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Sam stomps through the front door of their motel room, keyed-up and frustrated. Pissed doesn’t begin to cover it. He’s fucking vibrating.
“Hey,” Dean calls from the small kitchenette. Sam doesn’t spare him a glance, instead stalking across the room in a little maelstrom of preteen rage to sulk on the couch.
“How was school, Sammy?”
“Don’t call me that.”
Sam crumples deeper into the sofa, arms wrapped around himself. His bare thighs rub up against each other under his dress. The tiny slip of his panties barely contain the ungainly cage around his dick, and the lack of friction makes him grit his teeth.
“Dad’s gonna be back in a bit.” Dean informs him. Sam scoffs.
“Is that why you’re wearing that ridiculous outfit?” He asks. Dean doesn’t respond.
Sam doesn’t need to look back to know what Dean’s wearing. It’s undoubtedly a variant of the same thing he wears every time John comes home from a long hunt. Barefoot in nylon stockings with a short little skirt and a lacy bralette. Maybe he’s wearing a wig too, but he usually doesn’t. John likes the short hair on him more.
There’s the clatter of metal when Dean puts down his ladle and pads over to Sam.
It turns out he isn’t wearing a wig, but his face is done up in light makeup, mascara on his long eyelashes and the shine of strawberry gloss on his lips.
The bralette hangs slightly loose on his flat chest. A small key sits on top, tied around his neck on a braided black cord. His big manly feet stick out in the pink stockings and his half-hard dick is barely covered by his thin panties and short skirt. God, he’s massive. Sam’s anger flares. Why does Dean get to be a man, and Sam has to be all small and pathetic?
“What, like you don’t like it?” Dean says. He cocks a hip and stands in front of Sam like a chastising mother. He has a scratchy kitchen towel thrown over one shoulder and his massive chest strains the straps of the bralette.
Dean’s skirt is criminally short and Sam can see his shaved balls and cock spilling out of his pink panties. His dick is chubbed up, wet at the tip.
Sam shifts in discomfort as his dick tries to swell in the cage. He avoids Dean’s eyes.
“No.”
Dean sees right through his lie. Sam’s never been any good at hiding things from him.
“Mhm. Whatever you say, darlin’.”
Sam startles when Dean settles on his knees in front of him, his chin resting on Sam’s clothed knees. It makes him realize that he’s sitting with his legs pressed together, all prim and proper like John taught him. He quickly spreads his legs under his long skirt. Dean’s face falls between his spread knees and he lets out a soft gasp.
“It’s not fair.” Sam mutters. Dean tilts his head.
“What isn’t fair?”
“That I have to dress like this and you get to go out normally.”
Dean’s eyebrows cinch together, all apologetic like Sam is the one who deserves the pity. Sam can barely watch. He has no clue why Dean goes along with John’s crazy fantasies.
Dean lifts his hand up to clutch Sam’s hip. He rubs a thumb over his hip bone through the skirt, his hands thick and sure, and Sam has to bite his lip to stop the sound that threatens to break out.
“I’d dress pretty if I still could, Sam. Dad just doesn’t want the attention.”
Unlike Sam, Dean loves the skirts and dresses that John buys for them. He dresses Sam every morning before he heads to school. At school Sam is Samantha, not Samuel, and John keeps him locked up in a stupid cock cage the whole time to make sure he doesn’t ruin the illusion.
Sam hates it. It’s not really the skirt that he cares about— he’s been dressing like a girl all his life and sometimes he actually likes it, it’s the cage that bothers him. It fucking sucks to be constantly horny and have no way to relieve yourself.
Dean used to dress like Sam, but once he got through puberty the clothes got less convincing and started attracting more attention than they could afford. Now, Samantha goes to school while Deanna stays at home and keeps the motel clean for John, always in a skimpy little outfit that he picks out for her. Like a fucking house wife.
Sam’s heard what other hunters say. John Winchester is sick. John Winchester is a queer. John Winchester dresses up his boys like girls and fucks them. He’s heard it from civilians too, from classmates on the rare occasion they figure it out before they move on.
The gossip bothers Dean. It doesn’t bother Sam. To him, everything they say is true, and their Dad is a fucking psycho.
“Screw what Dad wants.” Sam says. Dean’s pity turns to mild frustration. He splays his massive hand out on Sam’s little belly and Sam can’t help it, he shivers. God. His hand is so close to Sam’s dick. It’d feel so fucking good on his cock, big and sure and warm—
“Why are you being such a little shit today?” Dean interrupts his train of thought.
Sam reaches forward to push him away by the shoulders but Dean doesn’t budge.
“Nothing. Just go away.”
“C’mon Sammy, you can tell me anything.”
For a moment, Sam considers lying, but then decides that there’s a better way to play this. Maybe if he pleads enough then Dean will take pity on him.
He wiggles his toes against Dean’s side, shoulders hunching together to make himself smaller. It isn’t difficult. He doesn’t exactly feel large right now and he’s willing to beg if it means he can relieve the pounding ache in his balls.
“S’hurts.” Sam mutters. He closes his eyes shut, still too prideful to look at his brother while admitting to this.
“Huh?”
“My dick.”
Dean clicks his tongue, hand straying down to his thigh to rub it through the skirt. Sam opens his eyes. His dick tries to fill again at the sight of Dean, all dolled up and weeping pity, but the cage chokes it back down.
“It’s gonna be like that for the first little bit. It gets better, I promise.”
The frustration bubbles up in the background of the arousal. Fuck, Sam’s losing his goddamn mind. He’d do anything to get this stupid cage off. Anything.
“It’s not fair, Dean, every guy I know jerks off.” Dean’s eyebrows scrunch together. “It hurts so much. I just— need to get off. Once.”
“Not a guy, Sammy.” Dean says, and rubs up and down Sam’s skirt as an afterthought, a comfort. Sam sighs. That’s the crux of this entire problem.
“I know.”
It doesn’t make it any easier. At this point, Sam doesn’t know what the hell he is anymore. A girl, a boy, it barely matters to him. All he knows is that he likes Dean, and even if he doesn’t care for them himself, he likes Dean in dresses. He likes the delicate frill of the pink and gloss while also loving the way it accentuates all his hard edges. Especially how the satin and silk look when they’re barely containing Dean’s massive cock.
God, thinking about this really isn’t helping. Sam lets out a frustrated huff and rubs his legs together. The cage clinks, his damp panties scratchy on his thighs. Dean’s eyes dart down to his crotch then quickly back up.
He spends a moment fighting an internal battle. Sam knows that Dean will get in trouble if he gets Sam off, but he can’t be bothered to care. Just the thought of Dean’s thumb rubbing at his slit has him splurting more precum into his already messy panties.
“Okay, pull your skirt up. I’ll help.”
Sam’s eyebrows go up. That was almost too easy. He expected more pushback from Dean.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, but just this once. And don’t tell Dad.”
It’s not entirely convincing, considering that Dean never goes against what John says, but Sam is desperate and he isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Okay.” Sam says. Dean moves back onto his haunches so Sam can scramble to pull up his skirt. He grabs the hem around his ankles and rucks it up to his waist.
Sam’s coltish legs splay out underneath, thin and hairless. His caged dick is a lewd bulge in his sheer pink panties. Compared to his modest ankle-length skirt and blouse, the lingerie is slutty, salacious.
Sam’s cheeks pink as he looks down at himself. He really does look like a little girl. Well— except for the cage. The bulky metal is starkly out of place but for some reason, that only makes Sam more turned on.
“So pretty, Sammy.” Dean moans. Sam catches him biting his lower lip, eyes thick with arousal as he stares at Sam’s dick. He grabs his trembling thighs with massive, steady hands. Sam gasps.
“Don’t call me that.” He says, but the waver in his voice isn’t very convincing. His words go ignored.
Dean’s thumbs dip into the waistband of Sam’s panties and he gently slips them off his waist. Sam shimmies so that Dean can get them over his knees and off one foot, leaving them hanging on his ankle.
The cage is shining silver chrome, perfectly fit for his dick and barred to show his dick underneath. The attention has Sam chubbing up the slightest bit. His cock tries to push up against it, sensitive skin pushing out between the bars. Dean clicks his tongue.
“That’s gotta hurt, huh?”
That’s an understatement, Sam thinks. These days he’s so excitable that a fucking ankle is enough to get him worked up. Every time he gets hard his dick pushes up against the cage until the pain makes him soften again. After a whole week caged up, his dick is so sensitive that every brush makes his knees shake and his vision blur.
Dean’s thumb slips underneath the cage to prop it up. Sam’s dick looks so pathetic in it, all red and sore, throbbing for attention. Sam bites down on his hand.
Dean waves the heavy metal back and forth. Thin dribbles of precum spill from Sam’s tip down the underside of his head where they smear against Dean’s thumb. The entire cage is shiny and sticky from it. Dean lets out a shaky breath.
“God, you’re dripping so much. You been hard all day?” He asks. Sam’s eyes roll in his skull when Dean wraps his fingers over the top of the cage to tease him through it. His assent comes out as a whimper.
“Mhm.”
Dean makes a breathy noise of arousal. His one hand struggles around his neck to take off his necklace with the key.
“Poor girl… don’t worry, big sis will take care of you.”
Sam’s practically trembling by the time Dean fits the key into the little lock on the side of the cage. It falls apart easily. Sam’s toes curl as his reddened cock quickly fills with blood. It’s throbbing and striped from the bars, so sensitive that even the cold air feels like too much.
Dean is careful as he grabs Sam’s dick with his fingers, fingertips slowly sliding up and down his red flesh. Even with how careful he’s being, Sam winces. Dean’s eyes flick up. He stares at Sam with his shiny eyes, lined with black and pretty like gemstones.
“Think you can handle my mouth?” He asks. Sam’s breath catches at the thought. Fuck. Fuck. Yes.
“Please.”
Dean starts off slow. He rolls the foreskin back from the sticky head and laps up the precum beading on the tip, taking the tip between his lips to suck gently. Sam’s hands fist in his dress. He can’t get enough air into his lungs.
“Dean. Dean.” Sam whimpers. His balls are already drawn up tight and it takes all his concentration not to shoot his load all over Dean’s lush pretty face.
The gloss on Dean’s lips rubs off against Sam’s hot flesh. His perfectly bowed lips suck on the tip like a pacifier, milking little dribbles of precum from Sam. His eyelids are closed in concentration and his lush eyelashes flutter.
Sam expects Dean to sink down and take the rest of his cock, but instead he kisses down the shaft to his hairless balls. He gives them a few kitten licks before getting his hands underneath Sam’s thighs and lifting them up.
“Dean, wait—”
Sam barely gets the words out before Dean’s tongue is flat on his asshole, wet and warm and perfect. Sam’s head smacks back against the sofa. He moans.
“Deanna.” Dean— Deanna corrects him, the words muttered against his hole. Sam whimpers when she sucks.
“Deanna. Wait— please.”
Deanna’s painted fingernails are digging into the soft pale skin of Sam’s skinny thighs. She eats him out like she’s starving, lapping at the furls of his hole and massaging it with her tongue.
She pulls back after a minute or two, breathless and flush down to her chest. She digs her thumb into the sensitive, saliva-slick skin around his asshole.
Sam’s entire body is one taut string. His head is pushed back into the top of the sofa, mouth gaping open and eyes crossed as he whimpers. His toes are curling so hard his calves are cramping.
“Fuck, look at that pussy.” Deanna whispers. There’s the noise of her spitting on her fingers, then two of them push into the soft, wet inviting warmth of Sam’s cunt. They slip in easily. John always keeps both his girls nice and wet, and in this moment, Sam actually appreciates it.
“God, look at how it just swallows up my fingers.” Deanna scissors her fingers and Sam’s hole stretches apart with a wet sucking noise. Deanna spits inside. “Got the wettest little pussy, Sammy.”
She crooks her fingers, twisting her wrist around, and Sam whimpers like a kicked dog when her fingers find his prostate.
Deanna hums, smug and pleased. The gloss on her lips is gone. They’re full and pink with the effort of eating Sam out. She uses her free hand to spread Sam’s asscheek wide open so she can watch her fingers disappear into his tight hole. Sam’s legs go up onto her shoulders so that his knobbly knees are bracketing her ears, then she leans in to lick him while she fingers him.
“You want mommy to play with your hole like this all day?” Deanna asks. Sam nods deliriously, head still thrown back. His thighs jitter against Deanna’s shoulders, entire body tensed up as he tries not to cum.
Deanna’s fingers are buried down to the base in his ass now. Sam squeezes down tight on them, and a shot of pleasure goes through him when Deanna retaliates by grazing the edges of his hole with her teeth. She moves to the side, teeth sinking down into Sam’s round little ass. Then she wraps her arm around his midsection for leverage as her pace speeds up, fingers pounding directly at Sam’s abused prostate.
“Fuck, I just wanna fingerfuck this pretty little pussy until you squirt.” Dean says. A strange little voice in the back of Sam’s head perks up at the words, at Deanna calling his ass a pussy and saying he’ll fuck him until he squirts. He feels his balls draw up tight. Fuck, he’s so close.
“Deanna, m’gonna cum.” Sam mumbles, breathless and high-pitched. Deanna’s answering rumble is pleased. Her fingers have found their rhythm, sliding into the velvety hot tightness of Sam’s pussy and fucking her G-spot until Sam’s so close to cumming that it makes her stomach ache.
“Do it, baby girl. Squirt on mommy’s fingers.” Deanna moans against Sam’s ass, and that’s what topples her over the edge. She lets out a high-pitched squeal as she squirts onto her belly, pretty pink pussy milking Deanna’s fingers through her orgasm as if they were a real cock.
Afterwards, Sam crumples on the sofa, body weighing a ton of bricks. The brief post-orgasm glow washes through him, then he’s exhausted, eyes trying and failing to stay open.
Dean eases Sam’s legs off his shoulders. He uses the bottom of his skirt to wipe the spit off his ass. His load stains the body of the skirt where it's bundled up on his belly where he came. Dean eases him out of it, working the skirt down his legs and onto the sofa. He pushes up onto his knees to get up but Sam reaches out blindly to grasp his shoulder.
“Wait— Dean.” Sam pushes him back down with a weak hand. “Don’t go.”
There’s silence as Dean contemplates. Sam is about to beg again when Dean sighs and drops back down onto the floor, his flushed cheek resting on Sam’s bare thigh.
“‘Kay Sammy. Just for a bit.” Dean whispers. His thumb slips under Sam’s shirt to caress his belly, and Sam drifts off surprisingly quickly.
“What’s this?”
Sam groans, mouth sour and head fuzzy from sleep. He makes a soft noise as he burrows deeper into the sofa.
‘Just a few more minutes,’ he tries to say, but it comes out as an unintelligible mumble.
“D-Dad?” Dean’s voice, from somewhere far away.
“Deanna.”
It’s like a shock of cold water. Dad. Sam’s eyes shoot open so fast that it makes him dizzy, going from half-asleep to awake in the span of a second.
John is standing in their living room holding Dean with one arm around his stomach. He looks like a dead man walking, nails dirty with grave dirt and eyes deep from not sleeping. Dean is shaking. His terror is clear on his face.
“I leave for a day and I come back to this?” John whispers. It’s a quiet sort of anger, white hot and even more terrifying with how subdued it is.
Dean squirms in John’s arms. His legs are pressed together and his shoulders hunched in on themselves to make himself smaller.
“Dad please, I— I didn’t mean to.”
“Didn’t mean to do what, Deanna? Act like a slut?”
That shuts her right up. Deanna stops squirming and stares down at the floor, pouting as she collapses further into herself. She looks so tiny against John. They aren’t really that different in size, but her submission and frilly clothes shrink her down.
“No, I—”
John grabs her by the throat. He tilts her head up so she can see his face.
“Are you talking back to me?” He asks. His eyes are cold, calculating. Deanna’s eyes open wider and she reaches one hand up to grab at the arm around her throat. It isn’t choking her— yet. Sam wouldn’t be surprised if it escalates to that. He knows that Dean likes it a bit rough, and so does John.
“…No, Sir.”
“That’s what I fucking thought.” John says, and uses the grip on Deanna’s throat to force her to stare at Sammy.
The look in her eyes is mostly fear, but Sam can’t help but see a tinge of arousal. Her hard cock spills out of her panties and tents her dress slightly.
John stares over Deanna’s shoulder and down at where her arousal is evident. His tongue peeks out his mouth and swipes at his bottom lip. His gaze is predatory.
“I didn’t raise you like this, Deanna.”
John’s free hand slides down under Deanna’s skirt. Her breath catches when John yanks her panties down onto her thighs. Her cock sways to the side. It bobs up, shaft under the hem of her skirt, and John drags his lip between his teeth before swiftly bringing his hand down.
A high pitched squeal leaves her when the slap lands solidly on her cock. Sam can’t see what’s happening under her skirt but he can imagine how her dick looks, twitching and throbbing at the pleasure-pain, dribbling onto her freckled belly.
Deanna’s eyes are glazed over as she watches Sam. Her knees are shaking, bottom lip red and puffy from her teeth. John looks over at Sam too. He leans down to whisper in Deanna’s ear.
“Because of what you did, Sammy over there thinks that she’s a boy.”
Deanna shakes, eyes wide. She could pull herself together if she wanted. She’s a hunter after all— but Sam knows that she won’t. She likes this too much to ruin it.
“Is she a boy, Deanna?” John asks. Deanna shakes her head minutely.
“No, Sir.” She chokes out. John hums in approval.
“What is she, Deanna?”
“She’s your girl.”
The words make angry arousal well up in Sam. He’s not a girl— and he’s not John’s girl, but hearing it in Dean’s voice does something to him.
John hums his praise. His hand rubs at Deanna’s smooth thigh.
“That’s right, she’s my girl. Mine. And my girls only get to play together when I say so.”
At that, Dean’s eyes widen a bit. Her hands fidget with each other, uncertain what to do in the face of her impending punishment.
John keeps going.
“Tell me, how is Sammy ever going to learn how to be a good girl if you misbehave like this?”
The hand around Deanna’s throat squeezes the slightest bit, just enough to make her choke out on her inhale. Sam rushes forward to save her.
“Dad, It’s my fault—”
John’s eyes snap up to Sam like a hawk to prey. Just that one look— cold and piercing— is enough to make Sam immediately shut up. John points at him.
“You. Quiet.” His hand is massaging Deanna’s throat. “I’ll deal with you later.”
John turns his attention back to his eldest daughter. His eyes soften and his hand slips back under her skirt, stern but not aggressive like he was with Sam.
“Now, Deanna. What happens to girls who misbehave?” John asks, voice gentle. Deanna swallows.
“They get punished.”
“Good. Now, have you been a good girl, Deanna?”
Deanna shakes her head.
“No, Sir. I—I’ve been bad.”
“Say it right, Deanna.”
“I’ve been a bad girl. Sir.”
Apparently satisfied, John leans back from Deanna and lets go of her throat. As soon as she’s out of his grip she pulls in a gulp of air as if she really was choking. Sam can see John glaring at him from the corner of his eyes, a taunting sort of fury that says, ‘just watch.’
“Bend over.”
Deanna does as told. She straightens on shaky legs and makes her way over to John, who flips the dining table chair around so he can sit facing Sam. Sam watches as Dean pulls up her skirt and bends over belly-down on John’s lap. Her built legs splay out haphazardly, toes spread in her nylon stockings as she tries to get purchase on the slippery motel floors.
Sam sneaks a surreptitious hand down to his cock. It’s still uncaged, stirring at the sight of Dean’s perfect freckled ass. He runs his knuckles down the side of the shaft. It’s frustrating, teasing, teetering on the edge of being pleasurable, and he can’t help but hiss. John catches it, a shark to blood.
“Don’t you dare.” John snaps and Sam pulls his hand away from his cock like it’s on fire.
“No touching. You’re going to sit there, and you’re going to watch. You’re going to see what happens to bad girls, Samantha, and next time you misbehave, I won’t be so forgiving.” John warns. Sam swallows hard. He fists his hands into the soft leather of the sofa.
John doesn’t make a habit of handing out empty threats. Even with his cock hard and dripping, Sam knows that touching himself will only make this worse. It’s borderline torture but he holds back.
John taps Deanna on the ass. She startles awake on his lap, already fuzzy and submissive even before the punishment. John chuckles and rubs his hand over her asscheeks in warning.
“Ten count.” He orders. Deanna whispers, “okay, Sir.”
The first slap isn’t too hard. John smacks the bottom of Dean’s pale freckled ass and her cheeks jiggle, flesh going even whiter where his hand hit. Deanna lets out a shaky whimper. Her toes curl, calves tightening.
“One.” She gasps out. Sam can see her hard cock swaying underneath her, wet and red from the lack of release, and his own dick throbs in sympathy. A whimper tears from him. Fuck. This is torture.
John lands a second slap, and this time it’s hard. Deanna flinches into him at the impact but John steadies her again. The pale white of her ass pinks for a second before fading again.
“Two.”
John’s hand strokes the sweaty skin of Deanna’s lower back. Her eyes are squeezed close tight for the next slap. Except instead of hitting her, John grabs one cheek and spreads her open. Deanna’s eyes widen and she scrambles for purchase on the floor.
There’s a sparkly pink plug stretching out her pussy. John runs a finger down her crack, already wet with slick from her squirming, and slowly pulls the plug out. Deanna’s breath wavers when it reaches the thickest part, then the plug slips out of her with a pop. Dribbles of lube drip from her twitching hole.
“Lookit that, Sammy. She’s so sensitive.” John mutters. Sam’s cock aches, and the only thought in his head is how badly he wants to stand up and sink his dick into Deanna’s wet, sloppy hole. It’s maddening.
Sam moves his hands to his thighs so he can rub them, the closest thing he can get to touching his leaking dick. John doesn’t say anything. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Sam squirms pathetically, his cock slapping into his belly as he tries to get some sort of friction.
Without any warning, John’s hand comes down between Deanna’s cheeks with a wet slap. Deanna groans as the hit lands directly on her fluttering pussy. Tears well up on her eyelashes.
“Three! Fuck!”
Through it all, she’s somehow still hard. She might even be harder now than when John started. It’s honestly impressive— John has her so well trained. As much as Sam hates it, it only makes him harder. He wishes he could fuck Dean like that.
It’s like John can read his mind because he tilts Deanna to give Sam a better look at her abused ass. Her slick hole is clenched tight. John runs two fingers over it.
“Take a good look, Samantha, because this cunt belongs to me.” He dips the tips of his fingers inside just a bit. Deanna whimpers when they slip out. “Girls don’t use their cocks. They use their pussies to cum, just like Deanna’s doing.”
John lays the rest of the slaps down on Deanna’s pussy with concentrated precision. Sam watches the whole time, thighs shaking and face red hot as Deanna squirms and moans, bending back to push up into her Dad’s hand.
By the end, Sam’s wet dick is painfully hard against his belly and his head is starting to cloud from the painful arousal. The thought of touching himself floats away as he focuses on Deanna, her hole fully abused and throbbing from the punishment. Even like this it’s pink and pretty, practically begging for John’s fingers.
Deanna’s face is a mess of tears where it’s pushing down against John’s thigh. Her cock has softened a bit, but it's still thick where it's hanging between her legs. Deanna’s always been a shower, not a grower.
John takes one of her red cheeks in his hand and massages, chuckling at the soft hiss Deanna lets out. He slides his fingers down to her cunt.
“Did so well, darling.”
Sam watches as John’s thick fingers massage her cunt. Deanna keens and pushes her ass up into the touch, panting like a dog. John gathers up the slick and pushes two fingers into the wet heat. Deanna swallows him up easily.
“God, look at your pussy. It’s so greedy.” John whispers, thumb rubbing over the furl of her hole as he fingers her. Sam’s cock aches in jealousy. He can imagine how it must feel inside her, hot and tight as a vice. He knows it from the few times John’s let him finger her.
There’s a bead of precum pearling up on Deanna’s tip, a sure sign that John’s found her G-spot. John notices too. He slips a third finger inside and stabilizes Deanna with his other hand so that he can fuck his fingers hard into her cunt. Deanna squeaks.
“Dad!”
Sam— Samantha’s hips unconsciously push up from the sofa to the rhythm of John’s thrusts. She can’t see John’s cock but she can imagine how it feels against Deanna’s belly, hot and hard through his jeans. Inescapably, her mouth salivates at the idea. The fucked-out look on Deanna’s face tells her that any humiliation would be well worth the eye-rolling pleasure that her father could give her.
“I got you, baby.” John whispers. Deanna gasps. Sam can see the long length of her legs tremble, miles worth of smooth freckled skin clenching and unclenching. Her thighs are trembling so hard that her asscheeks jiggle.
“C’mon, let's show Sammy how a good girl cums.” John says, and Deanna gasps at the words good girl. She’s always been so easy to please. Sam’s breath wavers too.
“Mmf, Daddy.” She whimpers. John’s fingers are pistoning in and out of her like a machine, making wet squelching noises as he scissors and stretches out her cunt.
“You’re such a good girl, Deanna. Just like your mom. She used to get so wet too.”
Deanna drops her head and groans. Her eyes are squeezed shut in concentration. There’s a long dribble of precum hanging from the tip of her cock, shaft shiny and slick with it.
“Daddy, m’gonna cum.” She says, thighs trembling, hole clenched, lip pulled between her teeth. John slows his pace and focuses on massaging her G-spot with his fingers.
“Go ahead, baby. Show Daddy how good it feels.”
Like a flip is switched, Deanna goes stiff as a board as she finishes with a loud gasp. Her pretty pink cock shoots ropes of cum onto the dirty motel floor. Sam swears her vision blurs from how hot it is, practically paralyzed from the thrum of her arousal. She watches in quiet shock as John fingerfucks Deanna’s pussy through the last few spikes of her orgasm.
There’s a moment where everyone is silent, Deanna practically asleep on John’s lap as she comes down from the high. Afterwards, John slowly eases her up onto her feet. Her face is flush from being upside down. She stands unsteadily, knees shaking like a baby fawn, flinching at every movement that rubs her cheeks against her sore pussy.
John helps her sit down on his lap, arms wrapped around her midsection. She looks perfectly in place there. A pang of jealousy resonates in Samantha as she watches John whisper quietly to Deanna, like two lovers. The worst part is that she can’t tell if she’s jealous of John, or Deanna.
“God, I love when you squirt like that.” John groans, hands roaming Deanna's body. Deanna whimpers and leans in for a kiss.
It’s soft, sweet, Deanna’s hands roaming John’s chest as they make out. John pulls back first. He lets Deanna rest her forehead on his as he runs his massive hands all over her bare back.
“I love you, Daddy.” Deanna whispers against his lips. John smiles.
“Mmhh, I love you too, baby.” He places a soft little kiss on her lips.“Fuckin’ perfect. What’d I do to deserve you.”
They stay like that for a bit longer, whispering softly to each other while Sam watches. Just when Sam is beginning to feel awkward and frustrated from the lack of attention, John gives Deanna a pat on the ass and eases her off his lap.
“C’mon baby, go get Samantha locked up again.”
The next little bit is a bit of a blur. Sam’s still deliriously turned on, cock borderline purple from the neglect, and all she registers is the clink of metal as Deanna picks up the cage.
There’s a shocking spike of pain in her dick when Deanna grabs her balls and pulls. It’s not too rough, but enough to wake Sam up and have her dick wilt so that Deanna can slip the cage back in place.
“Sorry, Sammy.” Deanna whispers as she does up the latch. Sam just stares, eyes cloudy. At this point she’s too far gone to care about looking desperate.
There’s the sound of a chair scraping the floor as John gets up. Both the girls look over. John stretches and talks to Deanna.
“Daddy’s gonna go get cleaned up. You two head to bed, okay?”
“Okay, Sir.”
John pads off, and Deanna turns her attention back to Sam. She’s smiling soft and sweet. In Sam’s tunnel vision, she looks a bit like a Mother, all gentle hands and quiet words as she helps her to the bed.
“C’mon Sammy, it’s time for bed.”
They settle in, Sam’s face tucked into Deanna’s neck. There’s the faraway sound of the shower turning on as John washes up. Sam nuzzles into Deanna’s body and Deanna pulls her closer, hands roaming over her back.
The warmth of the bed has Sam drifting off. She’s almost asleep when Deanna’s hands make their way down to her ass, still wet and sensitive from when she ate her out. Sam’s breath wavers. The noise has Deanna pushing further, dipping between her cheeks to rub and tease her pussy.
“Um, Deanna?” Sam chokes out. She’s so deliriously turned on, she can barely think.
Deanna tries to pull her hands away from Samantha’s ass, but she pulls them back. There’s more precum dripping through the bars of Sam’s cage and smearing across Deanna’s belly. Even though she can’t get hard like this, Sam really needs to get off. It’s driving her insane.
“Can you make me cum like that too?” She asks, voice quiet.
Deanna smiles against Sam’s hair. Her fingers sink into Sam like butter, and she clenches down with a gasp.
“Sure, Sammy.”
In the morning, Sam will probably be embarrassed about this and insist on ignoring it. Right now, though, the feeling of Deanna’s thick fingers sliding into her slick cunt is enough to bring her embarrassingly close to the edge.
“I’ll get you off, then we’re sleeping, ‘kay?” Deanna whispers. The patter of John in the shower is a soothing sound, monotone and constant. Sam mutters an assent.
“Mhm.”
She settles deeper into Deanna’s chest. Her hands cling desperately to her big sister, and Sam can barely suppress her high-pitched whimpers as Deanna makes her cum like a girl.