Until I Feel Something by HardKinkandDeanWhump
It had been many months since the man, Castiel had been his name, had led him down into the small room and asked him one last time if he was sure.
When Dean woke up he was no longer strapped in place in front of the fuck machine, but instead stretched out flat on his back on the bed. For a moment he just laid there missing the movement but thankful that his ass was still plugged and locked full. He never wanted to be empty again. As he sat up, the plug shifted slightly and he inhaled sharply, closing his eyes and humming to himself in appreciation. This was a new plug, longer and wider, and as he clenched down on it he relished the sensation. Fullness was the gift Castiel was giving him. The single-minded focus on being stretched and filled and fucked, the knowledge -- the certainty, the conviction -- that these were the only sensations he was meant to feel. Castiel was conditioning Dean into what he was truly meant to be: a warm, wet, perfect, beautiful hole.
I have no idea how I found this or why I even liked this that much. Maybe the whole Dean's thought process and how everything moves forward so slowly. Everything is just so slow and gradual and still going forward.
This is just something so out of left field that I have no words and no comments. But for some really weird reason I got hooked and Im adding this here. Yea.
But seriously. Dont read this if you are any way squeamish or sensitive to weird shit. This is the weirdest shit. Yea.
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