ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: Mistress Orchid is a real person. She has generously given me permission to fictionalize her here.
Supernatural: Strictly Business 2: Souvenir (epilogue to)
Sam slept all the way to the next motel, slumped in the Impala's passenger seat; the doings in Portland had really taken it out of him. He dreamed of burning trunks and creaking leather, the stench of gasoline and the ambrosia of clean, masculine sweat.
Dean woke him up when they reached the Super-8 in McCall, Idaho late that afternoon.
"I'm showering first," Dean announced as they crossed the threshold of their room. "Lay the salt circle, will ya?" He tossed his gear in the direction of the beds and headed for the bathroom. "Start thinking about dinner," he called out as he nudged the door closed behind him.
Just as Sam finished pouring the protective line, someone knocked on the door. He jumped, startled. When he answered, there, to his great surprise, stood a parcel delivery guy. "Package for Dean Winchester."
Stunned into silence, Sam nodded. Who would send them something at a motel? And who knew where they were?
"Sign here." The brown-clad man thrust a clipboard at him.
Sam almost told the guy that he had the wrong Winchester, then thought better of it. Dean had just gotten into the shower; why drag him out just to sign? So Sam wrote his brother's name on the sheet and took possession of the smallish manila envelope. The return address said Portland, and where the sender's name should be, there was a picture of a flower. An orchid.
Sam tore open the envelope.
It was a CD in a jewel case, with a handmade label. He turned it over in his hands, examining it from all sides, then turned his attention to the lettering on the front. This was a souvenir video of their visit to 'Strict', Mistress Orchid's elegant handwriting explained. On a post-it stuck to the back, she went on to assure that nobody would ever get their hands on the club's surveillance tapes, but some clients appreciated this kind of personal memento of their visit, and she knew Dean would.
Sam scrambled to get the disk into his laptop's DVD drive and start watching.
The video began and Sam recognized Mistress Orchid's private room, and the lady herself, although she looked more casual than when he had seen her. Her hair and make-up were less 'done', and she was wearing a different dress; this one was light blue satin, loose, flowing and sleeveless. Her bare feet made no sound at all as she crossed the floor to answer her door.
*'Isn't this supposed to be the same day?'*
There was Dean on the screen, entering the Mistress' room...
Sam cocked his head, puzzled. Dean was wearing the clothes from that afternoon, from the library -- not the warmer outfit he had layered on that night, when they had gone to the club together, or the fetish gear they had been required to change into.
~o~0~o~
When Dean came out of the shower, towel knotted around his waist as he rubbed his hair dry with the stupid little hand towel, he discovered Sam at the kitchenette table, staring at his computer, not relaxing on the bed watching TV like Dean expected.
"What's up?" he inquired, curious about the odd expression on Sam's face.
His brother didn't even flick his gaze from the screen. "You got a package from Mistress Orchid," Sam told him distantly. "It's a souvenir video."
"So why do you look so weird?" Dean asked. "You know what's on it; you were there." He slung around the other kitchenette chair and sat beside his disconcerted brother so that he could see for himself what the screen was showing.
~o~0~o~
Mistress Orchid's head and shoulders rested on the back of her chair; her bottom was as close to the edge as possible, her dress rucked up around her waist. Dean, naked, knelt between her open legs. He slowly parted her knees wider with his hands, running his palms up the insides of her thighs; his breath hitched as he gazed at her damp flower. Carefully, he spread her inner-lips with his fingers and lowered his watering mouth to lap the juices off her pussy. Mistress Orchid relaxed, sighing. Dean sucked her inner-lips and probed her hole with his tongue. She let out a groan when he finally took her shiny, hard little pearl between his lips and started licking and sucking it.
Dean happily nuzzled his face between Orchid's legs, enjoying the slick, warm, delicate folds of her womanhood fluttering against his flicking, stroking tongue, the smell of her dancing seductively in his nostrils. And her taste was fantastic; he couldn't seem to get enough. Dean slid his hands underneath Orchid's smooth thighs, around and up the outside, pushing her legs onto his shoulders, and buried his face in deeper. His hands quested up her torso, his fingers just reaching far enough to brush her satin-covered breasts.
While he continued working her sex with his mouth, he gently, caressingly, drew his hands back down her body. He eased his index finger into her and started finger fucking her; the glistening juices leaked onto his hand. Dean watched Mistress Orchid watch him eat her, her heavy-lidded gaze locked onto his smiling one. He occasionally licked her hole from around his finger, lapping up her juices, while she moaned and started humping his mouth. He inserted his middle finger to join his index in one smooth stroke, moving the digits rhythmically in and out of her as he sucked on her clit in the same insistent tempo. Mistress Orchid's moans started winding higher and higher.
Her orgasm struck and she came all over his face, squirming and squeezing his head between her thighs, her face flushed and contorted with pleasure. When her orgasm started to wane, Dean twisted his fingers around inside her, finding her g-spot. He rubbed it as he kept sucking her hard, hot little nubbin, firing another powerful orgasm through his delighted Mistress.
As she eased down from the double-high and caught her breath, Dean kissed her pussy and quivering inner thighs lovingly, lavishing attention on her treasure box.
"You're such a good pussy-slave, Beauty," Mistress Orchid purred at Dean, caressing his face with gentle, possessive fingertips. "You may lie down over there." She indicated a Persian rug on the floor.
Dean crawled to it, head down; his crimson, engorged cock swaying beneath him.
"Very good," Mistress praised. "After all this time, you still remembered not to stand."
"Yes, Ma'am," he smirked as he settled onto his back, tucking a velvet cushion under his neck. He arranged himself knees up, feet flat on the rug, legs parted wide, hands outstretched and flat-palmed to the floor. Then his whole posture assumed an obvious air of patient waiting.
Once he was set, Mistress Orchid rose languidly from her chair, retrieved an elegant robe from nearby to drape around herself, and then settled comfortably onto a large floor cushion that she placed between Dean's feet. She studied him for a moment, then she reached forward between his spread thighs and freed him from his cock-ring. Dean let out an involuntary grunt/groan.
"You may relieve yourself," she gave permission.
Instantly, Dean's hands flew to his groin. He groaned loudly, gripped his cock two-handed and slowly stroked from root to tip, eyes sliding half shut in pleasure. Orchid produced a bottle of lubricating oil from her robe pocket and drizzled a copious amount onto Dean's cockhead, then sat back to watch him jerk himself off. Dean's strong fingers caressed his turgid flesh, wrapped around the slick surface and tugged, stroked, squeezed. His calloused palm stroked across the leaking head. He ran his rough fingertips along the big vein, slowly sliding from base to tip and back again. He cupped his balls with one hand, kneading and tugging as he pumped into his fist.
After a few moments, Mistress Orchid reached forward again, and when her hand retreated, it pulled a string along with it. The anal beads popped out past Dean's spasming sphincter one by one. Slowly.
