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Sam… fidgets by the stove, pot of water on an unlit burner. Appearances. He tugs at… his, bra. God, why does he let Dean talk him into this shit?
Wanna be my pretty wife? Lemme fuck you in a dress?
Sam stands by his claim that “God, yes!” was his orgasm hitting him, not an agreement. Unfortunately when Dean pouts Sam’s claims go up like rugarus.
Straps dig at his shoulders, underwires poke his armpits. How do women live like this?
(Be a good sport, Sam. Dean’s gonna get his hands on you and you’ll forget all about…)
Stockings, stretched over itchy-smooth shaved legs. Garters, which pinch when he moves just right. (Wrong. What-the-fuck-ever.) A dress, which they drove all the way to Omaha for.
Can I help you?
Sales girl all smooth sympathy.
Trust me.
Midnight blue. Bell sleeves. Empire waist and a modest vee. Full skirt way above his knees. Corset-laces—
They’ll give you a waist.
—and skinny white lace at the edges. Ludicrous. Until she brought the bra and said,
Imagine smooth legs and nylons. Here. Curl your hair toward your face like this. Smile. God, those dimples, you’re beautiful.
Dean should seriously send her flowers.
Mercies: no heels, no panties.
Wanna see my pretty wife’s cock tent up her skirt.
Sicko. He’s so lucky—
“Hey, babe. You makin dinner?” Dean rumbles into the kitchen, suited. Tie loose and top button open.
Sam shrugs a shoulder, half bats his eyes, mascara black.
I’m not doing cheesy porn dialogue.
Mm. Little wifey wanna be seen and not heard?
I will stab you.
“C’mere, beautiful.” Dean smolders. Moves to the table. Sam follows. Dean goes straight for his fake boobs, naturally. Gropes down his sides, up his skirt. Rough-pets bare thighs. “Mm. No panties, baby?”
Sam shakes his head.
Dean’s tongue swipes his bottom lip. He jerks Sam tight, runs a hand down his thigh, lifts his knee. Strokes: nylon, lace, skin. Sam hangs off his shoulders.
“So pretty, baby, can’t keep my hands offa you.” Dean kneads Sam’s ass, fingers drifting… “Oh, God.” His eyelids flutter.
Sam kisses up his brother’s— (Go with it, Sam) up his husband’s neck. Grins into the stubble.
“You finger yourself for me, baby? Get your pussy all wet and ready?” Breathless.
“Mm-hmm.” Dumb porn dialogue or not, Dean’s hot when he’s rattled. Sam licks behind his ear. Almost feels the skin heat under his tongue. Dean… plays with his hole, swirls a finger around and inside, teases until Sam’s panting.
“Can’t wait to sit on my dick, can you baby?”
Sam groans.
“Well come on, Mrs. Winchester. Get it out. Get it wet so I can put it in you.”
Kitchen floor tiles freeze his knees as Sam tears open Dean’s fly. Stuffs his hand inside and…
Dean’s slacks tumble down his legs. Sam stares. Sheer white lace strains over his husband’s cock, sideways, leaking and reaching toward his hip. Sheer white lace that matches Sam’s. He seizes Dean and clamps his lips around the bulge. Feels Dean’s knees nearly buckle.
“Yeah, that’s my gorgeous girl. Like suckin my cock in your panties, don’tcha? Next time you can wear em first. Get em good and wet so you can taste yourself.”
Jesus Christ.
Much as Sam likes Dean wearing… wearing her panties, she goes for his waistband. Manicured fingers tug him free. Dean’s hands cover hers, guide her to pull them down, just to the tops of his thighs.
“Gonna fuck you in em,” he promises, fingers in Sam’s soft curls.
She tilts her head into the touch. Dean’s cock bobs in front of her, barely shining. Hers aches between her legs. Skirt shifts and teases. Sam opens her mouth and lets Dean guide her, takes his head on her tongue. Callused thumb strokes over her cheek.
“So pretty, baby.”
Sam licks his underside, teasing.
Dean sucks in a breath. “Go on.”
Sam suckles the tip, licks after precome. Dean moans above her, tugs her hair. Sam slurps at her husband, greedy. Strokes his base, his balls. Paints him lipstick red. Deeper, into her palate. Tears. Almost a thought for her mascara but Dean digs in and thrusts. Sam swallows and he splits her throat, cuts her air.
Dean trembles, holds her head against him til she gags. “That’s my pretty wife, take it all, baby, you can do it.” Sam gasps, gulps for oxygen on the out stroke. “God, look at you. On your knees with your makeup all fucked up. My wife. Pretty whore.”
Sam groans and Dean’s knees buckle again. All at once he’s pulling on her, “C’mon, baby, c’mon. Gotta get in that pussy.”
Sam lets Dean bend her over the table, shivers when his hands run up her thighs, hike up her skirt. One stays, circles her hip, her back. Then a plastic sound and cool slick pressure finds her hole.
Dean opens her slow. Tells her she’s pretty and perfect and tight. Sam moves for him, draws him deeper. Dean’s rough hands roam her ass, her hips. Sam’s hair sticks to her face, dress clings down her back.
Dean’s arms slip around her. “You ready, baby?”
Sam arches. “Please.”
He lights her up on long, deliberate strokes. “God, baby, so fuckin hot under me.” Slowly lifts his pace. Drapes himself across her back. Shirt buttons catch in her laces and her husband’s teeth graze the nape of her neck. She fucks back, rhythm, friction, feels Dean talking more than hears him.
“Mm ’m gettin close, baby, want you to come around my cock.” Dean slows. Pulls out and teases her hole. “Want you touch that clit for me.”
Shudder rocks Sam’s body. Dean pushes in again and she touches her cock. Her, clit. Strokes herself, fingers fly. Dean rolls their hips in figure eights and circles, spreads her wide and buries his cock in her.
“C’mon, pretty wife. Come all over me.”
Sam blows. Stripes the table top while her husband pets and praises and fucks her harder. Minutes, maybe, and Dean pulls out, shoots hot over her ass and thighs.
**
“I’m gonna salt and burn this dress,” Sam grumbles on the walk to the showers.
“What? No!”
Sam side-eyes him. “You really wanna see this again?” Still feels like a tool.
Dean shrugs. “Next time I thought I’d suck you in it. Let you come on my face like your bitch boy.”
Sam’s knees nearly give out. “Oh.” His husband. (Brother. What-the-fuck-ever.) “Okay. I’ll-uh… put it in the laundry.”