@brunetteruby - Tumblr Blog

Undo Me

fem!reader x Sam ⟢ ✧ MASTERLIST ✧

Summary: Sam manages to get himself stuck in some magical handcuffs on a hunt. You offer to drive him back to the Bunker to use the tools there to solve this issue. And the whole time you're driving there? All you can think about is how hot it is that he's restrained. You're sure Sam wouldn't go for something that renders him so helpless... or would he? Content/Warnings: femdom!!, restraints (M tied to bed), very open communication, teasing, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, newly-established relationship, NSFW!!!! 11.8k words A/N: I AM APPARENTLY PHYSICALLY INCAPABLE OF WRITING ANYTHING SHORT. EVEN IF IT'S JUST A GODDAMN ONE-SHOT. Enjoy!!!

You knew it shouldn’t be so amusing to you, but you were getting quite a bit of pleasure out of Sam’s current predicament. Truly, he has no one else to blame but himself. Sam’s got most of his impulses under control except for those in relation to acquiring new knowledge. His nosy, insatiably-interested fingers thought touching some cuffs in the back of a very old witch’s library would only lead to satisfying his curiosity. Nope. It ended with him trapped in them. The witch was already dead, they were there looking at her death scene. They couldn’t figure out what would remove the shackles, so you suggested taking Sam back to the Bunker to try and get them off there.

It’s too damn hot, okay? The idea that he’s trussed up beside you is making your skin prickle. You’ve only had Sam a few times, starting about five days ago. After a stupidly-long time pining, the two of you kissed on your last hunt. It was a vamp’s nest on the coast, right outside of Vancouver. Just you and Sam, bloody and buzzing after a chaotic final showdown. The sire of the nest knocked you to the ground and was about to pounce when Sam decapitated him.

Breathless, he asked if you were okay like it was the most important problem to him in the world. When he pulled you to your feet, you finally cut the bullshit and kissed him. Thank you for saving my life, the kiss said. He returned your passion threefold. Before you knew it your spine thumped into the hood of his car and he was kneeling down in the mud in front of the bumper. He ate you out like it had been the true mission of his evening all along. Then when you were trembling from your peak, whimpering for him to fuck you, he grinned and kissed your lips one lingering time.

“Cleanup first, sweetheart.” He teased with a mischievous look in his eye. You began to whine protests when he added, “I’ve waited too long to do this out here. The first time I fuck you it’s gonna be done right. In a bed. With all the time we want.”

You shuddered with the weight of your lust at that. “Then why did you just do that?”

He kissed you slow and filthy, one hand holding you close to his chest, the other grabbing your ass. When he pulled back it was only enough to murmur:

“Needed to tide myself over until then.”

He did have you all to himself in the motel room. Twice actually. And then another time the next morning in the shower, and another time that night at the next motel. You had an inkling that he was being less strict about the timing of your journey back to the Bunker to give himself the most time with you alone. You weren’t complaining.

Day before yesterday, Dean and Cas called to get you guys to meet them about a day’s drive from the Bunker. Dean made some comment about you and Sam “moving slower than usual” on your way home from the last hunt. In the car, while he was on speaker, you and Sam shared a knowing look.

The two of you were actually calling Dean back because you’d missed him earlier. On that particular day, only the third one where you and Sam were sleeping together, you’d been the one holding up the drive home. Sam would never admit that he wanted you to stall the trip more— he gets so damn anxious about being places on time —however, you had not gotten the opportunity to return the favor from the other day. Sam insisted that there was no need for you to “return” anything. You told him that he’s been greedy— licked up your cunt as many times as he likes while you starve for the same opportunities.

At the next gas station stop, you slipped into the backseat while Sam hit the head. He was initially confused by this choice until you convinced him to pull off into a turnaround partially-sheltered by some forest. As it turns out, not even Sam Winchester’s will is strong enough to resist you begging to hear the sounds he would make while you licked and slurped his shaft. The touching yourself back there to provoke him didn’t hurt, either.

And fuck, the noises he made were goddamn spectacular. Like he was in disbelief of you— of the bliss and pleasure, the wetness and pressure. The two of you didn’t let Dean know about that part.

Dean and Cas met you both that day and you’d been helping them work the case which (clearly) involves witches being murdered. Today, after Sam’s unfortunate incident, everyone thought it would be best to get him home in order to figure out how to get the cuffs off. That doesn’t make the giant any less grumpy about his predicament.

“I can see you smirking.” Sam grumbles from the passenger seat, not looking directly at you and very much pouting.

You smother a smile poorly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He rolls his eyes, all drama, and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He’s stuck in his fed-threads since he’d touched the damn object while on the job. Driving a day straight in a suit is making him even more grouchy.

As you turn onto the dirt road to the Bunker, you strike up new conversation. “Do you have any idea where to start?”

He shakes his head grumpily, “I think I’m just going to go down to 7B and plug away at this lock.”

You smirk as you park in front of the Bunker’s front hatch. “Just goin’ down to the dungeon, hm?”

Your tone is a little suggestive, making him frown in confusion and look up to your face. Your smirking a little to yourself as you shove the car into park. His scowl softens, that fox-like look of intrigue you love slowly taking over his features. When the car’s off you look up and meet his gaze. Whatever you see there makes you beam impishly. He’s studying you, trying to parse something in your expression.

“What?” You prompt with a shrug.

He narrows his eyes at you, “You’re… this isn’t just funny to you, is it?”

You blush a little, not meeting his gaze directly. It’s still too new— this thing between you two —so your instinct is to just brush it off. But then again… you can’t say the idea of him tied up doesn’t arouse the fuck out of you. It’s honestly ridiculous.

“Well, I do feel bad for you, too.” You offer.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

Later, you’ve perched yourself on the stainless steel table beside Sam in the dungeon. He’s got all kinds of random lock picking tools, both mundane and magical, laid out there. He keeps asking you for different ones like you’re a nurse assisting him with surgery. He’s laser-focused on his objective but you’re using most of your brain’s bandwidth to imagine all the things you could do to him while restrained. Only if he wanted you to, of course. Your intuition is telling you (with no explicit proof to support it) that he is the kind of person who would appreciate that kind of play in the bedroom.

The man’s a tight knot of restraint, pent-up emotion and raw feeling. It’s not easy to figure out what he wants. He likes to feel like he has everything under control, you know that, the thing is… you kind of wonder how much of that is a front.

At this point he’s had you five times (the last two days have been dry because of first Cas and Dean, then this drive and the magical-cuff-situation). In those five times he showed quite explicitly that he likes a game of push-and-pull when it comes to the bedroom. One person may have more sway than the other during some encounters but there is always a back-and-forth. In those moments where you have pinned his wrists down and made him take what you have to give, you’ve seen the effect on him. His eyelids flutter so sweetly, his breath stunted, his muscles quaking, and his expression looks so… relieved. At first when he caught you seeing his relief— that vulnerability —he tried to cover it up. Convincing him not to though wasn’t hard. He doesn’t want to hide from his desires, he’s just afraid of someone rejecting them cruelly. Lucky for him, you don’t shy away easy.

Your thoughts only get more dewey as the minutes drag on into hours. He’s so goddamn pretty. Sweat beads on his brow, his nose only inches away from the lock he’s trying to pick. You smirk every time you glance away and then look back to find his face even closer to his work.

“You’re staring.” He mutters at one point, all of his features still laser-focused on the lock.

“And you,” You gently press your fingertips to his forehead to push him upright a bit, “are gonna hurt your shoulders if you keep sitting like a lump on a log.”

He grumbles something unintelligible, never looking away from his task throughout this whole exchange. You snort fondly, trading one tool from his hand for another without him even asking. It’s the correct one, too, the one he would’ve asked for next. Something about that makes him stop short. You notice immediately.

“What? Wrong one?” You turn to look at the items on the table with every intent of righting your mistake.

“No, no, it’s, uh,” He speaks so tenderly you immediately look at him. He’s smirking a little in wonder, “this is the right one. I… I didn’t even have to ask.”

You smirk to cover your blush, “Well, I do try my best to pay attention to your needs, Spaceman.”

That makes a huff of laughter escape him. Adoration sparkles in his woodsy eyes, his head shaking softly as he turns back to his work.

“What?” You ask, shoulders shrugging a little with shyness.

“Nothing.” He spares a glance at you then grits his teeth with focus.

A minute or so later, his face wrinkles up from the force he’s exerting and then there’s a satisfying pop of metal as the cuffs spring open.

“Ta-da.” He sighs.

You gasp excitedly and hop off the table, “Holy shit! Nicely done!”

He grins, rubbing his sore wrists, “I’m just glad there was only one locking mechanism. I gotta figure out how these work, they could be really useful.”

“Could be.” You agreed.

He smiles coyly at you as he stands to his full height, drawing closer. At this point, you know what that little expression means— he’s going to kiss you. He does, soft and slow like he has all the time in the world. When he pulls back, your bodies stay pressed together.

“Couldn’t have done it without your emotional support.” He jokes lightly.

“Anytime.” You beam at him, “Whatever will you do with your newfound freedom, Lawboy?”

Beaming down at you, he cups one cheek and bends down to kiss you again. You loop your arms around his neck and return the embrace, languid and comfortable. He hums blissfully into your lips, guiding you back on the table and planting himself between your spread thighs. Both of his big palms almost fully engulf your head, now free to be separate but both wanting to do the same thing.

“Thank you for not laughing too much at me.” He mumbles between kisses. “Didn’t feel the smartest doing something so… dumb in front of…” He pecks your lips, pulling back with a smirk, “a beautiful woman.”

You snort, adjusting your head to kiss him back at a new angle. “A beautiful woman, huh? You mean the witch?”

He growls halfheartedly in annoyance at your tease and kisses down to your jaw. “You know what I meant.”

You shrug, trying not to get too outwardly breathless as he sucks on a particularly sensitive tendon in your throat. One hand rakes into his thick hair, gripping hard from pleasure. Both of your bodies were rolling a little into each other.

“Missed your, mm, your skin,” He pants against you, “missed you.”

You bite down on a wicked smile, “It’s only been a few days.”

“Still. Too long.”He nips lightly at your neck, just sharp enough to make you jump a little and squeak. He grins at your noise, mumbling, “You’re so damn cute.”

A blush heats your cheeks almost unbearably, your face ducking down to catch him in a sweet kiss. As he responds, both of your legs hook around the backs of his to draw him closer. He has to straighten up again because of that. His palm cradles the crown of your head, all tangled up in your hair. He kisses you long and slow for a moment before pulling back to look at you, foreheads resting together.

“I saw you. I know…” He’s hesitating, a little nervous all the sudden, “…I can tell you like the idea of me… being tied up.”

You swallow thickly, pupils immediately pooling just from the sound of his deep, sexy voice uttering that idea aloud. You renew your hold on him, as if to reaffirm that you want him close but you don’t respond immediately. He can tell you’re not sure what to say— is he upset with that idea at all?

He leans in to gently brush and nudge his nose against yours. He does this when he just wants to get your attention. It always coaxes a smile out of you, and this time is no exception. He presses a peck to your lips then pulls back to look you in the eye.

“Have you imagined me restrained before?” He murmurs to you.

Swallowing thickly you nod. “Yeah.”

He smirks. “Me too.”

You exhale in a tumble on your next breath. “Fuck, Sam—”

“Never done it.” He says, voice a little shaky at a whisper, “Always… thought about it. Never… tried.”

You hold your breath. “And… now?”

He smirks and nods once, renewing his hold on the back of your neck. A swell of something you can’t quite name but you’re incredibly invigorated by fills your chest and throat. You surge up to kiss him. He meets you with equal vigor.

The two of you fumble upstairs somehow, kissing and grabbing and squeezing and pressing all the way there. You ask him several times whether or not he’s sure, you assure him many more times that you won’t be mad if he doesn’t really want to. Every time, he quiets you with affectionate kisses, reaffirming that this is what he wants.

Your room is closer to the stairs. He leads you in there and then you stop to discuss the logistics.

“Okay,” He pants, “for the, uh, first try, I, uh, want to be in the chair.”

Your brow furrows, “Why not the bed, baby? That’ll be more comfortable for you.”

He cuts off a groan and smushes his lips to yours happily.

“So sweet to me,” He murmurs against your mouth, “takin’ care of me. So fuckin’ sweet.”

You fist his shirt and yank him back to your body. When you begin undoing the buttons he remembers that he discarded his tie a long time ago. He doesn’t know where he put the thing— it was the only item of the suit he could really remove with the cuffs on. You seem to notice that at the same time, your lips pulling off of his with a wet sound.

“What, uh,” You’re breathless, “what d’you wanna use to, erm, tie you?”

His eyes flicker around as he thinks then he decides with a nod. “Uh, in the top left drawer of my dresser, get a tie.”

You nod vehemently and then trip a little over your feet in the rush to go. He steadies you with a hand on each arm and then beams adoringly as you scamper off. While you’re gone he decides he’ll be good and get undressed.

When you come back into the room, your head’s bowed and you don’t see him immediately. As one hand closes the door behind you, your eyes flicker up. The expression melts clean off your face at the sight of him, stripped down to his boxers and waiting in your bed with hands folded neatly in his lap. He’s watching you like a guard dog, waiting for permission to pounce.

“How am I doing?” His voice is more gravelly than he intended. He sees you shiver a little and it makes him swell with pride.

“Perfect.” You whisper, kneeling on the bed beside him.

The silk tie threads through your fingers sensually as you sidle up closer to him. He only notices he’s staring at the fabric slipping in between your knuckles with his lips parted after you’ve already caught him. You bow your head down to press a sweet, almost chaste kiss to his lips. He cups your jaw, hand spanning over some of your throat and fingertips tickling your hair. Your hands come to rest hesitantly on his shoulders and he can feel a tremor of nervousness in them.

“Baby,” He murmurs, making you pull back just enough to look him in the eye, “are you okay?”

You nod, still trying to pretend, then slump, revealing your true look of concern. “I just… I don’t want you to get scared.”

That takes him by surprise and it shows on his face. His head tilts slightly to the side. “Why would I be scared?”

“I feel scared when I’m tied up.” You shrug sheepishly, looking down now. “I don’t want… I don’t want you to be afraid when you’re with me. Like this.”

He smirks and cups your chin, making you meet his gaze again. “I’m not afraid. I know I’m safe with you.”

Your shoulders swell adorably with your next breath. You look like you could burst from joy. He traces some hair behind your ear, gently thumbing the lobe there just to admire everything that makes you, you. He’s so enamored with your body and how intimately he now knows it. It’s wonderful.

“I hate being tied up.” You mumble against him, “I hate being trapped and helpless like that. So… so I feel bad for… for liking it when it comes to you.”

He pulls back to look you in the eye.

“It doesn’t feel very fair of me as a… lover.” You finish softly.

He bites down on an adoring smirk, then pressed a quick peck to your lips. “Don’t feel bad about it, baby. I want to. I need to… relinquish control.”

You stare deep into his eyes, both hands framing his face lovingly.

“I want to relinquish it to you.” He stares up at you in reverence. “Will you take it from me, sweetheart?”

You can’t stifle a needy whine, smushing your lips to his in a messy kiss. Frantically you nod, still kissing him. You’re all strength and grace now— you’ve been given a responsibility and you intent to treat this privilege with the utmost honor. Hard to say whether or not any other directive given to you in your life has been more important than “keep Sam Winchester safe”. It’s becoming second-nature— not a mission but a need to fulfill over and over until your heart stops ticking.

He watches you with rapt attention as you loop the tie around his wrists. He’s always prided himself on his knots, ever since he was little and he took to it quicker than Dean did (which made Sam very proud of himself). That being said, you were an expert. More than that, your hands move with rope like it’s always been destined to bend and loop for your fingers. He’s loved watching you tie knots of all kinds since he met you. You’re talented at detangling and untying as well, of course that takes a bit longer and doesn’t look as effortless.

In no time you’ve secured one wrist. You go for the other hand then pause, your fingers halfway towards picking it up. His eyes meet yours and you raise your brows a little.

“You’re… sure? About tying both?”

Swallowing thickly he nods once. “Do it.”

“Okay, Sam.” You murmur, looking him in the eye to show you are taking this seriously. Then you go back to your task, looping the fabric around his other wrist and drawing the silk tight. “Same as usual, right? Stop-light system to check in?”

He affirms with a slight nod, too focused on watching you raising his hands up over his head by the purple tie. It’s like you’re holding a bundle of beets by the stems, except the stalks are a neck-tie and his loose fists are the bulbs. You secure his hands to the headboard, the muscles of your arms tensing and releasing with the work of making the knots tight. He’s mesmerized, watching all of you work over him— the crease in your brow and set jaw as you focus; your hair framing your face, edges illuminated by a golden glow from the overhead light. The slip of revealed stomach where your hoodie is riding up over your hips just keeps inching up higher, tantalizing enough that his mouth is watering a little.

When you sit back on your heels he watches the meat of your thighs spread out from the weight of you compressing your legs. You take a deep breath and there’s a tiny catch in it, like an almost-cough that makes your chest, and consequently your breasts, twitch a bit. He’s getting antsy and you haven’t even really started doing anything to him.

“Fuck, I already miss touching you.” He mumbles.

It’s the truth but he’s not sure he meant to say it aloud. There’s nothing to regret though, because your reaction is precious. You blush, your shoulders tucking in a little towards your heart. As if saying that aloud removed a weight from his chest, Sam then fully allows himself to relax into the bed, eyelids drifting closed. He’s shifting his hips around a little when your weight leaves the mattress beside him. His eyes fly open and then his whole body freezes as he watches you undress.

You changed clothes a while ago, opting for comfort while you assisted him in his lock picking mission. You might as well be dripping in diamonds with the way Sam’s watching you. Your thumbs slip into the elastic of your sweatpants and shimmy them off. When the fabric pools around your feet you start to unzip the hoodie, revealing enough to show that you’re not wearing anything under it, but not enough that he gets to see all of you.

He lets out a small pained noise. It’s so soft and he cuts it off quickly enough that he hopes you didn’t hear it. One look at your proud smirk and he knows he’s not that lucky. When there’s a moment of pause, you start getting nervous again. Thinking on your feet you mutter something about setting the mood. You go off to your desk to get some music going and Sam’s got to stifle an impatient groan. You’re bent just a bit over the back of your chair, the cheeky lace panties you’re wearing out on full display where the hoodie rides up.

“Ungh!” Sam’s fists tighten in the restraints, “C’mon, baby, come back.”

You glance over your shoulder as music starts wafting out through the speakers. A sly smile that he feels helplessly entranced by covers your face as you draw up beside him again. It’s like you’re slipping into a new persona, your voice lower and even more sultry. You bend and tuck one leg under you as you sit beside him. His chin is lifted, like a dog hoping for a pat. Gingerly, your hand inches out towards him. You curl some hair out of his face and he melts back into the pillow.

“So beautiful…” You mutter, your fingers slowly raking through the front of his hair.

He hums a little, eyes falling shut as you repeat the action.

“Relinquish control, huh?” You smile, cupping his cheek and making him look at you again. “Do you know why that’s what you want, Sammy?”

He swallows thickly. Usually, he doesn’t let you call him that without a little back-and-forth of teasing. Right now, though, he’s slipping into some kind of trance— the kind that makes the most repressed man more honest than he thinks he should be.

He exhales shakily, “Want… you to… take care of me.”

You nod, a little patronizing in your manner. That makes him shift in place from a twinge of lust. Of course you notice that, quirking a brow.

“Anything else?”

He’s hesitant to answer when you ghost your nails down his front. He shudders and exhales in a huff, like he’s giving in.

“Want you to ruin me, baby.” He says, too nervous yet to look you in the eye.

Sam is a thorough lover. He takes good care of you when he gets the chance, loving to tease and overstimulate you, loving to watch you fall apart. You had an inkling that he might like the roles reversed too. Hearing him say it aloud, confirming your suspicions, feels like someone blessed you with him.

Your hand fists into his hair. “You like bein’ used don’cha, Sammy?”

He grunts despite himself, nodding eagerly. “Yes.”

“Hm… are you my good boy?” You walk your fingers back up his chest to take ahold of his chin, “…Or are you bad?”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his. The moment is drawn taut like a bowstring. He stares up at you, understanding that this is your way of asking what he wants the tone of this encounter to be. Nerves almost choke him up. You and he have fit together so well for the last five days and he’s worried about disturbing the balance. You’ve both been on the same page in a way that’s made Sam marvel, amazed that you could be so sexually compatible with him (especially after all that time worrying about scaring you off with his affection). Now, here you are, pinning him to the bed with eyes daring him to tell you the truth.

“I… I’m... bad.” He barely breathes, still unsure. “Need you… to… break me.”

Your chest rises with a steep inhale, and he can tell immediately that he hasn’t strayed outside of what you also like in the bedroom— he may have found his perfect match.

“Fuck,” You mutter because you can’t help it, “fuck you’re so goddamn hot, it’s—”

You cut yourself off and reset your expression. He frowns a little, wondering if something’s wrong. Then you look him in the eye again. You steel yourself, returning to the persona he’s indicated he wants in bed tonight.

“What’ve you done that makes you so bad?” You throw a leg over him and straddle his waist.

Bending forwards and gently nuzzling your face to his jaw you begin grinding your core against his stomach. The lace of your panties tickles his skin at first before slowly becoming a chafing drag that almost burns a little. A shuddering breath rattles out of him. His eyes flutter closed for a moment then he forces himself to answer.

“I thought about you.”

You hum pleasantly, “That doesn’t seem so bad.”

He’s not sure if he knows where to go with that. He decides honesty is what got him this far, it’s probably what’ll take him to the finish line.

“I…” He wets his mouth, “Every time you were at the Bunker for a pit-stop I… I wanted you to stay. It was never long enough and… when you’re around me all the time I… I can’t help… touching myself to the thought of you.”

You purr happily, ducking under his jaw to lay worshipful kisses along his stubble. His eyes flutter closed, the temptation to slip into complete brainless-ness growing stronger by the second.

“Fuck, even after you’d leave,” His hips lift a little off the bed to press his abdomen more firmly to your cunt. You coo from that, still peppering his throat with kisses, “stupid shit like seeing your shampoo left behind would… make me think of you again. Think of you so much that I… couldn’t stop.”

You sit up enough to look him in the eye again. “And then what would you do?”

Something in your face, there waiting patiently for him to continue, makes him brave enough to be explicit.

“I’d… fuck,” He sighs out a curse under his breath, “I’d jerk off to you. The, uh, the thought of you.”

“And that’s why you’re bad? Because you touched yourself to the thought of me?”

He hesitates in his answer, considering this. It wasn’t what he had in mind as his wrongdoing that deserved punishment, but it’s not out of the question as a contributing factor. The moment of pause makes one of truth and tenderness slip through, because as much as you want to fulfill the man’s sexual dreams as best you can, you don’t want to add any more mortal wounds to his bruised heart.

You stroke some hair out of his face. “Thought crime ain’t real, Sammy.”

He relaxes into the sheets as you rake a hand through his hair again. “That’s not my— unh —my crime.”

You grip the roots at the crown of his head. “Then, what?”

He swallows, “My crime is how many times I’ve gotten off to the thought of you… without you.”

Your expression shifts, “Is that so?”

He nods, “I… I’ve been bad. Been coming without you.”

You suck a lip between your teeth, renewing the movement of your hips.

He’s blabbering now, “I need… I need you to use me. I’ve been bad. I’ll be bad again if you don’t…”

You swoop down so your nose is almost touching his, hand fisted tight in his hair. “What?”

“I’m… unrepentant.” His tongue swipes quickly over his lips, “I don’t feel remorse. …Yet.”

That earns him a rough kiss on the lips. You press all of your body down onto him. Instinctively, the muscles in his arms tense from the urge to wrap you up close. The inability for him to do it makes a petulant little whine rumble up his throat and into your parted lips. You grind your clothed pussy over the flat of his belly, applying more pressure for your own ends. He shifts restlessly beneath you as you gain momentum. He’s panting hard, licking desperately into your mouth like your saliva might wash his soul clean.

“Is this what you deserve, hm?” You murmur between kisses, shoving your core more firmly to him with each roll of your pelvis. “Gotta make it up to me, right? Let me catch up to you? Let me use your body to get there? That’s what you deserve?”

“Fuck, yes,” He breathes, watching you pull back with envy, already missing your lips.

You straighten fully and arch your back, eyes slipping closed as you create more friction. His hands tingle with the urge to be full of your giving flesh. There’s a soft, hesitant creak in the headboard as his muscles tense in the restraints. You pause in an instant, hands pressed to his pecs and lips parted alluringly.

“You trying t’a break free, Sammy?”

“Nuh-no—”

“—You better not be.” You say, voice sultry and commanding. “Or else maybe I gotta take a firmer hand with you.”

He groans, adjusting his position underneath you again.

“Yeah?”

He opens his eyes (which he hadn’t noticed were closed). You seemed to have taken his previous movement and noise for possible affirmation. You’re asking him to confirm, your eyes staring into his saying: is that what you want, Sam? A firmer hand?

Mouth open a bit in a dumb look of lust he nods once. “Yeah. Yeah, I… I need a firm hand.”

“Okay, baby.” You coo so softly to him, laying a lingering kiss on his lips.

You’re slithering yourself down his body so slowly he’s going to go insane over it. The hand that was in his hair caresses so sweetly over his cheek and jaw, before you begin increasing the pressure of your descent. He hisses at the first sting of your scrapes across his skin. When you reach his chest your nails leave angry, red trails that make his tree-trunk of a body tremble like a single leaf.

“Ah—” His features scrunch up with the overload of pain and gratification.

Now that you’re over his body you feel his cock throb in frustration at your touch. You grin like a conquering queen, sitting all of your plush ass and thighs on him, right below his briefs. Above his waist your hand claws another set of red marks down his chest. The most sinful, choked groan of pleasure puffs out of him.

“So pretty,” You murmur, “you’re gonna be wearing my marks tomorrow, aren’cha?”

He grunts affirmatively. “Yes.”

“Cause you deserve to be roughed up a little, huh?” You bow down and hover right below his navel, the breath from your parted lips tickling his happy trail. “So naughty. Incapable of staying responsible. That’s cause you’re not really the boy-scout you pretend to be, are you.”

It’s not really annunciated like a question. You and he already know the answer. You kiss his belly softly, brushing your lips across the planes of his abdomen to then nip sharply at his right hip. He lets out a more full-throated groan of pleasure, back arching off the bed. Perhaps he’s trying to ease the tension in his skin by getting closer to you, but maybe he’s just trying to give you more to bite.

Your jaw releases and his skin snaps right back into place. His body flops back flat onto the mattress, his lungs heaving. He can already feel the bruise blooming on his hip. When his hands are free later he’s going to press into that purpling mark and revel in the faint ache.

“Please, baby,” He breathes listlessly, “please, I need— fuck —I need somethin—”

He cuts himself off with a shout of surprise when you press your warm wet lips to the side of his clothed cock. An unbecoming whine escapes him as you nuzzle against his erection the same way you did against his cheek earlier. It’s almost sweet despite the predatory nature of your dark eyes watching him. You’ve got him trapped under you— completely at your mercy.

You lave your tongue and lips over the tip of his cock through his briefs, making him utter a filthy groan of your name.

“Pretty boy,” You smile wickedly as you hook your fingers into the elastic of his boxers, “if only they knew… if only they knew how needy you really are.”

He whines pathetically, arching his hips off the bed to perhaps encourage your removal of his last bit of restrictive clothing. You sit all your weight on his legs. His body flattens to the sheets, now fully anchored by yours. Your thighs wrapped around his to force them together. There’s now a pressure on his balls that makes him shiver and groan. He’s needy— so close to only being able to think about you and what you’re doing to him. You smile as he gets lost in the sensations again.

“So impatient.” You chide, “I guess I should’ve predicted that.”

Your firm, warm hand takes ahold of his dick through the briefs. You squeeze him a little, like you’re massaging his shaft, then you lighten your touch so just your fingertips trace the contours of it. Up and down, your trailing caresses growing slower with each pass. It’s going to drive him insane.

“Please, baby, fuck—” He groans your name as you pick up the pace a little. “Take ‘em off. Take ‘em off, sweetheart, please, I—”

“—Ah-ah!” You stop moving completely, giving him a reprimanding stare. “This isn’t for you. This is what I get to do. You’ve kept how many orgasms from me, hm? It’s my turn now. I’m taking what we both want from you and you’re gonna let me. Or else. Do I make myself clear, Sammy?”

He nods, relaxing fully. Later, Sam will consider how easy it was for him to accept that command— maybe he does carry too much responsibility on his shoulders. With that final submission relief floods through him. He’s given himself over to you, so that you can use his body for your pleasure. Goddamn that turns him on. The other thing that gets him going? How much you are clearly enjoying this. It’s like a whole new side of you in one aspect, and then in another it’s a puzzle piece he didn’t know you had but fits in perfectly with the rest.

You abruptly and roughly yank the elastic down. His cock flops enticingly out into the open air, too heavy with blood (on top of being too damn big) to stand up on its own. He looks from your hands tugging the boxers down just below his balls to your eyes. Your face is hovering close to him, so close that he can feel the soft whisper of air from your nose against the now-exposed veins of his throbbing erection. Your eyes flicker up to stare right back at him. Your ass wiggles a little further down his legs until you’re seated on his knees.

“You get to lay there,” You pause to lick a wet, sloppy stripe up his cock. He cries out, almost sounding pained, his whole face scrunching. You smirk wickedly, finishing the thought right as your tongue finishes its journey, “and take it. I’ll do all the work. I’m nice like that. Even to boys who’ve been bad.”

With that you drag the point of your tongue up the slit of his dick. That makes him shiver bodily, an uneven sigh evacuating him. You barely give him enough time to register that sensation before you renew the grip on his shaft and begin twisting around the head, spreading the generous slick from your salivating mouth onto him. His next cry is louder and more guttural. He strains, craning his neck to look down his helpless body at you. Your flushed face hovers near his cock, tantalizing him but not satiating him. He groans, sounding whiny in a way that makes shame flare up in him. He’s pulled out of the headspace for a moment. You notice immediately. Thankfully your hand stays on his shaft, but you sit up more.

“I love the sounds you make.” You’re lazily massaging his hard length, smirking, “I want all of them. I deserve that, don’t I? I deserve a reward for my hard work, don’cha think, honey?”

“Yuh—” He starts to answer then can’t speak as he watches a long droplet of spit fall from your perfect lips onto the tip of his cock. It oozes over him and then over your curled fingers as your fist draws upwards, torturously slow. “Fuck— goddamn it, sweetheart—”

“—What is it, honey?” You ask, your limbs ambulating sensuously as you talk, letting him spread his thighs to make room for you between them. “What’s going on in that pretty head, hm?”

He opens his mouth to answer when you just barely suckle at his cockhead. A wounded cry of arousal claws its way out of him. The warm wetness of your mouth lasts only for a moment, leaving him to groan and hide his face in his bicep, eyes squeezed shut momentarily. You hum thoughtfully to yourself, settling in on the mattress, your knees bent and tucked under you as you bow to tease his dick.

“The untouchable Sam Winchester,” You watch your hand move painfully slow up and down his cock. It jumps a little in your palm, making you smile like a cat, “if they only knew who you really are. How you like to be used.”

You envelop his dick in a hot, wet chokehold but only for a second before the spit left behind hits the cooler air of the room abruptly. A grunt makes his whole body lurch. He’s not sure if it’s to protest what you just said or if it’s to encourage you to keep going.

“Fuckin—” He mumbles uselessly, head tossing from side-to-side on his pillow. “Can’t— can’t tell—”

“—Oh, I can’t tell anyone?” You slurp more of his length into your mouth than before but you’re still just as quick to set it free again. “Can’t let the world know that Sammy likes bein’ bad sometimes, huh?”

Before he can answer you lower your mouth over him as far as you can, slowly beginning to suck. You come off with a noisy pop from how strong the suction was. You pepper kisses down the veiny side of his shaft, your lips brushing against him with every syllable you utter next.

“Tell me, Sam.” Your eyes are pools of dark, impossibly deep desire, pupils wide enough that in the low-light he can’t see the color of your irises any more. “Tell me how you’ve been bad. How you want to be bad.”

He groans as you take his cock back into your mouth and give another few pumps of sweet soaking suction. The noise is somehow even more wet and poignant when you pull off again, only a moment later.

“Fuck!” He barks, face flushed and sweaty from anticipation and restraint. “I— I—”

You smile and begin slowly jerking him off. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment to get himself together.

“No,” He forces the words out even though you both know it’s a lie, “no, fuck, I don’t— shit! —I don’t want to buh—be bad. Nuh— ah! —it’s s’not— gah, fuck me.” He finishes at a lament for the sentence he might’ve gotten together but didn’t.

“Not until you admit it, Sammy,” You kiss the slit of his cock then rub the tip of your tongue through it again, just like before, “you wanna be bad, don’cha?”

He shakes his head, still not at his breaking point.

“Yes you do.” You nod, “You wanna be bad for me. I know it.”

Your cockteasing is driving him insane. You lick and suck and kiss sparingly at his hard shaft then leave him wanting more.

“Nuh— Mm!” He purrs and it’s shivery and uncontrolled.

“Maybe I should keep you like this.” You hum thoughtfully, “Strung up in my bed…” You pause to lap at the underside of his cock a few times, “Waiting for the release…”

“Unh…”

There’s an obscene wet sound as you take him into your mouth again. Each time you’ve re-engulfed his cock there’s been more saliva coating him. You mean business now, he can tell. Your head begins to bob methodically. Sam’s breath stutters at the sight of your perfect lips running up and down his cock. He mumbles more expletives, absolutely losing his grip on reality and his own agency.

“You’re— agh —fuck! You’re s… s’ goddamn—” A choked sob escapes him, his back arching and his chin raising, “—so beautiful. I— fuck! —you’re so… special.”

Much to his surprise this makes you pull off of him noisily. He groans somewhat from the pleasure of that and the anguish of losing the pressure your mouth was inducing. You’re staring up at him with a spark in your eye.

“What’d you just say, Spaceman?”

He forces himself to swallow and it looks like it takes a significant amount of effort.

“You… you’re so special.” He says shyly, “So special to me.”

The sweetest blush of adoration makes you tighten your shoulders a little like before. You’re glowing from that one simple praise. Gently, you set his cock down on his thigh. A little whimper of protest leaves him before he cuts himself off. You sit up all the way and go for the tab on your hoodie. The languid grind of the metal zipper grates his ears. He can’t look anywhere else but at your hands, his flushed, aching cock somewhere in his periphery.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen what’s under the hoodie before (several times, at this point) but the way you drag it out makes the moment feel ceremonial. You’re not wearing a bra, so there’s nothing else blocking his view as the fabric falls open. The shadows that define the curves and undersides of your breasts are so delicate. It’s like you’re skin reflects light differently than other people he’s been with— it makes you all the more enticing and special. He knows in the back of his mind that this is probably just his emotions for you clouding his perception and memories, making all the previous lovers seem distant and 2-D. At the forefront of his brain, though? He just wishes he could put his mouth on your tits. Something in his manner must give that away, because as your shrugging off the hoodie you smile seductively again.

“You wish you could touch ‘em, huh?”

He nods, lips parted listlessly. This makes you shimmer with pride.

The hoodie is forgotten somewhere near the foot of the bed. You shake your hair out a little just because you can. Your chin tilts up and your eyes slip closed, almost like you’ve forgotten he’s there waiting on you. His impatience manifests in his legs, twitching on the bed without him meaning them to. You feel this between your legs. Your head drops back down to look him in the eye. His Adam’s apple bobs with his next swallow, waiting with bated breath for your next move.

“It’s kinda funny, you know.” You watch your own hand trailing down over your shoulder, “That the man who wants me so close when he comes…”

One of your fingers lightly circles one of your nipples. Sam can see harden further right before his eyes.

“..who wants to touch every lil’ bit of me…” You bite your lip and cup both breasts, “also craves to be denied that right.”

He grunts and shifts in place. It is kind of interesting, but he’s not really in the mood for your analysis of his behaviors right now. It comes out breathless and stunted when he speaks next.

“I got a right to touch you?” He’s still present enough that he can tease a little. “Good t’a know.”

You want to sweep Sam Winchester away into a world of pleasure and he wants to let you. He’s waiting on the edge of a ravine for you to call him down into the bliss of a rushing river far, far, down below. Any joking is drained out of him when you start toying with the elastic of those cheeky lace panties you’ve still got on. Seeing his expression, you decide against removing them, instead rising up onto your knees and clambering over him again. You move slow and purposefully, much like a panther stalking its prey.

He’s straining to kiss any part of you as soon as you get close enough— one brushed to the underside of your breast, a nip to the skin of your sternum, then messy open-mouthed ones on your collarbone and shoulder —until you’re head is over his again. His lips seek out yours instantly. You try to take your time, kissing his chin and then his cheek, before just giving in to his eager lips. He kisses you like he’s been away from you for 20 years— like he hasn’t had the chance to touch you in so long that he’s scared he’s forgotten what it feels like.

The embrace is getting hotter and heavier with each kiss. Your body is slick with some sweat which makes you slide so perfectly against all of his similarly-damp skin. A hand snakes between your two bodies to lay his cock right under you. The lacy gusset of your panties grazes up and down his over-sensitive cock. He emits a choked noise into your parted lips, diving his tongue into the abyss of your perfect mouth to try and distract from the stimulation below.

“Baby—” He grunts between kisses, moaning your name wantonly, “—baby, I can’t—”

You take a firmer hold of his face, making him look you in the eye. With devastating eye-contact you begin grinding your pantie-covered pussy over his dick repeatedly. He’s trying to tell you that he’s too close but he can’t even form words. One of your hands cups his cheek so tenderly, distracting him momentarily so when the other one scratches down his chest again it’s a surprise.

You’re so special to him. He’s not sure he’s ever meant anything he’s said to any other lover more. Special. Powerful, domineering, direct, empathetic, sweet, and reciprocal— special in all the ways he’s drawn to. For a long time his body has screamed for you, singing an ode he was sure you could not hear. If he could go back he’d tell himself not to waste any more orgasms on thoughts of you and the shower drain.

Everything he wants is right here, holding him down to the mattress like the sea weighs down the ocean floor, he and the sand made to take new shape because of it. He’s been moulded to your hands— your touch like the waves that leave wrinkles in the seafloor below —and there’s no other way he’d rather be.

The sensation of the lace on his veiny, sensitive dick is overpowering. It’s too much— he can’t hold off anymore. His body bucks up off the bed, rising fast to his peak. He tries to utter your name but catching your eye makes him freeze like roadkill, unable to escape the oncoming collision.

The force of his orgasm almost feels like getting hit by a car. All of him rolls and writhes beneath you. Choked shouts of pleasure he can’t stem flow out of him as his dick twitches between your thighs. You feel that through your panties, making you gasp pretty loud as you realize he’s just orgasmed. Spurts of milky cum begin cooling instantly on his belly. When you raise your hips up enough, he can see the stain of his white spendings on your panties. It makes him groan wantonly.

You click your tongue a few times, scolding him. He knows you’re continuing the act, which he loves, but even more than that, he can see how affected you are by what just happened. Your eyes are gobbling up every inch of the scene below you, insatiable for the view. Without tearing your eyes from his faintly-twitching cock, you thumb your panties off.

“I should’a known you couldn’t hold it,” You mutter, “greedy boy, can’t help cheating me outta more orgasms— someone ought’a teach you a lesson on remaining well behaved.”

Your words are condescending but your tone is too awestruck to fully sell your distaste. He’s panting so heavily you’re a little concerned about it, but you know Sam’s very communicative in bed— if something happens that requires a pause, he’s never upset by the interruption. He’s made it so clear how much your enjoyment matters to his sexual gratification in just these first few encounters with him.

“I’m s—sorry—” His next whine is nasally, “—I duh—didn’t mean t—t’a c—cum so f—fast!”

You shake your head chidingly and position yourself to take him into your soaked core. His length lurches almost painfully between you two, overstimulated by your wet pussy grazing him. It’s a more soothing sensation than the lace was but that doesn’t make it easy to endure. The pleasure and sensation is overwhelming. His face is patchy and sheened with sweat, his hair stuck in wavy tendrils to his temples.

You cup his cheek with one hand. Right before you press it firm to his flesh, though, he feels the gentle tremor in your fingers. He forces his eyes open through the overpowering sensations, finding you staring down at him, enraptured. You’re sweaty and flushed like him, so gone off the high of inducing such pleasure in him. It’s new for Sam to be the one in the receiving-kind of role. Better late than never, right?

“You can make it up t’a me,” You whisper, bowing down to kiss his lips, your fingers tracing the underside of his jaw up to his chin. When you pull back it’s only enough to look him in the eye and continue, “don’t come until I say.”

He nods feverishly. You lay another one of those intensely-devotional kisses to his lips, still tilting his chin up where you want it. A hand snakes between your two bodies, raising his cock up and positioning the tip right at your entrance. The pressure of your kiss renews as you swallow up the tip of his aching, leaky cock. The guttural shout of a groan that elicits from him trembles you and the bed (and maybe the support beams of the Bunker, but who knows).

You sit up on him when he’s all the way seated in your heat. The blissful look on your face fills his stomach with butterflies on top of everything else. He bites down on his lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood to try and smother the noise he makes at your walls momentarily fluttering. The headboard creaks with his arms tensing against the tie. You clench tighter on purpose then, making his back arch a little off the bed and his eyes scrunch shut. Your hands splay firmly on his abdomen and over his anti-possession tattoo. He’s flattened back down by your touch and made louder by the first drag of your hips over his.

“Mmm… perfect cock.” You hum, head tilting back, “Perfect for me to get off on. Perfect to squeeze while my pussy pulses. Perfect for me t’ use.”

He nods, “Yes. Jus… jus’ f’r you, honey. Made— unh! —made for you. Made to make you come.”

You lift a little on your next grind. He feels part of his cock escape your wet heat and laments the loss for only a second before you’ve taken him back to the hilt again.

You continue like this for he doesn’t know how long. Your body rolls so beautifully above his, all of your curves and joints wobbling with each forceful impalement of his cock. He’s sure he could stay here forever, watching you be pleased by him.

A lot of Sam’s life has been spent thinking of himself as bad. As tainted, as something antithetical to goodness. He’s spent all of his existence striving to feel like he’s seen as someone good, despite what fate may have wanted his destiny to be. He wants to be good. He wants to be known as good.

On most days, you do make him feel known for his goodness. Now, though, he’s faced with overwhelming proof that you like some of the urges he thinks he ought to run away from. The sensation of losing control over his body is usually terrifying. He’s hidden this part of himself from others for all of his life, afraid of how it might alter their view of him. To Sam, that faceless mob of moral judgement upon his soul feels like it could be waiting around every corner. What would they think if they knew he… wants this? Wants to be teased, and wound up, and made to admit that he does want permission to be bad in the dark? Right now, those questions are nowhere in his mind. Later, he’ll admire how he was able to forget all about his anxiety while underneath you.

One of your hands falls behind you to roughly grip the meat of his thigh. Your body tips back because of this adjustment, the light and the shadows shifting over your skin. Your collarbones are illuminated perfectly from this view. Your eyes are closed and you’re slipping one hand between your thighs as they spread further open.

He’s trembling beneath you, biting into the round of his bicep while never taking his eyes from you. His dick throbs intensely inside of you. This surely indicates that he’s closer to his second peak than you thought. With all your weight behind it, you shove all of his length into of you. The fit is so goddamn snug it’s like you, too, are changing shape because of him. You’re moving slow, though. You’re still taking your time and he’s sure he can’t wait too much longer.

“Please,” He mumbles listlessly, “puh—please, sweet—huh—heart. B—baby—”

“What?” You’re breathless but still attentive.

He’s fumbling for words, shifting through pleas and pet names and curses. In the heat of his spiral into what feels like it’s going to be an Earth-shattering orgasm, he thinks of what to do. His knee bends suddenly, startling you where you grip his thigh.

“St—uh—stop,” He pants and you only slow, “you… you gotta catch up, right?”

Your flushed features contort into a frown, your head cocking slightly. On the next sensuous roll of your hips you lean back with both hands, digging into the flesh of his thighs like the boxers you never fully took off of him. The pace is painfully slow as you give him a moment of respite to explain.

“I… I oughta stay still, hm?” He wets his lips, “You should… rub that pretty clit since I can’t, right?”

Your eyes never stray from his but one hand immediately slips over your hip and between your legs. He nods, unable to keep himself from staring at your fingers as they part your folds. The first satisfying circle rubbed into your clit makes your walls clamp around him. He stifles most of a beastly groan, putting all his focus into holding back.

“Touch yourself f’r me, honey,” He pants, barely keeping his eyelids open, “jus’ like how… how I touched myself for you.”

A visible shiver runs through you and he can feel your movements pick up on your clit.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Sam doesn’t even hear himself talking anymore. He’s mesmerized by you moving above him.

Your body quakes, hand slipping down further on his leg. Your fingers dance between your folds, bringing you higher and higher. Your hips move up and down more of their own accord. Your eyes have been fighting the urge to close under such overwhelming pleasure.

“So beautiful,” He pants before a truly vicious squeeze of your cunt makes him stifle a groan into the biceps up beside his head.

“Sam!” You’re pulsing now, clearly building to your peak.

He forces himself to look at you even though he wants to do his best not to finish on the spot. When you come it’s like a waterfall of tremors, causing shudders in a wave over you. The strangled keens of pleasure claw up out of your throat. As he lays there on his back beneath you, he’s lost in you.

You’re everything then— he wants to give you everything he has. He’ll keep the world from ending again just because he needs one for you to live safely in. In that moment, a hidden side of selfishness he does not normally sense makes it clear that from now on, saving the world is for the world second, for you first.

With the next wave of pure euphoria you call out his name. Your performance is so unbridled that he can’t help himself. His cock throbs harshly inside your slick walls and then he’s coming inside of you. His warmth spreads through you and his groans of pleasure accompany yours. He’s tingling all over, shuddery in his limbs and strung out on pleasure.

“I’m sorry!” He slurs quickly, head lolling away from where he bit into his bicep. “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You seal your lips over his to shut him up. His arms strain against the tie instinctively. You pull back to look him in the eye.

“Nothin’ to apologize for.” You smirk, “But now I gotta get one more.”

He almost shouts a groan at the first roll of your hips again. Slowly, cradling his face and cooing, you build up a steady but lazy rhythm. He pants and babbles and slurs his words. His eyes can barely open at this point, his lips swollen and ruddy while his lungs labor to breathe. Luckily he has not way of conceptualizing what he must look like right now, otherwise he might shy away in shame again. One of your hands claws five new red lines down his chest.

“FUCK!” He howls, arching under you before flopping back down dramatically. “’S too much! Can’t… can’t… SHIT!”

You whine at his stream of garbled speech, holding your clit between two fingers as you pick up speed.

“Are you a bad boy, hm?!” You call over his listless noises.

His head tosses from one side to the other, “FUCK— yes! Fuck, yes I—I am!”

“You’re gonna make it up to me though. Your big, perfect dick is gonna make… make me c-come again—!”

He forces his eyes open as far as they can be to watch you ride him, your head tipping up. The overhead light is right behind you, so when you tilt back a little, almost all of your face is swallowed by the glow. Your fingers begin a light circular movement on your clit. At this point you don’t really need much more you’re so overstimulated and buzzing.

“Sammy! Babe— honey, I’m—” You’re cut off by the most beautiful choked cry of pleasure Sam’s ever heard.

You shudder and squeal, lurching forwards only to catch yourself with a steady hand over his heart. Mere minutes after achieving your first high, you crash into another. It’s almost a surprise to him when the choking pulses of your fluttering cunt bring him to the peak with you. His hips buck up off the bed one last time, so all of his cock is deep inside you when he finishes.

As his warmth floods your walls and you collapse fully onto your forearms on either side of his head. Your bodies are both still twitching and grinding through the aftershocks, but it’s all so languid now. Your lips seek his out where he was straining up towards you.

Sam’s completely wrung dry, body a little weak and trembly. With his kiss he tries to convey all his gratitude, all his love. It’s not the time yet to say it, but he’s sure now that he’s fully falling in love with you. It’s not just idle fantasy anymore, it’s so possible it’s making him lightheaded.

The two of you continue making out on the bed, one of your hands tangling into his hair. He’s completely taken with the kiss until the tension that kept his arms up above his head is suddenly dropped. You reached up and pulled the knot undone without needing to look.

Instantly his arms go around you, wrists still tied together. He takes the opportunity of freedom to press you as firmly to him as possible, smiling through his kisses as you giggle.

“Mm— you’re not gonna— mm! —even lemme,” You have to keep pausing for him to kiss you, “untie your hands— mm! —Spaceman?”

He shakes his head, looking foggy-minded. “What happened to my right to touch you, huh?”

He smushes another kiss to your lips. You laugh, your pussy tightening a little around him. His leg twitches and he groans at the overstimulation.

He yanks his lips away from yours to breathlessly chuckle, “Don’t—” He swallows, “—I can’t handle it any more.”

You smirk, caressing his cheek with your thumb. “You’re the one who’s keeping me here.”

“Mm.” He smiles smugly at you then raises his bound hands back over your head so you can undo them.

You love the way he watches you, like there’s no where else he’d rather be than right here— no one else he’d rather look at. At first you go to pull off completely but that elicits a tiny little whimper in the back of his throat. So you stay exactly where you are and untie the first of his wrists. Before you can get the second one, his hands are moving again. They slip around your back and with agility you’re completely stunned by he turns the two of you over without fully pulling out. He returns all of his softening dick into your perfect cunt when you’re lying on your back beneath his weight.

You giggle again breathlessly, reaching up to cup his face in both hands. The tie is still on one of his wrists. He doesn’t care. You guide his head down to kiss you which he does gratefully. You stir your hips one last time and he has to pull away from you with a grunt.

“I can’t,” He chuckles lightly, “I can’t go again, sweetheart.”

You laugh, “Then why’re you still in there, huh?”

As much as he’d love to play along with some kind of bit, he actually does have a reason he’s still inside you. He sits up onto his knees, running both hands down your front and watching them. They take a brief stop at your breasts and then glide down the swell of your belly to hook behind your knees. With a wrinkle in his nose and a soft hiss he eases his cock out of your passage. You moan, shivering pleasantly while momentarily distracted. He pecks you once on the lips then lays more kisses down the rest of your body until he’s just there, between your legs, watching the cum ooze out of you.

“Fuck…” He mutters, hands adjusting their hold on your thighs to spread you open more.

You sigh with a smile and tease, “Admiring your work?”

His eyes flicker up to yours, a sparkle of amusement in them but the rest of his features are darkened by lust-born possessive desires. He gave you everything he had tonight, and this is the proof. His gaze flickers from your pussy to each of your eyes and then back again.

“Yeah.” He says after a moment, a wicked smirk overtaking his face. “But by my count—”

He gathers up your legs into the crooks of his elbows suddenly, making you yelp in surprise and slide further down the bed.

“—you’re still owed one more orgasm.” He bows to kiss your stomach.

“Fuck, Sam…” You whine his name, vocals fried from all the afternoon’s exertion. Still, you relax beneath him, clearly not going to protest.

“Perfect girl,” He mutters into your flesh as he descends further, “my beautiful girl. Mine.”

He looks up as your palm slides up his cheek, resting there. He tilts his head a little into your touch.

“Yours.” You agree softly.

He turns his face to kiss the seam of your palm. His eyes remain glued to yours as he does it. One of your hands rakes through the front of his hair, cupping the back of his head. His huge hands slide around the outsides of your thighs ceremonially, massaging the flesh for a moment before one of them slips down to your core.

You whine, arch your back and bite down hard on your lower lip as he starts gently fingering the cum back into you. He leans down to lap softly a few times on your clit. His groan is perfectly in-tune with your whimper.

“My girl.”

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs