The Domination of Dean Winchester

Nate Scott stared into Dean Winchester's eyes with disgust. Disgust, and rising anger. He reached up and wiped the spit wad from his forehead and the side of his face, dragged his hand through the restrained athlete’s sweat-soaked hair, and then he stepped back. Furious. Frustrated. Stunned.



Sam Winchester studied his brother. Spread-eagle across the dresser. Tightly bound and glistening with sweat. Soaked with cum. Exhausted. He glanced across the room to the ringleader of their little party and winced. He recognized the look in those eyes. Nate was pissed. Nate was really pissed. And, he was frustrated. The plan had gone like clockwork. Everybody knew their role. Everyone executed their role. Everything had gone perfectly up to this point. Almost everything. He shifted his attention back to Dean, stretched out before him like the main course in a high class buffet. Dean was soaked in sweat. He was dripping with cum. Nate's cum. Lucas 's cum. Sam's own cum. His breathing was shallow now—he was coming down from the intensity of the last round of assaults on his ravaged hole and his cock-raw throat. Dean wasn't fighting his restraints now. For the time being. He was simply laying there. Staring at the ceiling. In all probability, wondering what was coming next. More fists? More slaps? More fucking of his already stretched out and aching hole. His hole, already dripping with the product of several mind-blowing orgasms by his teammates. Cum leaked from his lost-cherry pussy as it now winked in pain. Used. Altered forever. Only the beginning of its new life.

He glanced at Dean' thick cock—laying across the athlete's muscular, smoothly shaved left thigh. And that nut sack. Full. Heavy. His eyes shifted upward, continuing in the visual feast of his brother's body. Dean' hard, six-pack abs glistened. His stomach, rose and fell gently with each breath. Sam winced again as he saw the bruises forming on the quarterback's ribs. Both sides. They had hit him pretty hard. Repeatedly. He studied that powerfully muscled chest with its clearly defined, well-proportioned pecs. Those hard, chewable nipples. That chest glistening as well. The sweat was not sparing a single inch of that magnificent body. Finally, he allowed his eyes to rest on Dean' face. His square, classically sculpted jaw. Those eyes. Intense. Deep. Angry. Hurt. Sad. Confused and worried. Worried, that the night was far from over.



Sam Winchester couldn't fight the smile. He understood Nate Scott's frustration. He was pretty frustrated right now himself. In fact, he had to admit that he, too, was a little angry. He had wanted to hear Dean cave in. He had wanted to hear the All-State quarterback admit to his defeat. Admit that he was whipped. Admit that he is a pussy. Admit that he is a whore. Their pussy. Their whore. As angry and frustrated as Sam was, he could not help also being somewhat amused. He and Nate had worked on this plan for so long. They had scripted, edited, and choreographed every step. And then, they rewrote the script. Re-edited. Re-choreographed. Everything was accounted for. Everything was set. Everything. To teach the All-State quarterback a lesson he would never forget. Everything, except the internal muscle that was deeper, and—stronger—than they had counted on.



Nate, Lucas , and he might have brutally assaulted Dean. They might have raped the living shit out of him nonstop over the last. . . . What? Almost five hours? They might have humiliated the shit out of him in the process. But, at this moment, the battle was far from over. In fact, it was raging perhaps intensely than at any other point during the night.



Sam glanced up and studied Lucas Scott. The back-up quarterback was pacing back and forth between the two queen size beds. His eyes were slightly glazed. His brow curled in frustration. Lucas was pissed, too. He had really wanted to be a witness to the pussification of his hero. Sam shook his head in continued amusement. Dean Winchester had beaten them. So far. He had not given them what they were after. So far. They had taken a lot from him. They had taken a hell of a lot from him. But, he had not given them what they were after. He had not broken. Not yet.



Lucas Scott paced back and forth. He stopped and stared at the bound athlete a few feet away. His idol. His cock twitched violently. He was ready to start again. But he wanted more. He wanted what they had come here for in the first place. So far, Dean had not given it up.



Lucas glanced at Sam Winchester. Dean' brother. His lifelong best friend. Sam was smiling. Strange. It looked almost as though it was a smile of . . . what? Admiration? Respect? Worship? Because Dean had not given up the fight? Because he had not admitted that he was now their pussy? Their whore?



"Shit! This isn't working, guys!" the back-up quarterback snapped heatedly. He shifted his gaze from Sam to Nathan Scott. "We're getting nowhere, dude. Nowhere!"



Nate's angry eyes bore into his brother's head. "What?" he asked as he was pulled from his thoughts; his own review of what had happened so far. And, what had ‘not’ happened. Maybe he didn't hear the little punk right. Maybe the drone of the air conditioner grinding underneath the windows by the door was stifling the kid's words. Maybe his focus was caught up by the gentle sway of the thickly insulated drapes. He noticed that they were cut too long for the window. The fell heavily to hang across the air conditioning vents. "What are you talking about, Lucas ?"



"What am I talking about?" Lucas laughed in near hysterics. "What am I talking about? Look at him, Nate!" he shrieked with a gesture toward their captive. "Look . . . at . . . him!" He walked across the room to stand beside the dresser, reached out and flat-handed Dean' chest. As his flattened palm connected with that glistening, muscular chest, the crack echoed throughout the room. Dean winced and his head bounced off the table. He stepped behind his hero, grabbed a handful of blond hair, and roughly pulled the athlete's head upward. "Look at him. He's whipped, guys. He's hurting like hell. He's been raped. We raped the shit out of his fucking cunt! And, he's still fighting. He hasn't given us anything. He hasn't lost any of his spunk."



Sam and Nate both stared into Dean Winchester's red and swollen eyes. Sweat still dripped down that Michelangelo face. They both knew it. They hated it. But, they knew it. Lucas . . . was . . . right. Dean was exhausted. He was hurting. He was whipped. And, through it all—he was still clinging to a few shreds of defiance. It was evident in that locked jaw. It was screaming loud and clear for them all to hear from those tear-filled eyes. Still, bright. Still, sharp. Showing only the faintest waver in their intensity. ‘It’ was there. Still. Defiance. Sheer will power. Dean was going to dig his nails in and hang onto the smallest thread of manhood that he could grasp.



They would beat him. Eventually. He couldn't fight off the three of them forever. They knew it. Dean knew it. He had to know. Deep inside. He had to know. But, the team’s senior signal caller had one thing in his favor right now. Time. The assault had begun five hours ago. It was pushing four o'clock in the morning. The team bus left for the ten-hour journey back home in less than five hours. If he could hold out just five more hours. . . . He knew it. They knew it. They all knew it.



Nate Scott's anger was rising again. Anger, fed with a heaping spoonful of frustration. And, by Lucas Scott's taunting. He shook his head in wonder. What the hell? Does his brother think he knows Dean better than me? He and Dean had known each other for. . . . Well, forever. He knew how tough the quarterback was. He knew what kind of power he held, not only in muscle and prowess on the football field but the internal power. In his gut. In his heart. His fight. That was part of the plan. To cut into that internal strength. To make a tiny incision, enabling the invasion to trickle inside. To trickle in and then spread thickly. Eroding. Overpowering completely. Dominating totally. Rearranging his self.



This plan had not been thrown together overnight. Nate had designed it, revised it, and reviewed it. Over. And over. And over. For months. Ever since that night. He had watched their buddy and team leader from a different viewpoint. Ever since that night. Not as a friend. Not as a teammate. But, as an opponent. He studied Dean' walk. His aura. His finesse. His carriage. He had regularly studied the quarterback's left leg. The leg that had taken the cleats from the Panthers' free safety two weeks ago. He had the faintest limp. Hardly noticeable. Hardly evident. Unless you were looking for it. Looking for that single weak link in an otherwise tungsten-strong chain. That ever-so-slight crack that could be used in a momentary standoff in battle. And, Nate had used it. That leg got punishing blows. Along with the athlete's ribs, face, and his nuts.



Yeah. Nate Scott had been working on this plan for quite a while. Ever since that night. Watching. Taking notes. Plotting. Re-plotting. Everything had to be perfect. Shit! Everything has been perfect! Where in the hell did Lucas get off thinking that he knew Dean Winchester better than the two people closest to him on the entire planet? His two best friends?



Sam Winchester looked at his two compatriots in this quest. Reluctantly, he again shifted his gaze downward and studied his brother quarterback's flushed, tear- and cum-stained face. That face. Flushed like a red delicious apple, picked fresh from the twig. Humiliation and shame at what his three friends and teammates had done to him.

"I think maybe Lucas 's right, Nate," Sam said hoarsely. He avoided his teammate's blazing glare. He knew what Nate Scott's temper was capable of doing. He had witnessed it on the playing field. He had witnessed it tonight, with Dean. And, he had experienced it first-hand. On more than one occasion. He as sure as hell didn't want to provoke him any further right now. But, he had to agree with Lucas 's observation. Dean was standing firm in his defiance. Sam knew his brother. The hunkster was far from through. He might be looking the worse for wear right now but Dean Winchester was not broken. "Maybe we should call it off, Nate. . . . Maybe . . . . "



Lucas Scott spoke up. "I have an idea." His comment was sliced in half by Nate Scott's razor sharp bark.



"Yeah. Sure, Sammy. We can quit right now. We can get this place cleaned up and we can toss Dean in the shower. We can wash away all the evidence and then we can open the front door and let him go. If. . . . "



"If, what?" Sam asked in confusion.



"If you don't mind getting your degree from pen state," Nate snapped sharply.



"Penn State? I'm not going to. . . . " Sam Winchester was dumbfounded. "What in the hell has Penn State got to do with. . . . "



Lucas tried to intervene once more. "Um, guys. . . . I've got a sug.. . . " Again, his words were washed away by the flood of words erupting from Nate’s mouth.



"That's where you'll be getting your degree from, Sammy. We've gone too far, dude. We've crossed too many boundaries here tonight. If we don't follow this through . . . now . . . . If we don't finish this . . . now. . . . If we don’t break him down . . . now. . . . If we don't get Dean to admit that he's a cocksucker and admit that he's a pussy. . . . Our pussy. The three of us are looking at twenty years in the state pen. The only degree with your name on it is gonna come from that Pen State."



"But, Nate. . . . Nothing has worked so far, dude!" Sam argued.



"Then we keep at it. Just shut up for a minute. Let me. . . . " Nate yelled.



Lucas stepped over to the pile of clothes on the floor between the two beds. He lifted his jeans and reached into the right-hand pocket and fished out two small vials. "Guys, I've got some . . . . "



"Just . . . shut . . . up! Both of you! Just shut up for a minute. Let me think," Nate said as he began pacing back and forth alongside the dresser and their captive teammate. He stopped and looked down at Dean Winchester's face. The quarterback was staring defiantly at him. He had a smirk on his face that seemed to be saying, ‘Eat shit and die, muthafucka.’ Nate's temper flared. His fist rose and took aim.



"Nate, don't!" Sam yelled as he stepped forward to catch his teammate's arm before he could deliver another blow to his best friend's battered body. They stared angrily into each other eyes. "Don't. He's had enough of that, man. He's had enough."



"Guys!" Lucas yelled.



In unison, Nate and Sam both yelled in response. "What!"



Lucas stepped forward and held out his hand. "Do you think that maybe these will help take his edge away?"



Nate broke from his icy stare into the second string quarterback's eyes and he studied the two vials resting in the palm of the kid's hand. A grin. Faint. A mere morsel. But, still. A grin. "Where did you get those, Lucas ?" he asked with astonishment.



Sam Winchester stepped closer and stared into his teammate's hand as well. "What are they?"



"Poppers," Nate said with satisfaction. "Poppers . . . and . . . roofies." He reached out and took the vials in his hand and stared at them more intently. He held them into the thin ray of light coming from the slightly open bathroom door. The vials seemed to glow like they had some inner force. Pulsating. Breathing. Yearning, to be set free. To do their job. To weaken. To disorient. To break down any final defenses that were standing firm against the marauding armies. Or, in this case—the marauding trio of high school football athletes. Nate turned and looked over at their captive hunk. A sinister chuckle rose from deep in his gut. "You're history, Dean."



Sam was still swimming in a sea of confusion. "What in the hell are roofies?"



"Rohypnol," Lucas Scott answered knowingly.



"Rohyp. . . . Like I asked—what in the hell is that?" Sam asked. He knew what poppers were. Everybody knows what poppers are . . . but . . . roofies? He had never heard that name.



Nate turned and stared into the wide receiver's eyes. That faintest glint of a grin was spreading into a full-fledged smile of demonic satisfaction. The tide had just turned in their favor. Without turning around, he ordered the second string quarterback into action. " Lucas . My letterman's jacket. Inside pocket. There's a key. It goes to the suitcase on the other side of the bed." He wasn’t surprised that the wide receiver was unfamiliar with drugs. He was pretty straight-arrow in his own life. "Roofies, Sammy. Rohypnol." He glanced over his shoulder momentarily to look at Dean.



The quarterback had lifted his head to see what was going on. Their eyes locked briefly before the ravaged athlete dropped his head back to the dresser with a thud. He was too tired to fight. He was too tired to scream for help. Hell. He was too embarrassed to receive help now. If help came at this point, it would burst through that door to find him naked. Spread-eagle on top of the dresser. Raped. Fucked. Repeatedly. That, would be more humiliating at this point than putting up with whatever else they had in mind. He closed his eyes. He waited.



Still gazing into those questioning eyes as Lucas stepped up to join them, Nate answered Sam's question in laymen's terms. He whispered. Almost inaudibly. So that their prisoner didn't hear his words. "Date . . . Rape . . . Drug."



Sam Winchester's eyes widened. He recognized ‘that’ name. Now he understood why Nate was so pleased. He looked across the room and studied their captive. Nate was right— Dean was finished.



Sam and Nate both turned and looked at Lucas who had unscrewed the cap from one of the half-dozen plastic, 16 oz. bottles that he had pulled from inside Nate's suitcase. He sniffed. His head reeled momentarily. His tongue darted out and delicately swirled its way inside the bottle rim. It was not filled with soda.



"Where did you get this stuff, Lucas ?" Nate asked again with newfound respect for his brother.



"You guys. . . . The three of you." Lucas nodded to Sam and Nate and then gestured over his shoulder toward Dean Winchester. "You guys are the hot shots. You're the ‘big men on campus.’ Me? I'm just a junior, second-stringer. You guys have all the girls. And, a lot of guys . . . chasing you down all the time wanting to give it up for you. Me? If I get any pussy or a blow job . . . anything . . . it’s cuz I go out looking for it. I have to make it happen...every little bit helps"



"But, where did you get this shit?" Nate asked again.



Lucas smiled sheepishly. "Well . . . it helps if your uncle knows a nurse who works at a pharmacy. And . . . um. . . . And, it helps even more if he's likes getting a little freaky in bed...and she brings it home." He nodded to the surprised looks that swept his teammates' faces. "Keith knows how to get his hands on it. He knows how to mix it. He knows how to administer it in the right situations."



Nate unscrewed the dropper cap from the vial and stepped up to Lucas who held the open bottle out to him. He sent several drops of the powerful drug into the liquor. He glanced up and winked at his accomplice. "Make sure at least two more of the bottles are spiked." Lucas nodded his understanding. Their new pact complete, Nate handed the vial of Rohypnol to Lucas . He took the drug-laced bottle of bourbon and stepped up to Dean Winchester. He stared down at the handsome quarterback. "Open your mouth."



Through clenched teeth, Dean responded. "Fuck . . . you."



Nate reached down and grabbed the athlete's chin. Dean shook his head violently and began struggling against his bindings. "I said, open . . . your . . . mouth. . . ."



Lucas decided that Nate needed help. He knew what to do. He wasn't quite the innocent kid everyone thought when they looked at him. He stepped up and grabbed the second vial from Nate, uncorked it, and stuck it inside the quarterback's right nostril. He clamped his hand over Dean' mouth and managed to work his thumb into his left nostril.



"Breathe, hero. Breathe deep," Lucas said softly—as though he were leading a child through the directions for a new hobby.



Dean fought to hold his breath as long as he could. He stared up at Lucas and Nate. He wondered where Sam was. . . . What he was doing. . . . What he was about to do. He tried to shake his back-up quarterback's hands from his face. A stinging bead of sweat slipped down into his right eye. It burned, like his hole was. Still, from the attack that had taken place earlier. Like the attack that he knew was not over. Not if his three teammates got their way.



He clenched his eyes shut trying to force the burning sensation from them. And, his lungs were about to burst. He needed air. He tried to breathe through his mouth—dammed completely by Lucas 's strong, quarterback hand. He fought it for a few more agonizing seconds but knew that he could not hold out any longer. He couldn't help it. His oxygen supply cut off, he sucked in air from the only available opening— the right nostril. The nostril with that little vial shoved inside vacuumed air deeply. Seconds later, his brain exploded in fireworks. Lucas moved the vial to the athlete's left nostril and shoved it deep. "Mmmppphhh. Nnnooo!"



"Breathe, Dean. Breathe deep." Again, the athlete gulped for air. Again, his mind exploded. Lucas moved the vial back again. "Again, hero. That’s it, Dean. . . . Breathe." Dean gulped more air. More explosions. Four hits later—two in each nostril—he glanced up at Nate and Sam. He smiled sarcastically. "That ought to make him a little more cooperative."



Nate grinned. The kid was good. The kid was really good. And—he was bad. He was really bad. He was downright wicked. His brother had potential. He decided that he just might need to put this Scott on his buddy list. Permanently.



"Oh, fuuuuuck. . . . Shiiittt. . . . Oh, fuckshiiiiiit. . . . " Dean groaned as his body went limp in its fight against his tormentors. "Fuuuuuuck. . . . " As his brain continued to explode in billions of directions, he gulped for more air through his open mouth. Bottle rockets blazed new trails through the universe inside his head. And, his body went numb. Loose. Like a wet rag.



Nate Scott acted quickly. He pressed the plastic soda bottle to the quarterback's open mouth. "Thirsty, Dean? Here, buddy. Take a drink. That's it, drink up, buddy," he instructed softly as he filled his teammate's mouth with the Rohypnol-laced bourbon. Dean swallowed. Sputtered. Choked. Gasped. And, swallowed some more. "That's it, Dean. . . . Drink it down. Swallow, buddy," he cooed again as he watched the fluid disappear down the athlete's throat. He smiled broadly. "That's it, Dean. . . . Let it happen. It's time to come out and play, buddy. It’s time for your coming out."



Sam Winchester stepped up to the other side of the dresser and studied his brother. "How long before the drug takes effect, Lucas ?"



Dean was totally blown away by the poppers. His head, lolled to the side and his breathing was now coming in gasps. Lucas placed the vial to his nose again. He gulped more air. Another brain eruption. Sweat poured from his body as he mumbled incoherently. "How long, um. . . ."



"That's it stud," Nate cooed in Dean' ear. "Just let go, buddy. Let go and allow it to take over your soul."



"How long before the drug. . . . " Sam asked again. He and Nate both looked at Lucas Scott.



"Usually twenty to thirty minutes to take full effect. But. . . . He's exhausted. We beat him down pretty bad, guys. With the poppers . . . and . . . the booze—it's gonna come a lot faster," Lucas explained with a smile of satisfaction. "But, just to be sure . . . I'd load him with . . . a little more in a few minutes. Just to be sue things are started off right."



"Good work, Lucas ," Nate complimented. "I'm impressed." He shoved the bottle to Dean' mouth and poured more bourbon down the athlete's throat. Dean gulped thirstily. The poppers were doing their job; the stud athlete didn't know what in the hell he was doing at this point. "There's plenty more of this in my suitcase," he said over his shoulder as he continued pouring the burning liquor down the quarterback's throat.

Dean gagged on the bourbon. He coughed and sputtered. It ran down his cheeks, mingled with his tears and sweat to form pool beneath him on the dresser top. He groaned loudly once more. "Ooohhhhsssshhhiiiiittttt. . . . "



"Easy, buddy. Take it easy," Nate said softly. He reached down with his left hand and gently stroked the quarterback's magnificently sculpted chest. His thumb circled his dark, half-dollar-sized nipple. Slowly moving inward. Around. And, around. And, around. Like a space ship, orbiting Planet Amyl of the Nitrate Star System. "Feel it, stud? Feel it spreading through you? Feel it igniting desires deep down inside? Just let it take over, Dean. Body. Mind. Soul."



Nate's circling thumb came in contact with the sensitive meat of Dean' nipple. An involuntary moan escaped from deep within the quarterback's throat. Nate smiled again as he moved closer to the athlete's ear. His forefinger moved in to join his thumb. He twisted the nipple between his two digits. Soft. Hard. Soft. Hard.



"Oooohhhh shiiiittttt," Dean groaned as the pain pleasure shot through his chest. "Oohhhh."



Nate looked up to Sam and they exchanged grins. Sam moved in. He began running the very tips of his fingers along his brother's rib cage. Tickling. Taunting. Tantalizing. His other hand moved to Dean' armpit. Dancing. Circling. In that sweat-soaked valley. He bent down and sucked his big brother's right nipple into his mouth. Tongue, swirling. Teeth, nipping.



"Oohhh fuuuccckkk. . . ." Dean moaned loudly at this new sensation.



"Yeah, you like that, Dean? Feels good. Doesn’t it?" Nate asked in little more than a whisper in his teammate's ear. He pinched harder with his left hand while he set the empty bottle on the floor. His right hand moved in and brushed the quarterback's dripping hair from his ear. He leaned in close and his tongue flicked outward. He bit playfully at the stud's lobe. His tongue flicked some more. He bit at the crown of the ear and then his tongue dive-bombed straight into the ear canal. Licking. Fucking. Licking. Fucking. "God—you're hot, stud. You're so fucking hot you feel like you're gonna melt. Give into it, Dean. Beg for it. Beg. You need it. You want it soooo bad that it hurts."



Dean' mind felt like a milk shake right now. Thick. Cold. Icy cold. Swirling. He opened his eyes and tried to focus on the room. Everything was right there in front of him but seemed almost as though it was in another dimension. His chest was exploding with new sensations by the second. Sensations, created by Nate and Sam's manipulations. And, by Sam's tongue. "Oohhh shiittt," was all he could say.



Lucas set a fresh bottle of bourbon on the floor at Nate's feet, in easy reach when needed. Then he, too, moved in for the kill. He stepped to the far end of the dresser and eased himself down between his hero's outstretched legs. He moved to Dean' left kneecap and began tonguing. Licking. Gently nipping at the sensitive skin with his teeth. Tonguing. Licking. Nipping.



Sam moved from sucking and licking at his jock brother's nipple to his hard belly—licking and sucking his way, nipping at the tanned skin as he moved downward to that belly button. His tongue darted in. Swirled. Licked around the edges. Darted in again.

Nate's tongue fucked in and out of Dean' ear canal. He bit at the lobe. He tongued and chewed on the crown. He whispered softly between each plunge of his tongue. "Give into it, Dean." Tongue. "You want it sooo bad, Dean." Tongue. "You need it bad." Tongue. "Beg for it, Dean." Tongue. "Beg for it. Tell us what you want." Tongue. "You're a cunt." Tongue. "You're a pussy." Tongue. "You're a cock sucking cum whore." Tongue. He reached for the fresh bottle of bourbon and pressed it to the athlete's lips.

Dean swallowed readily. Gulped. He sputtered slightly. He gulped some more. "Yeah. That's it, Dean. Suck on it. You love sucking. You love having something long and hard between your lips. Don't you? Suck it, buddy. That’s it. Suck it."



Sam's tongue traveled down the now smooth trail from Dean' navel to his thick, blond bush. He slid down the dresser—tonguing and nipping along the quarterback's hipbone. To his thigh. And, inward. To that inner thigh. Sensitive. Hard. Muscled. Soaked with sweat.



Lucas made it all the way up Dean' left thigh to his nuts. Covered in sweat. Dripping. Smelling of his manhood. Smelling of cum. Nate's cum. Sam's cum. Lucas 's own cum. He moved closer. He glanced upward and saw the look of total lust and surrender that was beginning to sweep Dean' face. He grinned. Sucked on two of his fingers and as his mouth encircled those heavy, cum-laden balls, he sank his fingers deep inside the athlete's aching hole. He didn't take any time. He went knuckles deep his first invasion.



"Oooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhh," Dean' head bucked off the dresser and then bounced back against it. "What are you . . . guys . . . doing to . . . meeeeee?" He moaned again as Nate's tongue fucked deeply into his ear again.



"Aaaahhhhsssshhhhiiiitttt," he gurgled as the bottle was pressed to his lips again and the remainder of this supply of bourbon and drug slid down his undulating throat.

Sam moved in to join Lucas . He licked two fingers and then he shoved them roughly up the stud's fuck hole—right alongside the back-up quarterback's. Four fingers. Four fingers, from two hands. Fucking in unison. Fucking against each other. Stroking two different walls of Dean' hole. Deeper. Deeper. Deeper.



Nate raised the vial to the quarterback's nose, shoved it inside, and pressed the stud's other nostril shut tight. Dean snorted immediately. "Yeah, that's it, buddy. . . . Blow your fucking brains out. . . . Give it up, Dean. Give it up. You want it so bad. You want to be a cum sucking pussy cunt, Dean. Let that cum whore inside you come out. You’ve kept it in control for too long." He bent down and licked the quarterback's chest. Chewed on his left nipple. "Tell us how bad you want it. Beg us for it, buddy," he cooed again between licks and nips. "Tell us how hungry your cunt is for cock." Lick. Nibble. "Tell us how bad you need cock. You're a whore, Dean. . . . " Lick. Suck. Nibble. "You love a real man's cock using you. You love being a whore."



Dean was losing his grip. The roofies were kicking in now in a major way. The combination of the booze, the amyl, the drug, the manipulations of three tongues, all those fingers, teeth across his sensitive nipples, and his balls being sucked deep inside someone's mouth—was maddening. He felt his control slipping away. He tried to cling to it but it was slipping. Slipping. Slipping away from him. Like someone had pulled the plug in the bath tub. He couldn't stand it. It was killing him. It felt so good. He was dying. He must be dying. His cock felt like it would explode without ever being touched.



And, his cock was definitely hard. It felt like a shaft of steel, pulsing violently against his hard, six-pac abs. He was so fucking turned on he thought he was gonna explode! A bottle was pressed to his lips. He gulped readily without instructions. The liquid burned on its way down. He was already on fire so it didn't matter. A tongue moved into his right armpit, licking, slathering its way along that deep valley. His cock felt like it grew half as large as before. The fingers roughly fucking in and out of his hole seemed to have found some magic spot. He felt like his soul was going to explode. Could he cum 'inside' his body? His legs automatically spread wider. His hips lifted themselves upward, wanting more fingers with easier access.



Sam and Lucas grinned at each other. And, they accommodated. Three fingers. Each. Six fingers. Sliding into the quarterback's quaking hole. Six fingers. Fucking deep. Hard. Thrusting. Fucking. In. Out. In. Out.



"Yeah. You're hungry, aren't you, Dean. . . . You're cunt is burning up with hunger. You should see it right now, Dean. It’s opening up and begging for it. It’s so fucking hungry for cock. You need cock. You love cock. You live for cock. You're a fucking cock cunt. You’re a cock whore. You need to be used like a cock cunt. Don't you. You need it. You want it bad."



"Oooooooohhhhhhhhmmmmmmyyyyyyyssshhhhiiiiiiitttttttfffffuuuuucccckkkk," the ravaged athlete moaned incoherently. His legs spread more. His hole opened more. No. Not his hole. Not now. No longer. His cunt. He shook his head. Not a cunt. Not a whore. Not . . . a . . . cunt.



Nate noticed the quarterback's stiffened slab of prime beef. He reached down to grab it and gave it several quick yanks. He leaned in close to that ear and his tongue swirled. He nipped at the lobe again. His tongue found its target and darted inside. Fucking. Fucking its way into Dean' ear canal. At the same time, Nate whispered softly, "You need cock. You live for cock. You crave cock. You need it, Dean. . . . You live for it."

Lucas reached down and picked up the dildo that they had used on his hero earlier. He flipped the switch. It kicked into gear immediately. As he and Sam continued sucking at the stud's heavy balls and ramming those three fingers from each hand—up his slick hole, he moved the dildo upward and began running it sideways along the full length of Dean' raging hard cock. He didn't let it stay long. He wanted to build Dean to a total frenzy. He moved it downward to rest between the base of his nuts and his hole where their fingers still fucked in and out. In and out. In and out. They fucked in unison and then altered their technique to fuck opposite. Lucas 's fingers in . . . Sam's out . . . Sam's fingers in . . . Lucas 's out. Constant. In. Out. In. Out. Constantly massaging the quarterback's tender prostate.



Dean groaned loudly with the touch of the vibrator at the edge of his hole. "Mmm." He lifted his hips higher.



Sam and Lucas looked at each other. Lucas grinned. Sam nodded. Reading his teammate's mind. Four fingers. First, Lucas 's. Then, four of Sam's. At first, they went in bunched together. As soon as they were knuckles deep—the two teammates flattened out their fingers. Stretching the quarterback’s hole wider than it had been all night. And they fucked. In unison. And the fucked. In opposition. In. Out. In. Out. Together. In. Out. In. Out. In opposing motions.



Nate stood up and moved to straddle the quarterback's face. He lowered himself downward to rest his heavy balls against Dean' mouth. "Open up, Dean. Suck my nuts for me," he commanded softly as he twisted the stud's nipples between thumb and forefinger of both hands. Dean' mouth opened and he sucked the hairy, sweat soaked balls inside and sucked openly. His tongue swirled. His nose buried between Nate's full sack and his own tightly clenched hole. "Yeah, that's it, buddy. . . . Eat those gigantic nuts." He nodded for Sam to come forward.



Dean' brother slid his fingers from the quarterback's undulating hole and slowly licked his way up his hard torso. He paused for several moments to graze his teeth over the stud's sensitive right nipple and then stood and looked into Nate's eyes. Nate leaned forward and whispered into his ear.



"Get down in his ear. Use your tongue. Keep telling him shit. Gotta keep feeding his subconscious."



Sam nodded and immediately sank to his knees. He watched briefly as his big brother sucked and slurped on Nate's huge nuts. He leaned close to Dean's ear and his tongue found its mark quickly. Swirling. Licking. Fucking inward. "You love sucking cock. Don't you, Dean? You need a cock in your pussy mouth. Don't you?" Swirl. Lick. Fuck. "Let go, bro. Admit it. Open up and admit that you're a pussy. You love cock. You’ve always wanted it. You’ve always needed it. Now that you’ve tasted cock, you can't get enough of it."



Nate grinned lustily as he heard his teammate feeding suggestions into his brother's numbed brain. He reached for the amyl again. Two more hits in each nostril. More explosions in Dean' already scrambled- egg brains. " Lucas ," he whispered. The junior quarterback moved quickly around the dresser and stood at Nate's side. "Same suitcase. Tin box." Lucas nodded and soon reappeared at his side with the box.



Sam continued his suggestions. "You're a cunt, Dean. You're a cock hungry cunt. You want to be a cock whore. You need to be a cock whore. You crave cock. You crave it, Dean. . . ."



Lucas opened the box at Nate's nod. He knew exactly what Nate had in mind. He ran to the pile of clothes and pulled a lighter from inside Nate's athletic jacket. He lit up. Puffed. Puffed again. It was strong. It was real strong. It hit him fast. Whoa. Good shit! It was really good shit. He returned and handed it to Nate. He lit up another and handed it to Sam. He lit a third. The three teammates got down on their knees and alternated filling their lungs to the bursting point. And then. One . . . after . . . the . . . other, they bent down to clamp their mouth over Dean's parted lips. And, they exhaled directly into his mouth. Filling his lungs with smoke. Nate. Then Sam. Then Lucas . Back to Nate. Back to Sam. And, Lucas .



Dean's entire body was on fire. His toenails tingled. His hair felt like Medusa's head was now his . . . writhing with slithering creatures. His lungs burned. His brain exploded again as the vial was pressed into first one and then the other nostril. He now willingly snorted deeply. Fingers pinched and tweaked and caressed at every inch of his rock hard athlete's torso. His cock pulsed violently. His nuts churned. His asshole . . . no . . . his pussy . . . his cunt ached. It ached from the raping it had received. It ached in hunger for being empty now. Words echoed in his ears . . . voices. Sam's? Nate's? Lucas 's? His own?



"You're a pussy. You're a cocksucker. You love cock. You need cock. Admit it. Admit it. You're a pussy cum-sucking cunt." Over and over and over the voices echoed in his brain. His body was alive with feelings in its every pore. "You're a cunt. You need cock." His cock throbbed. His pussy cunt ached. Hungry to be filled. "You're a cock sucking whore, Dean. You want a real man's meat in your cunt. You love being used like a cunt." He opened his mouth to Sam's. His tongue danced with his brother's. Smoke filled his lungs. The vial was pressed into his nostril. He snorted even as he sucked the smoke from Lucas 's open lips.



Nate moved between Dean' legs and pressed the thick head of the vibrating rubber cock to that winking hole. Hungry. Needing to be filled. Wanting to be filled. He flipped the switch and it immediately began gyrating and throbbing against that gaping hole. That cunt. Dean Winchester's cunt.



"Ooommmm." The quarterback moaned as another blast of smoke filled his lungs. His hips bucked freely trying to make his hole more accessible. His hole. His cunt. His pussy. Hungry. For cock. Hungry. His pussy was hungry for cock. Someone was chewing on his right nipple. Now his left. Smoke. His right nipple. Smoke. That throbbing against his hole. His cunt. Aching. Hungry. His right nipple. Smoke. His left nipple. Smoke. His hole. His cunt. Aching. Hungry. That throbbing.



"You're a cock sucking pussy cunt, Dean. You . . . love . . . cock. You . . . need . . . cock. You live for cock." Sam's voice? Lucas's? Nate's? The voice in his brain? He was unsure at this point. He was flying. Every pore of his body was rigid. Alive. Needing. Wanting. His control over his will, and–his life, was sinking further down that drain. Funneling out of him. He grasped out through his mind. Trying to hang on. Trying to cling to his self. His hips bucked higher. His hole tried to open more. His hole. His cunt. His pussy.

Nate backed away and watched the scene playing out before him for a few seconds. He grinned wickedly. "Gotcha, Dean. . . ."