Title: Up Around the Bend
Length: Ca 8000 words.
Pairing: Dean Wincester/Sam Wincester.
Tags: Wincest, family, supernatural elements, sexual tension, sex club, glory hole, sex show, exhibitionism.
Summary: “The first time he noticed Dean sneaking off with a guy (a big, muscular type, even), it got Sam thinking…and wondering. In the end, he had a whole range of scenarios playing out in his head, and some of those worked better than others – a few were so good he even started substituting himself in the guy’s place. Not at first, of course; it felt much too shameful for that, but over the years he kept coming back. By now Dean figures in most of Sam’s fantasies, and indulging in them feels almost like sitting down in a comfortable car seat or putting on a favorite jacket: very easy and reassuring.”
Author’s note: Written for the “Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge 2016“.
Chapter 1: Things That Go Bump In The Night
They are safe. They are together. The door and the windows are salted, and they are laying in bed in their crummy, homely motel room. Dean has made good money by the pool table tonight and Sam has found clues to their next hunt. Basically, life can’t get much better than this.
They should be fast asleep gathering strength for the long cross country haul tomorrow – a hunt is waiting for them down in Natchez, Mississippi – but both are wide awake. The air is hot and the bedspreads are clingy.
Sam knows Dean tried to get the barmaid out back for a quickie earlier, but he didn’t luck out. She was the last female left, and Dean wasn’t the only frustrated dude pushing for it. Perhaps she had heard every line before and had her fill, or she had someone special waiting for her at home or whatever. At any rate, she drove off by herself when the bar closed; right after Sam and Dean firmly were asked to leave for the third time. Dean kicked every pebble in the road on their way back, running up and down off the pavement. He also kept trying to give Sam noogies, patting his back and hitting the back of his head by turns. The excess energy was radiating off him and Sam knew that they were going to have a long night ahead of them.
Now they are finally laying down, and instead of sleeping, Dean keeps talking to whoever might be listening (meaning Sam) about what he could’ve done to the barmaid if she had just listened to reason.
Sam can feel himself getting grumpier by the minute, tiring of Dean’s antics fast. He knows that their room-sharing etiquette requires at least pretending to fall asleep before quietly wanking off, but tonight…why should he even bother when Dean keeps laying out his fairly vanilla sexual fantasies aloud? It’s pretty standard fare anyway; out of necessity they’ve been wanking side by side since they were little runts. Hearing Dean’s muffled groans is pretty much a requirement in Sam’s sexual fantasies by now. He’s even supplied it mentally on occasion when, once in a blue moon, he gets laid.
…Not that Dean has to know that. Dean is much more easy going; if there is a pretty face willing to do the nasty with him, why think twice? Dean usually goes for girls, but Sam knows he has hitched off with men too, even if he has tried to hide it from Sam. The first time he noticed Dean sneaking off with a guy (a big, muscular type, even), it got Sam thinking…and wondering. In the end, he had a whole range of scenarios playing out in his head, and some of those worked better than others – a few were so good he even started substituting himself in the guy’s place. Not at first, of course; it felt much too shameful for that, but over the years he kept coming back. By now Dean figures in most of Sam’s fantasies, and indulging in them feels almost like sitting down in a comfortable car seat or putting on a favorite jacket: very easy and reassuring.
…Which is just what Sam needs now. No sense in wasting time; they are both in the need of a good wank and the night isn’t getting any younger.
He’s getting into one of his more elaborate ones: imagining himself trussed up, naked, arms outstretched like in a crucifixion by ropes, and Dean performing some kind of exorcism – a highly sexual exorcism, designed to make malevolent spirits leave Sam’s straining cock.
Dean won’t touch him in the dream, but he is doing what he can to make Sam get off on his own, telling him what he wants in the dirtiest phrases, “Oh, that cock of yours is so big, little brother. How is it so big, have you been training it for me?” touching himself, running his fingers along his own ass and asking Sam if he wants to see. Had Dean done this in real life, Sam would have no doubt thought him possessed by demons.
He can hear Dean in the other bed now, moaning, with wet, rhythmic slicking of fingers over dick. The moaning just adds to Sam’s ongoing dream scenario where Dean is playing with his ass, hand far down his jeans. Sam wants to see and dream-Dean knows it.
“Want to see how many fingers I can jam in there, Sammy? Do you think I could fit your big, fat cock? It is pretty huge after all, how can you be sure?” Dream-Dean leans forward to study Sam’s bright red cock-head twitching out globs of precome, while Sam thinks about putting it into Dean. Dream-Dean continues, “Want to see, Sammy? Want to see for yourself?” and then proceeds to step out of his jeans and inch closer to Sam.
Sam feels like bursting. There’s a high-pitched noise in his ears and chills are running through his stomach, hips and sex. Dream-Dean turns around, tormentingly slowly, spreading his ass cheeks with strong fingers, Dean’s thighs going taut while leaning forward, spreading, and spreading, and… Sam shoots his load, hissing “Dean!”, over dream-Dean’s twitching asshole and all over his own belly.
Dean’s voice sounds doubtful and bewildered from the next bed, slap-slap noises abruptly stopping.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit… Sam’s brain can’t manage anything more coherent, other than removing any trace of lingering post-orgasmic bliss.
“Pfff. Heh. HahaHAHAHA!” Dean is dying with laughter over there.
Sam wants to die.
“Goddammit, Sammy!? Were you yelling “Dean” right now?”
Sam can hear the petulance in his own voice and hates himself just a little bit more. He puts his forearms over his eyes; perhaps he can vanish in a poof off the face of the earth if he just presses hard enough.
“You totally were, weren’t you?!”
Bedsheets rustle violently and here comes Dean, jumping up on top of Sam’s bedspread and yanking his arms up over his head, grinning maniacally. Sam, on the other hand, is mustering the bitchiest bitch-face that ever bitched. In reality, he is close to crying.
“Aw! Sammy. Sam. Who knew you were such a kinky bastard? Or has it been that long since you’ve got laid?”
“Naw.” Dean answers his own question, “I’m just that sexy, ain’t I?”
Sam tries to wrestle out, but he’s sweaty and sticky, the bedsprings are worn, and Dean is holding him down with all his weight so it’s hard to get purchase.
“I’m not letting you up until you tell me what you were thinking, Sammy.”
“No. No way.”
“Yes, way! I haven’t come yet, but I can, you know – all over your bedspread.”
“Goddammit, Dean! Stop it and let me up!”
Dean’s only answer is another maniacal smile and a grind of his hips, making Sam feel the hard line of cock through the thin bedspread.
“No! Stop it!”
Sam’s horrified and Dean knows it, going by the smug superiority of his grin.
“Please! I’ll tell you, just don’t move!” Sam hiccups. He is desperate.
Dean stills right there, dick pressing along Sam’s hip bone. Sam hiccups again, before starting, haltingly,
“You weren’t even touching me, I swear!”
“No, you were…” Sam just can’t get the words out; they’re too condemning.
“Come on, Sammy, it’s just me.”
“I… can’t. I just can’t!”
Dean looks at him closely for a second.
“It’s… not just sucking or fucking, is it? There’s something more?”
Sam blushes so hard that he’s wondering if skin can burst from blood rush alone.
“It is! Goddamn, Sammy! Now, let’s see… Is it… threesomes?”
“Feet? Or shoes? Do you wanna suck my toes, Sammy?”
“No, goddammit! Let me up!”
“Not before we get to the bottom of this! Oh, spanking! Is it spanking?”
“Something illegal then? Animals? Or kids?” The last word is said with a frown.
“No, Dean, you know it’s not.”
“Ah, good. But what have we got left… Is it knives?”
“Oh! So it’s knives? And guns, perhaps?” Dean is grinning again, reminding Sam of a dog that’s got his teeth in an especially juicy bone.
“No, it’s not guns…”
“But it’s something along that road, isn’t it? I can see it on you.”
Not only see it, Sam’s dick has started growing again as he is seriously considering telling Dean his deepest, darkest secrets. Dean is lying heavy on top of him and has got to feel the swell of it, as well.
“It’s ropes, okay?”
“Ooh! Good one! Bondage! I didn’t see that coming.”
The word is out of Sam’s mouth before he can stop himself and he immediately regrets giving Dean another push towards analyzing his fantasy life. This is cutting it close enough already in Sam’s view.
“Now that I think of it, I have gotten you out of a few tangles during our years of hunting, yeah, but damn!” Dean sounds awed.
“Let me up.”
Dean rolls off of him and Sam gets out of bed and into the bathroom in a hurry. He washes off as fast as he can and heads for the door. Dean doesn’t comment any further, he just looks very thoughtful as he lies there on top of Sam’s sticky bedspread with a stiffy in his pants, watching Sam leave.
Chapter 2: Interlude With Demons
Sam is hurting. His wrists feel like they will be ripped in two any minute now and he knows they’re bleeding. He’s thinking about fainting, but knows he can’t. Fainting when you hang from your arms leads to getting choked by the increasing pressure on your ribs. It’s not a good way to die, although he knows there are worse.
The cellar he’s strung up in is dark and coldly damp. Cracked furniture and moldy textiles are heaped in dark corners, smelling like rotting hay and cat piss. The rising winds outside are making the wooden beams he’s strung up against creak and groan. He’s aware of other sounds, too. He can’t quite place them, but they seem to be coming closer.
Dean is whispering, appearing out of the half-dark, holding one of the demons that captured Sam at arms’ length, pressing his shotgun into the snarling creature’s side. If Sam could have sagged with relief, he would. The demon suddenly tries to break away, but Dean just steps back and fires a salted round into it. The creature shrieks before giving up a black cloud of demon breath. And then its leftover body slowly tips over, cramping and bleeding.
“It’s me, Dean. Just me,” Sam rasps out, and Dean rushes to him.
“This is not hitting my buttons like I thought it would, you know,” Dean quips as he loosens Sam’s ties.
Sam would have agreed if he weren’t so occupied with tumbling to the ground. He is only saved from hitting the floor by Dean’s strong arms holding him back. He lets out a breathless laugh; he’s naked, his legs are still tied, he’s pressing into Dean’s body with all his weight, and it couldn’t be less sexy.
“Demons are such mood killers,” he rasps. Dean smiles at that, but is already cutting the last ropes, working to get Sam and his shivering and currently useless body out of there.
When they’re back at the motel, Sam’s able to hold his own weight long enough for a perfunctory clean-off in the shower. Dean is keeping watch; though, ensuring Sam doesn’t gouge his brains out by passing out and hitting the faucet.
“‘Ove you,” he manages as Dean tucks him in afterwards.
“Love you too, shithead,” Dean replies, but Sam’s already sleeping.
Chapter 3: Interlude With Exorcism
They’re in bed. It’s late, it’s hot and their spotty ceiling is lit by the occasional passing car. Any pretense of sleep is obviously given up by both – Dean’s been at it for a while, and his deepening moans are making Sam lose his temporary awkwardness and now he’s catching up, stroking his dick with strong fingers, letting his mind roam.
He transforms that dark, demon-infested basement to another place entirely – it’s now Dean’s secret place that he has prepared for Sam. The ropes are not digging in to hurt him, they’re holding him securely in place for Dean’s inspection and intentions. Dean is currently muttering spells and incantations under his breath while he’s painting Sam’s body and then the floor with devil’s traps. He’s not looking into Sam’s eyes at all; instead, he’s paying real close attention to Sam’s dick again.
Sam’s dick is responding like a snake enchanted by a charmer, bobbing up under Dean’s scrutiny and strokes of paint, then sagging down while Dean gives his attention to other parts of the mysterious ritual he’s performing. There’s not much sagging going on now, though – the prolonged attention is doing its thing, in addition to the contribution from real Dean’s ever more intense moans from the next bed. Real-Dean is reaching his peak right now and Sam knows he won’t be far behind, as he imagines dream-Dean leaning closer and closer to his straining dick…
“Christo!” wails real life Dean, seemingly right next to Sam’s ear.
“Oh God, oh, oh…” says Sam, horrified, and comes and comes and comes.
Sam reaches for a dirty t-shirt to dry off and refuses to look at Dean. Dean starts saying something, but Sam cuts him off:
“Don’t be so smug, bastard. That was sick.”
There’s a moment of silence, then, “But it worked for you, right?”
Sam hasn’t got anything sensible to say to that, so he turns his back to Dean and lets out a sigh. They are so fucked up.
Chapter 4: Interlude With Secrets
It is only a few days after that Sam notices Dean doing something strange out of the corner of his eye. Sam continues typing, pretending he doesn’t notice how Dean is sneaking something into his duffel bag, obviously trying to get it past Sam without it getting noticed. Too bad for him that Sam’s an observant guy.
As soon as he hears the shower start in the evening, Sam dives for the bag. The only thing sticking out that he can find is a 20 oz bottle of lube. Dean wouldn’t need to hide buying lube from Sam, would he? With Dean’s sexual capacity, having some lube around is only practical, isn’t it?
Sam sticks the bottle back in and zips up the bag. It won’t do to get caught red-handed; he has to get his case together first. If Dean is trying to hide lube from Sam, that might mean Sam himself fits into the puzzle somehow…
Sam’s not sure he wants to solve this equation. He flushes all over, so hard Dean’s bound to notice if he comes out right now. He opens the window and leans out, hoping that the humid night air can calm him down somewhat.
Lube. Christo. Dean thinking of that cellar. Christ.
The lube stays where it is, as far as Sam knows, for a good long while.
They have their regular wank-off sessions though. Both very aware of what the other are doing, but none of them willing to address their fucked up situation, talk about it or… take things further along.
Chapter 5: Interlude With A Momo
It is a freezing autumn day when Dean falls into a river and gets whisked away by the stream. They were chasing a Momo – short for “Missouri Monster”; a kind of Bigfoot-like creature that had been stealing pets from a village close to the forest. The Momo is dead now, but so is, very nearly, Dean.
Sam manages to fish Dean out at the next river bend, but Dean is already shivering so hard he can barely hold himself up. Sam ends up carrying him back to the Impala. He tucks Dean in to their thin, worn car blanket as best as he can, but Dean just keeps shaking and chattering. Sam’s torn between getting Dean’s wet clothes off and trying to help right here, or driving as fast as he can to get Dean under the much warmer blankets in their hotel room. He chooses the last option and curses the Impala for not having any heater to speak of.
Finally in their room, Dean’s looking even bluer and shaking so hard that he can’t speak. Sam strips him; Dean tries to help, but his feeble attempts are more annoying than helpful. Sam tucks him in finally, gets his own blankets and puts them on top of Dean’s. He then tucks himself in, naked and curling around Dean’s back. It feels like hugging an icicle – a stinky icicle; that Momo reeked like death warmed over.
Slowly, Dean’s violent shaking and shivering stops, and he falls asleep in Sam’s arms. Infinitely relieved and totally exhausted, Sam falls asleep right behind.
The sun is high in the sky when Sam wakes. He’s still plastered around Dean, who’s sleeping like a baby. Sam doesn’t have the heart to wake him, so he just relaxes and lets his eyes rest on his uncharacteristically innocent-looking, unguarded brother. It’s an unusual sight.
Dean must be dreaming because Sam can see his eyes move under their lids. He’s also making small noises: mewls and sighs.
The sighing suddenly gets to Sam. It’s getting rhythmical and it’s really more like moans now. Moans Sam knows very well. Now that he’s thinking about it, he can feel Dean’s hardening boner against his thigh – slightly throbbing, hot to the touch. If he judges this correctly, Dean is almost close to coming.
Sam lays his hand lightly on Dean’s chest.
“Sam?” comes the garbled answer. Dean shifts and tries to swim out of their tangle of gangly limbs and wrinkly bedsheets.
“You’ve got to let my arm go; I need the bathroom,” Sam lies.
Dean lifts off Sam’s arm and Sam pulls himself free and rises quickly. He can’t look at Dean too closely now that he’s awake, and he doesn’t want Dean to see his own morning hard-on, either.
When he gets back in, the room smells like ass, rotting Momo and stale river, and they both pretend they haven’t heard each other rub one out through the thin motel walls.
“Cherry pie for breakfast?” Sam manages with hardly any tremor to his voice.
“You bet your ass! Best brother!”
Sam doesn’t answer that, he just grins at Dean somewhat resignedly.
Chapter 6: Ghoulies And Ghosties And
Their next hunt is the one that breaks the camel’s back. No wonder – Sam should have put his foot down and refused as soon as he heard where they were hunting.
“Why? Is there anything wrong with a nightclub called Z?”
“It’s not just a nightclub.”
“Z is a fairly notorious sex club.”
“Oh. I see.” It took Dean only a second or two to counter. “But I still don’t see the problem.”
“No? People are supposed to have sex there, dumb-ass. You might be up for that, but I’m not and that’s a problem. I will stand out like a sore thumb.”
“I’ll go alone, then.”
Just the thought of that gives Sam a headache.
“Well, what do you propose then, Sammy boy? The ghost has taken a victim every Walpurgisnacht for a decade up ’til now. Don’t you think we ought to use our chance to put it to rest and maybe save some kinksters in the process?”
“Well, yeah, but…”
“But? What’s your problem, really?”
“You know damn well what my problem is, Dean.” Sam is sulking harder by the minute.
“But it’s not a problem! You get off on bondage and this is a place where bondage is approved. You’ll fit right in.”
“But I don’t want to have sex with anybody there.”
“Don’t you? Not anybody?” Dean is laughing out loud at him now, so Sam doesn’t deign to answer that.
In the end, they invest in the cheapest bondage solution they can find: a dog’s collar big enough for Sam’s sasquatch neck (at least, that’s how Dean puts it). It will hopefully make them fit right in and also solve Sam’s problem with unwanted attention, in theory. Sam’s immense scowl might also fix that, but better to err on the safe side. Dean tries to snatch the leash from Sam on the way in, but that’s where Sam draws the line.
The club is much bigger on the inside than what it looks like from outside and there’s also lots more people than they expected. There are at least two bars, a lot of darker niches by the walls, and a stage-like well-lit area in the middle – about where the dance floor would be at a normal club. No one is there now, there’s just a piece of furniture that makes Sam do a double-take, and when he realizes what it’s for he flushes like a teenager. Dean notices, but grins and doesn’t comment.
“Let’s grab a beer and find a place to sit where we can get a better understanding of the floor plan. It looks to me like there’s little left of the asylum this was built as.”
Dean leads the way, heading for the inner bar, and Sam suddenly wishes Dean had held Sam’s leash anyway, because the people they’re passing are raking their eyes over both of them. There are also things going on in the dark booths that he simultaneously wants to see and doesn’t dare to look too closely at.
“Relax, Sammy.” Dean slows down a little, waiting for him and Sam is immensely thankful for it.
Behind the innermost bar the club continues with a corridor leading in to much darker spaces. There are sounds penetrating the jazzy soul tune flowing from the club’s hidden speakers; sounds Sam can’t place perfectly, but they sure make his thoughts run wild.
Dean orders two beers and they sit down by the bar. The barkeep is happy to chat a bit; most of the customers are occupied with each other in one way or another.
“Guess it shows?”
“I’d think I’d remember you two.”
“Thanks, I guess.” Dean eyes Sam, who doesn’t say a word. He just stares back at Dean, trying to avoid taking in too much of what goes on in the nearest booth. It sure is a lot of skin glinting in the soft, pinkish light, and he has to consciously stop himself from trying to find out whether that naked ass visible under the table is a man’s or a woman’s. Dean grins at him.
“Yours?” the bartender looks at Dean, but nods at Sam.
Dean just smiles at that, but the bartender, Joe – according to the badge on his chest, takes it as confirmation anyway.
“Have you taken the tour yet?”
“No. Is there anything particular you would recommend?”
“Further in here you can find private rooms and a relaxation zone, and at 10 pm there’s a floor show.”
“Yes, it’s usually interesting too. The first part is a produced show and the second part is improvised by whoever feels they’re up for the challenge. The only limit is no lasting damage, no scat and no illegal stuff. If you’re into scat, there’s a room for that beside the pool in there.” He nods at the dark corridor.
“I think we’ll skip that, but a tour sounds interesting. Do you think we’ll manage before the floor show starts?”
“Sure, if you don’t find something more interesting along your way.”
“You’d never know, I guess.” Dean smiles at Joe, an honest smile, and it rubs Sam all the wrong ways.
“Guess we’ll take a look then. Come on, Sammy.”
The bartender returns to his duties and they slip down from their bar stools to brave the dark unknown together.
“At what time does the baddie usually turn up? Do we know?”
“No, I couldn’t find anything about that. I’d guess closer to midnight; that’s what they usually do.”
“Guess we have time, then.” says Dean, making Sam wonder what exactly Dean thinks they will have time for.
They pass one closed door and one half open. Through the open door Sam sees something that takes the breath right out of him – there’s a woman in black, with high heels and a corset, and she’s holding a cane, but what gets to him is the man, trussed up over some kind of pommel horse, looking like he’s all tranced out. The woman rubs deep red welts across his naked backside with her gloved hand.
“Are you coming, or do you want to get in there?” says Dean, breaking Sam out of his reverie.
“I’m coming.” Sam’s voice sounds dazed, even to himself.
Further up ahead they can hear sounds from the pool, and probably a whirlpool too. A woman whines and the sound transforms into a thrilling laugh. There’s two more doors to the sides before they enter the pool area. They don’t try to open them. Sam figures that the people in there probably would have left the doors open if they were having a free-for-all.
The door to the pool area is see-through, but foggy. The many bodies in there are remarkably lacking in swimwear. There are doors to toilets and showers to the sides, something which Sam finds assuring in all this strangeness. The sign that says, “Please shower before entering the pools” is also perfectly normal, but the idea of the shared shower stalls is a bit more novel.
Sam is glad they left their jackets by the door; it is nauseatingly hot in here. There’s no way the two of them are going swimming tonight, though – they both have knives and other ghost-killing remedies strapped to their bodies. Dean even has a small gun hidden in the shaft of his boot.
Dean hesitates as they are nearing the widening end of the corridor. The barkeep didn’t say which side they would find the scat-lover’s department at, and Sam can almost hear Dean’s thought process analyzing how best to avoid it. Sam has that down pat, though.
“Try the left. I can hear a fan going to the right and the smell is pretty telling from there, too.”
Dean lifts his eyebrows appreciatively and takes the left.
That is how they find themselves in a fairly small room with a hole in the wall. The hole is about the size of a fist and placed at a telling height, and there’s another door beside it.
“Woah!” Dean’s eyes are wide. “Do you think there’s someone in there?”
“Knock and see if someone answers, I guess?”
Dean’s knocks get no response. He opens the door, looks around and vanishes inside.
Sam startles when Dean’s mouth and chin becomes visible in the hole.
“There’s tissues, condoms and packets of single use mouth wash in here.” Dean’s voice sounds interested and amused and Sam’s dick gives a twitch.
“What do you say, Sammy? Wanna try it out?”
Now Dean’s eye looks out at him, and he feels caught out, flushing and squirming. He coughs, “I thought the whole point was anonymity.”
“Take a walk and come back? Who knows who will be in here then.”
Sam can’t tell if Dean’s putting him on or if he’s serious, and it’s both off-putting and exhilarating. His dick is throbbing in his pants now.
Dean comes out again with a huge glint in his eye. Sam tries his best to walk normally with his pants full of ghost-hunting remedies and the boner from hell. Dean keeps smirking, but doesn’t comment as they head back to the main area.
They get more beer. Sam puts his to his forehead in an attempt to calm down and get a grip.
Sam doesn’t answer; he’s caught up in the conversation in the booth next to them. Two guys are discussing the terms of a “scene”. Sam doesn’t know what a scene is, but he can guess. The men agree on humiliation, no pain, Japanese ropes (whatever that is), and no leather or rubber. What puzzles Sam most is their argument over a “safeword”, but then the guy insisting on the safeword explains exactly why he won’t settle for a simple “stop”, and Sam gets it.
Dean is also listening intently. He opens his mouth to comment but is cut off because a female voice is announcing the start of the floor show. Both brothers and everyone else turn their heads towards the scene area.
The light above the stage brightens and the audience fades into the shadows. A man in a suit comes out from behind the scene, bringing a simple chair with him. He places it directly opposite the strange sex furniture. There’s a hush to the room then as the music fades down. Heads turn as the door behind the stage opens again.
Slowly, slowly, a woman steps out in the room. She is tall and elegant in a blue silk robe, with dark shiny hair falling down to her calves, and her head fully clad in an intricate owl mask. It should look funny, but it isn’t as it’s so cleverly done that it seems like a natural part of her, and perfectly in place. The man commands, low and clear, “Come out here.”
She glides towards him like a ballet dancer, in fact so light that Sam’s momentarily wondering if he’s looking at an apparition – is this their ghost? She continues until she is halted by a clipped “Stop”. Now she’s standing just opposite from the seated, calmly waiting man. As if a trick done by invisible hands, her robe falls down revealing an exquisite body: pearly white skin, long limbs and a web of fine, glittering body jewelry adorning her slightly pear-shaped torso. The audience gasps and the female voice speaks again:
“Please welcome Henry and Ona!”
The applause is thunderous, and Sam can only congratulate himself on his perfect angle to the stage. Sam spares a glance for Dean, and Dean seems transfixed by the sight also.
The man, Henry, rises from his chair and takes Ona lightly by the hand. From the passiveness of her movements, Sam suddenly gets that she is blindfolded by her mask. She can’t see the stage or the audience. How must it be to be up there and only feel the eyes and hear the gasps and murmurs from the people around you?
Henry leads her to lay on her stomach on the furniture. It’s construction leaves her lying with her bottom pointing upwards. Henry then presses her knees even higher up and out to the sides, and it leaves her ass cheeks and sex exposed to the audience. It becomes obvious that parts of her body jewelry are fastened to piercings in her labia. When she spreads her thighs, her labia are spread out too. Sam wonders if it is hurting her, but he can see no hesitancy in her movements; she just bends and moves to Henry’s hands like a model doll. It is also apparent that she’s glistening wet between her legs. The audience gives another appreciative round of applause.
The man then produces what looks like three crystal balls. He lifts them up to the lights and lets them roll in his palm like a juggler. They are quite large, barely contained by his long fingers and catch the light magnificently. He then takes one in his other hand and tips it towards her vulva. The ball glides forward and is swallowed by her smooth sex like a magic trick. The same happens with the second ball.
The third ball goes just halfway in at first, but vanishes when the man starts gently rubbing her butt-cheeks and inner thighs. Sam hears low moans now and realizes that they are coming from the woman, Ona.
Sam’s cock is pounding and he holds back a few moans of his own. He steals a quick glance at Dean again – Dean is sweating and pressing the heel of his right hand against his crotch. The sight gives Sam’s stomach a deep jolt.
Henry leans down towards Ona’s head and speaks to her, really low; people quiet to catch his words. He says, “You are so good for me, so perfect,” and she moans again in answer, louder and more like wailing. He keeps rubbing her ass and thighs, rises up again, casts a look around the audience and says in a commanding voice, “Come for me,” and she just does. She shakes and cries out and her sex glitters as the crystal balls inside her are juggled up and catches the gleam from the stage lights.
“So good, so good,” Henry praises her. He waits until she has calmed down and says, “Give me.” She pushes out, one, two, three crystals. “And..?” he says, half reprovingly, and she pushes again. A long red glass staff slowly, slowly emerges out of her asshole and is delivered into his waiting hand. Her muscle control is simply breathtaking.
“Good, good.” He eases her knees together again and guides her back upright. She curtsies and he takes a bow and the applause is thunderous. Without further ado, he picks up her robe, dresses her and leads her out by her hand. They disappear through the stage door together.
“Wow!” Dean looks over at Sam. “That’s…”
He is cut short again by the announcer’s “Club Z hopes you have had a great time enjoying the skills and creativity of our main artists this evening: Henry and Ona! Give them a hand!” The audience applauds some more.
“And thank you, for being a great audience! We’ll have a short break before we get to the final part of tonight’s entertainment, the “Improv”. If you are thinking about contributing to the improv part of our show, please give your details to one of our staff and we will get back to you.” The mic is shut down and the stage lights dimmed.
“Shit. That was some impressive pussy control.”
Sam doesn’t know what to say, so he looks over to the bartender, who gestures “Two?”, to which he nods. It takes a while before they get their beers, as it seems most of the rest of the club-goers also want some refreshments between the acts. The brothers don’t talk while they wait, both much too gob-smacked and thoughtful to have anything smart to relate.
The beers take their toll; Sam goes to get some relief. When he comes back out, the stage lights are on again and a couple of young men are standing there, each making their small bows to the audience, both grinning broadly. One nods to the other, who starts undressing. The guy not undressing clears his throat and announces, “Um, hi. I’m Steve and that’s Greg.” Greg gives a wave as he’s placing his clothes on the ground.
“We’ve got nothing sophisticated planned like Henry and Ona earlier, but if you’d like to participate and got a big cock, we’d love to get you up here with us. We have a few rules: everybody stays safe, as in wears a condom. If you are cocked and ready,” – the audience laughs – “you find yourself a place in the queue and wait ’til it’s your turn. Then you get one minute with Greg’s ass. If you don’t blow your load, you can get back in the queue as many times as you want until I call it quits. Any questions?”
There are a few questions, but the queue is already forming and Greg climbs on to the sex furniture. He chooses a position that allows him to brace for it: his ass much lower than Ona’s earlier. His hole looks swollen and glistening and Sam understands that he has prepared for this. Steve is also placing a basket of condoms and a magnum flask of lube next to Greg’s legs, easy to reach for the participants. Sam can hardly believe what he is seeing.
“Can you believe this?” Dean is echoing his thoughts exactly.
“Pretty sick, yeah, but…” He doesn’t say “hot” out loud, but Dean nods as if he heard it anyway.
The first customer starts out, no nonsense, just wraps and lubes his hefty equipment and rams it straight in. Greg gasps, but it’s obviously a good gasp as Greg keeps moaning, panting and even shouting through the shifts of participants – he’s loud as hell. The sounds are really getting to Sam; it’s like each outlet talks straight to his dick. He is sweating and shifting in his chair.
The show both seems to last and play out really fast before their eyes. Greg must have taken at least seven guys by now and there are perhaps five more waiting, plus a woman with a red strap-on dildo.
Dean nudges Sam with his elbow, and Sam says, “Yes, I see her.”
Dean, breathless, says, “That’s some kinky lady!”
Sam eyes Dean’s crotch again. He feels like he’s going to burst and by the looks of it, Dean’s dick is trying to claw its way out too.
Dean turns and eyes him.
“I think I’ll take a stroll and see what’s going on in the back.”
Dean eyes him sceptically and starts on something, but then suddenly shuts his mouth as the right idea strikes him.
“You sure, Sam?”
Sam nods and looks Dean straight in the eye to be sure that they are on the same wavelength.
Dean flushes and watches him as Sam moves for the dark corridor; looking behind him to see if Dean will follow. Dean has already put his feet to the floor and glances at his wristwatch to give Sam a good head start.
Shit. They’re really doing this.
Sam finds the room with the glory hole again without problem, then goes in and closes the door behind him. He kneels on the vinyl padding right below the hole and opens his fly. No point in wasting the time as he waits, he just has to make sure he doesn’t come. If he does, he’ll never be able to go through with this.
Someone comes into the room outside the hole and Sam knows those steps like his own. There’s a knock on the wall and Sam knocks back. He is just about to lean forward when he becomes aware that his breath is showing like there’s frost in the air.
“Dean! It’s here! It’s in here!”
He looks over his shoulder and the ghost – a wispy, ghoulish hag-like apparition – is flying out from the corner heading straight for him. The door bangs open.
They manage to ban the ghost temporarily by giving her steel and a spray of holy water, but the commotion brings out the staff, and in turn one of the owners. Sam has fortunately managed to straighten his clothes before that, though he wonders if anyone would have been bothered anyway.
After a lot of explaining, urging, and quite a few lies, the manager confesses that the building (the former insane asylum) was once owned by a wealthy widow, and that there had been rumors she had had ungodly things done to the poor head-cases that her establishment provided for.
The renovators had found strange markings on the floors and ceilings back when they furnished and decorated for the club, but they had covered them and not thought any more of it until the persons started to go missing. Since then, they had become more and more worried without knowing what to do about the disappearances and the strange occurrences.
The directions to the widow’s place at the local cemetery; though, they knew well enough. The Winchesters didn’t need to discuss it – the night was young and the gasoline combustible.
Chapter 7: Long-leggedy Beasties
On the way back to the motel, encased in the comfortingly familiar smell of Impala, fuel, dirt and ashes, Dean eyes Sam real quickly, then he looks back on the road and says, “So, safeword. Do you have one?”
Sam startles and glances back. “No, but I can find one?”
Dean doesn’t answer, so Sam tries, “Chickflick?”
Dean laughs, but in a friendly, yet half-embarrassed way, “That’ll kill the mood, yeah.”
Sam stills a bit, but replies, “You?”
The old Creedence car tape is shifting to “Up Around The Bend” and Sam thinks that fits fairly well.
Nothing more is said until they reach the motel, but Sam’s dick is back up and getting harder every time Dean steals a glance at him. Both of them are grinning slightly; small, amazed smiles are tugging at the corners of their mouths. They keep looking away, then back at each other, then back away again, suppressing new grins. It is getting closer to dawn and a thin strip of light is visible on the horizon up ahead.
Finally, finally inside the motel door, Sam presses Dean up against it and draws in a deep lungful of brother: burning ghost, leather jacket, gasoline and arousal. It makes Sam dizzy and weak in the knees.
Dean pushes him hard, and before he knows it Sam is laying across the bed. From his horizontal position he hears Dean mending the salt-line past their threshold, but then Dean’s pausing, studying the bed-frame somewhat frantically and Sam realizes there’s no obvious place to tie anything. They always have rope at hand, but the bed is set on a square case without legs, and there’s no head or foot board attached.
Sam spreads his limbs out like a starfish anyway and assures, “I won’t move, I swear.”
Dean exhales loudly. The whites of his eyes around blown pupils makes him look wild in the half-light of their room. They’re both fully clothed, but he crawls on top and leans up to Sam’s ear and husks, “I’ll fuck anything evil right out of you; you know that, don’t you? I’ll fuck you so hard that there won’t be place for anything other than me inside you.”
Sam almost blacks out, his blood rushes so hard southwards.
Dean scoots down and tries to open Sam’s fly with his teeth, but luckily thinks better off it and opens it with his fingers before Sam breaks his vow and opens it for him. Then Dean’s mouth is on him and it is heaven.
Sam feels and looks and can’t believe what he is seeing, but soon a wave of “Coming! Now!” is hitting him too hard to be stopped. Dean doesn’t let up, just follows him through it – what seems like an endless orgasm is rushing out of him in streams coming from his fingers, his toes, the marrow of his back and the roots of his hair.
When he finally opens his eyes again, Dean slowly lets Sam’s twitching cock slip out of his mouth and says with come glistening on his dark red lips, “Christo.”
Sam laughs slackly and play-cuffs him over the ear, but the movement turns into a caress that brings Dean up to head level again. Sam kisses Dean’s neck and Dean hugs him back.
Sam almost nods off before he realizes that one, Dean hasn’t come and two, they are filthier than chimney sweeps.
They peel off their clothes and head to the bathroom, Dean first. It’s awkward for just a moment as they cram into the tiny stall – the bathroom lights are a little too revealing, and Sam is painfully reminded that this naked person right here is his brother who has taken care of him, quarreled with him and been there for him all his life. Dean eyes him warily like he sees what he’s thinking, and Sam grits his teeth. It’s not like this is that much of a hardship for him. He follows Dean in under the spray. The water feels like heaven over sweaty, sticky skin.
Dean groans as Sam leans in over him in a full body touch. Dean is almost shaking by now, dick violently red and Sam can relate. It’s been only minutes since he was there himself.
They cover each other with cheap motel soap; it smells like hospital, but it works. The last remnants of ghost hag soon give up their claim and disappear down the drain.
Sam lets his hand fold around Dean’s enthusiastic dick, nonchalantly like he is just going to wash it and Dean starts a protest, but then just drapes himself along Sam’s body and hangs on while Sam starts pumping him for real, moaning and clutching at Sam’s chest and waist.
Soon, spurt after spurt are pumping along Sam’s abs, making gooey tracks along both of their bodies. Sam keeps them both upright and kisses Dean’s temple in thanks for the gift of getting to share this, to experience the wonder that is Dean coming in his hand.
They head for the beds again, sluggishly now. Dean is turning his feet in the direction of his own bed. It is all messed up from their first round, but Sam calls him over to share his. They hit the lights and fall asleep within seconds.
Sam wakes with Dean’s boner slick against his stomach. He eases a hand down and rubs lightly until Dean wakes from it. Dean doesn’t say anything, just grins and rolls over to his stomach. Sam’s heart nearly stops.
“Uh, don’t we need lube?”
Dean gets up in a hurry and grabs the bottle out of his bag. Sam throws off the bedspread and Dean stops in his tracks to take in the sight of his long-legged giant of a brother laid out hard and aching for him.
He then crawls on top of Sam and rises up on his knees, offering Sam the lube. Sam can’t do anything but reach for Dean’s ass with shaking, lubed up fingers. After a bit of fumbling, wriggling, and much gasping, Sam scoots upwards and manages to aim his red, hot cock-head up towards Dean’s slick heat. Dean starts easing downwards.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, your giant-ass dick..!”
The words are garbled and reflects Sam’s state of mind perfectly. His dick strains against Dean’s rim, but suddenly he pushes through.
“Ow, fuck shit!”
The obvious hurt in Dean’s voice is sobering and Sam manages to lie perfectly still as Dean gets his breath back. Slowly, slowly, they start moving again, together this time.
The feeling is unbelievable. Sam tries to take the lead, slow and steady, but the slow, torturous burn of it soon gets to be too much; his hold on Dean’s hips starts to shake, so when Dean gasps, “Just go for it!” Sam does. Sam is a fit, skilled, well-rested man in the peak of his adulthood and he lets loose all of that power in one crazy ride. He drives into Dean with every fiber of his body, again and again until he sees stars and comes in Dean’s ass, until Dean sees stars and comes all over Sam’s stomach, and both end up so sweaty and sticky that they can hardly feel where one is ending and the other’s beginning.
It is bliss and Sam is contemplating falling right back to sleep again, right here, just like this.
“Christ-o”, sighs Dean and they both laugh tired laughs, colored by warmth and intimacy.
Sam kisses Dean’s temple again, as retaliation.
He can’t remember nodding off, but a nagging thought brings him back to reality. It is full light outside their window now.
“Dean? You awake?”
“Will you… will we be weird now?”
“That’s my safeword!”
Dean just laughs and curls the arm he’s holding Sam with tighter around him. They are together. They are safe.