tagCelebrities & Fan FictionSupernatural: Strictly Business

Supernatural: Strictly Business


ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: Mistress Orchid is a real person. She has generously given me permission to fictionalize her here.


Dean looked out the window at the crappy Seattle weather and sighed.

"What?" Sam asked, glancing up from the public-records tome in front of him.

"This case really blows, man," Dean said, shaking his head. "A serial killer who's been dead twenty years; now his ghost is back at it again. That just doesn't seem fair."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "And the cops have no way to catch him."

That was what had alerted them that this was their kind of case in the first place. The reports said that two of Seattle's Finest had happened upon the tail end of a crime in progress and had given chase. Both officers swore that the suspect had turned down a blind alley just a few feet ahead of them and vanished. They also later I.D.'d a photo of Liam Locke, deceased.

For the Winchesters, the trouble was in what happened over the intervening decades. Although Locke had been cremated when he died, some entrepreneurial genius had eventually gained custody of the estate and put the urn into Locke's own footlocker -- the one where he had kept his 'tools' and 'trophies'. The grizzly artifact had then been sold to a private party. Somebody local, they knew, but beyond that the trail was obfuscated. There had been a paperwork shell-game to conceal the buyer, presumably to shield this nut-job from the wrath of Locke's victims' families.

So now the brothers were playing 'trunk, trunk, who's got the trunk?' in the City's bureaucratic paperwork quagmire.

"Weird," Sam muttered. "Come look at this, Dean." When his brother was peering over his shoulder, Sam pointed. "What is this about an orchid warehouse? All the other businesses we've traced are nightclubs and bars and other entertainment stuff."

"Orchid warehouse," Dean repeated to himself. "Why does that...?" He cut himself off abruptly.


"Um," Dean hesitated momentarily. "Let me go check some things out." He patted his lanky brother on the shoulder and gathered up his jacket.

"What? Dean!" Sam called after his suddenly retreating older sibling.

"Just let me go poke around a little, Sammy. It might be nothing," Dean said casually. "You keep looking here. I'll meet up with you later." With that, he was out the door and gone.

Sam made an 'I can't believe this' noise, shook his head, then sighed and returned to the research spread out all over the table in front of him. *'He's probably just doing this to get out of helping me,'* he thought cynically.


They hooked back up a few hours later at a deli for dinner.

"You know that orchid business you were wondering about? I found it," Dean smirked, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Well, sorta."

"What does that mean?" Sam questioned around a mouthful.

"That damn footlocker is at a private club that's in a converted warehouse."

"So what does that have to do with flowers?" Sam wondered.

"The manager of the club is named Mistress Orchid." Dean tried to sound casual.

"*Mistress* Orchid?" Sam questioned uneasily.

"Yeah," Dean said. "It's a BDSM club."


Back at the motel, Dean continued to explain his plan for retrieving the footlocker. The private club --named 'Strict', as it turned out-- had mad-tight security; there was no way they were going to be able to break into the place. But Dean had managed to wrangle him and Sam a one-night guest pass; the catch was, they were required to participate. And the invitation mentioned 'dungeon attire'.

"No freakin' way!" Sam vehemently asserted. "I am *so* not doing this, Dean."

"Aw, come on, Sammy," Dean needled. "You're afraid of wearing a dog collar and letting some chick in leather spank you?" He snorted a laugh and asked, "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Not in some freaky fetish dungeon," Sam assured him, shaking his head and crossing his arms stubbornly.


"I can't believe you talked me into this," Sam grumbled as he stripped, stowing his belongings in a locker provided by the establishment.

"Sam," Dean said, exasperated, "we've been over this already. We can't just let this ghost keep on killing people. We have to stop it, now, tonight."

"I know, I know," Sam sighed. "But I feel damn silly walking around like this, in the middle of a bunch of strangers, no less." He indicated his club-provided 'attire' with a vague wave and a small grimace: a leather torso harness and a fresh-out-of-the-package pair of tidy-whities.

"It's not so bad," Dean told him, adjusting his borrowed leather wrist cuffs, seemingly oblivious to the slave collar around his neck, the ankle cuffs with the dangling metal rings, and his own brand new jockeys that seemed a little bit too small. "Just look at what some of the other people are wearing."

"This is so messed up," Sam grumbled, as he closed his locker with a clang.

"Just keep an eye out for that trunk," Dean admonished. "We'll split up, cover more ground that way."

"I don't think we're 'covering' much of anything tonight," his brother muttered self-consciously.


It was like walking through a gigantic Halloween haunted house, Sam mused; an endless series of rooms, each containing some new kinky freak show.

In a dungeon room with rubber floors and a lot of steel and wooden medieval torture devices, there was a guy wearing cuffs like Dean's, strapped face-down on a padded table, ankles and wrists secured to the legs with karabiners, as a petite Asian woman in a red vinyl shorts-set and platform boots was using a riding crop to alternately insert into and stripe his exposed, vulnerable ass.

*'Dean...'* His blood surged and trembled as he imagined Dean in the stranger's place, moaning erotically as...

Sam scolded himself for the inappropriate thought and scanned the room. People on pillories and Saint Andrew's Crosses were being whipped with varying degrees of severity. There were people hanging from rope-and-pulley systems, people in cages, people confined with spreader bars, people dangling from suspension bars... large, open cabinets full of every sex toy imaginable...

But no lunatic's footlocker.

*'Oop! Time to move on,'* he decided, as someone reached out and gave his ass a sharp pinch.


Dean was having so much fun that it was almost difficult to remember he had a job to do.

He had been recruited by a female Dom to help soft-torture her 'little girl'. While the Mistress worked the restrained, suspended girl's mind and upper body, Dean was down on his knees, licking her everywhere that he could reach without standing up or using his hands. It was a real treat to mouth across her clean cotton panties, sucking through the material until he could taste her juices. The girl squirmed and mewled, trying her best to press her hungry flesh closer.


In a perfectly-recreated Victorian parlor, Sam found a bizarre ring toss game going on. The sub stood rock-still, an upward-pointing, foot-long rod protruding from his anus. Three Doms were taking turns tossing rubber rings at it.

He politely declined an offer to take a turn in the fellow's place by telling them that his Master had sent him on an errand to find a misplaced 'toy chest'.

"Master?" one of the lounging ladies pouted. "Oh, darn."

Sam blushed as he realized that what he had just told them made him sound like he was gay. He stammered something vague and retreated quickly.


Coincidentally, Dean used the same excuse when he searched an occupied room and was propositioned. It would have been much too distracting to join in the scene, but he could certainly take a minute to appreciate it.

A large-breasted woman in thigh-high purple boots and a harness similar to Sam's was bent over at the waist by a muscular guy wearing nothing but fingerless gloves. He had one hand tangled in her long, blonde hair as he pounded into her from behind. The blonde was pulling on her nipples and moaning loudly, pleading for more, with graphically detailed obscenities.

Dean was hard-pressed to keep his mind on business. And hard-pressed to the inside of his briefs, as well.


Sam stared in morbid fascination when he found a 'spanking horse' being put to use. The device itself looked like two leather-covered, padded park benches pushed back to back. There was a hooded, naked man shackled belly-down on the top of the thing. It looked like he had tried to crawl across it, a knee on either seat, and been halted halfway. When the woman with the strap-on positioned herself behind the bound man and grabbed his hips, Sam decided to move on.

He shivered, the image morphing in his head. He envisioned himself draped across the device, head down, ass up; strong, familiar, masculine hands gripping his hips... Masculine?

*'No,'* he told himself sternly. *'Don't go there!'* He wandered on, in search of a better distraction.


Dean walked right into a blowjob. The Classroom was being run by a Master who was giving fellatio lessons to an assortment of submissives-in-training and he needed volunteers for the students to practice on. That was a little surreal for Dean, having his dick sucked while a big, butch Dom gave clinical instructions on technique.


Sam suddenly came face to face with Mistress Orchid.

"You haven't been playing," she stated in her calm, liquid voice. Before Sam could say anything, she ordered, "Come," pivoted on her heel and headed toward a door.

Briefly, Sam thought about disobeying, then thought better of it. He padded along after her.


Dean was summoned to Mistress Orchid's boudoir. He walked right in, as his escort indicated, but stopped dead in his tracks only a few steps inside. He barely noticed the click of the lock as the door shut behind him, so stunned was he by the sight before him.

"There you are, Beauty," Mistress Orchid addressed him from her reclining couch. "Have a seat." She indicated the chosen chair with an indolent wave in its direction.

Dean obeyed quickly; he was afraid his knees would give out. There, right in front of him, was Sam, cradled and suspended in a leather sex sling. The warm, pliable material supported his shoulders and his bare ass, thighs spread apart and held in place by wide straps, hands likewise confined. There was a glistening of lube all along his cleft, and the large handle of a butt-plug protruding from between his cheeks.

Dean ignored the fastening of his cuffs and collar to the chair as he studied the incredible sight. His breath quickened; he found it surprisingly appealing, the vulnerability of Sam's restrained body, the blatant exposure of Sam's most intimate parts. His cock arched hard and needy, quivering lustfully at Sam's every squirm.

Sam was mortified to be spread out like a buffet in front of his brother. He refused to acknowledge that he was also turned on by it, doing his best to ignore his obvious, heavy erection. Despite having tried already, Sam's hands flexed, testing the wrist restraints; his thighs tensed, pressing against the straps. No doubt about it, Mistress Orchid knew what she was doing; he wasn't getting free unless someone released him.

Dean licked his lips and his pelvis rocked involuntarily as his gaze fixed on the erotic promise in front of him. *'If Sam doesn't stop all that squirming...'*

"Look at him, Beauty," Mistress Orchid purred at Dean. "Delectable, isn't he? Pliant. Submissive. Restrained. Suspended like ripe fruit for the plucking."

Entranced, Dean's gaze traveled across the expanse of rippling muscles, the flexing of Sam's ass as he wriggled around... As he stared at the temptation swaying gently in front of him, Dean's body ached, hard and eager for his brother's ass. He longed to sink into the delectable heat of Sam's body; longed to bring them both undeniable pleasure; longed to exhaust himself within his precious Sammy and fall asleep wrapped around each other. It was all his dark, repressed fantasies being brought to life.

"Why are we here?" Dean asked, his voice rough and hoarse.

"You agreed to participate, remember?" the dark-haired woman said, referring to the invitation. "Now is the time."

"What do you want us to do?" Dean was sure that he knew the answer, but he had to ask anyway.

"I want you to fuck him. Right here, right now."

"Forget it!" Dean told her, shaking his head.

"You will obey your Mistress, or you will not leave," the lady informed them in a steely tone.

"You can't keep us here," Sam argued.

"Of course I can," Mistress Orchid replied sweetly. "This building is a lock-box. No one goes in or out without my permission." She noted their stubborn expressions then concluded, "Or I could ball-gag and truss up both of you, and pass you around as party favors to everyone in the building. Your choice."

Neither brother said anything, each lost in his own contemplation of their predicament, as Mistress Orchid proceeded to arrange them to her satisfaction. She attached a chain hanging from the ceiling to Dean's collar, padlocked it in place and pulled it taut, then she secured a spreader bar to his ankle cuffs. Only then did she unfasten him from the chair. She hauled on the collar chain, drawing Dean up to a standing position by his neck, then secured it taut once again. Next, the spreader bar was attached to bolts in the floor. Dean's hands were free, but there wasn't really anything he could do -- all the catches and fastenings on his restraints were beyond his reach. The only thing actually in his reach was Sam. Mistress Orchid cut his underwear off with a pair of scissors.

Sam gasped as she slid the butt plug out of him.

A flash of lust struck Dean as he imagined the erotic sounds Sam must have made when she worked the plug into him to begin with. *'Oh damnnn...!'*

Bound as he was, Sam could do nothing but sway with the creaking leather as she repositioned him, flush against his brother. He could feel the hot, velvet length of Dean's dick nuzzle against his cleft.

*'He wants me!'* Sam realized, with a rush of dry-mouthed exultation. All his dirty, secret fantasies about his elder brother suddenly seemed possible. He squirmed in deliberate provocation, rubbing against the swollen member.

"Sam?" Dean's voice quavered, unsure he was reading the signals right.

"It's okay, Dean," he assured quietly. "I want you to."

Dean stared into the smoldering hazel eyes of his baby brother and the room seemed to just fade away around them; it was as if they were the only two people in the world. He had dreamed of Sam saying those words. Dean exhaled a whisper-quiet moan and gave in.

Sam bit his lip as the wide head of Dean's cock pressed against him and then slid inside, stretching him wide. He gasped and tensed as Dean slowly eased a little deeper.

"Did I hurt you?" Dean paused, trembling from the effort of holding still.

Sam arched against him urgently, then sagged, relaxing again. His voiced rasped, "I'm okay. I want it. I want you to fuck me."

His brother's confession and his tightness were almost Dean's undoing. He flexed his hips and carefully pushed in a little deeper. "Unnnhhh..."

"I want to feel all of you," Sam whispered huskily, staring into his brother's glazed eyes, letting his own gaze reflect his pleasure in Dean's possession. It felt so good! Better than every fantasy he had entertained, having Dean lodged hard, thick and deep within him. Sam's feet gripped his brother's flanks, pushed away a little, then used his weight to slide back down.

"Sam!" Dean gasped, thrusting against him. He wasn't going to last long; Sam felt too good. He gripped the harness that Sam still wore and sped up, thrusting fiercely, both of them crying out sharply as he bottomed out, burying his entire length with every rough surge.

Sam felt frantic; the electrifying sensation of the thick cock gliding firmly over his sweet spot had him squirming desperately, and he groaned softly. Dean responded with a hard, deep thrust.

"Yes!" Sam cried out as the tension in his thighs and stomach coiled tighter and tighter, until his cock quivered, pulsed, and released his seed warmly onto his clenching abs.

"Unh, Sam!" Dean growled low and deep as he arched a final time, pressing deep inside his brother, emptying his load in short, powerful spurts.


After they were released from their bondage and had a chance to clean up and dress (awkwardly silent on the subject of what had just happened), the brothers returned to their hostess' private chambers. They really had no choice -- they hadn't been able to find what they were looking for, so they were going to have to resort to -shudder- asking.

"Mistress, I have a confession to make," Dean said sheepishly. "Somebody hired us to steal something from here," he semi-lied.

Mistress Orchid, presiding over this interview from a throne-like chair, kept a steady gaze on him for a few seconds, pondering his words. Then, "Continue."

He explained the serial killer's footlocker, omitting anything supernatural, then said that a victim's parents wanted very badly to destroy the disgusting object for their own peace of mind. He lied easily, claiming they were the ones who had hired the brothers.

"I see," said Mistress Orchid, steepling her fingers, tips touching her full bottom lip.

"Can, um," Sam spoke up. "Is there any way we could just...buy it from you, or something? Or trade you something for it?"

He winced at that thought; maybe offering to 'trade' something wasn't such a good idea... Who knew what other entertainment the woman might fancy? He resolved to shut up.

The brothers waited in tense silence while Mistress Orchid thought it over.

"You know," she spoke finally, "I've always despised that wretched thing." Sam and Dean both let out a breath they didn't realize they had been holding. "I've never forgiven Howard, the owner of this place, for buying it and putting it in here."


Sam stepped, just a little stiffly, into the elevator leading to the underground garage, dragging their loathsome prize along by one handle.

"Crap! Where's my cell phone?" Dean blurted, patting his pockets. "You go on ahead; I'll be right there."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's stupid mistake then punched the elevator's button. "Hurry, willya? I'll meet you at the car."

Dean ducked back down the hallway, briefly closing his hand around the phone in its proper place in his jacket pocket. It was only a few steps to his real destination.

"Thanks, Orchid." Dean curved one arm around her waist as the opposite hand cupped her hip and he pulled her close for a slow, deliberate kiss.

"You're welcome, Dean," she purred, when their lips separated gently. "It was a pleasure and a privilege watching the two of you come together for the first time. I'm glad I could help." She smiled up at him warmly. "In the future, don't wait so long between visits, okay?"


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