Gender: Female Age: 19 Location: Narnia...
|Introduction: this is a long stroy, and a acutal stroy. lots of sex,but starts out more torture . Dean was Alistair's most beloved student for a reason. Fic on what Dean did in Hell and the consequences he has to deal with after he's pulled out...and the fact that his brother starts looking at him -and touching him!- in ways he shouldn't. First half of the story is set in Hell and there's DW/OFC. Eventually DW/SW -when DW's alive and kicking- and Evil!SW towards the end. Sorry! I know I suck at summaries! If you want, you can suggest a better one as the story progresses!|
Dean had spent thirty years on the rack being tortured in the most vicious ways and every single day when Alistair had made his offer, he’d turned it down, every single time. Until one day it was too much to bear and he couldn’t help accepting it.
At first, he felt sick whenever he faced his victim –it wasn’t in him to inflict endless pain and suffering on the souls on the rack- but that was until he realized that by inflicting such pain on them, he could get rid of his own. And hence, little by little, he began enjoying the carving, slashing and burning of the souls before him. He became more and more creative in the craft and, as time went by, he developed a real taste for it. This didn’t pass unnoticed to Alistair, who felt nothing but true satisfaction.
Dean was slowly making himself a name and other demons began fearing him. He’d been feared as a hunter when he was alive, but now that he was embracing his brand-new demonic nature, he was becoming more and more terrifying –even to the creatures in the pit. They’d always flinch when they saw the bright green fire in his eyes glowing in the dark as he approached them. They’d immediately bow to him in response and take several steps back clearing the way for him too frightened to do anything else.
Alistair seemed increasingly pleased with him and realized that his student was on the fast track to becoming a high rank demon. He couldn’t help smiling whenever he saw Dean deriving pleasure from the pain he inflicted on his victims and the fear he instilled in other demons. Alistair was not only highly satisfied with his work but also surprised. “Who would’ve thought a Winchester would make such a wonderful demon? If only John could see his eldest son, his perfect little soldier...but he’s all mine now…well, almost,” he thought and laughed.
Dean had a routine, he’d always start his day torturing a soul, then have a break, torture some more and call it a day. There wasn’t much to do downstairs anyway and sometimes he simply got bored. He thought this was going to be one of those days: just another sick bastard on the rack to hurt and slash till he got bored and came up with a new way of crushing him.
He knew that the souls on the rack deserved what was in store for them –most of the time anyways. They’d been thrown in Hell for a reason. They’d done something terrible in life and they deserved the hideous punishment that he delivered to them. He’d come up with this theory when he’d first started torturing souls as a way of justifying his own actions and, unknowingly, he took some comfort in that. However, he’d soon find out that his theory wasn’t flawless.
There was nothing left of the poor bastard on the rack and Dean was bored and tired. He thought the guy had had enough for the time being and decided to call it a day. So, he put him back in a cage and busied himself putting his tools away. He was always careful with his tools, he’d always taken good care of them in life and it was no different now.
He was focused on the task at hand when Alistair appeared by his side.
“Hello, Dean,” Alistair greeted him with a mischievous smile.
“Master,” Dean replied respectfully.
“I have something special for you, kiddo. Dash has been working on a soul rather unsuccessfully so far. Apparently, she won’t break, not even scream! Can you believe that? She just takes it, whatever Dash has for her, but not a word escapes her lips. Let’s see what you can do, kiddo,” Alistair explained.
Dean was astonished. Dash was supposed to be Alistair’s star student and now he was failing? And not just that, Alistair was handing over Dash’s victim to him?
Alistair noticed his surprise and added “Dean, Dean, Dean, how many times have we talked about it? I’ve told you over and over that you promise, kiddo. It’s time you start believing it yourself,” and then patted Dean on the back.
Alistair could never thank John enough for all the damage he’d done to his own son. Dean was already broken when he arrived in Hell, and it was all thanks to daddy dearest. His entire life he’d craved so much for the slightest sign of approval or affection that now he’d do anything to get it. Alistair was well aware of this and he wasn’t going to let it go to waste. Dean was going to be his, he knew how much potential he had, and he was going to make sure his skills were developed to the fullest.
“Is this a test of some kind?” his student asked with a small voice.
“Not at all, I’d say it’s more of a…challenge,” Alistair replied. “She hasn’t been in the pit for long, just a few years. But, like I said, she won’t even scream or plead for mercy, she did at first, but now she’s gone so quiet, too quiet actually…let’s see what you can do about that.”
“Thank you, master,” was all Dean managed to say before he realized Alistair had left the torture chamber.
The next morning, Dean was ready to start his day. He approached the rack and found Alistair there waiting for him. He immediately remembered what he’d told him the day before “he had something special for him, a soul that wouldn’t break easily” and he thought “That’s because I haven’t done the torture!” Alistair knew what he was thinking and couldn’t help laughing wickedly “That’s the spirit, kiddo!” and with a movement of his hand a victim appeared on the rack and he was gone instantly.
Dean looked at the rack and saw a girl on it. She was chained spread-eagled, her head down, chin resting on her chest. He took a long inquisitive look at her. She was small and slim, but curvy, had long dark wavy hair and pale skin. He looked at her more closely and noticed that it was a young woman, late twenties probably. He placed his hand on her chin and lifted her head. He examined her closely: pink lips, rosy cheeks, chocolate brown eyes. Somehow she reminded him of Sam: she had the same puppy-dog eyes and dark floppy hair.
He smiled for a second as memories of his kid brother filled his mind. He missed him badly. After all, he’d been downstairs for decades now. Deep down, he knew he’d never see his brother again. It hurt him deeply but he was grateful for it. He guessed Sam must either be an old man or dead by now. And if they never met again, well, that simply meant that Sam was in a better place.
He smiled at the idea, it was an honest smile, but he quickly brushed off those thoughts knowing that they’d do no good to him and focused on the girl instead. She was still beautiful. Despite all the torments she’d surely been through -especially knowing she’d spent some time with Dash- she’d somehow remained beautiful and sweet looking. He noticed it and couldn’t help licking and biting his lip and thinking of all the things he was going to do to her.
His eyes glowed with that bright green shade they’d acquired in Hell and she looked back at him. He saw her pain and fear, and gave her a sardonic smile. She closed her eyes tightly and leaned her head against the rack reading herself for whatever he was going to do to her. He was surprised by her reaction. Souls would always beg and plead to avoid torture, but apparently not her, she simply took a deep breath getting ready for whatever he had in store for her –just like Alistair had said. He felt intrigued and decided to move on as usual just to see how she’d react.
He looked at the table next to him and went through the different tools at hand. He picked up a bottle and walked towards her. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her heart was racing in her chest. He stood there next to her, waiting. After several minutes, she opened her eyes and saw him looking up and down at her. He wasn’t doing a thing, just staring, examining her and holding the bottle.
Suddenly, he drew his hand to her jaw and forced it open before he proceeded to spill the contents of the bottle down her throat. She felt the bright red lava-like fluid slowly pouring inside her and she opened her eyes wide as the sizzling of her burning flesh and unbearable pain started washing over her body. Her torturer kept pouring the liquid until there was nothing left in the bottle and then he took a few steps back and made himself comfortable in an armchair.
Dean remained in the armchair, ready for the show, watching her squirming and twisting against the rack. She opened her mouth trying to gasp for air but a bright red flame escaped her lips instead. He looked down and noticed that parts of her body were glowing, and then saw flames slowly making their way outside of her.
It was as if fireworks were coming out of her, sparks of different shades of red, orange and yellow engulfed her body and hair, and made her shine in the dark. He was fascinated by the contrast and thought “so beautiful…so perfect.” He was mesmerized by the image and stood completely still, watching her as she continued to burn until there was nothing left but ashes and a few bare bones. Then, he flipped his hand and all her flesh, bones and skin grew back till she was whole again.
He couldn’t believe how good it all had been. Normally, he would end the torture after this, but he was so excited with her that there was no way he was going to let her go yet. So, he decided to go on with the whip. It was made of leather and had four long ends attached to the handle, each one with sharp razor blades on the tip. He caressed it as he looked at her and took a few steps back to build the necessary momentum.
He whipped her once, twice, three times in a row and then waited. She flinched and arched her back every time, but she didn’t make a sound. He approached her and saw her eyes shut tightly and tears running down her face. She was breathing raggedly and writhing in pain, but she wasn’t uttering a word. He took a few steps back and resumed the whipping and yet nothing. No pleading or begging coming from her lips. He was stunned and remembered Alistair’s words while he thought “he was right, this is no easy one to break...I’m gonna have so much fun!”
The whipping was endless and he took no breaks. By the end of the day, her body was beyond recognition, slash after slash had taken off most of the skin from her body and torn her flesh. She was bleeding profusely and there was a puddle of blood at her feet. Hadn’t she been hanging from the rack, she would’ve collapsed long ago.
However, her face remained intact. For some unknown reason, her torturer hadn’t hurt her face. When the whipping stopped and wasn’t resumed, she opened her eyes and saw those glowing green eyes approaching her. Then, her torturer flipped his hand and her broken body was instantly healed, the chains released their hold on her and she fell to the ground. Slowly, almost cat-like, he approached her, gently lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. He made the offer she’d heard so many times before “you can end this, you can get off the rack if you put other souls on it”. She closed her eyes shut and turned her head away in response.
Then, the man moved his hand again and before she could stand or react in any way, she found herself in a cage. It was small and her movements were limited, she couldn’t stand or stretch so she sat down with her back against the bars and wrapped her arms around her legs as she buried her head between her arms and knees. She knew what that meant: the day was over and she could try and recover for the following one.
Dean was impressed. He’d never met a soul that had taken the torture that way. Not to mention that she hadn’t even begged...at all. The only noises he’d heard from her were her sobs when he’d left her in the cage and she thought she was alone. He wondered why she’d been sent downstairs and thought to himself “gotta thank Alistair for this. Things have become pretty interesting.”
The torture continued for a very long time. She lost track of it till she didn't know whether it'd been months or years, and during that time he used a number of different tools and methods. He stabbed her with flaming swords, cut through her skin and flesh with scalpels, resorted to electric shocks, dropped acid all over her, boiled her in oil, filleted her -just to mention a few- and then, when he was done, he’d start all over again. He was vicious in his methods and yet, she wouldn’t scream or beg him to stop. She just kept her eyes wide shut and didn’t utter a word. He could tell she was in excruciating pain because every time he approached her she flinched and smelt of fear but that was her only response to his work.
He was growing increasingly curious about her and decided to resort to one of his best talents. His victims weren’t aware of it, but he’d become exceedingly good at reading their minds. That was how he knew how to break them. He’d listen carefully and attentively to each and every one of their thoughts and then decide his course of action –his torture technique- based on the information he’d acquired from them.
He started paying close attention to her mind and was even more surprised when he found out what her inner thoughts were. Whenever she was being tortured, she’d lose herself in memories of her past life: blue skies, walks on the beach, red and yellow sunrises, green forests, rainy days, chocolate; the list went on and on. It was kind of corny, but it was everything she’d enjoyed when alive and now missed. She’d always focus hard on those ideas as he cut through her flesh.
Since his usual methods weren’t working, he reconsidered what he’d done so far and thought of spicing things up a little. She was on the rack, again. It was the beginning of a new day and she wondered what he’d try this time. He was the worst torturer she’d ever faced and didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to stand the pain. She lifted her head and saw him standing in front of her. He was leaning towards her holding a double-edged knife which he’d already used before and she remembered. “Ok, looks like he’s running out of ideas. Here we go for another round!” she thought.
Deep down she wanted to yell at him, tell him what a sick bastard he was, but she knew very well that it’d do no good. She’d reacted that way the first time she’d been tortured and back then her torturer, some hideous guy named Dash, had actually enjoyed it and retorted “how much he liked feisty girls.” So, since then, she’d just kept her mouth shut and tried to hang on till the torture was over.
Dean knew exactly what she was thinking and couldn’t help smiling as he gently stroked her face. She took a deep breath and looked at him completely confused. Then, he brought the knife up to her neck and saw her flinching. He slowly and sensually slid the blade down her sides and proceeded to cut her clothes off. She felt the cold steel of the blade ghosting her body as he carefully cut through the fabric. He was done within minutes and she found herself naked and fully exposed to him. She couldn’t help wondering why he’d been so careful and hadn’t carved into her flesh yet. He just kept stroking her body with the knife as he gave her a playful smirk.
After that, he took a few steps back and sat in an armchair. He looked up and down and stared at her for endless minutes. Then, he moved his hand in the air and the chains obeyed his command. Her arms were moved up above her head and her legs were spread farther apart. He gave her a lustful look and she saw bright green flames igniting at her feet. The flames soon grew bigger and started engulfing her body. She felt the fire burning through her skin and yet, her body remained intact. She was in great pain, she could almost feel her flesh sizzling, but she looked exactly the same. There was no visible damage; only the pain was she feeling.
Despite her pain, she noticed that the fire was behaving strangely. It felt like a tongue and hands roaming her body. She felt fingers running through her hair and digging in her shoulders. Then, she sensed fingers going down her front to her breasts and felt a tongue circling her nipples. She looked up at the man and noticed the lust in his eyes and his increasing arousal.
Next, she felt hands on her inner thighs moving all the way up to her butt as they started cupping it. She tried to move forward away from them but she felt something on her front caressing her sensitive core till it suddenly and forcefully thrust inside her. The pain was unbearable and she was about to scream, but when she opened her mouth, a fiery tongue darted inside it and plundered it. She almost choked as it kept pushing inside her mouth till it hit the back of her throat. The thrusts up her core kept increasing at the same time and she felt the fire going deeper and faster inside her while hands kneaded her breasts.
The fire had filled her completely and she was shaking and fighting against the chains, but the more she fought, the stronger their hold on her was, and the more pleased her torturer seemed. Then, she finally understood it: he was the fire. It was the same bright green shade of his eyes. It was his hands, his tongue...it was him inside of her. He was raping her without even touching her. She felt sick and tried to shield herself in her mind and find shelter in the memories of her life but every time she tried to do it, the thrusts intensified and the increased pain brought her back to her current reality.
This went on all day and she thought she was going to pass out, she even begged for it in her mind, but she stayed awake and fully aware of everything that he was doing to her. Then, when he was finally done with her, the fire went out and he released the restraints. She dropped down to the floor, unable to move from all the pain she was in and doing her best to hold her tears. As usual, he approached her, and then gently lifted her head as he repeated his offer. She felt tears running down her face and couldn’t hold her sobs anymore. And yet, she looked away and remained silent.
Realizing she wasn’t going to break, he put her in her cage and walked away, but before leaving he looked back at her and said out loud “by the way, you looked so beautiful in my fire...and you felt and tasted even better. We’ll have to do it again, sweetheart...real soon!” That said, her torturer left and she cried till she had no tears left. He’d almost broken her that day and that terrified her. She’d never be able to hurt anyone, but the pain, the helplessness she’d felt, had been almost unbearable and she didn’t know if she’d be able to turn down his offer next time.
She was rocking back and forth in her cage and didn’t notice that Dean hadn’t actually left. He was standing out of her sight, prying into her mind. He was fascinated by her endurance and wanted to know how to break her. He’d been very close today, though. She would’ve cried and screamed for help if he’d only let her and he felt pleased with himself “she’s so close...so close” and it was intoxicating.
She was curled up in her cage and kept repeating the same mantra in her head: “Mikey is ok. He’s alive and well. Nothing else matters. You’re strong, you can take it.” She went on and on for hours on end, and Dean wondered who this Mikey was and what had happened with him and, above all, why he was so important to her.
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