SPN fic -- Knowledge is Power 1/1
Aug. 22nd, 2007 02:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vanillafluffyTitle: Knowledge is Power
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
vanillafluffy
Rating: Totally NC-17, NOT work safe
Pairing: Dean/Carmen, both consenting fictional adults
Summary: Playing doctor can be fun! Dean has a real good time bottoming.
Author's Notes: This was written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_summerlove, which producted some excellent stories. The request was for Dean and Carmen, if Dean had stayed in the Wish-verse. I paid attention to my recipient's stated kinks and pushed myself to a whole new level of hardcore. (D/s, fisting, pegging, toys....) Betaed by the always-delightful starhawk2005.
Knowledge is Power
Guys all over Lawrence, Kansas know Dean Winchester. His co-workers at State Street Automotive are familiar with the mechanic who can diagnose a ping or a rattle before the vehicle ever gets hooked up to the dynamometer. Patrons at local watering holes, like the Packard Grille and Shay's Lounge, know his skill with a pool cue. His fishing buddies can attest to his prowess at camping. He has a never-ending stock of dirty jokes, a wicked right cross, and a reputation as a wild man.
Carmen Porter knows even a rough, tough guy has his vulnerabilities, and there are few positions more vulnerable than wearing just a smock that opens in the back, being bent over and waiting for something with the potential to be very unpleasant. She smiles with anticipation as she reaches into the dresser drawer and pulls out a rubber glove. "Are you sure your insurance will cover this?" she asks, running her hand over the smooth curve of his ass.
"Are you sure I need this procedure?" he retorts, grinning up at the pretty brunette. 'Insurance' is their safe word---it's about as unsexy as anything gets, so when he ignores her question, she knows he's ready to play.
"I assure you, Dean---this is just what you need." She draws the glove down over the fingers of her right hand, tugging it well above her wrist. When she lets it snap into place, an expectant shudder runs over his firm body.
"You're the doctor," he smirks. She's not, that's the point; she's a humble radiology technician who takes orders from doctors all day long. Here in their bedroom, though, she's in charge, and all those guys who think they know Dean Winchester would never believe how meekly he'll submit to her imperious demands.
Fourteen months ago, she wasn't impressed with the leering drunk who'd been sent by upstairs the ER to have his hand x-rayed. He'd gotten into a fight with some other drunk and broken two bones in his hand when the other guy ducked and Dean punched a cinder-block wall. "Good reason not to get drunk and play pool, huh?" she said with zero sympathy. Her shift was just ending, and dealing with a chump in a leather jacket who thought he was Kansas's answer to Brad Pitt was annoying.
When she got out of the building, she'd found him in the parking lot and snatched his keys away from him---the idiot thought he was going to drive home with a cast on his hand and a blood-alcohol level that would probably pickle herring. Instead of hollering for security---it was Saturday night and she knew Bob would be trying to keep the ER from going to DefCon One---she ended up driving him home. Somehow helping him upstairs to his apartment turned into helping him into bed, and at some point in the proceedings, his sleazy charm had worked its magic: she spent the night administering the most basic of all painkillers.
They might not have lasted as a couple if Dean hadn't shown up at her place one evening after a particularly bad day---two of the staff doctors were playing "My patient is sicker than your patient!", with the radiology department in the middle, and Carmen was on the edge. A wisecrack about PMSing got on her last nerve, and she snapped. She told him to get down on his knees and kiss her ass if he thought he was gonna get any, and that was only the beginning. Dean's wide-eyed obedience to her commands was a welcome revelation.
Now, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, she's "treating" him again, but this time, it's all for thrills. Dean's bent over the dresser, which has been padded with a folded towel. The hospital gown he's wearing flutters saucily, framing his exposed posterior. Her fingers trail down the crease, stopping at the tight pucker hidden away at its source. She has an applicator of lube ready. One of the convenient things about her job is the access to supplies and paraphernalia. An old hospital gown? No problem! Gloves? Nothing easier. A partially-empty industrial-sized jug of K-Y? Okay, that had taken a little finessing to smuggle out, but as long as there's a fresh bottle on hand when someone needs it, no one at the hospital pays that much attention.
Two latex-clad fingers, generously lubricated, squirm their way into his anus. He gets off on a finger or two in his ass as part of foreplay, so she does this part of the procedure often enough not to have undue resistance. When she works her third finger in, adding extra lube, she's aware of his trembling tension. "Relax, Dean," she murmurs. "We're just getting started."
"Okay, Doc," he gasps as Carmen eases her pinkie finger in. "I know it's medically necessary, right?" Right. He needs to relax and not be the Wild Man of Lawrence, needs to surrender as much as she needs to be in charge in some aspect of her life.
Her hands are dainty, and she introduces the fingers of her right hand into the elastic ring of muscle with a gradual twisting motion, stretching the opening a little at a time. She's got those four fingers stacked so that her index finger is under her middle finger and her pinky is tucked under her ring finger. There's just enough of a gap between her index finger and pinky for her to get the tip of her thumb in there without a struggle.
They're getting to the good part. They don't do this often, because it could cause long-term problems, but when she does prescribe a session of submissive penetration, Dean always ends up enjoying himself. It's really a guilty pleasure for him---none of the guys who know him suspect he's capable of being anyone's bitch. Not that she'd ever sting his ego by phrasing it quite that way....
Her knuckles are the problem; it's the widest part of her hand, and there's only so far she can compress them. She draws the four fingers back slightly, prompting a sharp intake of breath from her patient. More K-Y. She's a firm believer that there's no such thing as too much lube when it comes to any variety of butt sex. Slow and careful---no one gets hurt, it's not about hurting him---though she can think of a few Medical Deities she'd like to do this to with a lot more forcefulness and a lot less lube.
The ragged tempo of his breathing tells her he's having a problem---he never wants to admit it---but it always happens right about now, just as she's got the thickest part of her fist lodged in the narrow opening to his rectum. She keeps her voice encouraging. "Still with me, Dean?"
"Uh-huh," he groans, but the shallow gasps tell another story. Carmen stops pressing forward---right now he's about two inches away from having her hand in him up to the wrist---and with her ungloved hand, reaches out to check his carotid pulse.
"Breathe," she coaches him. "Take a deep breath. In, in, in---hold! That's it, hold...good. Focus on your breath. No, not your ass! Breathe in---"
After a couple of minutes, when she judges that he's no longer in danger of hyperventilating, when he's as relaxed as he's going to be in the position he's in, she folds her fingers over her thumb in the classic "Got your nose!" position, and bores into him. "That's it," she reassures him as a noise suspiciously like a sob escapes him.
Under the scrubs she's wearing to make their game more real, she's commando, and she feels her own moisture threatening to run down her legs. How did she ever get so lucky, she wonders, wringing more exciting sounds from him with the smallest shift of her hand. Everyone thinks Dean is the Wild Man of Lawrence, and here he is, letting her stuff her fist into his ass and whimpering as she uncurls her fingers to stroke lightly at his prostate.
With her free hand, Carmen strokes the tarnished silver bristles of his crew cut. "You're doing great," she encourages him. "That was the worst part. Just breathe." She bends over to kiss the back of his neck, gloved fingers probing the most intimate recesses of his body.
Deep in his throat, he makes a whining noise that causes her nipples to get even harder than they already were. Carmen revels in the sound as she teases his prostate. He's beginning to squirm, surrendering himself to what she's doing, but she doesn't want him to get off quite yet. "I'm going to withdraw now," she warns him, and his groan has a ring of disappointment. Too bad, she has other plans for his ass. "I need you to relax and push, if you can."
Getting out is easier than getting in. Dean exhales loudly as her hand slithers free. "Great job," she praises him, and kisses a satiny asscheek. She peels the glove off and drops it into the wastebasket. "Wait there. Don't try to get up yet." She starts for the bathroom, and seeing his hand move toward his crotch, she adds, "And don't touch yourself!" Another frustrated groan, and she smiles as she prepares for phase two.
It's amazing what he'll do when he's told to...it didn't come about overnight, but Carmen has figured it out. Dean's daddy had died a couple of months before they met, and he'd been acting out ever since. He needed someone to set some boundaries for him---his mom wasn't going to do it. Widowed after more than thirty years, Mary was too lost to bring her wayward son to heel. The late John Winchester was a Marine, and from what she's pieced together, he didn't cut his sons a whole lot of slack growing up. Dean needs a firm hand once in a while---she nearly giggles at the irony---instead of the pushover chicks he usually went for...past tense, because he's hers, now.
Carmen saunters into the bathroom and runs the water in the sink until it's steaming. Meanwhile, she sheds her scrubs, and lets down her hair, brown waves falling to frame her face and tickle the curves of her breasts. She soaks a hand towel, wringing it out and bringing it back to the bedroom. Now it's time to untie the hospital gown and wipe him off. Dean sighs with pleasure as the heated towel swabs away the sweat sticking to his back and ribs, arching into the caress like a big cat as it glides down his asscrack, blotting away the water-based lube and playing with his still-gaping hole.
"I want you to get on the bed," she tells him, rummaging deeper in the drawer the paraphernalia lives in, "on your elbows and knees, ass in the air. Go on." He silently assumes the position, angling himself so he can watch the action in the mirror on the closet door.
First, she puts on the little venus massager that nestles against her bare mound. Over it, she straps on the tool she's going to use to fuck him. The adult mega-store where she bought the dildo had a variety of sizes, from shrimp to Shamu; this one is a modest size---it's smaller than Dean himself, so he can't accuse her of trying to kill him with it---but she knows from experience that it'll get the job done. A condom on the dildo, a fresh glove for her right hand...she's ready to rock and roll!
As she moves behind him, she spares a moment to admire the view. Dean is more than just a handsome face; his body could've been sculpted by a master artist of the Renaissance. He's got shoulders out to there, and his arms are corded with muscle. There's a pleasing geometry to the way those broad shoulders taper to a well-defined waist, and his ass...some day, she's going to lose control and take a bite out of it---or at least leave some extreme teethmarks. It's so perfectly rounded, dusted with the palest golden fuzz, like a ripe peach....
For a moment, Carmen teases his stretched hole, trying to get it to contract some more. She can tell he's trying to help---there are little spasms as he attempts to clench around her fingers---with her bare hand, she reaches beneath his flat belly to give his erect cock a light squeeze, the first time she's touched him there since they began. "Guess what?" she croons to him. "I'm going to give you a choice. How do you want me to fuck you today? Would you like a long, slow screw, or do you want it hard and fast?"
"What were the choices again?" he asks, and she swats him across the rump for his impudence.
"Dean, if you get sassy with me, I'm going to pretend you called me 'Babe'," she says sternly. He's only done that once, but Carmen gave him hell for it. She scolded him with, "'Babe' is a pig, and you'd better not be calling me a pig!" Unstrapping the dildo, she left it lodged inside him, and flogged him with a doubled-up piece of plastic tubing, not allowing him relief. The punishment had left minor bruising, and he'd been sore for the next couple days. The offense had not recurred.
"Carmen---Doctor Carmen!---I would never say that!" he protests, and she fancies there's a note of panic in his voice as she reaches for the bottle of lube.
"So answer the question."
He gives her his most charming smile. "I have total faith in your judgment, Doc," he blarneys.
"Good answer," she responds, licking her lips with anticipation, letting the slick latex-clad cock drift against the curve of his buns. He tenses, and she rolls her eyes. "You know you're going to love this. There's no point in getting all stressed out about it...unless your insurance isn't up to date."
"Do what you've gotta do, Doc," he says, sounding firm and resolute and nervous all at once, and she loves him. For all his uncertainty, he goes along with her games. Soon he'll be moaning with pleasure, and she plans to wring it out of him until he's limp and pliant. So....
She penetrates him with one deliberate thrust, gripping his hips to keep him steady as she rams home. His reaction isn't as severe as receiving her fist, but he gasps as she grinds it into him. The impact causes the venus massager to press against her throbbing clit, but she doesn't turn the little toy on yet. Instead, she rubs herself against it, making the length of plastic prod his rectum more deeply. When she finally draws back, Dean moans and leans back into it, so she gives her hips a quick pump, wringing another grunt from him. It becomes a rhythm: thrust and retreat and follow and thrust....
Retreat, follow, thrust: Carmen watches his face in the mirror---his eyes are out of focus, his mouth ajar as he gulps for air. Dean's probably not aware of the noises he's making, little incoherent syllables as he writhes on the artificial cock. It's a frantic sound, the pitch imploring...he's close, he has to be.... Her own tension is almost unendurable. All she has to do is thumb the switch and the massager will finish the job on them both, but she waits until her patient moans, "Please!"
The buzz drowns out everything for a moment, then he bucks beneath her and waves of pleasure roar over her and she rides the spasms, rides him, feeling his ass gripping the rigid tool and the venus massager throbbing in time with her pulse and the keening of her partner in extremis.
As the thrashing subsides and he shudders beneath her, she stills the device. Unbuckles the straps on the harness, leaving him impaled as she makes her way unsteadily to the bathroom, giving him the option to keep it in, or not. Her thighs are trembling in the aftermath of her climax. She sets the venus massager on the vanity---she'll tend to it later---and soaks a washcloth and another towel. The washcloth is for her; she's gooey with spattered lube and her own juices.
When she returns to the bedroom, he's rolled onto his back, and the dildo has escaped its hiding place. She'll have to change the sheets---they and he both are sticky with ejaculate. Carmen's not much of a snuggler, but she loves to fuck every bit as much as Dean enjoys being fucked. They've settled on this clean-up ritual as a way to make him feel good without making demands she's not comfortable with. He sighs gratefully as she cleanses him, his eyes soft with pleasure and a dreamy smile on his lips. From past experience, she knows he'll be languid with relaxation for the rest of the day, and the way he's yawning, he's going to doze off for an afternoon nap.
"Love you, Doc," he says drowsily.
The phone rings about twenty minutes after Dean's begun to snore, and she catches it before the second ring.
Carmen recognizes the voice of one of her lover's buddies, who wants to know if Dean has any plans for tomorrow. Something about helping replace transmission seals, which is clearly a guy's idea of fun, and he'll probably love it.
"I'll give him the message, Kevin," she assures the crony. "He polished off a plate of nachos and nodded off on the couch during the ball game." A macho fib never hurts--- "I wouldn't dare wake him up---" ---helps make it sound like the Wild Man of Lawrence rules the roost--- "---but I'll let him know you called. He had a few beers, so it might be a while." ---so that once again, the guys who think they know Dean Winchester don't know as much as they think they do.
The End
***
Comments are shiny.
Author:
vanillafluffy Rating: Totally NC-17, NOT work safe
Pairing: Dean/Carmen, both consenting fictional adults
Summary: Playing doctor can be fun! Dean has a real good time bottoming.
Author's Notes: This was written for
spn_summerlove, which producted some excellent stories. The request was for Dean and Carmen, if Dean had stayed in the Wish-verse. I paid attention to my recipient's stated kinks and pushed myself to a whole new level of hardcore. (D/s, fisting, pegging, toys....) Betaed by the always-delightful starhawk2005.Guys all over Lawrence, Kansas know Dean Winchester. His co-workers at State Street Automotive are familiar with the mechanic who can diagnose a ping or a rattle before the vehicle ever gets hooked up to the dynamometer. Patrons at local watering holes, like the Packard Grille and Shay's Lounge, know his skill with a pool cue. His fishing buddies can attest to his prowess at camping. He has a never-ending stock of dirty jokes, a wicked right cross, and a reputation as a wild man.
Carmen Porter knows even a rough, tough guy has his vulnerabilities, and there are few positions more vulnerable than wearing just a smock that opens in the back, being bent over and waiting for something with the potential to be very unpleasant. She smiles with anticipation as she reaches into the dresser drawer and pulls out a rubber glove. "Are you sure your insurance will cover this?" she asks, running her hand over the smooth curve of his ass.
"Are you sure I need this procedure?" he retorts, grinning up at the pretty brunette. 'Insurance' is their safe word---it's about as unsexy as anything gets, so when he ignores her question, she knows he's ready to play.
"I assure you, Dean---this is just what you need." She draws the glove down over the fingers of her right hand, tugging it well above her wrist. When she lets it snap into place, an expectant shudder runs over his firm body.
"You're the doctor," he smirks. She's not, that's the point; she's a humble radiology technician who takes orders from doctors all day long. Here in their bedroom, though, she's in charge, and all those guys who think they know Dean Winchester would never believe how meekly he'll submit to her imperious demands.
Fourteen months ago, she wasn't impressed with the leering drunk who'd been sent by upstairs the ER to have his hand x-rayed. He'd gotten into a fight with some other drunk and broken two bones in his hand when the other guy ducked and Dean punched a cinder-block wall. "Good reason not to get drunk and play pool, huh?" she said with zero sympathy. Her shift was just ending, and dealing with a chump in a leather jacket who thought he was Kansas's answer to Brad Pitt was annoying.
When she got out of the building, she'd found him in the parking lot and snatched his keys away from him---the idiot thought he was going to drive home with a cast on his hand and a blood-alcohol level that would probably pickle herring. Instead of hollering for security---it was Saturday night and she knew Bob would be trying to keep the ER from going to DefCon One---she ended up driving him home. Somehow helping him upstairs to his apartment turned into helping him into bed, and at some point in the proceedings, his sleazy charm had worked its magic: she spent the night administering the most basic of all painkillers.
They might not have lasted as a couple if Dean hadn't shown up at her place one evening after a particularly bad day---two of the staff doctors were playing "My patient is sicker than your patient!", with the radiology department in the middle, and Carmen was on the edge. A wisecrack about PMSing got on her last nerve, and she snapped. She told him to get down on his knees and kiss her ass if he thought he was gonna get any, and that was only the beginning. Dean's wide-eyed obedience to her commands was a welcome revelation.
Now, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, she's "treating" him again, but this time, it's all for thrills. Dean's bent over the dresser, which has been padded with a folded towel. The hospital gown he's wearing flutters saucily, framing his exposed posterior. Her fingers trail down the crease, stopping at the tight pucker hidden away at its source. She has an applicator of lube ready. One of the convenient things about her job is the access to supplies and paraphernalia. An old hospital gown? No problem! Gloves? Nothing easier. A partially-empty industrial-sized jug of K-Y? Okay, that had taken a little finessing to smuggle out, but as long as there's a fresh bottle on hand when someone needs it, no one at the hospital pays that much attention.
Two latex-clad fingers, generously lubricated, squirm their way into his anus. He gets off on a finger or two in his ass as part of foreplay, so she does this part of the procedure often enough not to have undue resistance. When she works her third finger in, adding extra lube, she's aware of his trembling tension. "Relax, Dean," she murmurs. "We're just getting started."
"Okay, Doc," he gasps as Carmen eases her pinkie finger in. "I know it's medically necessary, right?" Right. He needs to relax and not be the Wild Man of Lawrence, needs to surrender as much as she needs to be in charge in some aspect of her life.
Her hands are dainty, and she introduces the fingers of her right hand into the elastic ring of muscle with a gradual twisting motion, stretching the opening a little at a time. She's got those four fingers stacked so that her index finger is under her middle finger and her pinky is tucked under her ring finger. There's just enough of a gap between her index finger and pinky for her to get the tip of her thumb in there without a struggle.
They're getting to the good part. They don't do this often, because it could cause long-term problems, but when she does prescribe a session of submissive penetration, Dean always ends up enjoying himself. It's really a guilty pleasure for him---none of the guys who know him suspect he's capable of being anyone's bitch. Not that she'd ever sting his ego by phrasing it quite that way....
Her knuckles are the problem; it's the widest part of her hand, and there's only so far she can compress them. She draws the four fingers back slightly, prompting a sharp intake of breath from her patient. More K-Y. She's a firm believer that there's no such thing as too much lube when it comes to any variety of butt sex. Slow and careful---no one gets hurt, it's not about hurting him---though she can think of a few Medical Deities she'd like to do this to with a lot more forcefulness and a lot less lube.
The ragged tempo of his breathing tells her he's having a problem---he never wants to admit it---but it always happens right about now, just as she's got the thickest part of her fist lodged in the narrow opening to his rectum. She keeps her voice encouraging. "Still with me, Dean?"
"Uh-huh," he groans, but the shallow gasps tell another story. Carmen stops pressing forward---right now he's about two inches away from having her hand in him up to the wrist---and with her ungloved hand, reaches out to check his carotid pulse.
"Breathe," she coaches him. "Take a deep breath. In, in, in---hold! That's it, hold...good. Focus on your breath. No, not your ass! Breathe in---"
After a couple of minutes, when she judges that he's no longer in danger of hyperventilating, when he's as relaxed as he's going to be in the position he's in, she folds her fingers over her thumb in the classic "Got your nose!" position, and bores into him. "That's it," she reassures him as a noise suspiciously like a sob escapes him.
Under the scrubs she's wearing to make their game more real, she's commando, and she feels her own moisture threatening to run down her legs. How did she ever get so lucky, she wonders, wringing more exciting sounds from him with the smallest shift of her hand. Everyone thinks Dean is the Wild Man of Lawrence, and here he is, letting her stuff her fist into his ass and whimpering as she uncurls her fingers to stroke lightly at his prostate.
With her free hand, Carmen strokes the tarnished silver bristles of his crew cut. "You're doing great," she encourages him. "That was the worst part. Just breathe." She bends over to kiss the back of his neck, gloved fingers probing the most intimate recesses of his body.
Deep in his throat, he makes a whining noise that causes her nipples to get even harder than they already were. Carmen revels in the sound as she teases his prostate. He's beginning to squirm, surrendering himself to what she's doing, but she doesn't want him to get off quite yet. "I'm going to withdraw now," she warns him, and his groan has a ring of disappointment. Too bad, she has other plans for his ass. "I need you to relax and push, if you can."
Getting out is easier than getting in. Dean exhales loudly as her hand slithers free. "Great job," she praises him, and kisses a satiny asscheek. She peels the glove off and drops it into the wastebasket. "Wait there. Don't try to get up yet." She starts for the bathroom, and seeing his hand move toward his crotch, she adds, "And don't touch yourself!" Another frustrated groan, and she smiles as she prepares for phase two.
It's amazing what he'll do when he's told to...it didn't come about overnight, but Carmen has figured it out. Dean's daddy had died a couple of months before they met, and he'd been acting out ever since. He needed someone to set some boundaries for him---his mom wasn't going to do it. Widowed after more than thirty years, Mary was too lost to bring her wayward son to heel. The late John Winchester was a Marine, and from what she's pieced together, he didn't cut his sons a whole lot of slack growing up. Dean needs a firm hand once in a while---she nearly giggles at the irony---instead of the pushover chicks he usually went for...past tense, because he's hers, now.
Carmen saunters into the bathroom and runs the water in the sink until it's steaming. Meanwhile, she sheds her scrubs, and lets down her hair, brown waves falling to frame her face and tickle the curves of her breasts. She soaks a hand towel, wringing it out and bringing it back to the bedroom. Now it's time to untie the hospital gown and wipe him off. Dean sighs with pleasure as the heated towel swabs away the sweat sticking to his back and ribs, arching into the caress like a big cat as it glides down his asscrack, blotting away the water-based lube and playing with his still-gaping hole.
"I want you to get on the bed," she tells him, rummaging deeper in the drawer the paraphernalia lives in, "on your elbows and knees, ass in the air. Go on." He silently assumes the position, angling himself so he can watch the action in the mirror on the closet door.
First, she puts on the little venus massager that nestles against her bare mound. Over it, she straps on the tool she's going to use to fuck him. The adult mega-store where she bought the dildo had a variety of sizes, from shrimp to Shamu; this one is a modest size---it's smaller than Dean himself, so he can't accuse her of trying to kill him with it---but she knows from experience that it'll get the job done. A condom on the dildo, a fresh glove for her right hand...she's ready to rock and roll!
As she moves behind him, she spares a moment to admire the view. Dean is more than just a handsome face; his body could've been sculpted by a master artist of the Renaissance. He's got shoulders out to there, and his arms are corded with muscle. There's a pleasing geometry to the way those broad shoulders taper to a well-defined waist, and his ass...some day, she's going to lose control and take a bite out of it---or at least leave some extreme teethmarks. It's so perfectly rounded, dusted with the palest golden fuzz, like a ripe peach....
For a moment, Carmen teases his stretched hole, trying to get it to contract some more. She can tell he's trying to help---there are little spasms as he attempts to clench around her fingers---with her bare hand, she reaches beneath his flat belly to give his erect cock a light squeeze, the first time she's touched him there since they began. "Guess what?" she croons to him. "I'm going to give you a choice. How do you want me to fuck you today? Would you like a long, slow screw, or do you want it hard and fast?"
"What were the choices again?" he asks, and she swats him across the rump for his impudence.
"Dean, if you get sassy with me, I'm going to pretend you called me 'Babe'," she says sternly. He's only done that once, but Carmen gave him hell for it. She scolded him with, "'Babe' is a pig, and you'd better not be calling me a pig!" Unstrapping the dildo, she left it lodged inside him, and flogged him with a doubled-up piece of plastic tubing, not allowing him relief. The punishment had left minor bruising, and he'd been sore for the next couple days. The offense had not recurred.
"Carmen---Doctor Carmen!---I would never say that!" he protests, and she fancies there's a note of panic in his voice as she reaches for the bottle of lube.
"So answer the question."
He gives her his most charming smile. "I have total faith in your judgment, Doc," he blarneys.
"Good answer," she responds, licking her lips with anticipation, letting the slick latex-clad cock drift against the curve of his buns. He tenses, and she rolls her eyes. "You know you're going to love this. There's no point in getting all stressed out about it...unless your insurance isn't up to date."
"Do what you've gotta do, Doc," he says, sounding firm and resolute and nervous all at once, and she loves him. For all his uncertainty, he goes along with her games. Soon he'll be moaning with pleasure, and she plans to wring it out of him until he's limp and pliant. So....
She penetrates him with one deliberate thrust, gripping his hips to keep him steady as she rams home. His reaction isn't as severe as receiving her fist, but he gasps as she grinds it into him. The impact causes the venus massager to press against her throbbing clit, but she doesn't turn the little toy on yet. Instead, she rubs herself against it, making the length of plastic prod his rectum more deeply. When she finally draws back, Dean moans and leans back into it, so she gives her hips a quick pump, wringing another grunt from him. It becomes a rhythm: thrust and retreat and follow and thrust....
Retreat, follow, thrust: Carmen watches his face in the mirror---his eyes are out of focus, his mouth ajar as he gulps for air. Dean's probably not aware of the noises he's making, little incoherent syllables as he writhes on the artificial cock. It's a frantic sound, the pitch imploring...he's close, he has to be.... Her own tension is almost unendurable. All she has to do is thumb the switch and the massager will finish the job on them both, but she waits until her patient moans, "Please!"
The buzz drowns out everything for a moment, then he bucks beneath her and waves of pleasure roar over her and she rides the spasms, rides him, feeling his ass gripping the rigid tool and the venus massager throbbing in time with her pulse and the keening of her partner in extremis.
As the thrashing subsides and he shudders beneath her, she stills the device. Unbuckles the straps on the harness, leaving him impaled as she makes her way unsteadily to the bathroom, giving him the option to keep it in, or not. Her thighs are trembling in the aftermath of her climax. She sets the venus massager on the vanity---she'll tend to it later---and soaks a washcloth and another towel. The washcloth is for her; she's gooey with spattered lube and her own juices.
When she returns to the bedroom, he's rolled onto his back, and the dildo has escaped its hiding place. She'll have to change the sheets---they and he both are sticky with ejaculate. Carmen's not much of a snuggler, but she loves to fuck every bit as much as Dean enjoys being fucked. They've settled on this clean-up ritual as a way to make him feel good without making demands she's not comfortable with. He sighs gratefully as she cleanses him, his eyes soft with pleasure and a dreamy smile on his lips. From past experience, she knows he'll be languid with relaxation for the rest of the day, and the way he's yawning, he's going to doze off for an afternoon nap.
"Love you, Doc," he says drowsily.
The phone rings about twenty minutes after Dean's begun to snore, and she catches it before the second ring.
Carmen recognizes the voice of one of her lover's buddies, who wants to know if Dean has any plans for tomorrow. Something about helping replace transmission seals, which is clearly a guy's idea of fun, and he'll probably love it.
"I'll give him the message, Kevin," she assures the crony. "He polished off a plate of nachos and nodded off on the couch during the ball game." A macho fib never hurts--- "I wouldn't dare wake him up---" ---helps make it sound like the Wild Man of Lawrence rules the roost--- "---but I'll let him know you called. He had a few beers, so it might be a while." ---so that once again, the guys who think they know Dean Winchester don't know as much as they think they do.
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