
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/259428.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Other
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Meg!Sam
  Character:
      Meg!Sam_-_Character
  Additional Tags:
      Rape/Non-con_References, Non_Consensual, Masturbation, Demonic
      Possession, Community:_salt_burn_porn
  Collections:
      salt_burn_porn
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-10-01 Words: 2319
****** Shake your money maker ******
by sistabro
Summary
     Prequel for 2.14 Born Under a Bad Sign. Meg prefers female hosts, but
     for Sam Winchester, she'll make an exception.
Notes
     Warnings: demonic possession, noncon masturbation, dirty talk about
     off-screen extreme underage noncon followed by murder and
     necrophilia, inappropriate use of a cellphone, highly disturbing.
     Author's Notes:Written for salt_burn_porn for whithertits's prompt
     run this town, which apparently made me think of demons, which then
     led to.. this. Also, the running about town is more of a metaphor
     and/or implied to occur at some other time than this story. Whoops.
     And, thank you moragmacpherson, callowyn, kalliel, and twoskeletons
     for the hand holding and betaing. This is disturbing as all get out
     people, I am not kidding here. *points at warnings*
Nothing like the slick slide into new meat after so long without. But this one
knows the drill, doesn't bother with the screaming and heads right for the
Latin. She's never worn one that could do that before and she shuts it down
quick. It's disappointing — the screaming is one of her favorite parts — but no
point taking chances. Not yet.
Muscles and tendons pull against bone as she twists, examining her new suit,
stroking the firm flesh. She's always preferred women, but even she has to
admit that this one really is a fine specimen; even through the layers she can
feel the definition of his abs.
She bends a little, peers into the grimy mirror and gives a little wave with
one of her new giant hands. "Hey there, Sam. Long time no see." Turns off the
mental mute for a moment, but he starts up with the Latin again so she slaps
the muzzle back on.
"Tsk. You know I'm not gonna let you get away with that again. Not that you
could: no devil's trap or ropes to hold me down here."
She can feel when he figures it out, the jolt of surprise and then the oily
slick of hatred. Delicious. Lets him talk just for the satisfaction of hearing
him say it.
"Meg."
"Not any more, Sam. Now I'm you. And I'd love to chat, but Dean's waiting."
She basks for a moment in Sam's terror and rage, then shuts him down
completely. Later, there will be time to play with her new toy, but for now,
she has work to do.
With a sigh, she sinks until she's wallowing in the essence of Sam: memories,
emotion, little remnants of abandoned thought. Throws it over her darkness like
a mask, a filter between her will and the world. A corset pulled too tight to
look pretty for Dean.
She smiles wide in the mirror, just to try out the dimples, then flips to a
hangdog, dewy, sensitive look; lets muscle memory make it natural, make it
Sam.. Perfect. She gives the body a quick shake to help it settle into its
established patterns and then steps out of the restroom into the Texas
sunshine.
 
Three days later, Otter Creek, IA
It takes everything she has not to slam the motel door behind her.
She's been itching to slit Dean's throat in the car for the last three days,
only managed to resist because it would be too good for him, too quick. But she
is done. This is close enough to Wandell — not so close that Dean will stumble
upon her before she's ready, not so far that he can't get there quickly once
she sends for him — and the very thought of another Metallica marathon almost
makes her want to let Sam exorcise her. Speaking of which, she has some errands
to run before the fun begins.
 
Almost two hours later, she appears in the motel room next door to the
Winchester's. The car has been abandoned in front of a diner down the road, as
if Sam really had gone for breakfast like the note she'd left said. Four states
over, an entire family should have just be finished dripping their last drops
of blood all over their pristine white carpet, strung up like pigs over their
mantel. The fire she used to heat the irons is probably still burning merrily
away below them.
She smiles and flexes Sam's forearm, the throbbing ache from the fresh brand
flaring into a delightful stabbing pain. She starts to pace, getting a feel for
how much... closer the body is now, more sensitive and responsive and hers. For
the first time since the restroom in Texas, she wakes Sam up. It feels
magnificent, like relaxing a muscle that's been held tight too long.
She keeps quiet, hides herself as Sam fumbles around in his own head, clumsy
after so long in the dark. He tries to speak, trip them up, twitch a finger.
Fails. Frustration then wariness sweep in waves, heady and so much more intense
then before. Then the chanting starts, in her head but clear and strong and
with every once of Sam's considerable will behind it.
Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis
incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta
diabolica--
She can feel the power in the words, whole body bubbling like it's turning to
champagne, but she doesn't stop him. Has to know the binding will work and it's
better to find out now when she knows where Dean is so she can jump ship and go
for plan B.
By the time he finishes with a desperate audi nos, it feels like her blood is
full of bees and there are termites in her bones, but she's still there, locked
inside.
She laughs, soft and low, triumphant. "Sorry, Sam. I'm running this joint now.
You're not going anywhere til I say so, and I'm thinking that may be never.
Because I know what you are, Sam, and there are plenty of people and otherwise
out there who will do just about anything to get their hands on you."
A tasty swirl of anger and curiosity, stubbornness keeping him silent. Almost
better than cigarettes.
The phone in her back pocket vibrates and she steps forward, presses an ear to
the wall.
Buzz buzz, then, through the wall: "Dude, did you get lost or something. Hurry
up with the food, I'm starving."
Dean.
Such longing, such desperation.
"So close, Sam," she whispers. "One little shout to send big brother running to
the rescue. It kills you that you can't, doesn't it? That you're not quite
strong enough to break free."
She backs away and flops down the on the bed. "Maybe if I'm distracted, hmm?
Maybe then you'll sneak a yell in? I haven't gotten to play yet at all, you
know. Maybe that will be distracting enough? Give you the opening you need? Why
don't we find out."
She runs her hands over her firm chest. "Do you remember when I did this the
first time? You and your brother tied up and squirming." She trails a hand down
and presses slow circles over her dick. "Sat in your lap and rocked my hips
just like this. I remember how hard you got for me. You liked that, didn't you?
Tied up and your brother watching."
She scoots up the bed and props herself up with some pillows so she can see.
Unzips her jeans and pulls out her dick, just barely starting to harden and
covered with dried blood, girl slick, and semen. Feels Sam recoil in horror and
confusion.
"Sorry about the mess, Sam. Didn't really have a chance to get cleaned up."
Presses down on her cock, feels the edges of the zipper bite a little before
cupping it in one of her giant hands and starting to squeeze. "Had a little
errand to take care of, you see. Needed some blood from a freshly broken virgin
—found a pretty little girl, twelve years old. Only took one hand to hold her
steady, she was so small. Little pudge of baby fat soft and squishy under your
fingers, hairless cunt making it so easy to see everything. She screamed so
pretty when you shoved your big cock in her tiny, dry cunt. Tore inside and out
like you shoved a knife inside of her instead of just your cock."
She squeezes tighter, feels her dick come to full hardness while Sam cringes in
horror, little moans of no no no no like a drumbeat in her head. Guys are so
fucking easy: all they need is a little friction in the right place. Usually
she finds that boring, but Sam, Sam is an exception and exceptional. She opens
her hand to admire her long, thick, filthy penis for a moment, then starts up
again with a quick, painful squeeze, nails digging in along the shaft.
"Blond and blue eyed, looked a little like your Jess did as a kid in those
pictures she used to show you. Such a pretty little tiny thing, your Jess, just
like this girl." She starts to stroke properly, slowly, little bits of dried
blood flaking off in places.
"She screamed, Sam, cried and begged when you fucked your big cock into her.
Screamed more than when she watched me slit her daddy's throat. All this blood
on your cock, from her little virgin cunt, it hardly slicked her up at all,
just painted her thighs and your dick such a pretty, pretty red. So tight— "
she squeezes brutally, her whole body jerking, instictively trying to curl
around the pain, "—just like that, all tight and hot and wriggling on your big
fat cock."
Sam's horrified rage is a tidal wave, an aching pressure inside that would be
enough to push her out if it weren't for the binding. Such a special, special
boy. She had been right to keep him under, would have been too risky. This is
almost as much fun as the real thing anyways.
She loosens her grip into something more comfortable with a contented sigh.
"Didn't scream much after I slit her throat, though. Fucked the blood right out
of her. Made such a mess, just look at your shirt." She looks down to let him
see the rusty stains covering the entire front of the ugly paisley shirt.
"But the end, when she gurgled her last, that was the best. The feel of her
clenching around your cock, coming as she died. Turns out slitting her windpipe
worked just as well for that as a noose around her neck. Nice trick to remember
for next time. Died a little too quickly, but she was still mostly warm when
you finally came inside of her."
A few drops of precum squeeze out of the head and she rubs them around the
shaft with her thumb, watching the dried blood moisten and start to smear.
Her ass vibrates. Dean again. She stops jacking off for a moment to fish the
phone out of her back pocket; it dances like a jitter bug in her hand.
"Think Dean's getting a little worried now. All you need to do is shout, Sam.
The walls are thin." Smiles at he snarls in response.
The phone stops. She sets it down and takes a moment pull her pants down a bit
for a little more room to work. Switches hands this time to the freshly branded
one. It hurts, squeezing and pumping his arm, the scrape of the fabric against
hot inflamed skin. Sam's dick jumps to attention, balls tightening. She
squeezes the base hard, not ready to come.
"Like it a little rough, Sam? Cause all I'm doing is providing a little
stimulation. That hard-on is all you. Getting off on raping little girls and
burning yourself? You and I are gonna have a fine time, I think."
The phone rings again, buzz buzz. She picks it up and presses it against her
balls, sliding it down and back until the end of the phone sits right on her
perineum. Buzz buzz, it feels fantastic, balls and cock and ass all tingling.
"There's Dean again. What would he think, making you feel so good like this?"
She starts thrusting her hips a little, dick now sloppy and pulsing and very,
very hard, throbbing in time with the brand on her arm. It's been so long,
she's forgotten how straightforward male arousal is. She misses the hungry
clench of a cunt, but this has its own appeal. Urgent, focused, and a lovely
visual to boot.
She lets the moan that's been building in her chest break free, loud enough
that Dean can probably hear it. "Does Dean know what you sound like when you
come, Sam? All those years living in each other's space, sharing a room. Did
you jack off together under the sheets in the dark? If I let you scream when
you come, will he know it's you? Because you want to scream, Sam, I can feel
it. You're so turned on now, you can't even think any more. Can't remember that
you don't want this."
She tightens her fist and lets the body do its thing. Makes sure Sam feels her
loosen the reigns on everything but her hand. Just moans and gasps, no need for
words or taunts. Sam's body is forsaking him just fine on its own. There's no
rhythm anymore, just desperation and need, the primal chase towards release.
The phone vibrates, buzz buzz, buzz buzz right up against her balls, and that's
it. She comes gasping Dean's name, everything graying out in the wash of
pleasure and pain.
She takes control again as her hips settle back onto the bed. Jacks through the
aftershocks and beyond, until it feels like the skin on her dick has rubbed
right off. Keeps at it until she hears the door next door slam, phone buzzing
up against her ass now, dropped when she came.
She opens her hand and admires the red, limp, dirty dick laying across her palm
for a moment, then pulls her pants back up and tucks it away.
"I think you and I are are going to have a lot fun together, Sam." Gets up and
peers out the window, verifying that Dean's out of sight. "But first, new
clothes. Can't go out on the town all covered in blood, now, can we?"
And with that she walks out of the room. She whistles as she unlocks the door
Dean just left, snags a few of Sam's least ugly shirts, his tightest jeans and
some socks from his duffel. "I'm all tingly inside just thinking about how much
fun we're going to have together, Sam. Just you wait."
She steps outside, locks the door behind her, and disappears.
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