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So, I've never actually written any Supernatural fic, but the Violated by Demon Tongue challenge set a plot bunny running, and here we are. For my very first Supernatural fic, I would like to present:
Title: Red Hot Mama
Rating: NC-17 for graphic sex, with possible dubious consent (no violence - for further warnings, see the title of the challenge!)
Starring: John/Mary, with guest appearances by Dean and fetal!Sammy.
Wordcount: ~1500
It was true with Dean, and it was true with this new baby: being pregnant turned Mary into a complete nymphomaniac. Early on, she was too sick and wrung out to think about anything fun, let along energetic and fun. At the end, she was awkward and could never get comfortable. Six months pregnant, with her baby a fine solid swell in front of her, she felt strong and beautiful, and constantly turned on. There was a warm glow in her breasts and between her legs all day, even when she was washing the dishes, or chasing after Dean, who had recently decided that he was a police car, and developed a dangerous tendency to suddenly run off and fight crime at all kinds of awkward moments.
She checked out a book from the library, when she was pregnant the first time, alarmed by these feelings in someone who was about to be a mother. The book assured her that increased libido was completely normal in pregnancy, due to increases in hormones and blood flow. Unfortunately, this wasn't enough to convince John. He'd picked up some strange idea – Mary suspected that it was from his Marine buddies –that while she was pregnant, they mustn't have sex. He couldn't explain whether it was because the baby might be hurt, or she might be, or because the baby was there at all, but he was certainly very uncomfortable with the idea. Mary was quite sure it wasn't because she had become undesirable – she felt terrific, and John loved to hold her, and touch her hair and belly – but he simply wouldn't have sex with her. Frustrated, Mary began to ask John what might be okay, and they had come to a happy (very happy) compromise: as long as there was none of what John called "actual sex", anything was fine.
The evenings were almost unbearable for Mary, after John got home. There was no opportunity for even a moment alone with her husband, not while Dean was climbing all over him and demanding details about the cars Daddy fixed today, and if any of them were police cars. More than once this week, Mary has dashed up to the upstairs bathroom, the one with the door that Dean can't open yet, and stroked herself into a quick and not particularly satisfying orgasm before running back downstairs, hoping the potatoes hadn't boiled dry. Then they ate dinner, her leg pressing hard against John's, and she'd clean up while John had some time with Dean, watching TV or wrestling. Eventually, one or both of them would get Dean into the bath, scrubbed clean and into bed for a story and prayers, then tiptoe away from his door, back down to the living room.
Dean was a heavy sleeper once he actually got to sleep, but that could take a while, even on dark winter nights. Mary felt a little more settled, after dinner, trying to get that balance of feeling full and avoiding reflux just right. They relaxed on the sofa, watched TV, talked. John usually had a beer, but Mary didn't mind missing out – beer was more of a summer thing for her, and the baby would be born by then. She was vaguely hoping this one was a girl, though she had no illusions that a girl would be any less active than Dean. It would be nice to balance out the family, though, and a little girl with John's eyes would be just adorable. John snored lightly beside her, traces of grease still smudged around his hairline, and the beer bottle dangling precariously from his hand, and Mary wriggled further into his side, reaching across him to neatly lift the bottle from his hand before it falls.
"Hey, baby," John slurred, then quickly blinked himself awake as Mary grinned and pulled her dress off over her head. Her plain and extremely supportive bra was nothing to write home about, but John's ruthless bra-removal technique had it following the dress in moments, and his face buried in her heavy white breasts. Mary's eyes rolled back in her head as John ran his rough thumb up the skin at the side of her right breast, up to her armpit; his stubble prickled her over-sensitive skin where he sucked and nibbled at her hard nipple, until she was squirming and arching under his touch. Her hard, hot belly was pressed against John's chest, and she sighed when the baby jumped and kicked inside. As usual, John automatically pulled back a little, but Mary grabbed a fistful of his hair and shoved his head right back to her nipple, which is cold, now, without his mouth on it.
The mood was a little more tentative, though, and the damn lights flickering yet again threw John right out of it.
"Remind me to take a look at –" he gets out, before Mary growled at him.
"Don't you dare stop now!" She had one hand on his neck and one in his hair, but her fierce gaze held him in place more securely than her grip could. He grinned up at her, and moved his hands down her body, slipping his fingers into the low-slung waistband of her panties and sliding them down her legs. He tipped himself off the sofa, too, landing with an unexpectedly loud thump, and both of them froze for a second to listen for Dean's voice, in case he woke. There was no plaintive call for Mommy, though, so Mary leaned back and poked her kneeling husband with a foot, urging him back towards her. He rasped those rough hands up the inside of her thighs, and by the time he touched her, right where she wanted it, she didn't know whether it was the lights or her vision that flickered, and she didn't care.
John followed his hands with his soft mouth and harsh stubble, and Mary could barely breathe when he rubbed the edge of his thumb against her clitoris and entered her with his tongue, his breath – cold on her overheated body – and teeth and stubble overwhelming her with sensation. The lights had gone out completely now, but the darkness didn't stop them. John's hands and tongue held Mary in a state of suspended, sweaty bliss, the long muscles of her legs spasming, and her fingers clenching, one hand in John's hair and the other on her belly. The hand that had been on her thigh moved upwards, caressing the underside of her belly possessively, and John didn't pull away, even when the baby started kicking again. Then, to Mary's surprise and delight, John started speaking, his mouth moving on her as his tongue worked in and out of her vagina, thick with fluid. She couldn't possibly have understood a word he said – it doesn't even sound like English! – but the sensation of his moving mouth and slight scrape of his teeth were more than she could bear. His tongue was impossibly deep and mobile inside her, his thumb firm, and she clenched herself close, gasping, and collapsed backwards into the embrace of the sofa, utterly exhausted.
John lifted his head, his mouth shiny, and the yellow glow from the streetlight outside reflected in his eyes for a long moment. He rested his arms on her legs, muttering something that Mary didn't catch. Her heart was still pounding in her ears, and the baby seemed to be having some kind of boxing match inside her, flipping and poking with tiny, strong limbs. John slowly, deliberately licked his lips, and Mary blinked as she smiled – his tongue seemed so long – but shook her head and her husband smiled back at her, stroking his hands along the sides of her belly and down her thighs.
"Guess I'd better check the fuse box." John dragged himself to his feet and kindly handed Mary her dress from where it lay on the floor. He rested his hand on her belly before he went, and the baby stilled beneath his firm touch. He strode out, and moments later the lights flashed back on with a strange rushing noise, but didn't flicker again. Mary held her arms out to John as he returned, his shoulders slumped. He dropped down on the sofa beside her, looking every bit as tired as she felt, and she put her arm around him, stroking his dark hair.
"Don't worry, honey." She leaned over and kissed him. "I'll try not to take so much out of you next time."
Title: Red Hot Mama
Rating: NC-17 for graphic sex, with possible dubious consent (no violence - for further warnings, see the title of the challenge!)
Starring: John/Mary, with guest appearances by Dean and fetal!Sammy.
Wordcount: ~1500
It was true with Dean, and it was true with this new baby: being pregnant turned Mary into a complete nymphomaniac. Early on, she was too sick and wrung out to think about anything fun, let along energetic and fun. At the end, she was awkward and could never get comfortable. Six months pregnant, with her baby a fine solid swell in front of her, she felt strong and beautiful, and constantly turned on. There was a warm glow in her breasts and between her legs all day, even when she was washing the dishes, or chasing after Dean, who had recently decided that he was a police car, and developed a dangerous tendency to suddenly run off and fight crime at all kinds of awkward moments.
She checked out a book from the library, when she was pregnant the first time, alarmed by these feelings in someone who was about to be a mother. The book assured her that increased libido was completely normal in pregnancy, due to increases in hormones and blood flow. Unfortunately, this wasn't enough to convince John. He'd picked up some strange idea – Mary suspected that it was from his Marine buddies –that while she was pregnant, they mustn't have sex. He couldn't explain whether it was because the baby might be hurt, or she might be, or because the baby was there at all, but he was certainly very uncomfortable with the idea. Mary was quite sure it wasn't because she had become undesirable – she felt terrific, and John loved to hold her, and touch her hair and belly – but he simply wouldn't have sex with her. Frustrated, Mary began to ask John what might be okay, and they had come to a happy (very happy) compromise: as long as there was none of what John called "actual sex", anything was fine.
The evenings were almost unbearable for Mary, after John got home. There was no opportunity for even a moment alone with her husband, not while Dean was climbing all over him and demanding details about the cars Daddy fixed today, and if any of them were police cars. More than once this week, Mary has dashed up to the upstairs bathroom, the one with the door that Dean can't open yet, and stroked herself into a quick and not particularly satisfying orgasm before running back downstairs, hoping the potatoes hadn't boiled dry. Then they ate dinner, her leg pressing hard against John's, and she'd clean up while John had some time with Dean, watching TV or wrestling. Eventually, one or both of them would get Dean into the bath, scrubbed clean and into bed for a story and prayers, then tiptoe away from his door, back down to the living room.
Dean was a heavy sleeper once he actually got to sleep, but that could take a while, even on dark winter nights. Mary felt a little more settled, after dinner, trying to get that balance of feeling full and avoiding reflux just right. They relaxed on the sofa, watched TV, talked. John usually had a beer, but Mary didn't mind missing out – beer was more of a summer thing for her, and the baby would be born by then. She was vaguely hoping this one was a girl, though she had no illusions that a girl would be any less active than Dean. It would be nice to balance out the family, though, and a little girl with John's eyes would be just adorable. John snored lightly beside her, traces of grease still smudged around his hairline, and the beer bottle dangling precariously from his hand, and Mary wriggled further into his side, reaching across him to neatly lift the bottle from his hand before it falls.
"Hey, baby," John slurred, then quickly blinked himself awake as Mary grinned and pulled her dress off over her head. Her plain and extremely supportive bra was nothing to write home about, but John's ruthless bra-removal technique had it following the dress in moments, and his face buried in her heavy white breasts. Mary's eyes rolled back in her head as John ran his rough thumb up the skin at the side of her right breast, up to her armpit; his stubble prickled her over-sensitive skin where he sucked and nibbled at her hard nipple, until she was squirming and arching under his touch. Her hard, hot belly was pressed against John's chest, and she sighed when the baby jumped and kicked inside. As usual, John automatically pulled back a little, but Mary grabbed a fistful of his hair and shoved his head right back to her nipple, which is cold, now, without his mouth on it.
The mood was a little more tentative, though, and the damn lights flickering yet again threw John right out of it.
"Remind me to take a look at –" he gets out, before Mary growled at him.
"Don't you dare stop now!" She had one hand on his neck and one in his hair, but her fierce gaze held him in place more securely than her grip could. He grinned up at her, and moved his hands down her body, slipping his fingers into the low-slung waistband of her panties and sliding them down her legs. He tipped himself off the sofa, too, landing with an unexpectedly loud thump, and both of them froze for a second to listen for Dean's voice, in case he woke. There was no plaintive call for Mommy, though, so Mary leaned back and poked her kneeling husband with a foot, urging him back towards her. He rasped those rough hands up the inside of her thighs, and by the time he touched her, right where she wanted it, she didn't know whether it was the lights or her vision that flickered, and she didn't care.
John followed his hands with his soft mouth and harsh stubble, and Mary could barely breathe when he rubbed the edge of his thumb against her clitoris and entered her with his tongue, his breath – cold on her overheated body – and teeth and stubble overwhelming her with sensation. The lights had gone out completely now, but the darkness didn't stop them. John's hands and tongue held Mary in a state of suspended, sweaty bliss, the long muscles of her legs spasming, and her fingers clenching, one hand in John's hair and the other on her belly. The hand that had been on her thigh moved upwards, caressing the underside of her belly possessively, and John didn't pull away, even when the baby started kicking again. Then, to Mary's surprise and delight, John started speaking, his mouth moving on her as his tongue worked in and out of her vagina, thick with fluid. She couldn't possibly have understood a word he said – it doesn't even sound like English! – but the sensation of his moving mouth and slight scrape of his teeth were more than she could bear. His tongue was impossibly deep and mobile inside her, his thumb firm, and she clenched herself close, gasping, and collapsed backwards into the embrace of the sofa, utterly exhausted.
John lifted his head, his mouth shiny, and the yellow glow from the streetlight outside reflected in his eyes for a long moment. He rested his arms on her legs, muttering something that Mary didn't catch. Her heart was still pounding in her ears, and the baby seemed to be having some kind of boxing match inside her, flipping and poking with tiny, strong limbs. John slowly, deliberately licked his lips, and Mary blinked as she smiled – his tongue seemed so long – but shook her head and her husband smiled back at her, stroking his hands along the sides of her belly and down her thighs.
"Guess I'd better check the fuse box." John dragged himself to his feet and kindly handed Mary her dress from where it lay on the floor. He rested his hand on her belly before he went, and the baby stilled beneath his firm touch. He strode out, and moments later the lights flashed back on with a strange rushing noise, but didn't flicker again. Mary held her arms out to John as he returned, his shoulders slumped. He dropped down on the sofa beside her, looking every bit as tired as she felt, and she put her arm around him, stroking his dark hair.
"Don't worry, honey." She leaned over and kissed him. "I'll try not to take so much out of you next time."
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