Candle Waxxx

Yhu
Candle Waxxx: Branding (Taker/Bret Hart)
Mon Oct 3, 2005 1:02am
4.157.41.254


A/N: Anyone remember the Candle Waxxx story that I wrote with Taker and Shawn? Wellllllllllllll. I decided to make this a series, starting a different superstar each time.

CANDLE WAXXX: The story of the Undertaker and the souls he claims.


Branding: Bret Hart
Author: Yhu
Distro: Just ask yhudistic@hotmail.com
Pairing: Bret Hart/Undertaker
Rated: NC-17
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Non con, rape, stalking, kink, whips, bondage, spanking
Summary: Takes place a few days after Bret beats the Undertaker at Summer slam 97. Bret becomes the first to succumb to the Deadman...
Disc: Not my men.


"w...Wow." The blonde murmured looking around the room at the destruction. Broken glass, clothes, and fragments of a broken vase that got in the way lay scattered around him from his position on the floor.

Shawn shivered, reaching for the telephone from where he was huddling on the floor. He had never seen some one so angry before. So violent. So scary. After he explained what happened during the match, and showed the footage- the Undertaker was no longer blaming him so much...

However, it would be considered negligent homicide if he didn't call and warn Bret. He escaped with a blood lip and a black eye, but who knew what would happen to the older man when faced with the wrath of the Undertaker?

---

A week or so later, Bret was relaxing at home in Calgary. After the pay per view, he'd gotten a strange call from a nearly frantic Shawn. Claimed Undertaker was coming after him; that he had already destroyed Shawn's dressing room at the arena. Bret knew Taker was mad, but he didn't care. Like the Undertaker could really do something to harm him with out being sent to jail... Hah. Still, hearing real fear tremoring in Shawn's voice was slightly unnerving. And Shawn did happen to be sporting a black eye afterward...

Bah, he was being foolish.

The rain was beginning to pelt the outside of his home, but he wasn't surprised. It was the rainy season, and the weatherman predicted storms all day. A few rolls of thunder, and a flicker of the lights did happen to catch his attention this time. Maybe he should go get the laundry out of the washing machine before the power went out.

He stood up, getting a strange sense of something being a miss. He couldn't really describe it... But it just didn't seem right. It was probably nothing, but he should at least check. Bret looked out his windows, but it was far too dark to see anything.

He was just being foolish. Nothing more.

The buzzer went off on the washer down stairs, and he shook off that odd feeling as he went to shut it off. Bret's basement was like the one you'd find anywhere else; with a cement floor, and walls being made with thick gray bricks. The stairs creaked beneath his feet as he went- and as much as he had to go down here, he always hated it.

It probably stemmed from bad childhood memories of his older brothers waiting for him to come down in to the dungeon and grab his ankles through the spaces between the stair steps. He knew it was always going to be them, but still. When you're an ickle seven year old boy, with nasty older brothers, you're an easy target. But that's hardly the case the now. No one was under the stairs, no one was going to reach out and grab his ankles from the spaces between the stairs. But still, he found himself hurrying down the stairs anyway.

He quickly reached up for the dangling strand hanging off his light, pulling on it. The tiny light bulb only lit up part of the room, leaving the rest hidden in inky shadows.

Bret licked at his dry lips a little, attempting a soft whistle while he gathered damp clothes out of the washer. He knew there happened to be no one there, but there was an awful sensation he kept getting. Like the feeling of eyes upon his back, staring out at him from shadow. He turned his head quickly, as if to catch this phantom intruder in the act- but nothing. No disembodied eyes, no person. Just blackness.

He shrugged, laughing inwardly at himself for being so stupid. There was no one in the house but him at the moment. He threw the clothes in the dryer, started it up, and turned off the light. He again felt stupid for nearly running up the stairs to get back on the floor again. Ugn- that feeling was back- like some one was following him up the stairs and right on his heels. He locked the basement door behind him, even though there was no one following him right on his heels, and figured that he'd just get the laundry out of the dryer tomorrow morning.

Maybe a drink would be nice. Something hard and on the rocks would be just the thing to calm his nerves. Lightening lit his way down the hall and to the kitchen, where he casually flicked on the light. He hummed to himself, pulling out a bottle of scotch that he had waiting for just such an occasion. He went to grab a glass from over the fridge, but on his way stepped in something wet. He frowned and looked down. Mud. Fresh mud.

Bret paled considerably, looking down at the muddy foot print on the gray tiled floor. Some one WAS in the house. He gulped a little and started following the tracks to the opened front door swinging the stormy wind. His heart started beat faster, his skin breaking out in a cold sweat. He reached slowly back to open the drawer behind him, pulling out the wood and stainless steel butcher knife for protection.

He clenched the handle tightly, making his way back to the room where just a few minutes ago he was reading a novel. Lightening flashed again, followed by the loud roar of thunder. The tracks stopped right out in front of the bathroom.

"Bret? Is that you? Sorry I tracked the mud in to your place, but I had to use the bathroom ASAP."

Owen. Bret let out a sigh of relief, placing the knife on the table. "Th-That's okay. ...Are you going to stay?"

"Nah, I gotta get home. The storm's supposed to get worse."

He felt oddly disappointed at that. "Oh... okay."

The toilet flushed, the water ran, and Owen stepped out from the bathroom. "It's pretty muddy out there."

"Yeah, I can tell- It's a good thing I don't have carpet." Bret rolled his eyes and followed Owen to the door.

"Um Bret... I also wanted to let you know that there are some funny foot prints out here. Like... of the really big variety."

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh come on- Did Shawn get to you too?!"

"Bret really! I'm not lying here! You didn't see the damage done to the dressing or-"

"I can't believe you believe him. He probably messed up his own stupid dressing room in an elaborate plot to rattle me, because he's a little ...."

"You didn't see his eye, or the cut on his lip."

That was evidence he couldn't deny- Shawn wouldn't mutilate himself. "Whatever Owen. I don't think the Undertaker is tramping around my backyard for what happened in a pay per view."

"Just... be careful, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. I lock the door extra tight." Bret rolled his eyes and bid farewell to Owen for the time being. Though, he did wait for Owen to leave completely before triple locking the door.

The thought did give him some what of a chill, thinking about the Undertaker roaming around the grounds, looking for a way in. What the hell would he do once he was in anyway?

Bret went back to his book on the couch, picking up it back up again. The storm was really kicking it into full gear, but he didn't notice. Whenever Bret started to read, he always got so absorbed in it. The only thing that brought him out of it was the sudden blackness surrounding him.

"Damn it!" Either the lights went out because of the storm, or a fuse. He glanced out the window and saw his neighbor's house still having their lights on and figured it was the later. He sighed a little, grabbing the little book of matches he kept on the coffee table, and a small candle he liked burning when no one else was around. He lit the match, started the candle up, and used the dim light it gave out to find his way to a cabinet which he kept his flash lights in. He grabbed one quickly to turn on, and blew out the candle.

Figures- he was just getting to the end too. Bret padded down the hallway, grabbing his shoes to put on, and an umbrella. The rain was still pelting outside- at times it almost felt like the drops would tear right through the thin material. The mud was thick out around the house- at some point it felt like it was going to pull the shoes right of off Bret's feet. And unfortunately, the box he had to check was right around the back of the house. That would tell him if a fuse went out, or if something happened with his side of the street's transformer.

He fiddled with the flash light for a few seconds, trying to juggle his that and his umbrella while reading the box was proving difficult. He heard the sound of some one walking toward the muck, but figured it had to be Owen- the man always forgot something over here, even if he only stopped by to take a piss. "Thank god Owen- I'm having a problem trying to read the meter. Could you hold the umbrella for me?" He asked passing the umbrella back to what he thought was his brother, but his hand ended up colliding with a very elongated torso. He turned around looking up into the Undertaker's solemn rain drenched face.

Bret felt weak, as if he could no longer move his legs-- even if his life depended on it. He fell to his knees staring up at the Undertaker with wide dark eyes. He wanted to say 'What are you doing to me?' but it sounded like words coming from a mouth full of marbles. He could barely move his body, and it felt as if someone was holding him up by magic.

Undertaker moved closer to Bret, unzipping his fly to remove his long cock. He grabbed the back of his head, forcing the smaller man's head down on him. Bret nearly gagged at the sheer length and girth of it as Undertaker shoved his head back and forth. Tears started forming in his eyes- this was so humiliating. Why didn't he listen to Shawn?!

Suddenly he was shoved down to the muddy ground, gasping for air. He still could barely move, and as the Undertaker moved over him. A black studded collar was placed around his neck, but he was powerless to stop it. He was dragged up by it to some what of a stand by the taller man, and dragged through out the wooded backyard like a dog who had been bad. There between a small clearing of trees waiting for them was a large black hearse, illuminating them with the bright light of the high beams.

Bret tugged on his collar, trying to get his fingers between the leather material and his neck to get air-- but it was to no avail. Undertaker dragged him to the back of the vehicle, where an opened pink and black shiney coffin was waiting for him inside. He squirmed for all he worth, trying to break free. The larger man lifted him like he was a rag doll, and tossed Bret into the coffin, shutting the lid down on him.

---

He didn't know what happened after the lid went down and the darkness shrouded him... He could breathe alright, but the awful thought of being buried alive scared him so much he must have passed out. However... Now that he was awake and out of the coffin, he wished to god he was back in there. The collar around his neck now had a leash attached to it, which was linked to a ring on the wall in what looked like a very old mansion. He was naked with the exception of a leather thong, a pair of boots, and a pair of tightly bound gloves with metal rings along the sides. Hooks were connected to the rings which in turn were holding his body up via the chords on the ceiling. His arms were already aching from being in this position for too long, and he wished he knew how long he had been in it for.

He had been gagged with your typical bondage ball gag, so calling for help wasn't about to happen any time soon. He heard the door open, and the heavy sounds of the footsteps of the Undertaker filled the room. He walked all around Bret, a long bull whip at his side. "This is what happens when you screw me over. I will get my revenge on you this night, but it will not be in a ring. I can feel your fear, and I like it." He snapped the whip at Bret's thighs, making the smaller man jump violently.

He was terrified. If he could take back the title match if it meant this, he'd do it in an instant. Undertaker walked around him, staring at Bret's well muscled back, his legs and thighs, and the strap of the thong separating his cheeks. That was the body he was always able to pick up and man handle in the ring and tonight, he'd finally have it the way he wanted it. Ah yes, Bret will be the first soul he collects for his plan. The Hitman will be his, come hell or high water.

He brought the whip down across Bret's back, watching the man twist in the thick binds in attempts to get away. One lash marred the perfect tanned flesh of Bret Hart, and he decided he liked it that way. Another lash, and then another. The smaller man's moans drove him wild- but he needed to stop. Any more red lashes would permanently mar that perfect surface, and that couldn't happen.

He noted that Bret was sobbing now, mostly from the fear of enjoying what he was giving him. The poor, poor sexually sheltered man had probably never even had a gag in his mouth before tonight. But taking things slow was not in his goals for tonight. It wasn't the Undertaker's fault that Bret had never experienced this.

Bret's back was stinging painfully, but each throb brought on a surge of pleasure that he had never felt before. He was still scared though, even with the sound of the bull whip being tossed aside. Undertaker's large hands glided up his body, starting at his upper thighs. They roamed up the planes of his chest, rolling his nipples between his fingers. He relaxed his body against the taller man's strong chest and abdomen, enjoying the tugs and pinches.

"You know, you brought me so much pain during the match." He said twisting the hardened nub in a painful manner. He listened to Bret squeal at that and grinned darkly. "You will feel the pain I felt." His hands finally left his chest to the hooks holding him up. He unsnapped them all, watching Bret fall to a heap on the ground. "I control you." He hissed into the smaller man's ear.

Bret felt himself being picked up and placed over the big man's knee. A wooden paddle caressed the globes of his ass before bringing down with a stinging slap. Bret had to admire Undertaker for his knowledge of pain- he had drilled holes into the wood to decrease wind resistance. After a few nasty slaps, Bret was howling and sobbing again. He heard the paddle being placed beside them, and the feel of Undertaker's hand caressing the sore flesh and both served to calm him down a little.

Such excellent handy work! To say that he was pleased was an understatement. He probably could let Bret out of his control- he was so weak from the pain and pleasure that he couldn't escape even if he wanted to. Then again, this was Bret Hart- he could pull energy out of anywhere. He decided against it- after he branded him, maybe he could free him. Undertaker wrapped his arm around Bret's stomach, pulling him up. He carelessly tossed the Canadian on to his huge bed, allowing the shaking man to calm down a little before he continued.

Bret breathed heavily through his nose, trying desperately to get a good breath. It was pretty obvious of why he was brought here, but when would he be allowed to leave? He finally got his breathing calmed down enough to watch his captor for the first time. Undertaker wore a pair of black leather pants that elongated and showed off the power in the man's legs. His chest was bare and pale, illuminated by his long reddish hair. He was lighting many black candles located everywhere around the room. He paused in front of one particular black candle in a candelabra near the bed before turning his cruel eyes on Bret again.


As much as he wanted to continue torturing Bret, he had never wanted to kiss some one so badly. However, Bret liked to bite. But those pouting lips, the tear streaked face, and the watery eyes were sights to see considering who they were coming from. He sighed a little and against his better judgment, removed Bret's ball gag.

The smaller man sucked in gasps of air, and looked like he desperately wanted to scream, but Undertaker's mouth was on him before he could do anything. Tongue was forced upon him at such a pace he almost gagged. But after he relaxed... He had never had such a passionate kiss before. He only wished he could move his limbs to bring himself into some kind of embrace with the Undertaker.

The kiss ended up with the tiny leather scrap being torn off his body, leaving him prone and naked beneath the large form of the Undertaker. Bret prepared himself for what seemed like unavoidable penetration, but the larger man got off the bed. He watched as he took one of the black candles from candelabra he had been staring at so intently minutes before. He grabbed Bret's ankle in one of his massive hands and pulled him closer to the edge. Undertaker moved his leg to expose the side of Bret's thigh, dripping wax in the shape of his symbol.

Bret let out a horrible scream, twisting and writhing in pain.

"Before the night is through... Your soul will be mine." Like he was going to pass up the opportunity to not possess the beauty that was Bret Hart. He liked holding him under his power-- making a strong man so weak was the sexiest thing he had ever experienced.

Bret's eyes widened, but he didn't have much time to think about it. He was turned on his back and manipulated up on his hands and elbows. Slicked up fingers probed at his entrance, forcing their way inside. He whimpered some, burying his head into the covers. He normally was the one on top, god damn it.

But that just wasn't the case here- and that was made ever more apparent by the bulbous head pushing his way into his passage. Undertaker didn't waste any time, pummeling into Bret with no regard. The smaller man clawed at the sheets with what little strength he had left; he spread his legs further apart in attempts to take more of his length inside.

Bret's tight passage pushing and pulling on his throbbing length was too much. He had never had anyone so tight- and he couldn't last much longer. He let out a loud, possessive growl as he came, coating Bret's insides with hot seed. The smaller man came with a passionate scream not too long after the Undertaker. He ripped out of Bret, leaving the spent Canadian on the bed.

"You enjoyed being mastered."

Didn't seem like much of a question, but it was true. He loved it, and felt sick about it. He wanted to throw up and ask for more, but his voice wasn't there at the moment.

"You are mine, Bret." He murmured ripping off the waxen symbol on Bret's leg right off, leaving the permanent marking on his tan flesh. "When I want you, you will come. You will do what I say, when I say it. No one will know what happened here- but you will always remember. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Bret croaked out finally looking up to the taller man hovering above him.

"Good. You will be taken home. There you will clean up... But I will need you in the future to do me a favor."

He blinked up at him curiously. What could Undertaker possibly want from him other than sex? He had no powers like the man before him. But he nodded anyway, not wanting to displease him.

"I will need you to bring me Hunter Hearst Helmsley. Not now, tomorrow, or a month from now. But when it comes time for it, I will let you know."

He could do that- Hunter wasn't much of anything. "Yes Undertaker- I will do as you say." He said finding his voice enough to get that out clearly. He wasn't sure if Undertaker could really possess his soul, but he couldn't discredit it. But if it was Hunter he wanted, then he will deliver... Any way he can.

FIN.