Chapter 4
You looked ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. You don’t know what prompted your impulsive buy, or why you thought it was a good idea to parade yourself in front of Dean before heading out to the bar, but you needed to do something. Anything to get him to start talking to you again.
It had been dead silent for four days.
Your last hunt had gone sideways, and you had almost died. It was your fault, you knew. You hadn't followed orders and had ended up trapped in a room with four hungry vamps and no way to protect yourself. If it wasn't for a well-placed swing of Dean’s machete, you would have been vampire chow.
He was not pleased.
He hadn’t yelled and cussed you out. Instead, he had looked at you in complete disappointment before stalking off to the Impala, leaving you to clean up a decimated vampire nest.
You had never felt such shame. Your arrogance almost killed you. Chastised, you followed Dean to the car and drove back to the bunker in complete silence.
You hadn't heard his voice since. He would leave a room when you entered. Wouldn't share dinner with you. Hell, he’d pulled out of going to the bar with you and Sammy.
There was no sex either. You missed him. You were beyond horny, and he knew it.
The way he moved on top of you, behind you. You missed how he pinned you to the wall and fucked into you roughly. How he would growl profanity in your ear as he played your body with precision. His hands gripping your flesh so hard they would leave bruises. He would take no quarter, shoving your face into the mattress. His hips moving so slow, you would beg and plead for him to speed up.
The thought has you squeezing your thighs together, your rapidly dampening panties testament to your aching arousal. God, you needed him. So you told Sammy to go on ahead. You would either meet him at the bar, or you wouldn’t.
He threw you a pained look as he left. His brother's sex life too horrible to contemplate.
You give yourself a once over in the mirror. Dressed in a sexy devil costume, complete with pitchfork and horns, sky-high hooker heels adorned your feet. Thigh high red stockings and a short sequined corseted dress covered your butt and framed your luscious curves. Not too ridiculous, you think to yourself. Smiling implike you leave the room and walk through the bunker, your naughty secret making your breath hitch with every step you took.
The ‘Tail’ you had chosen to complete your outfit was not a part of the dress. The thought makes you bite down on your lip. A light flush dusting your cheeks.
You find him in the sitting room.
His legs are splayed wide over the couch. His jeans so tight it made you want to scream. He's only wearing one layer, and your mouth waters at the teasing hint of flesh.
You stand right in front of the television, ignoring your nerves. You lift your skirt up and inch, exposing a little more smooth flesh. The top of your panties are now visible, showing off the growing wet spot.
Dean’s darkened eyes meet yours. He raises a brow before he sweeps his eyes down and up.
“Need somethin’?” he grunts.
The gruffness in his voice makes your walls clench. It was music, pure sin the way he spoke. The deepness and richness of the sound never failed to make your heart skip a beat.
“You know what I need,” you answer, your voice a purr.
He bites down on his lower lip, his green eyes darkening to a near black. “Can you handle what I’m going to do to you?” he asks, removing his feet from the coffee table and leaning forward. “I ain't good when I’m angry, and I'm very fucking angry,” he warns, sweeping his tongue over his bottom lip.
His eyes roaming your body with a hunger which has your inner goddess whooping in triumph. There's a clear challenge in his face. He’s daring you to make a move, daring you to take him up on it.
You smile and turn. Bending at the waist, you hike the skirt of your dress over your backside. With one hand you drag your panties to the side and wiggle your tail.
He’s behind you in an instant, stroking the tail with reverence. He delivers a gentle tug to the plug making you gasp in surprise. Your backside pushes against him, and he chuckles darkly
“Needy aren't we?” he says, pulling on the tail once again.
You let out a wanton moan, your pussy dripping.
He rips the flimsy underwear off of you, running a finger up your slit. “So wet, baby girl. I haven't even started yet."
You nod your head in fervent agreement. The arousal is intense. You can't see through the haze of lust.
“You were disobedient. You didn't follow my orders. You went off on your own and almost got yourself killed. Do you think you deserve pleasure?” he demands, running his thumb around the edge of the plug.
“N-no, sir!” you squeak. You don't see the slap he plants on your rump, but the sweet sting has you moaning and clenching around the plug.
He delivers five sharp smacks in quick succession, smoothing the burn with his hands after every one, kneading the tender flesh in his hands.
You moan with each, your knees threatening to buckle with the pleasure.
“Such a little slut for me, aren't ya, baby?” He presses the tip of his thumb into your wet heat, dipping in and out.
Your mind floods with white light and you swear you’re going to pass out.
He growls and removes his hand. Another stinging slap rings in the room. “Answer me!” he roars.
“Fuck! Yes, Sir!” you whimper.
He roughly spins you around, Pressing your back into the coffee table, he bunches the skirt of your dress around your waist and delivers two swift smacks to your clit.
You come with a violent cry. Your back arches off the table, pussy clenching around nothing. Your nipples are hard against your corset, lending delicious friction against the sensitive peaks. Your nails digging into the wood underneath you, your hips buck, thrust into the air as your orgasm dies too soon.
Dean laughs at your frustrated moan. “Did I say you could come?” he asks. He leans over you, wrapping a large hand around your throat. He dips a finger into your clenching hole and watches you. Waiting for you to answer his question.
“Ah-No, sir.”
He releases the grip he has on your throat and removes his finger from your pussy. He undoes the button of his jeans. His zipper follows suit. He looks at you with an air of expectancy, and you pull yourself up only to drop to your knees.
You drag down his pants. Your mouth watering at every inch of skin exposed. His thick veiny cock takes your breath away, pre-cum already beading on his tip.
The prominent vein on the underside of his shaft pulses erratically. It jumps with every flex of his thighs. He takes himself in hand and rubs his tip across your lips before he smacks it against each cheek.
“Please?” you ask, pleading.
It’s not enough. Dean is never enough. He’s hot and heady, all primal animal when he needs you. He gives you no mercy, and you revel in it. Every smack. Every denied orgasm. It would never be enough.
“Suck,” he commands, pulling his cock up to indicate where he wants your mouth.
You waste no time in sucking one of his balls into your mouth, lavishing it in attention. He moans loudly above you, and you move to the second one.
His hand's cards in your hair, pulling the strands into a makeshift ponytail. He yanks at the ends, your scalp smarting with the pressure.
You let him go with a pop. With a firm grip, you replace his hand with yours. Licking a long strip from the base to the tip, you place tiny kitten licks to his tip before opening your mouth and engulfing him, your tongue massaging him with practiced skill.
You couldn't count the number of times Dean had you on your knees. It was your favorite place to be. Worshipping his throbbing cock. Swallowing all he had to offer.
He pushes you down onto him roughly, and you relax your throat, breathing through your nose as he begins to fuck your mouth in earnest.
You hollow your cheeks increasing the suction, swallowing rhythmically around him.
He throws his head back, his eyes squeezed shut. His jaw clenches with the effort of not ramming himself down your throat. His thighs shake as he takes gives in to the impulse.
You can't take him all the way down, so you wrap your fingers around his base and jerk him off in time with your bobs.
”My little cock slut,” he growls, increasing the movement of his hips. ”Touch yourself. I wanna see you fuck yourself with your fingers,” he demands.
Spit dribbles down your chin. Your eyes water. Your makeup is long past the point of saving. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe, but you can't find it in yourself to care. Your mouth is stuffed full of Dean Winchester, and you’re knuckle deep in your own pussy.
You couldn’t be happier.
Dean starts to swear as you begin to moan. Your hips grinding into your hand, your palm hitting your clit in the most delicious way.
"Look at you getting yourself off with a mouthful of dick. So dirty." He gives three more rough thrusts into your mouth before he rips you back by the hair.
You suck in lungfuls of air. Tears streaming down your face. Your hand still working between your legs.
“Stand up. Turn around. Hands on the table”
You stand on shaky legs, teetering in your sky-high heels and turn around. You bend over, your tail swishing behind you.
Dean undoes the laces of your corset deliberately slowly. His fingers skim against the flesh of your back sending delightful shivers down your spine. He finally unlaces the last string and yanks the dress downwards, freeing your breasts from the tight fabric. He reaches around you and takes one of your ample breasts in his hand. He pinches and rolls your nipple between his fingers.
A jolt of electricity shoots straight to your core. Pleasure and pain mingle into a steady ache in your core, and you swear you're going to combust if he keeps this up.
“I’m gonna ruin you, baby girl,” he whispers in your ear, his body draped over yours. He straightens and lines himself up, plunging into your gushing pussy without pause.
You come immediately, clenching hard around him. It doesn't stop. The pleasure is so intense you can't even scream. It’s blinding and near painful, but oh, so good.
Dean wraps a hand around your throat and pulls your back flush against his chest. The new angle drives you to the brink of insanity. “You feel so good, baby,” he says, his right hand rubbing frantically on your clit. “You look so good with my cock inside you. You take me so well,” he moans. The pressure on your throat increases and he lets out a tirade of filthy moans as you grip him vice-like “Fuck. that’s it, baby. Milk my cock.”
You can tell by the way his breathing increases and his hips loose rhythm that he’s close. Your near unconsciousness. The pleasure too intense.
“Please sir!” you scream “I want your come! Please!”
He drives into you deep, a loud “Jesus fucking Christ!” leaves his lips as he spills himself inside you. He thrusts once, twice, almost squeezing the life out of you in the process.
You’re moaning out of control, past the point of being able to speak. Your body jerks with pulses of electricity. Muscles twitching as he stills behind you.
He runs a soothing hand down your spine, struggling to catch his breath. His eyes are glazed as he attempts to bring you both back to reality.
He quickly and painlessly removes the plug from your butt. “We’re keeping this,” he murmurs, dipping a finger into in the gaping hole, drawing a tired groan from you. "Next time," he says as he places a loving kiss to the nape of your neck. A light brush of lips on skin.
You can't help but blush at his teasing.
“If that’s how you’re going to apologize after every fight, sweetheart, we’re going to be fighting more often,” he quips. He hasn't removed himself from you, just holds you in his arms, his hands lovingly stroking every inch of skin he can reach.
You bark out a laugh, grinning from ear to ear. “I am sorry, De. I was cocky. Should’ve listened to you,” you slur, exhaustion settling into your limbs.
He pulls out of you, pulls up his pants, and turns you around. Ignoring the come dripping down your thighs as he picks you up. “We’re good, sweetheart,” he says as he carries you to your shared bedroom.
You snuggle into his chest, letting out a content purr as you do. “Thank you. I love you,” you murmur.
Dean chuckles and places a kiss on your forehead. “You’re keeping the outfit though, right?”