The Domination of Dean Winchester

Lucas Scott looked up and stared across the room to his brother. Nate gestured to him to join him. The back-up quarterback nodded, bent down and gave first one and then the other of Dean' hardened nipples a tongue bath and a quick nibble. At the same time, his left hand stroked the stoned athlete's cock, scooping up a thick wad of precum. He moved quickly to press his now sticky fingers against Dean' lips. Without instruction, the quarterback's mouth opened and he sucked his protégé's fingers deep inside—hungrily licking and sucking at his own juices.



"That's it, Dean," Sam cooed as he prepared to blow another lung full of smoke into his brother's mouth. "Eat your own lube juice. Yeah. You love to eat man cum." He puffed and then leaned forward to quickly press his mouth to Dean' as soon as Lucas pulled his fingers away.



Dean Winchester's lips remained open. Waiting. Needing. His tongue danced with Sam's. Again. Exploring. Tasting. Continuing to come alive in new sensations never before experienced. Sensations . . . with . . . another man. Or, if experienced—never recognized and acknowledged. He breathed deeply as his little brother exhaled into his hungry lungs.





Lucas Scott moved across the room to stand in front of Nate. He looked back over his shoulder—following the tight end's gaze. He watched. Nate watched. Both, took in the scene as it played before them. Moving like clockwork, as though the choreographer were standing in the wings. Silent commands. Directions. Scripted. Yet, leaving just enough blank on each page for the occasional ad lib. That moment of artistic edits. To make it right. To make Dean feel it. Deeply. Intensely.



Across the room, Sam Winchester stared down into his big brother's green eyes. Dark green—almost emerald-like. Dark, with clouds of confusion. Doubt. Pain. Drug- and alcohol-induced lust. He stroked his fingertips across Dean' chest. His tight abs. His heaving ribs. An occasional pause to pinch at those ever-hardening nipples. Excruciatingly sensitive. Pain. Pleasure. Deliriously pained pleasure.



Dean Winchester was soaring. Gyrating. Moaning. Under his brother's manipulations. Dangling perilously over that cliff. That cliff, dividing who he was from who he could be, soon. Very soon, if he did not hold on. His raging cock throbbed. Dripping. Aching for release. His ass and his hole were beginning to move freely, too. Outside his mind's control. Taking on its own life, it was beginning to hunger and yield to its own needs. It lifted up from the dresser top and then dropped back down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Over. And, over. And, over again. Grinding. Gyrating. Needing filling; already missing those fingers that had been so effectively stroking its canal. Stoking its internal heat. Seducing and enlivening his prostate deep inside. Wanting more. Needing more. His mind reached for cliff's edge once again. No. Don't want. . . . Not a pussy. I’m not a cock whore. . . . Will . . . not . . . give . . . in. . . .



Nate grabbed his brother elbow and pulled him back even farther from their two teammates. He held the junior quarterback's head tightly in his hands and pressed their foreheads. He stared into slightly glazed eyes. Glazed, with sexual hunger. Glazed, with a growing sense of power. Glazed, with the effects of the pot. And, glazed with a growing sense of domination. Domination over the All-State football player. Domination over their quarterback.



"Are you stoned?" Nate asked in little more than a whisper.



"Buzzed," Lucas Scott admitted—matching his teammate's voice level. "Not stoned."

Nate grinned with approval. "Good. Stay that way. We need to keep Dean' brain fucked up. We need to keep pumping him with everything we've got." He nodded in Sam Winchester's direction. Lucas looked back over his shoulder. And then, their eyes connected again. He focused intently—waiting for Nate’s further instruction. "At least two of us need to stay straight, Lucas . Understand?"



Lucas nodded. "Okay." At least, he thought he understood. He giggled silently to himself, I am pretty buzzed, though. I hope he doesn’t realize how easy it would be to send me over that cliff right now. I’d end up getting fucked. . . .



"Listen, Lucas . Listen— and, understand what I'm saying," Nate instructed. He held his brother head even more tightly. "You've done pot before, Lucas . I can tell. But, Sammy? He's as straight down the middle of that road as our boy, Dean. He's already buzzing really bad." He paused and again nodded to their two teammates. Lucas followed his gesture and they watched for several moments. Sam puffed and blew. Puffed and blew. Puffed and blew. Sam Winchester was sailing. Almost as far out over that cliff as Dean Winchester. "Let Sammy keep blowing smoke into Dean' lungs. You and me, Lucas — we stay straight. Got it?"



Lucas looked back to Nate and nodded. "When . . . do . . . we . . . move to the next level?"



There it was again. That grin. That . . . evil . . . grin. That grin that seemed to come straight from the keeper of the keys to Hell. Not an emissary. The Keeper. Himself. "Patience, Lucas . Patience. We've already raped the shit out of Dean-boy. Haven't we?" Lucas grinned. Mischievously. Greedily. "Okay then. We don't want to get impatient. Not now. We don't want to rush it too soon, or—too fast. We've come too far. We've made great progress since you produced your little surprises." They both grinned at the thought that the kid had been harboring poppers and roofies the whole time. For his own use. To get his own needs taken care of on their state championship trip. An unsuspecting cheerleader. A student assistant. A trainer. A particular assistant coach that he knew had his eye on him for some time now. Why not? Let him have it. Lucas 's way. Little did the back-up quarterback know that his hidden box of tricks would be put

to use for the biggest treasure of them all. Dean Winchester.



"We need to get Dean so fried. . . . We need to get him so hungry for cock . . . that he’s begging for it. He needs to be begging for cock in every hole he's got," Nate continued.

Lucas 's eyes glinted with lust. Excitement. Greed. "And the whole time, we're filming everything?"



Nate nodded sadistically. "Yeah, Lucas — e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. You and me. We pass the camera back and forth. Sammy's gonna be too blown away before long to be worth a shit. I fuck. You tape. You fuck. I tape." Nate instructed as he laid out the plan like he was teaching an elementary school kid.



"And then . . . ?" Lucas asked as he felt his cock rise up hard and strong once more. He could already feel his juices beginning to boil with fuck lust.



"You'll see, Lucas . You'll see . . . " Nate said as that evil grin stayed plastered across his face.



As they stepped back up to stand beside the bound quarterback, Nate bent down and grabbed another bottle of their special brew. He leaned in close to Dean' face and smiled as he studied the hungry glaze in the stud's eyes. Dean Winchester was ready. Right now. For anything. But, that wasn't good enough. Nate didn't want Dean to simply be ready for it. Dean had to hunger for it. No. He wanted Dean to beg for it. "Thirsty, Dean?" the tight end asked as he pressed the bottle to the quarterback's lips.



Sam reached out and grabbed Nate's wrist. He blinked through the rising fog in his own brain. He thought silently, Damn. I'm buzzed. Bad. He shook his head groggily, trying to clear the little gray cells even as he reminded himself, Gotta keep a clear head. No room for errors now. He nodded down to the shackled quarterback at their side. "Hasn't he had enough of that? We've given him an awful lot. . . . "



Nate frowned as he yanked his hand from his teammate's tight grip. He didn't like being questioned or second-guessed. But, Sam had a point. He glanced at Lucas . His uncle, was dating the pharmacist in the family after all. And, he had obviously taught Lucas some of the finer points of roofie-nizing his unwitting prey. His brow rose in silent question.



Lucas Scott nodded. "Maybe you better lay off the mix for a while. He's a big guy. He's a tough nut to fuck up— obviously. He could probably handle it, but . . . "

"But we don't need a dead cock whore," Sam said hazily. He reached up to run his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair as he thought to himself, Oh fuck, am I ever getting stoned. Bad. I hope Nate doesn’t realize that. He might decide to put me in ‘cuffs right next to Dean.



Nate understood. He silently pummeled his impatience and most of his frustrations back down inside his soul. His mind screamed back at him, Don't fuck it up now, Nathan! Remember why we’re doing this. Remember— we're so fucking close!" The tight end set the bottle on the night stand and Lucas stepped up and handed him a fresh bottle. Bourbon. Only bourbon. He pressed the bottle to the quarterback's lips. "Here ya go, buddy. Drink up, Dean. Suck on this for a bit."



Dean moaned as his lips wrapped around the bottle and the liquid fire began pouring down his ravaged throat. "Mmm, garrrgggguuuumm." He felt the river of fire seep down his throat and fill his gut--reigniting that burn. Deep. Inside.



"Yeah. You like sucking that cock shaft. Don't you, stud?" Nate whispered into his teammate's ear. He pulled the bottle back, briefly and then he pressed it again to those luscious lips. "Show us how much you like sucking, Dean. Suck it. Suck hard," he cooed as Dean wrapped his lips around the neck and bobbed up and down several inches of the plastic bottle. "Yeah— that's it, Dean. Use your tongue. Rim it. Show us how you like to rim that tight hole, buddy." Dean' tongue dove inside the opening to lap at the interior walls. "Oh, yeah. That's hot, Dean. That's really hot. Damn, you love sucking. Don't you?"



Sam Winchester leaned over and began chewing on one of his brother's erect nipples. As his tongue, teeth, and lips drove the quarterback even farther into his hunger lust, his fingertips drifted over tight pecs, six-pac abs, cut ribs. He was amazed at the incredible reaction that he was receiving. It was like every last pore of Dean Winchester's body was on fire. So sensitive that even the slightest breeze could send him into a mind-shattering orgasm. He glanced down briefly to take note of the massive hard-on soaring up from Dean' legs. Pulsating. Quivering. Dripping.



Lucas moved between his mentor's legs once again. He leaned in and began licking along the now hairless trail from navel to bush. He moved lower. His tongue snaked out and touched the dripping head of Dean' throbbing cock. It came away with a silvery thread of the quarterback's precum. He pushed Dean' legs farther apart. His tongue swirled around the mushroom. Explored under the ridge. Tried to pry its way inside the winking piss slit, stealing more strands of silver ribbon. His right hand moved in between the athlete's powerful thighs. Inched forward. Slowly. His tongue left a moist trail down one side of the hefty shaft from ridge to the base of heavy hanging balls.



"Ooooosssshhhhhhhssssssshhhhhhh," Dean moaned as his body continued on its upward spiral of lust. He was being manipulated by three different sets of hands. Three different sets of lips. Three different tongues. One . . . two . . . three. Together. Separate. Alternating in number. And location. Never stopping the manipulation. Never breaking the connection.



"Yeah. You like that, Dean? You like having your inside heat turned up to its boiling point?" Nate whispered as he nibbled on the quarterback's ear. His tongue shot inside. He felt his teammate quiver underneath his touch. As his tongue slipped back out, he blew a long, slow lung full of air inside. More groans. More shudders. "You're a cock whore, Dean. You love cock. You need it so bad. Admit it. You want it bad. Don't you?"



Lucas 's tongue made its way back up the other side of the quarterback's throbbing piece of meat. Swirled around the head. Teased at that dripping slit. And, two fingers slipped inside that hole. That hole that winked and quivered and dripped from its repeated fucking. Dripped saliva. Dripped cum from three different manufacturing plants. His tongue etched its way along the ridge of the mushroom head . . . as a third finger moved into place alongside its two partners. Surging forward. In. Out. In. Out. All the while, rotating. Clockwise. Counterclockwise. In. Rotation. Out. Rotation. His tongue made another trip down the cock shaft.



Sam Winchester moved his thumb and forefinger in, to replace his tongue working Dean' right nipple as he lifted his head higher. He moved upward to lick along the quarterback's neck. As he reached Dean' ear, he nibbled at the lobe and up the outer ridge and then his tongue darted inside the ear canal. Slathering. Licking. Lingering. Stroking. In. Out. "Mmm. . . . Feels good, doesn't it, big bro? Feels good. Fucking you. Fucking your ear. Like a cock. In your pussy. You want it don't you." He pinched the nipple harder. Gasps and moans from the athlete beneath him. "You want it don't you? You need it. You need a cock fucking you. You crave cock. Don't you?" His tongue dove in again.



"Yeah. You want it bad, Dean. You're a cock slut. You're a fucking cock whore," Nate cooed into the athlete's other ear. His tongue fucked inside the canal. His hand moved to the quarterback's left nipple. Squeezing. Twisting. Pinching.



"Unnggghhhmmmppphhh," Dean moaned as his body continued skyrocketing into sexual heights he'd never believed possible. He'd never known. He'd never thought could exist. His nipples ached under the taunting. Ached and hungered for more. His head was being fucked from both sides. In. Out. In. Out. His hips rose and fell in unison to the moist massaging of Lucas 's tongue. His hole opened. His pussy. His pussy opened to each thrust of Lucas 's fingers. Two? Three? More? His pussy? He shook his head in violent opposition to this thought. His brain again reached for the edge of that cliff—scratching, clinging on to what he knew was the truth. No. Not a pussy. Not a cunt. Not . . . a . . . cunt. Must fight it. Must . . . hold . . . on. . . .



Lucas stepped over to the small refrigerator-freezer in the corner of the room and pulled a cherry popsicle from inside. A sarcastic grin spread across his face as he peeled the wrapper from the frozen shaft. He walked back to the dresser, leaned over and began rubbing the ice-on-a-stick along the quarterback's chest. Circling. Circling. Circling. Inching ever upward toward that increasingly sensitive nipple.

Dean' solidly muscled abs undulated. Short gasps escaped from his throat. All, in reaction to the frigid teasing he was receiving from his junior quarterback. A long, low moan whistled through his lips as the popsicle made contact with the rosy nub. Frozen fire. Searing into sensitive skin.



As he moved the frozen treat upward, toward that freshly shaved left armpit, Lucas bent down and sucked Dean' rock-hard nipple into his mouth. Licking. Nibbling. Sucking. Driving the shackled stud even deeper into his lust-filled delirium. Popsicle. Lick. Nibble. Suck. Popsicle. Lick. Nibble. Suck.



Nate's tongue darted in the quarterback's ear. Over. And over. In. Out. In. Out. "You're a cock slut, Dean. You want it. You need it. Beg for it! C'mon, Dean— beg for what you want. Beg for what your body needs," he whispered urgently as his tongue swirled along the inside ridge of the athlete's ear.



Sam Winchester's thumb and forefinger twisted. Harder. Squeezed. Harder. Torturing the sensitive nipple as his tongue fucked inside the quarterback's other ear. "You love cock. You need cock. You're hungry for it, Dean. You're a pussy . . . in need. . . . You’re a pussy in need of cock. A man's cock. You're hungry for a real man’s cock in your cunt."

Nate Scott stepped back. He watched. And, he grinned. Appreciation of his brother's initiative. The kid was good. He watched as shivers wracked through Dean Winchester's body.



Lucas Scott glanced back and noticed that Nate was watching him. He nodded toward the freezer. "Grab another 'cicle. Go to work on the other side," he instructed softly before turning his attentions back to his task. He slid the cherry ice along the full length of Dean' left pit. His tongue followed right behind—stopping only briefly to fuck its way into the quarterback's ear canal; even as the popsicle was making a return trip back down the smooth valley of that hairless pit. And then, that frozen nipple. Reaching upward. Stiff. Hard. Aching.



"Oooooohhhhhh yeaaaahhhhhhh," Dean moaned as the shockwaves of icy pleasure sailed through his ravaged body.



Nate shook his head in amazement. He never thought that a piece of frozen cherry juice would end up helping them. Helping to send Dean farther out over the edge of that cliff. He stepped across the room and shook his head as he pulled out another popsicle. After unwrapping it, he took a few long sucks on it as he moved to the far end of the dresser. To follow Lucas 's example. To join him in this frigid addition to their torture. Two frozen fingers of icy pleasure. Three tongues. Three pairs of lips, attacking the quarterback's quaking body. Working in unison. Across the chest. Nipples. Armpits. Two tongues, intermittently parting from their other assigned tasks to drill their way into the quarterback's ears.



"Feel that, Dean? Feel your body telling you how hungry it is for cock? You want it, Dean. You . . . want . . . cock . . . bad. You're a cunt, Dean," Nate whispered softly. "You want cock in your cunt. You need cock in your cunt. Why? Cuz you're . . . a . . . cum-sucking . . . pussy cunt. Admit it, Dean."



"Keep it up with the 'cicle, Nathan. Don't stop moving," Lucas whispered before plunging his tongue into their victim's left ear once more.



Nate glanced up. He had to bite his tongue to keep from reminding his brother who the boss was in this little project. He had to admit though, the kid was good. The popsicle thing— something he never would have considered. But it was doing a real number on Dean Winchester. The quarterback's entire body was reacting. Shivers. Shudders. Quakes. Guttural moans. Deep gasps. His raging cock was dripping rivers. His aching pussy rose and fell—looking for a means to satisfy its awakening hunger.



Lucas glanced up to Sam. "Here. Take over for me," he instructed as he continued moving the popsicle back down to circle Dean' rigid left nipple. Sam nodded and moved into place. He followed Lucas 's instructions perfectly. The popsicle circled on their teammate's freezing nipple. Then, his mouth moved in. Tongue swirled. Teeth grazed. Lips suckled. Tongue. Teeth. Lips. Back to the popsicle. To circle. And, circle. Lick, nibble, and suck—as the iced treat moved to the armpit and stroked its full length. Move in with the mouth and the tongue. Return the 'cicle to the nipple. Tongue fuck the ear. Lick. Nibble. Suck. Ice. Lick. Nibble. Suck. Ice.



The wide receiver and the tight end took turns working deeper into Dean' numbed brain. Nate whispered, "You need cock. . . ." Sam, "You want cock. . . ." Back to Nate. A tongue in the ear. Fucking. In. Out. In. Out. "You're a pussy, Dean. You crave cock." Sam, circling the popsicle over a hardened nub on the quarterback's chest. Tongue, fucking in the ear. Fucking. "You're a cunt. You're a cock sucking pussy. You need cock. You crave cock, Dean. Admit it. You want cock. Don't you?"



Lucas stepped back and watched his two cohorts in action for several moments. Nate and Sam worked in unison. Both circling rock-hard nipples with their popsicle and then moving on to stroke the icy shafts along smooth armpits. At the same time–lips, tongues, and mouths worked the shivering quarterback's cherry-coated nipples. Then, in unison—tongues drilled deeply into both ears. Fucking. Fucking. Fucking. Next, they worked in direct opposition for one complete series of passes. Sam worked on Dean' right nipple while Nate worked on the left armpit. They switched. Nate, working Dean' left nipple. Sam, moving to ice over the right pit. In the next pass, they went back to the original scheme. Working both nipples. Then both pits. And then— tongue-fucking both ear canals. Then another series. Sam sucked on a nipple while Nate's tongue slipped into Dean' ear. In. Out. In. Out. And they reversed. Nate licked his way down the athlete's left side to suck and chew on a nipple as Sam licked his way upward to slide his tongue home. Fucking Dean' right ear. In. Out. In. Out.



The junior quarterback walked to the freezer and grabbed three more popsicles. He crossed to his suitcase and quickly pulled out a tube of sports cream. He moved back to the dresser and laid a popsicle to the side of Dean' shoulders. So that Sam and Nate could quickly grab them. To replace the one they were using when spent. He unwrapped the third iced treat and gave it several long licks before he moved into place. He grabbed the quarterback's legs and lifted them into the air. Automatically, Sam and Nate grabbed Dean' ankles and held them in place with one hand, while their mouths and other hand continued to drive the quarterback insane. Insane . . . with . . . frozen . . . lust.



Lucas pressed the bulbous tip of the popsicle to Dean' ravaged hole. Still, aching from its repeated fuckings. Still, winking. Still, dripping cum. The cum of his three friends. Still, feeling abandoned for having been left empty these last few minutes. Abandoned. And, fighting Dean' brain for control of his very soul.



"Nnnngggghhh," Dean moaned as this new sensation hit him. Took hold of him. From within. Cold. Burning cold. In his pussy. Right on its lips. And his mind fought, No! Not a pussy! My hole! My asshole!" He shook his head again. Trying to shake out the increasing doubts. Trying to clear his vision to the edge of his cliff. Reminding himself, I’m not a cunt. They would not make him give in. I will not beg. Will . . . not . . . beg! Will . . . not . . . be . . . pussy!



"Feel that, Dean?" Lucas asked as he pressed the frozen cherry dildo against his mentor's upturned hole. He began fucking. In. Out. In. Out. Slowly. Each inward thrust. Deeper. Longer. Colder. "Feel that need deep inside, Dean? It's the cold hunger your pussy has. It's telling you it's so hungry and starved for cock—it's cold. That's your pussy, Dean. Your pussy."



"Nnnooo. . . . Oooooooossshhhiiittt. . . ." Dean groaned more loudly as he felt the freezing shaft slip deeper inside him. In his cunt. In his pussy. He shook his head violently. No, his asshole. He would not give in. He would not give up the last shreds of his manhood. He was sure that his attackers could hear the voice in his head, screaming for him to obey it—not them. Must hold out. Must hang. . .on. Hang . . . on . . . Winchester!"



Sam and Nate looked at each. Briefly. They marveled at Lucas 's motions. They looked back at each other. Grins. Sinister. Again. They returned to their duties.



Lucas reached for the tube of sports cream. He squeezed a glob into his hand and then dropped the tube on the dresser. He coated the cherry popsicle with the thick cream. He glanced up and noted that both Nate and Sam were staring, open-mouthed at him. Watching his movements. His eyes twinkled. He winked and grinned.



"Fire and ice, boys. Fire and, ice," he said playfully as he slipped the wooden stick between his teeth—the long, gradually widening cherry flavored bullet flanging back toward him. He climbed up onto the dresser. Between Dean' legs. He zeroed in on his target. He pressed the tip of the popsicle against that ravaged hole. Invaded. Raped. Fucked. Repeatedly. Still dripping from the massive deposits of cum that he, Nate, and Sam had all left behind.



Dean moaned from deep in his throat as he felt another new sensation rifle through his fireworks-ravaged body. A different sensation. A killer sensation. Cold. Heat. Freezing heat. Blistering hot cold. Each, separate. Each, equal. It erupted. Slowly. Forcing its way through the lips of his man cunt. Forcing its way inside. He moaned more loudly as he felt the first inch pass the broken ring of his harvested cherry. And then another inch. And another. The frozen cock shaft spread his hole wide. The frost and fire exploded inside him. Simultaneous.



"Ohhhhhhhssssshhhhhiiiiiitttttttfffffuuuucccckkkk," the stoned athlete moaned loudly as his body convulsed and rippled from this new torture—even as the icy manipulation of his nipples and armpits continued uninterrupted. Steady. Unrelenting. Wicked. Searing deep into his soul. And his cock continued to throb. Raging wildly. Rivers of precum dripped from his purple, engorged head and filled his navel and dribbled across his abs and down his sides.



Lucas reached up to grab the stick and continue the movement without breaking his rhythm. He leaned forward and sucked Dean' nuts into his mouth. Several long, deep, tonguings. He let them fall from his lips. "Feel that, Dean? Feel the heat erupting deep inside you? Your pussy's on fire. It knows what it needs, Dean. It knows what you need. It's on fire for cock, Dean. Give in to it. Give your hungry pussy what it needs."



"Unnggghhh," Dean moaned loudly again.



Nate glanced down and watched his brother in his newest actions. Watched. And, listened to these new suggestions. He shook his head and grinned with pride. His praise, silent. Unspoken. Held back. To keep the kid from getting too cocky. Too cocky with him. Damn, Lucas — you're gonna knock me off the King of the Weird level if you're not careful there, bud. He chuckled with admiration as he watched the kid fuck that dark red hunk of frozen ice, with its muscle heating creamed chaser, in and out of the quarterback's hungry hole. He bent down and blew through tight lips across Dean' chest and belly. Quakes rippled through the quarterback's powerful body. "You know what that is, Dean? That's your true self. That's your cock-hungry cunt of a soul telling you it's on fire. It's burning to be used like it is meant to be used. It needs cock. You need cock." Nate's voice was low. Husky. Seductive. "You're on fire for it, Dean. Your cunt is on fire. You're hungry for it. You need cock. You need it. Admit it, Dean. You need it. You need cock."



Lucas handed the vial of amyl that he had kept between Dean' legs up to Sam, who immediately slipped it in the quarterback's right nostril. No instruction. No threats of violence. Their mind-blown victim snorted deeply. He moved it into his left nostril. Another snort.



"Oooooohhhhhhhhhffffuuuuccckccccshhhiiiiiiiittttttt . . . " Dean groaned as more fireworks exploded in his head. More convulsions rocked his body. His pussy lips clamped tightly around that frozen cock as it fucked into his hungry hole once again.



Lucas 's eyes bugged out as he pulled back and prepared for another thrust. He came out of Dean' hole with the stick. Only . . . the . . . stick. BARE stick. The cream-coated popsicle remained inside that thoroughly fucked chute. "Oh shit!" He positioned himself on hands and knees and glanced up to Nate and Sam. "He took it inside . . . He took the fucking popsicle inside his cunt . . . and . . . he . . . kept it!"



"That's a good cock pussy, Dean. You love it up your cunt, don't you? See what you’ve been missing? You love getting fucked. Don't you?" Sam hissed as he lit up once again. His own clouded brain found amusement in the expression on his brother's face. He began to giggle and then it turned into a sinister chuckle. "You're a fucking cock whore, dude. You know what you are. You know what you want. You might as well admit it." He started giggling. Stupidly. He kissed his big brother once again. Tongues dancing. Lips locked. He blew a new cloud of smoke into Dean' burning lungs.



Nate leaned down close to the quarterback's ear and as he watched Sam blow another lung full of smoke into Dean' waiting mouth, he noticed how incredibly stoned Sam was. He was getting wasted. Bad.



Lucas squeezed more cream into the palm of his hand. He grabbed the quarterback's heavy balls and massaged the fast heating solution in. And, he moved higher. Stroking the athlete's aching shaft.



"Oooohhhhhhnnnnnooooooo. . . ." Dean groaned from deep in his throat as the fire in his cock exploded. His cock. In flames. His balls. Boiling. His mind. No. His very soul, clinging to the edge of the precipice. Clinging, to any shred of mental rope to keep himself from falling in. I'm not a pussy. I'm not a cunt. Can't . . . give . . . in. . . .



Lucas 's sports cream coated hand moved between the quarterback's legs. Three fingers zeroed in on that winking hole. Hungry to be filled. Missing its stuffing from earlier. Three fingers at once. Dove in. Spreading their heat-inducing load. Fucking. In. Out. In. Out.



"Huhmmpphh," Dean' entire body quaked. Shivered. His balls felt like a volcano. His cock, had to be in flames. His pussy was being stuffed with burning fingers. He felt himself slip. Farther. Over the edge. He struggled desperately to regain his grip. No! Not a pussy! It’s an asshole. Not . . . a . . . pussy. . . . A sudden, brief calm consumed him. Calm. Fed, by that rising doubt. That increasing question. Am I?



That grin spread across Nate's rugged face. Again. He realized he had grinned a lot during the evening. He couldn't help it. His demonic mind was fucking having a hell of a time. He looked at Lucas and Sam. "Untie him."



"What? Are you. . . ." both teammates started to question the tight end in unison.

Nate held up a hand to silence them. He stared directly into Lucas 's eyes. That communication. Calm. Firm. Commanding. He shifted his gaze to Sam's cloudy spheres. Clouded, from pot. He had puffed so much in the last hour that the smoke had risen into his eyes. His stare into those eyes was even more intense. More firm. More commanding. "I know what I'm doing," he said firmly. He glanced back to Lucas Scott. "Untie him, Lucas ."



Still doubtful, but not willing to argue the point, Lucas nodded and moved forward. He slowly began untying Dean' left wrist. Hesitantly, Sam Winchester followed his lead and removed the binding from the quarterback's right wrist.



Soon Dean was lying unencumbered on the dresser. His arms ached. They had been held tight over his head. Bent backward—unnaturally. For . . . so . . . long. They slowly made their way forward so that he could rub his burning eyes. Brush his blond hair from his forehead. His left hand drifted across his sweat soaked chest and tightly packed abs to his cock. Throbbing. Dripping. Aching for release. He tried to lift himself from the dresser but there was no strength. It was as though his muscles had drained every ounce of their energy, just as readily as the sweat rivered from every pore of his being.

"Here, let me help you," Nate offered softly. He stepped forward and slipped a hand beneath the athlete's neck. His other hand clenched beneath Dean' right pit. A moan escaped the quarterback's lips as skin made contact with skin. "Easy, buddy. Easy. Here we go," the tight end cooed softly in his teammate's ear as he lifted him to a sitting position. "Okay?" Dean nodded groggily. Weary. Washed out. "Let's get you on your feet."



"Thanks," Dean choked out as he felt his teammate swing his legs over the edge of the dresser and then ease him forward. He stood up and his knees went out from under him immediately. Nate caught him. Shouldered him. Held him up. "Whhoosshhhiiittt."

Nate grinned playfully as he caught his teammate. "Easy there big fella. You've been through a heavy workout. Take it easy." He reached up to grab a handful of blond hair and held Dean' head firmly in place. He moved his head so that their faces were only inches apart. "You want to go now? You want to leave?"



Lucas and Sam stared at each other. Each, wondering the same thing. What the hell was going on? Had Nate given up? Had Dean beat them after all? The battle was over? They had lost? They were going down? ‘They’ were going down instead of their prime objective?



"It's okay, buddy," Nate whispered softly again as he ran his fingertips down Dean' powerful chest and abdomen. Shivers rocked the quarterback's frame as the tight end's manipulations sent shockwaves through him. "You can go if you want. Here— Sammy will help you get dressed and you can go." He nodded to Sam Winchester who immediately stepped around the dresser to take his best friend's arm. "That's it, Dean. That's it— baby steps. Just take baby steps, buddy. One foot after the other. Your brother will help you dress and then you can leave. If that's what you really want."



Dean stared at Nate Scott for several moments. Where am I? How did I get here? Where are my clothes? Why are they naked? "Thanks, Sammy. Thanks for helping me," he said as his little brother held him upright. His knees still felt like rubber. The room was swimming. "Yeah, man. Need fresh air. Just . . . need . . . some fresh . . . air."

Nate nodded to Sam to lead the quarterback toward the beds. Toward the pile of clothes between the two beds. "That's it, Dean— let Sammy help you get dressed and then you can leave if that's what you want to do. If that's what you really want. But are you sure that's what you want? Don't you want to stay? Don't you want more cock? Doesn't your pussy want more cock, buddy?"



As they moved slowly across the room, Sam Winchester stared back over his shoulder. Doubt. Confusion. Questions. He shook his head when Nate winked. As though saying not to worry about it.



Lucas Scott stepped up to Nate and stared in those eyes. Eyes, filled with the fires of hell, itself. "Nate. What are you. . . ." He cut his question short when Nate held up a hand.



"Trust me," Nate whispered. He nodded toward the two brothers as they stood, centered between the two beds. Dean' knees gave out. He fell against his best friend. Legs wrapped around ankles which wrapped around thighs. Dean and Sam both landed in a heap. Dean' head between Sam's legs.



Nate jumped on the position he suddenly saw his two teammates in. Exactly . . . what . . . he . . . had . . . hoped . . . for. " Lucas — the camera." He snapped his fingers at the camera and then pointed to the two football players sprawled across the bed. He immediately climbed up beside them and leaned close to Dean. "See, Dean? See? I told ya. You don't want to leave. Not really. You like it here. You belong here. You want more cock inside you. You want more cock. You need more cock. Your body is begging you not to take it away from this special place. You need more cock. Don't you? You want it, buddy. Admit it." He roughly shoved Dean' face between Sam's upturned butt cheeks. "Yeah. Eat it, Dean . . . Get your pussy mouth down there and eat your brother's hole. You want your tongue in there so bad, Dean. You need to taste it. You want to eat it real bad," Nate said softly as he began gently pushing the quarterback's face closer to its target. "You didn't really want to leave. Not deep down inside. You wanted to stay. You wanted us to give you more of what you crave. You need cock so bad. Your pussy needs it. You're a cunt, Dean. You want it. You wanted to stay. Admit it, buddy. Just give into it and admit it. Why don't you beg Sammy to feed you?"



Dean moaned as his nose brushed its way into his little brother's crack. Sweat. Cum. So many aromas. Masculine. Sam. Nooo. . . . Mmpphhhh. Will not beg. I'm NOT a pussy. . . Mmpphhh.



"Beg for it, Dean," Nate whispered as he continued to guide that face more deeply between those mounds of butt flesh. "Beg for it. Stick your tongue out. That's it. Go for it."



Lucas eased himself onto the bed and guided the video camera close. He trailed downward over Sam's broad shoulders. His tapered back. His muscular butt. He concentrated next on Dean Winchester. Kneeling between his jock little bro's widespread legs. His face, buried between those muscular orbs. He zoomed in on that incredible face. Everyone would recognize that face. Everyone knew that face. Dean Winchester. All-State champion quarterback. Eating butt. Man butt.



"Give into the fire, Dean. Listen to your cunt. That burning in your cunt is your soul. You want it. You need it. You're a whore, Dean," Lucas whispered as he guided the lens back upward, taking in Sam Winchester's undulating butt. His tightly V'd back. His powerful shoulders. "Open up to the fire, Dean. Admit it. Admit what you are. Admit what you need."



Dean groaned as his tongue snaked its way out of his mouth and traced its way down the crack of his brother's smooth butt. Sam pushed backward to press his hole against Dean' face. The quarterback's tongue found its target. And, it went in. "Mmmpphhh," Dean choked out as he buried his face tightly into his bro's crack now and drove his tongue deep inside.



Nate spread Dean' powerful thighs with his knees. He reached out to grab a hand full of blond hair and pulled his teammate's head back from Sam's spit dripping hole. "You want more, Dean? You want to get fucked while you eat that hole? You want cock in your pussy?"



Before the quarterback could respond. Poppers were shoved home once again. Another gulp of air. Another mind explosion. Another shudder. Fireworks in Dean' brain. Fire in his cunt. Fire in his nuts. Fire in his cock. His mind. In flames. His soul. In flames. Dean. In flames. Raging. Out of control. Thanks to Lucas 's ingenious improvisation.



Another spark. Satan resurfaced. Nate reached for the doctored bottle of Scotch on the bedside table. Still holding a writhing, mind-blown quarterback with one hand he leaned forward and pressed the plastic bottle to Sam Winchester's winking hole. Satan's voice itself rose in the tight end's focused mind, This'll give Dean a blast. Sammy, too. Yeah, Sammy—you, too." With that, he shoved the bottle home and squeezed its sides. Hard. The plastic gave way—blasting its Rohypnol-laced fluids deep inside Sam's hole.

Sam Winchester winced. What was that? It wasn't Dean' tongue. It was. . . . He raised up on his hands and looked back over his shoulder just in time to see the bottle of brown liquid disappearing inside his upturned hole. "What . . . are . . . you. . . ." His words evaporated into shrieks. Intense pain as the plastic bottle rammed home. "Noooo . . . Naatteee!" Teeth clenched. Knowing what was going to happen, he stared back at Nate's grinning face. The tight end winked, yanked the bottle from his ass and then shoved Dean' face back between his cheeks.



"Eat it, Dean. Suck those cunt juices out of that tight hole," Nate snarled. At the same time, he flipped the vial of poppers on the bed beside Lucas —the cameraman.

Almost as if he heard Nate's silent command, Lucas grabbed the vial, moved off the bed and stood in front of a struggling Sam Winchester. Quick moves. Stealth-like. Catlike. The camera, down. Mouth, capped with one hand. Vial, up Sam's left nostril.



"Breathe, Sammy. Breathe. That's it. Deep breaths."



"Nooooo. . . ." Snort. Gulp. Snort. "Ooooohhhhsssshhhiiittt. . . ." Right nostril. Snort. Gulp. "Nooooo . . . Jiiiiimmmmpppphhh."



"That's it, Dean. Open up to that fire. You want it bad. Don't you? Don't you?" Nate moaned softly as he watched Lucas Scott make his move. The camera was back in hand. His throbbing cock sliding home. Down . . . Sam Winchester's . . . throat. Their eyes connected. One mind. Nate slid his massive cockhead between Dean' widespread legs.



Dean moaned as he ground his butt backward against Nate's thick, throbbing cock. He slid farther over the edge of the cliff. He felt himself dangling. Close to a free fall. Clutching backward behind him. Clutching. For anything. Clutching. At, anything. His pussy ached. His pussy twitched violently with flaming hunger. His pussy screamed to be fed. Fuck me, please. I need your cock in me. Please fuck me. . . . Another twig of confidence protruded from cliff's edge. He grasped at it. No! No! Not a cunt! Not a whore. . . . He moaned as his head was roughly shoved back between Sam's butt cheeks. His tongue immediately fucked its way back into that dripping hole. Dripping with more than saliva now. Did he hear right? What was that? Nate said cunt juice. . . . Sammy’s cunt juice. "Mmmppphhh. . . ." His nostrils flared as he sniffed at Sam's scent. His sweat. Drank Sam's sex. Sammy . . . has . . . cunt . . . juice? Sammy? Cunt? Sammy’s cunt? Mmm. . . . Sammy's cunt juice. Yum. Mmm. . . . Not a faggot. I'm not a. . . . Mmm. . . . Sammy's cunt juice. Eat Sammy's cunt . . . juice. Faggot . . . doesn't . . . eat . . . cunt. . . . Mmm . . . good. Sammy's cunt juice . . . good. . . .



Lucas shifted the camera lens to Dean' muscular butt . . . turned up, enticingly. Seemingly to invite Nate's pummeling cock inside. Seemingly, to even invite the camera to come in. To view his rape from the inside. To record for all time the ravaging of his manhood. To record the rape of his very soul.



"Oh, shit. Yeah. This is hot," Lucas whispered as he zoomed in. Nate's gigantic mushroom-headed spear penetrated that waiting hole—splitting it open. Digging in. Plunging deeply. Heavy balls bouncing with each inward thrust. Lucas rocked his hips in unison with the tight end. His cock. Penetrating Sam's throat as Nate's massive slab of fuck meat plowed more deeply into Dean' waiting pussy.



"Oooooohhhhhhhh shhhhiiiittttt," Dean wailed as the assault began on his ravaged hole. Another assault. Fucking the shit out of him. Fucking the cum loads from the previous fucks out of him. Fucking cherry Popsicle juice out of him. Preparing him. For new loads. Fresh loads.



"Yeah. Open up and take it Dean Winchester," Nate grunted making sure that he got the quarterback's last name down on tape. He slapped at upturned butt cheeks. Hard. First, one. Then, the other. Back and forth. Red imprints of his hands rose like tattoos. "Open up and take my cock in your cunt. You love getting your pussy cunt fucked. Don't you? Tell me you love it, Dean."



Dean squealed as he felt his insides giving way to Nate's huge fuck tool. Again. Out of pure animal lust he dove his mouth back between his brother's cheeks. Tongue. Fucking. Thrusting. Matching Nate's cock. In. Out. In. Out. In . . . . Out . . . . Between hole munches, he groaned out lustily, Sammy's . . . cunt . . . juice. "Mmm. . . ."

Sam's head sank back to the mattress as the alcohol and drug enema began to hit home. Hard. Already stoned beyond belief, he knew he was going to be unable to resist anything that Nate or Lucas attempted. Anything. The sky rockets continued to explode in his head from the poppers that Lucas had shoved into his nose. He started giggling. Uncontrollably. Were they the same fireworks his older brother was seeing? Were they now on the same wavelength? He moaned loudly as he felt Dean' tongue dive deep inside his hole.



He winced as Lucas Scott grabbed a handful of his dark hair and yanked his head upward . . . and in the same motion, rammed his throbbing cock between his parted lips. His throat opened willingly to the sudden invasion. Hungry to taste that thick chunk of meat. Yeah. He knew he wanted cock. He had wanted it for a long time. But. Not like this. Not like. . . .



"Ooooohhhhhh fuuuuuucccckkkkk, mmmmpppphhhhh," Dean groaned deeply as his mind and his asshole exploded at the same time.



Lucas nudged his teammate with a knee. Sam looked up through groggy eyes. He was flying. Sailing higher than ever, thanks to that sudden, unexpected assault on his own asshole with that Scotch and roofie enema. Nate was awesome! The dude was beyond Dean in the clouds already. He pulled his cock from that sucking mouth and motioned for Sam to turn over. Slowly, the stoned athlete did as he was told.



Dean groaned again as Nate slammed his thick cock into him. Deeper. Harder. Fiercer. "Oooooohhhhhuuuuunnnnngggghhhhh." He dove down and swallowed Sam's cock to the hilt. "Mmmppphhh's" slipping from his widespread lips every now and then as he pulled back and gulped air before sucking his way back down to bury his nose in the thick bush of hair at the base of that long, thick, shaft.



"Yeah. Suck it, Dean. Suck that cock," Nate hissed as he continued to pummel Dean' hole with his cock. Hard, brutal slaps. Against welting cheeks. "You love it don't you? You love getting cock in both your pussy holes at the same time. Don't you?"



"Ooommmyyygggooossshhh," Sam groaned through clenched teeth as he felt moist warmth envelope his aching cock. He lifted his head to watch as his big jock brother, hi s best friend on the planet swallow the full length of his fuck tool. Dean. Sucking cock. Dean. Sucking. His cock. His mind reeled from the pot. His ass dripped with drug-laced alcohol. And. His brothers spit. Dean' tongue had been inside him. Eating him. Fucking him. He stared up into Nate's amused eyes.



"Wwwhhhrrryyyooodddooonnngggtttoommmpphhheee," he moaned as he shook his head. His body was leaving his body. Was that possible? He couldn't make anything work properly as he sank deeper into the roofenized swamp that was flooding through his body. From his asshole.



Nate glanced up and snapped his fingers. Lucas Scott looked up to him and he motioned for the back-up quarterback to hand over the video camera. He grabbed the camera with one hand as he continued pounding his massive cock deeply into their helpless quarterback's pussy.



Lucas nodded and stopped filming. As he handed the camera to their rape leader, he focused on Nate's eyes. Silent. Forceful. Giving him direction. Nate's lips. Barely moving. Shouting out silent staging. He understood. He thought. As Nate lifted the camera to his eye, he began filming. First, straight down. Focusing on his fuck pole. Driving into open pussy. In. Out. In. Out. He panned forward. Taking in the powerful back that expanded into broad, finely sculpted shoulders. Finally, zooming in on the blond haired head of the All-State quarterback as it bobbed up and down on another cock. Sucking. Slurping. Licking. Eating. Hungry. Farther up. Along the tightly packed abs of the team's wide receiver, his own brother! Upward, still across his powerful chest to his boyish face. Sam Winchester's boyish face. Contorted. In pleasure. In drug-induced hunger.

Lucas watched. He waited. For his cue. There it was. Nate's faint nod. He leaned forward and pressed his throbbing cock against Sam's tightly closed lips. "Open up, Sammy. You want it, buddy. You know you want it. You love cock, Sammy. Let go. Let go and take what you want," he cooed softly as he pressed his dripping head more tightly against those full lips. Sam's mouth opened. Slightly. He urged him on more firmly. "C'mon, Sammy. . . . You know you've wanted cock for so long. It's time, buddy. It's time to quit fighting it. It's yours, Sammy. It's yours. Open up for me." As his teammate's mouth opened wider, he slid his cock inside. Slow. Deliberate. Deep. Knowing that Nate was getting the full-length shot of his throbbing cock. Inching inside that waiting mouth. Inch. After inch. After inch. "That's it, buddy— it's all yours. Open up and eat it. . . ."



Nathan Scott grinned with growing satisfaction. He knew Sam Winchester was a cock hound. He wasn't sure Sam even knew it. Or, if he did—if he recognized it deep inside. But he knew. Nate knew. He could see it in the wide receiver's eyes. He saw it every time the guy looked at his brother. The brother who was hungrily eating his cock right now. Two best friends. Two cock hounds. Sam. Swallowing Lucas Scott's dripping cock. Dean. Swallowing his big brother's. Dean. His aching hole opening wide to take the massive fuck tool deep inside his pussy.



"Mmmppphhhh," Dean groaned as he continued sucking and slurping on the throbbing piece of meat between his lips. In his clouded daze, he grudgingly allowed himself to be pulled back and licked at the dripping mushroom head—a silvery bead of precum trailing from the wide slit and roping downward. Another invasion. Another throbbing cock. Lucas ? He wasn't sure at this point. Not any more. The fog was rising. The crest of the cliff was farther away. Slipping, farther from his grasp. Yeah— give it to me. . . . Fuck my cunt. . . . He shook his head. Tried to clear his mind. No! Not a cunt! Not a pussy. Not a. . . ." The fog thickened. His mind reeled. The doubts surged. The need, surged. Oh, yeah— fuck me. Fuck me with that. . . . Yeah. Fuck me like a whore pussy." He shook his head. Again. Two cocks in his mouth. One, after the other—sometimes both at the same time. Sammy and Lucas 's. One huge slab of meat in his pussy. Nate's. Fucking. Savagely. Fucking. Deep. Into his pussy. No. Not a cunt, his internal voice screamed. Trying to hold on. Trying to keep him from falling any farther. Even as he felt himself slipping. Deeper. His body shuddered in pleasure. Maybe they were right? Maybe he was? Words slipped through his lips as they slid along the shaft of meat fucking deeply into his throat. Words, he couldn't believe. Words. Foreign. To him. Words. That seemed so right at this moment. Mmm. . . . Feels good. . . . I love . . . it. Mmm . . . oh yeah. . . . Love cock. Love cock in my pussy."



Dean eyes fluttered shut as he shook his head again. Arguing with his own self. Arguing with his clouded mind. Surely Nate, Sam, and Lucas could hear his voice. The screaming made his brain hurt. The screaming echoed throughout his aching head. No! Not a faggot . . . . Won't . . . give in. . . . Can't . . . give . . . up!" Shudders. Violent. Quakes. Rocking his entire body. His magnificent, powerfully muscled body. Quaking. Shaking. Shuddering. Rocking. Needing. Wanting. His hole was on fire. It was hungry. His balls were burning. His cock. In flames. We're they right? Could they be right? Where was this coming from? What did they do to him? Could . . . it . . . be? He shook his head. Again. Fighting. Resisting. Can't . . . give . . . in. . . . I’m . . . not . . . a . . . pussy. . . ."



Lucas Scott smiled broadly. The apex of that cliff the quarterback had been clinging to was slipping from his fingertips. He was losing his grasp. Dean was finished.

Cock in his mouth. Cock in his pussy. Mmm . . . yeah. . . . Feels good. Feels so right. Mmm. . . . I am a pussy cunt. I am a pussy cunt. Mmm . . . love . . . cock. Dean felt a calm enveloping him. The fog remained thick. Yet, seemed like a safe harbor. Protecting him. "Unngghh, fuuuccckkkk mmmpppphhh mmmeeee."



Nate grabbed a handful of blond hair and yanked backwards. Sam Winchester's cock slipped from the quarterback's sucking mouth with a loud pop. The tight end winked at Lucas Scott and motioned for him to keep filming. As he continued to plow his thick cock deep into their teammate's pussy, he leaned forward and chewed on his ear. "What did ya say? What was that, Dean? Tell us what Dean Winchester wants?"



"Fuck me. Please. . . . I need your . . . cock. . . . Please . . . fuck . . . me," Dean groaned out before he was roughly shoved back down on his brother's throbbing cock. As his cock exploded and gushed another thick load up Dean Winchester's ravaged hole, Nate grinned in triumph. "Gotcha, you son-of-a-bitch."