The Mothman Cometh

Laying the paddle on the carpeted floor next to her, Anisa sat back in the reading chair, resting against its steady, familiar support while she assessed the handsome brothers who Castiel had brought to her.  So different from each other, yet so much alike, she puzzled over them, knowing full well that Castiel most likely did not tell her everything she really should know, or need to know about the siblings now entrusted to her care.  In her mind, she reviewed everything the angel had told her; things she couldn’t hardly believe, even after all of the things she had witness with her own eyes.  Pensively, she smoothed her fingertips over Dean’s heated skin, pleased that he seemed to be calming and losing some of the absolute tense state he exhibited from the moment Sam had dropped his jeans and knelt in front of the woman.  She paused to brush her dark hair behind one ear

“Sam, you have performed admirably,” Anisa praised him, her eyes locked on him as she soothed Dean’s flaming red ass with the cool back of her hand, circling ever so gently, barely touching his inflamed skin. 

Sam beamed under her praise while Dean squirmed against her leg, aroused and angry but acquiescent for the moment.

“You’ve earned a reward, Sam,” the Mistress proffered quietly.  “Cup your balls with your right hand.”  She watched him move as if mesmerized.  “No moving, pet,” she added with a small quirky grin.

“Yes, Mistress,” Sam acknowledged.

Underneath her tender hand, Dean groaned.  His eyes were riveted on Sam’s hand, the one cupping his swollen balls, unmoving.  Mistress slapped Dean sharply, barking, “Eyes down, Dean.”  He dropped his head, hands bracing against the ground.  “I think we now have proof of your interest in these games, Dean.  Would you like to continue?” Anisa inquired probingly, feeling the proof of her assertion against her leg; long, hard, throbbing proof.

Sam stared straight ahead, right hand cupping his balls, motionless, but for the quivering of his thigh muscles and the steady inhale and exhale of his own breath.  He didn’t dare even to flinch in response Anisa’s question and the thought of Dean participating in the scene, right beside him for every moment. 

Dean writhed against Anisa, trying to draw back and away from her.  The sharp crack of her bare hand against his ass caused both him and Sam to jump, Sam less so than Dean.  Dean bit his lip, squinting his eyes closed as he struggled with himself. 

“Answer when you are questioned, pet!” she snapped harshly.

With a defeated huff, Dean whispered, “Yes, Mistress.”

“Pardon, pet?  You will need to speak up,” Anisa chided him while keeping her eyes on Sam who dutifully kept his eyes front.

“Yes, Mistress,” Dean answered with more conviction.

Above, Anisa smiled, immensely pleased with his choice.  “Excellent, pet!” she exclaimed.  “I was so hoping you wouldn’t be a killjoy for the next few days.”  She chuckled, dark and low in her throat as she watched Sam swallow and blink; his only reaction to his brother’s decision.  “I think Sam is very pleased with your decision as well, aren’t you, Sam?”  The leather of the chair squeaked as she leaned forward to kiss Dean’s reddened flesh, her eyes completely on Sam as he answered quite enthusiastically.

“Yes, Mistress!”

“I suspect you would like to be the one to relieve your brother’s ache, yes, Sam?” she taunted him just a bit.

“Yes, Mistress,” Sam answered eagerly.                                                                                 

Anisa flashed him a feral, knowing grin as she felt Dean’s sharp intake of breath – the movement exposing his desires to her as well. 

“I believe your brother here,” she paused to stroke Dean’s head for a moment before entwining her fingers in his close-cropped hair and tugging softly to force him to raise his head and look at his willing brother.  “Would like you to comfort him,   Am I correct, Dean?” she inquired huskily. 

Dean focused completely on Sam’s eyes, trying to read his brother’s thoughts, for a few long, drawn out moments, answering just before earning yet another sharp rebuke from the Mistress.

“Yes, Mistress,” he admitted, a flush gracing his cheeks which began to match his other cheeks.

“On your knees then, Dean,” she instructed him, sliding her legs out from underneath the elder Winchester.  Dean eased himself backward to rest on his knees next to her chair, staring straight at Sam, who stared right back at Dean with greater candor; his gaze smoldered and promised wicked pleasure to offset the mild pain Dean had earned at Anisa’s hands.

“Keep each other company while I check on Castiel,” Anisa coached the brothers.  “Sam, you may pleasure yourself with one hand, one hand only, and only with those lovely, swollen balls of yours.  You may not touch anything else … yet.” 

“Yes, Mistress,” Sam readily agreed.

“Dean, you will observe and learn how Sam prefers to have his balls handled.  Watching only!” she cautioned Dean.

“Yes, Mistress,” he answered breathily, gasping a bit as he watched Sam tug roughly on his own sacs. 

“No talking,” she added as she stood, her cotton dress falling back down past her knees.  “I won’t be as long as you think.”  She moved around Dean, trailing her fingertips across his neck as she did.  She slipped from the room, leaving the door open, and padding softly back down the hall to where Castiel waited patiently for her attentions.

“You have a lot of explaining to do, angel!” Anisa growled at Castiel as she entered the room, snatching the flogger from the rack nearest the door as she did.

“Yes, Mistress,” he replied sardonically, earning a powerful strike that landed diagonally across his wide back, curling over his right shoulder.

“I do not appreciate your manipulations, Castiel,” she hissed, leaning in close to his ear, allowing the leather tails of the flogger to drape over his shoulder and hang across his bare chest.

“Mea culpa, Mistress,” Castiel spat back. “Mea culpa.”