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The Mothman Cometh	By : pittwitch Category: Supernatural > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 1855 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. I make no money from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
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Dean eased himself into the armchair, eyes riveted on the pair across the room.
“Come closer,” she whispered into Sam’s ear, leaning forward as he shuffled to rest between her knees. With her left hand, she held his head while speaking so low only he could hear, “Do you know why I kissed you, Sam?”
Sam’s breathing became more rapid, he leaned into her hand and whispered, “No, Mistress.”
“I kissed you for your brother,” she murmured. “He is sitting over there, supremely agitated, and imagining that he is me – that he could be the one to kiss you, to hold you, to make you flushed and hard,” she locked eyes with Dean from across the room, enjoying the torment. “You wish I were Dean, do you not?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he admitted with a sigh, letting his head fall back, exposing his neck to her. Dean shifted, suddenly even more uncomfortable. Anisa pulled on Sam’s hair, forcing his head back more before she tongued the column of his neck, base to jaw, tearing her focus from Dean to zero in on Sam who moaned, extra loud, for his brother’s benefit.
“Mmmm,” Anisa purred softly. “That’s it, love. Make this a good show for Dean. Imagine my hands are his: rough, strong, calloused, tugging on your hair.” Anisa smiled predatorily at Dean, baring her teeth.
Dean heard only his name and he narrowed his eyes at the pair, suspicious and curious. His fingers dug into the arms of the chairs. His lips grew thinner, pressed together to quash his words.
“He imagines you with wings,” Anisa continued, her voice sultry and low. Sam moaned, letting his eyes fall shut. He began to shake his head at the visions in his mind’s eye.
“What troubles you?” Anisa asked gently, relaxing her grip to allow him more freedom of movement. “Speak, Sam. Tell me what you see!” she demanded firmly.
“I am no angel,” he confessed between gritted teeth.
“Oh my,” she whispered. “No, you are not. Your wings are ebony black, gleaming and reflecting the light. The feathers are tipped in a red dark as blood, the stems gleaming with a dusting of gold. Imagine them sprouting from your shoulder blades right here,” she described his wings as she traced the outline of his scapula with one finger.
Across the room, Dean swallowed hard as he watched Anisa trace the exact spot he always imagined Sam’s wings would emerge, if he had wings. He shifted, uncomfortable in his jeans. Pressing his head back, he felt a pillow and quickly reached behind him to snatch it and drop it in his lap.
“NO!” Anisa bellowed from across the room, launching herself to her feet, staring Dean down.
“WHAT?” he barked back.
“Never hide the body’s beautiful reactions in the presence of a dominant!” she instructed angrily.
Dean’s eyes widened perceptibly and he shrunk into the chair, trying to put more distance between himself and Anisa.
“Excuse me?” he asked again, now resting both hands over the pillow protectively.
Anisa growled, low in her throat and stalked across the room. Standing in front of the elder Winchester, she glowered down at him before yanking the pillow out of his hands and throwing it into a corner.
“Hey now!” Dean protested, using his hands to rest none so nonchalantly in his lap.
“Stand up!” Anisa ordered.
Dean stared sullenly into her eyes, attempting to be defiant. After a few long moments of stand off, he slowly stood, meeting the challenge he had read in her pale blue eyes.
“There, happy?” he tossed at her, spreading his hands out to his sides, opening himself to her vision.
“No,” Anisa admitted, stepping in closer to him. With surety and strength, she dispatched with button on his jeans, lowered his fly, and yanked his erection upright.
“HEY!” he protested vehemently, his hands grappling with hers. “Normally I like having a woman’s hands on me, but you could try asking!” he complained.
“I do not ask,” Anisa answered calmly. “Unhand me and lower your denims.”
“This isn’t supposed to be about me, remember? I just want to make sure Sammy is treated well,” he complained.
“You’ve broken a serious rule. There are consequences,” she countered coolly. “Down.   Now.”
Again, the duo faced each other in a standoff. Dean glowered. Anisa eyed him coldly.
“Shall I do it for you, Dean?” she finally offered. “Can you not even obey this simple request?”
“I can do it,” he sniped at her. “I just don’t want to do it.” His voice was petulant sounding and even he grimaced at the sound of it.
“I gave you an order, Dean Winchester. You are in my domain. Obey or leave,” she stated flatly.
Behind her, Sam shivered, his head bowed but ears completely focused on the interaction between his brother and Anisa.
“Whatever,” he muttered, relenting. “You are one crazy broad, you know that?”
“You are one bullheaded, obstinate, difficult man. Just do as you are told from this point forward.”
“Ma’am, yes ma’am!” Dean snapped as he shoved the waist of his jeans and his boxer briefs to mid thigh, allowing his erection to straighten out.
Anis grabbed his shaft with one hand while pinching his ear with the other.
“Mistress, again. My proper address is Mistress. Listen and learn, Dean,” she hissed.
“Ouch!” he complained.
“Quiet!” she snarled. “This is gorgeous, a natural and flattering reaction to what you have witnessed. Do not hide what comes naturally. Glorify it. Revel in it. Learn to take pleasure in all its forms!” she hissed. “Your mistake has earned you ten.”   She left him standing in front of the chair, still dressed, cock protruding.
“Ten what?” he solicited in sarcasm-laced voice.
“Do not move.” She merely turned around and walked to where Sam had left the leather paddle laying on carpet. She bent at the knees to retrieve it. Turning back to face Dean, she smiled again, delighted in his clearly interested physical reaction, though his words contradicted everything she observed in his demeanor.
“No. Fucking. Way,” came his staccato protest.
“Fucking came come later,” she observed drily.
Dean’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline as he ducked his head at her.
“Sam?” she asked, not breaking eye contact with Dean.
“Yes, Mistress?” he replied solemnly.
“Rise and move to your right.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he obeyed unquestioningly.
“Hmmm, so much to teach you both,” she observed pensively as she eyed Sam’s equally prominent prick. “Sam, do you have a safe word?” she pondered aloud, moving to his side to stroke the outside of his thigh with the paddle.
“No, Mistress,” he admitted sheepishly.
“I see,” she said. “Dean, do you have a safe word?”
“What the hell is a safe word?” he sputtered.
“Very well then. We will use my basics. Listen carefully, both of you,” she began. “There are three words which you are permitted to use apart from a direct question: Red, yellow and green.”
Sam swallowed, hard, nodding his understanding. Dean knot his brow into a deep, disapproving furrow.
“Speaking the word, “red” stops all action. It is a sacred word. Red is to be used when we need to stop, when the situation has become overwhelming.   Understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” chirped Sam.
“Yeah,” Dean added simultaneously.
“Once again, Dean, the proper address is Yes, Mistress,” she snapped.
“Yes, Mistress,” he answered, rolling his eyes.
“Ten more, Dean,” she stated calmly.
“What the hell?” he protested.
“You may only speak when spoken to, and you know the proper address by now, surely,” she growled.
“Yes, Mistress,” he spit out.
“Yellow is the word to use if we need to slow down and reassess something. Much like driving it means proceed with caution. Understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” the boys answered in delightful stereo.
“Green then means that you are good to go,” she finished and moved to sit on her chair once more.
“Come here, Dean,” she demanded.
Dean waddled to her, making a show of having to hold his jeans up as he crossed the floor.
“Lower your denims to your knees,” she asked firmly.
Dean complied with a smirk.
“Over my lap,” she instructed. He graced her with a cheeky grin and an arched eyebrow, challenging her to bring her best.
He struggled to arrange himself for a bit before settling with his cock pressed against her bare leg, ass in the air, facing Sam. Sam couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight.
“Kiss the paddle,” she held it in front of Dean. Dean grinned before tonguing the leather.
“As you wish, pet,” she shrugged, allowing him to have his way with the instrument. Sam coughed in amazement. “Finished?” she asked when he finally pulled away.
“Yes, Mistress,” he answered, still grinning.
“Good, now we start.” She pushed him over completely, holding him down with surprising strength. “Sam, I doubt your dear sibling can count properly. You will do it for him.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Sam agreed readily, a grin creasing his face.
“I can count!” Dean protested.
“Whack!” the paddle cracked across his exposed buttock, drawing a yelp from Dean and “One, Mistress. Please may I have another?” from Sam.
“Ten more, Dean,” tutted Anisa. Sam choked back a chuckle.
Quickly, she progress through to number ten, reddening the hard muscled backside of the demon hunter with practiced proficiency. Sam respectfully counted all of the strikes all while attempting to remember to breathe. Dean growled but wisely did not speak again. Anisa paused to rest her hand, setting the paddle on Dean’s back as she stroked his inflamed skin.
“Mmmm, very nice. So warm,” she praised him. Dean shivered at her kinder, gentler touches. To their side, Sam ached to touch as well, but obediently kept his hands behind his back. Anisa glanced at him before commencing the next set of ten strikes, barehanded, the sound of skin slapping against skin so much more rewarding than the hiss of the paddle through the air. Pausing, she picked up the paddle once more, rubbing the still damp leather over Dean’s crimson backside.
“You’ve performed admirably, Dean Winchester,” she congratulated him. “Only ten more. Red or green?”
“Green,” he growled. As he spoke, she brought the paddle down with all her strength. Dean yelped involuntarily. Sam grimaced but counted. Dean quickly realized the last ten strikes would be the hardest. His face flushed and he grit his teeth, bracing for the blows, confused by his unflagging erection and his clear interest in things he never believed would be entertaining.
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The Mothman Cometh