers, and smiled quietly.
"I'm going to turn you inside out," he promised, before pulling out the dildo and throwing it lightly aside. A shift of his weight, his position, and he was guiding his own half hard cock into place instead. He hadn't recovered from his previous orgasm, really, but experience in Hell, with Lucifer, had given him a good sense of bouncing back, and try as he might for things to be different, he still got all turned on by the whips and chains, the torture, even if he wasn't the one personally being beaten and taken.
What Sam said was exactly what was going through Eliot's physique. His body
wanted to shut down post orgasm, lulled to false security in its post
coital bliss, and Eliot had to fight against every slowing heartbeat to
stay alert and aware. The wind down after sex was one of the human body's
most vulnerable moments and there was a very real danger of being caught
with his guard down. Having it all mocked back at him only made Eliot more
determined to not let it happen.
Getting the dildo taken out was a relief, but only pulled him further into
that disarming state of relaxation that he tried to guard against. Yet
despite all the awareness that Eliot kept on the demon, he was still
completely unprepared for the hard solid erection that suddenly took him
from behind. He jerked under Sam, bucking in a futile struggle against the
ground with no real hope of dislodging the demon draped on top of him.
Again it didn't hurt, the dildo and Sam fucking him with it had prepared
him more than enough for the entry, physically, but he still felt
like he was speared like an unsuspecting fish.
Maybe demon physiology allowed Sam to get it up so soon after his last
orgasm, but Eliot remained completely limp even when he felt the cock
bottom out to press against his prostate. He closed his eyes again, shame
and anger mixing together into a quiet fuming blend that he was helpless to
do anything about. He had no snappy comeback, not so soon. This was Hell,
it was torture, and he was aware that not all of it had to be painful.
Maybe they finally found the right way to torture a man who wasn't afraid
of pain.
They did say that your torture was picked out for you, personally, after all, and Eliot had certainly earned special treatment. Sam would cut his teeth on him, but in many ways that was fortunate--if it had been a decade later, he would surely have been much more hardened, much more capable, a true demon if ever there was one.
But he wasn't there yet. Eliot just thought he was damned, and while it was true that Sam had been corrupted, the way he clung to his own pride was in of itself very human. He still knew who he was, and what he meant to Lucifer, and as bedraggled as it was, his soul was still his own. Sam had never died, and so he'd never gone to Hell in the traditional sense. It made what was being done to him more abominable, for he hadn't earned it.
Sex destroyed pride, but being on the other end of it when it was forced? That was far more demeaning than being on this end. At least he had that to comfort himself. For once, the one being tortured in this situation wasn't him, wasn't that of an innocent, but someone who had earned their place here, damned themselves. Eliot should have expected torture, and Sam wasn't going to hold back on a punishment that he'd receive anyway.
He unbound his wrists with a touch, then lifted Eliot bodily off the ground, bringing his own knees up so that he sat across Eliot's calves, the other man sat in his lap. It didn't give him a very good angle, but then Sam was in no kind of hurry.
Sam shouldn't have released Eliot's hands. It made maneuvering him easier,
certainly, and lifting and positioning him, but that was the extent of his
advantage. The downside, however, meant Eliot was unbound. A normal
person's reflexes were slowed post orgasm, the body relaxed after
copulating and there was no changing the physical biological response, but
it was pure sloppiness if the person allowed their awareness to
slip. And Hell wouldn't want Eliot if he was the type to be sloppy. Neck
deep in enemy territory, the sex forced into him, he would downright
idiotic to let his attention slip that far.
"Sure, all rise and shine."
When Sam pulled him up, Eliot brought one freed hand forward as expected to
support himself, but the other swung around with his elbow aiming for Sam
behind him. It was a difficult position, awkward for both of them, but even
if Sam was anticipating a fight, his attention was split between that and
actually fucking Eliot. He used his elbow for the blow, all hard bone and
sharp angle, and applying the momentum of his turn to make up for his
weakened muscles.
Little did Sam know, it was probably planned for them to be paired this
way; a torturer who wasn't quite heartless, a damned man who wasn't quite
evil. It was his deeds that sent Eliot down here, not his natural
alignment, which was why real effort had to be put into changing his
predisposition. Eliot had spent the last several years of his life helping
people, fighting the good fight, not for any redemption but minimizing the
damage he had done in life. Sam, in his situation, would have been one of
those victims who Eliot would have helped in his recent years. This was
meant to change both of them, but it was not something that would happen in
hours.
Unfortunately for Eliot, Sam wasn't dazed, and he wasn't fixed on the act of screwing him. He was more than aware that even weakened, Eliot would put all of himself into fighting, and it was either going to be an elbow to his ribs or a backwards headbutt that came his way. He would have to be an idiot to be thinking of anything but the fight that would come at the hint of freedom--after all, he'd have done the same thing. Had done the same thing.
Lucifer had done what Sam did now. He wrapped his arm around Eliot's once the blow was struck, seized it tight at that awkward backwards angle and pulled hard enough to snap the bones in his forearm.
It was brutal, and quick, and Sam dropped the arm as quickly as he'd taken it, moving his other hand out to snatch Eliot's uninjured arm. This he twisted into the same position, and held tight, gripping him tightly enough to force his body into a slightly upright position. The pain, the angle, would force his ass to clench, increasing the friction and giving Sam room to piston upward. It was meant to hurt him more, to burn, and leave an ache that would still be there even when Hell healed the break.
There wasn't any need to speak his ultimatum, even if Eliot would have been able to hear him through the agony: Try anything else and I'll break this one.
Eliot knew it wouldn't be easy, that an attack had risks, but he thought he
had at least a chance. But whatever damage he did to the demon seemed
inconsequential, and Sam struck back so swiftly and ruthlessly that there
was no doubt the fight was finished then and there.
Eliot didn't exactly scream when his arm was broken, snapped clean and
jagged edges of bone poking through skin, but he certainly cried out from
the shock of pain and tensed up against it. He didn't want to but he was
squeezing tight around Sam, not even thinking of the demon as waves of
white hot pain washed out and dominated all his senses. His world was slow
to return, and he had lost thoroughly by the time he was aware of how Sam
had taken advantage to take his remaining arm in an arm lock to force him
back against Sam.
In his new position, Eliot had to arch back to keep his shoulder from
dislocating. This put him right against Sam where he had to open his legs
wider, as far as he could within his current restrictions, and try to hold
himself up for the demon's fucking. It was hellish, humiliating, and tested
his strength and endurance to maintain position to ride this out.
Hopefully, it will finish up soon, but Eliot gritted his teeth and steadied
his stance in preparation for the long haul anyway. He wouldn't put it past
the demon to drag this out to get his point across.
Hellish, humiliating--it was exactly what was needed under the circumstances. Eliot had thought that he could keep fighting back despite the circumstances, but Sam knew there would be no success until he had established firm ground rules. Disobedience would result in pain, it was really just that simple.
Eliot got the pain, and he got the discomfort of being forced to hold his position despite the agony, and because Sam had already come once, his second orgasm seemed to take forever. He held Eliot up through every moment, despite the pressure and pain it would apply to his good shoulder to do so, and he kept moving steadily until he spilled over with an anticlimatic grunt.
He shoved Eliot away from him briskly, fighting back his own exhaustion and wobbling back up to his feet, putting enough distance between them to drop his back against the wall beside the door. He'd have to gather Eliot up to take him back to their room, to the crate he'd promised him as a bed, but he'd give Eliot time to nurse his wounds while he recovered from his own orgasm.
When the demon finally spilled, it was a flood of hot relief despite the
humiliation of the event. It meant this part of the ordeal was over, that
there could be a pause in the agony, a moment for him to lick his wounds.
Eliot fell forward when shoved, the pain of impacting with the unforgiving
ground expressed in a cut off cry and a low groan, but he stayed where he
was. He could probably still fight and catch Sam by surprise, had fought
through worse injuries in life, but not when there was no victory to be
had. There was no escape, no greater mission, nobody who was counting on
him to get up and keep fighting.
He closed his eyes, letting the futility of his situation wash over him for
a second. He was condemned to an eternity in Hell, given to this demon to
be a plaything until he broke and did as he was told. Eliot didn't know how
long that would be, a month, a year, a decade, a century... He honestly
doubted it would take that long, at least, not if he was to remain himself
and still capable of doing what they wanted. But that war he will
keep fighting, because there are people counting on him for that; he
stopped with the hurting and killing people. He wasn't that man anymore.
For now.
But for this fight he could afford a reprieve, to succumb the pain and
humiliation to save himself worse at the moment. So what if he was
successful in striking back, so what if he broke Sam's neck. There was no
escape from hell. No, the fight was to not surrender to the demon, and that
Eliot could do laying with his eyes closed and not moving his broken arm.
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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?"
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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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"I would never have hurt anyone who didn't deserve it, certainly never raped another person. But you would have. If it got you out of this, now, you'd do it to me. So what's torturing strangers? People who deserve their fate? Someone has to do it."
Sam shook his head. He spoke frankly about what had befallen him here, but that was because the words had hollowed him out. They had little emotion to spare.
Bending inward, he pressed his face against the small of Eliot's back, and his hands came forward, just brushing the ring so that the magic that held it released. The ring opened, fell away, giving Eliot some freedom with his arms, and Sam reached up to knot a hand in his hair, pulling his head up off the ground. The damage to his face would heal...in a few hours.
His other hand reached down, curling around Eliot's bruised cock. "Sam," he said, and all of a sudden the dildo he'd thrust into position shifted inside Eliot, found his prostate and began to vibrate. It was conditioning at its simplest.
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Eliot exhaled in relief when the pressure to his aching cock fell away and his hands were no longer restricted into that difficult position. They were still locked behind him, but it was a release to his shoulders as much his cock that he didn't have to pull them back even while sprawled onto the ground. This allowed Eliot to sag down a little, catch his breath, while Sam pulled his head up.
He spat to one side, both in disgust and to get the coppery taste of blood out of his mouth. "I've done many things, but I've never raped anyone," Eliot growled like Sam had insulted him personally with that insinuation. He was a killer, as cold and hard as they came, but drew the line at rape. To suggest he was an animal like some of those others that had disgusted him so much, he would've punched Sam if this arms weren't locked behind his back.
He bucked a little, now that he was free to do it, when Sam's hand wrapped around his engorged cock once more but it did little to actually dislodge the demon either from his body or his grip. What was worse was it somehow got that thing inside him to move, and it was digging into that one area that sent uncomfortable waves of pleasure all through his nether regions. It made him buck again, moaning at the touch on both his already sensitive cock and the dildo vibrating against his prostate.
It was hard to find the strength to fight the demon when he couldn't summon any while it continuously stimulated his spot of pleasure. It was like his muscles were alternating between being tensed and relaxed, and even when he could concentrate, he couldn't get his muscles to cooperate. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath.
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Sam poured all of his sadness and defeatism into his words, but not out of anything but his own inability to understand. Eliot kept fighting, even after he kept telling him it was pointless. Why? Why bother? Why try? Not only was it going to get Sam into more trouble, night after night until he broke, but it would mean desperate means for Eliot too. It would be torture until he broke--and it could all have happened so very much sooner, if he only listened.
Sam didn't tighten his grip - he barely needed to touch at all, just brushing his slippery palm against Eliot's already throbbing erection. His free hand returned to the dildo, unsheathing it slightly only to thrust it, vibrating, back into position, like he was steadily fucking him with it.
"You're thinking you can just hold on until you come, aren't you? You're thinking I'll leave you alone when you orgasm, go away, and come back another day. Nothing's like that down here. There's no night and day. There's no beginning or end. There's just this until it stops."
Sam already knew what was coming next. It wasn't like Eliot would be able to fight him, before or afterwards.
no subject
The pain from the fall and awful pull on his cock had lessened his body's interest somewhat to bring stimulated again, but the ring, up until it was removed, had ensured Eliot remained physically ready and the vibrating thing against his prostate revived any fading interest. He gritted his teeth, bit back a moan, and his whole body trembled within Sam's arms. It wasn't due to Eliot trying to fight though, at least not in the sense he would prefer, but from keeping himself still against thrusting into the demon's tantalizing grip.
This wasn't painful, the dildo, the hand, and now that the ring was gone, there was nothing physically painful about the whole ordeal. The slash on his back stung, but it was hardly felt, a drop in the ocean of pleasure that Sam was drowning him in. That was the worst part, the hardest to resist.
Eliot knew what Sam was telling him, that there was no fighting it, that there would be no reprieve even after he held out, but he couldn't justify it to himself to just surrender on this most important battle of his identity. So he held back as long as he could, breathing rapidly as heat pooled into his groin and rushing him towards the inevitable. His eyes fell closed and his hands continued to flex behind his back. Sam wasn't in danger of Eliot plotting retaliation though, the hitter was having difficulties keeping his control.
"Do what you want," he pushed out through gritted teeth. His body was shaking from the effort of his resistance and he was close. Whether he would be allowed to cum or not though, he was determined to not ask for it.
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But he was aware that he'd slipped too. He could look at how he was and recognize that he wasn't the same man as he'd always been. He'd once been something. He'd been a hero, a man whose efforts to save the world had actually meant something once upon a time. He'd let that slip, and now he just looked at that version of himself with a kind of desperate sadness. How had he lost sight of being who he'd once been? There was no path back to that, no solution he could feel out, or even dream of.
It was like the ability to make truth out of hope had passed him by. Things like finding their father had always seemed possible, for example; or finding God; convincing an archangel to help them. Sam thrived on hope--he had once upon a time. Now that hope had been turned into a weapon to use against him. Like now: his hope was to escape Lucifer's bed, and he'd damn well do anything to make that happen.
He squeezed his fingers, intensifying the friction, the pressure, little by little. He stroked harder, pounded harder, rubbing his cheek against Eliot's back as he worked.
"I already intend to," he told him, softly. "But you'll work it out soon enough."
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There was only so much Eliot could resist against the natural needs of his body. It was sooner or later, and with how Sam was pushing him worse than any aphrodisiac, that sooner was going to be very soon. Even though he forced himself to remain still, his whole body trembled with the the mounting lust. Each thrust of the dildo behind him aimed perfectly into his prostate, each twisting pull of the fist around his cock pumped more blood into his shaft.
Three more minutes, three, each minute more intense than the last, and Eliot began the convulsions that marked the beginning of his orgasm. He couldn't fight it, didn't even try, but only bit down on his lower lip instead of crying out. He tasted the blood from his bleeding nose and added some fresh drops when he broke the skin, but managed to stay quiet even as he came like a volcano, exploding thick white ropes of liquid heat all over Sam's fist.
He felt the demon pump him through his orgasm, twisting with each hard pull like he wanted to milk out the last of Eliot's seed from his abused nuts. Eliot's locked hands were balled into fists behind his back, and as the last of his orgasm was wrenched from him, he opened them again, forcing himself to be ready in case anything else happened. Yet there was little he could do. He hadn't come that hard in a while, hadn't come in a while, and following his explosive orgasm, Eliot's legs felt weak. He doubted he could put up a fight again, at least, until he caught his second wind.
"Thanks," he said, voice hoarse and rough, "That was just what I needed in Hell."
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"And it was me that brought you to it," Sam murmured, very softly, bending up so that he could press his mouth against Eliot's ear. He had to straddle him to do it, keeping his weight off Eliot's back.
"Let me guess. You feel weak; every muscle in your body is aching, and more than anything you just want to close your eyes, let your pulse keep slowing the way it wants to and slip into sleep. But you can't, because I'm here, because who knows what I might do next, and what opportunity you might miss."
He drew his hand up, licked the tips of his fingers, and smiled quietly.
"I'm going to turn you inside out," he promised, before pulling out the dildo and throwing it lightly aside. A shift of his weight, his position, and he was guiding his own half hard cock into place instead. He hadn't recovered from his previous orgasm, really, but experience in Hell, with Lucifer, had given him a good sense of bouncing back, and try as he might for things to be different, he still got all turned on by the whips and chains, the torture, even if he wasn't the one personally being beaten and taken.
If anything, Eliot wouldn't be expecting it.
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What Sam said was exactly what was going through Eliot's physique. His body wanted to shut down post orgasm, lulled to false security in its post coital bliss, and Eliot had to fight against every slowing heartbeat to stay alert and aware. The wind down after sex was one of the human body's most vulnerable moments and there was a very real danger of being caught with his guard down. Having it all mocked back at him only made Eliot more determined to not let it happen.
Getting the dildo taken out was a relief, but only pulled him further into that disarming state of relaxation that he tried to guard against. Yet despite all the awareness that Eliot kept on the demon, he was still completely unprepared for the hard solid erection that suddenly took him from behind. He jerked under Sam, bucking in a futile struggle against the ground with no real hope of dislodging the demon draped on top of him. Again it didn't hurt, the dildo and Sam fucking him with it had prepared him more than enough for the entry, physically, but he still felt like he was speared like an unsuspecting fish.
Maybe demon physiology allowed Sam to get it up so soon after his last orgasm, but Eliot remained completely limp even when he felt the cock bottom out to press against his prostate. He closed his eyes again, shame and anger mixing together into a quiet fuming blend that he was helpless to do anything about. He had no snappy comeback, not so soon. This was Hell, it was torture, and he was aware that not all of it had to be painful. Maybe they finally found the right way to torture a man who wasn't afraid of pain.
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But he wasn't there yet. Eliot just thought he was damned, and while it was true that Sam had been corrupted, the way he clung to his own pride was in of itself very human. He still knew who he was, and what he meant to Lucifer, and as bedraggled as it was, his soul was still his own. Sam had never died, and so he'd never gone to Hell in the traditional sense. It made what was being done to him more abominable, for he hadn't earned it.
Sex destroyed pride, but being on the other end of it when it was forced? That was far more demeaning than being on this end. At least he had that to comfort himself. For once, the one being tortured in this situation wasn't him, wasn't that of an innocent, but someone who had earned their place here, damned themselves. Eliot should have expected torture, and Sam wasn't going to hold back on a punishment that he'd receive anyway.
He unbound his wrists with a touch, then lifted Eliot bodily off the ground, bringing his own knees up so that he sat across Eliot's calves, the other man sat in his lap. It didn't give him a very good angle, but then Sam was in no kind of hurry.
"Wake you up any?"
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Sam shouldn't have released Eliot's hands. It made maneuvering him easier, certainly, and lifting and positioning him, but that was the extent of his advantage. The downside, however, meant Eliot was unbound. A normal person's reflexes were slowed post orgasm, the body relaxed after copulating and there was no changing the physical biological response, but it was pure sloppiness if the person allowed their awareness to slip. And Hell wouldn't want Eliot if he was the type to be sloppy. Neck deep in enemy territory, the sex forced into him, he would downright idiotic to let his attention slip that far.
"Sure, all rise and shine."
When Sam pulled him up, Eliot brought one freed hand forward as expected to support himself, but the other swung around with his elbow aiming for Sam behind him. It was a difficult position, awkward for both of them, but even if Sam was anticipating a fight, his attention was split between that and actually fucking Eliot. He used his elbow for the blow, all hard bone and sharp angle, and applying the momentum of his turn to make up for his weakened muscles.
Little did Sam know, it was probably planned for them to be paired this way; a torturer who wasn't quite heartless, a damned man who wasn't quite evil. It was his deeds that sent Eliot down here, not his natural alignment, which was why real effort had to be put into changing his predisposition. Eliot had spent the last several years of his life helping people, fighting the good fight, not for any redemption but minimizing the damage he had done in life. Sam, in his situation, would have been one of those victims who Eliot would have helped in his recent years. This was meant to change both of them, but it was not something that would happen in hours.
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Lucifer had done what Sam did now. He wrapped his arm around Eliot's once the blow was struck, seized it tight at that awkward backwards angle and pulled hard enough to snap the bones in his forearm.
It was brutal, and quick, and Sam dropped the arm as quickly as he'd taken it, moving his other hand out to snatch Eliot's uninjured arm. This he twisted into the same position, and held tight, gripping him tightly enough to force his body into a slightly upright position. The pain, the angle, would force his ass to clench, increasing the friction and giving Sam room to piston upward. It was meant to hurt him more, to burn, and leave an ache that would still be there even when Hell healed the break.
There wasn't any need to speak his ultimatum, even if Eliot would have been able to hear him through the agony: Try anything else and I'll break this one.
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Eliot knew it wouldn't be easy, that an attack had risks, but he thought he had at least a chance. But whatever damage he did to the demon seemed inconsequential, and Sam struck back so swiftly and ruthlessly that there was no doubt the fight was finished then and there.
Eliot didn't exactly scream when his arm was broken, snapped clean and jagged edges of bone poking through skin, but he certainly cried out from the shock of pain and tensed up against it. He didn't want to but he was squeezing tight around Sam, not even thinking of the demon as waves of white hot pain washed out and dominated all his senses. His world was slow to return, and he had lost thoroughly by the time he was aware of how Sam had taken advantage to take his remaining arm in an arm lock to force him back against Sam.
In his new position, Eliot had to arch back to keep his shoulder from dislocating. This put him right against Sam where he had to open his legs wider, as far as he could within his current restrictions, and try to hold himself up for the demon's fucking. It was hellish, humiliating, and tested his strength and endurance to maintain position to ride this out. Hopefully, it will finish up soon, but Eliot gritted his teeth and steadied his stance in preparation for the long haul anyway. He wouldn't put it past the demon to drag this out to get his point across.
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Eliot got the pain, and he got the discomfort of being forced to hold his position despite the agony, and because Sam had already come once, his second orgasm seemed to take forever. He held Eliot up through every moment, despite the pressure and pain it would apply to his good shoulder to do so, and he kept moving steadily until he spilled over with an anticlimatic grunt.
He shoved Eliot away from him briskly, fighting back his own exhaustion and wobbling back up to his feet, putting enough distance between them to drop his back against the wall beside the door. He'd have to gather Eliot up to take him back to their room, to the crate he'd promised him as a bed, but he'd give Eliot time to nurse his wounds while he recovered from his own orgasm.
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When the demon finally spilled, it was a flood of hot relief despite the humiliation of the event. It meant this part of the ordeal was over, that there could be a pause in the agony, a moment for him to lick his wounds. Eliot fell forward when shoved, the pain of impacting with the unforgiving ground expressed in a cut off cry and a low groan, but he stayed where he was. He could probably still fight and catch Sam by surprise, had fought through worse injuries in life, but not when there was no victory to be had. There was no escape, no greater mission, nobody who was counting on him to get up and keep fighting.
He closed his eyes, letting the futility of his situation wash over him for a second. He was condemned to an eternity in Hell, given to this demon to be a plaything until he broke and did as he was told. Eliot didn't know how long that would be, a month, a year, a decade, a century... He honestly doubted it would take that long, at least, not if he was to remain himself and still capable of doing what they wanted. But that war he will keep fighting, because there are people counting on him for that; he stopped with the hurting and killing people. He wasn't that man anymore.
For now.
But for this fight he could afford a reprieve, to succumb the pain and humiliation to save himself worse at the moment. So what if he was successful in striking back, so what if he broke Sam's neck. There was no escape from hell. No, the fight was to not surrender to the demon, and that Eliot could do laying with his eyes closed and not moving his broken arm.
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