Cherry Pie Lovers

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/22683091.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: Supernatural
Relationship: Amara/Dean Winchester
Characters: Dean Winchester, Amara (Supernatural)
Additional Tags: Domme Amara, Sub Dean Winchester, Strap-Ons, Deepthroating
Language: English
Series: Part 5 of spn kink bingo 2020
Collections: SPN Kink Bingo 2020
Stats: Published: 2020-02-12 Words: 583 Chapters: 1/1
 Cherry Pie Lovers
by hellhoundsprey

Summary

She’ll make him change the sheets again, afterwards.

2020 kink bingo square 17: deep throating

“Hm.”

Her nails drag along his cheek. Dean’s lashes flutter, but he doesn’t blink.

“Such a pretty face. I’m sure you get that a lot.”

Her fingers slip lower, along the strict line of his jaw. The stretched corner of his mouth.

Dean sighs through his nose.

Amara pinches it closed and draws her hips backwards.

He does his best to keep his back straight, but the sound of his own throat getting pulled out
of, of his body’s reflexes stirring half-alive—he cannot not shiver with it.

“Keep it open,” she says, and he complies, nose still blocked so he pants with his tongue out.
A lone tear rolls down its already-paved path and gets lost somewhere in the drool dripping
down his chin.

Amara hooks two fingers behind his bottom front teeth and pulls down. Takes those fingers
next to slip them across his tongue, way back; scissors them wide enough to feel the
resistance of his throat muscles.

Dean coughs.

She rubs along the rigged roof of his mouth.

“You’d let me do anything. And I appreciate that.”

Amara wipes her now-wet fingers on Dean’s cheek so she can steady her dick right.

It’s still warm when she pushes it back down his throat.

She doesn’t stop until she’s got his still-pinched-up nose up against her pubic bone. Until he
barely-gags and his eyes overflow.

She growls.

“Don’t appreciate that there’s nothing left to break. But that’s how it is with sluts like you,
Winchester.”

His lungs begin to cringe. He might come into his jeans, just like that, without any contact.
Has been there before.

He never wants it to stop.

Instinct forces him to haul as much air through his nostrils as he can get once Amara removes
her pinch. No instinct in leaving himself vulnerable, open, as she gets a hold of the back of
his head to fuck his face in hard, too-deep snaps of her hips.
This, this, this.

She rips it out of him once she’s had enough, slaps him open-palmed, ear-ringing worthy.

Dean sways, down on his knees; her hand in the longer strands of his hair and she pulls him
back up like that, slaps his right cheek next. His eyes flutter on reflex.

Left, right, left, right.

He comes, silently, but she notices the quiver to his spine. The barely-there roll of his eyes.

“God,” she scoffs, “you’re depraved.”

Her cock tap-spanks his cheek once, twice, thrice. His scalp burns in her grip.

It takes all of him not to chase the fucking heft of that ten-incher with his tongue, his eyes,
his entire face.

His grip on his right wrist twitches dangerously.

Amara grunts. Lets go of Dean’s hair to begin yanking at the straps tying the toy in place.

She promises, “I’m not done with you,” and God, God, he hopes she isn’t.

“On the bed. On your back. Hands stay where they are.”

Dean does, still fully clothed, his t-shirt clinging to his sweaty skin. She’ll make him change
the sheets again, afterwards.

She straddles his face and doesn’t reprimand him for the moan that slips along her inner
thigh, but they both know he’s smart enough not to push his luck.

One hand in his hair, he’s in heaven. Puts his tongue to good use like he knows she wants him
to. She doesn’t need him.

Amara pants. Her jewelry chimes with her movement.

“Don’t go fucking weak on me. I’ll be late for my dinner date.”

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