Dean and the Dryad

I tried to redeem myself a bit by posting these chapters a little more quickly. Categorizing this story was hard: interracial, nonhuman, erotic coupling, bdsm, there's a bit of everything here. But I hope you like it, and please leave feedback!

*****

Sam jumped, expecting the door to splinter and Dean's fists to come flying, but instead he heard the sounds of struggle. Rapidly undoing Zena from her binds, they raced into the kitchen, where Dean was grappling with a slight, surprisingly strong blonde. The front door swung forlornly off half its hinges, like the two had burst right through it.

The woman wore skintight jeans and a low-cut tank top, but her outfit didn't impede her fighting style. She grabbed Dean by both arms and slung him face-first into a wall.

"Is it because I didn't call?" he shouted.

Shay sneered. "Did you really think you're that irresistible? Please." Her head whipped around to Zena. "Hello, sweetheart."

"Hello, Auntie."

The women circled each other. Dean began to approach, but Sam grabbed his arm. The heady aroma of Zena's pheromones fogged Dean's brain, and he shot Sam a confused look before returning his attention to the scene before him.

"So," Shay was saying, "you kill my mate and imprint your own? But that is not his scent you're wearing. You are extraordinary, my dear. After everything she did, you've proven yourself even worse than your mother."

"You leave my mother out of this. She broke free—"

"Your mother was a thief, plain and simple. Oh, I warned Kaidunos not to trust her. But she was sooo near his heart. He would've forgiven her, taken her back and you with her."

Zena swung a heavy chair at the woman, breaking it across her shoulder. Shay didn't budge.

"My mother never wanted to return to that...monster! That thing robbed her of free will!"

"That thing—our husband, your father—made life worth living. And you murdered him!"

Shay lunged at Zena, seeming to fly the last few feet between them, and dug her claws into the young woman's neck. Her stranglehold was unbreakable. Sam and Dean tried, slamming their fists into her arms, prying at her fingers, to no avail. Zena kicked and pushed, but couldn't break the hold.

"Nice try, sweetheart," Shay laughed in her face. "You're strong, but without the help of your true mate you're no match for me. Why do you think I compelled you to lay down with his brother?"

Dean couldn't believe his ears. "You dropped your clothes for Sam? I don't understand."

Dean had been hard as a rock all day. He'd done his damndest to avoid her that morning, it was true; after spending last night out in the cold he'd finally gotten a grip and didn't want to lose it. But he'd been distracted the whole time he was out, hoping she wasn't angry with him for behaving like an idiot. Halfway through gathering the supplies Sam requested, he began feeling strange. His thoughts were never far from their interlude in the kitchen. But this was more than recall; it was reliving it. He wandered through the rare plants greenhouse feeling her tummy convulse against his, her juicy grip on his fingers, the way she wriggled. Her cum-cry rang in his ears and he nearly left his wallet at the counter racing out of there. He had to get home to her. The last thing he'd expected to learn was that she'd been making time with Sam.

"Goddamn, what kind of woman are you?" he asked.

"She's the daughter of a god," Sam said. "And you heard the nymph. We were compelled, we couldn't help it. She must have been working her magic, outside."

Zena looked at Dean. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"As am I, child. I am going to kill you now, and these sorry human specimens too."

"No!" A rush of power from Zena seemed to flatten every object in the room. Her eyes glittered and her hair fanned out in an undetectable breeze, like each of the individual plaits were alive. With a look, Zena pinned her aunt against a far wall.

"You meant to break me, but you've made me stronger than I could ever imagine. Unlike you, I held my center."

Shay's eyes widened. "It's impossible! You couldn't have resisted!"

Zena just smiled, full of hurt and malice. "Now you'll pay."

Before they could stop her, she blasted the nymph out of existence.

Zena slept for the next 48 hours days. If she got up to use the bathroom or eat, she did it while the boys were out or asleep, and she moved silently as a ninja.

Dean was missing her something fierce. He wanted to apologize for acting like an idiot, for running and then being so jealous he couldn't look at her straight, but he couldn't seem to catch her. Finally, the third morning Dean banged on her door. When she didn't answer, he pushed his way into the room and stood over the rumpled bed.

A quick jog out the front revealed her bike was missing. Sam stood beside him in the muddy front yard.

"These tracks aren't old. She must've left about an hour ago."

Dean nodded. "And pushed her bike out of the yard to avoid noise, too."

Sam looked chagrined. "She blamed herself. It wasn't her fault."

Dean nodded. He knew whose it was.

**

Dean didn't go out often. But when he did, it was to Lupe's, a small Mexican bar on the outskirts of town. Décor was crap, but beers were cheap and a few nights a week, bands crowded the tiny stage strung with colored Christmas lights.

He staked out his favorite dimly lit corner with a pitcher of suds and watched the cowboys dance to the plaintive honks of norteno tuba.

"Hey stranger, this seat taken?"

Dean looked up into Zena's brown eyes. She wore a long, simple skirt and his tank top. All that rest seemed to have done her no good. She looked wan, thinner than before.

"Why'd you run off? I was worried about you."

"I'd have thought you'd be relieved," she returned, taking a sip of his beer.

Dean shook his head. "We didn't mind taking care of you. You shouldn't have left, you're not 100 percent yet. I mean, you're beautiful, but you look worn down."

"Thanks. I just needed...to hear some music, be around people. You ever feel that way?"

"That's why I'm here. We should dance."

"I'm not drunk enough yet," Zena replied. "Besides, I'm worn down, right?"

"Come on, I look good enough for the both of us." He flashed his megawatt smile, and she let him pull her to the floor.

He rested a hand on the small of her back and began two-stepping. The music swelled and they got lost in the simple joy of movement. Zena and Dean had good rhythm together. Dancing was like a language they spoke, more intimate than conscious words.

Dean noted a bit of a circle forming around them in the middle of the floor. Zena swung her hips with confidence and grace, putting her whole body into it. She danced with her toned arms swaying overhead in a hypnotic motion. The band slid from norteno to salsa, to bachata and quilombo. The music got sexier and sexier. He couldn't take his eyes off her. An odd movement to the left caught his eye and he realized the couple next to him were making out pretty seriously. Murmurs and sighs propagated across the dancefloor as couples moved more and more immodestly, until they were just dry-humping in front of the band. Through it all, Zena danced with her eyes closed.

Suddenly, she glanced around at all of the writhing bodies and stumbled like she'd just woken out of a trance. "I've gotta get out of here," she said and made a run for the parking lot. Dean followed her. She was visibly upset.

"Folks are just getting a little freaky, lighten up," he joked.

She shook her head. "It's more than that. And you know it." Zena's eyes shone with tears, but she went quiet. Dean felt her mood, like a glass unicorn on a ledge. Any sudden move might break her. She was slipping away from him.

"Get in the car. I want to take you somewhere."

The two were lost in thought as Dean drove into the hills. She was the first to break the silence.

Zena sighed. "I used to think maybe my ancestors were Zoroastrian, way back a thousand years ago. I never met any other Zoroastrians to know for sure. I grew up normal; my mom, my stepdad and me. We had some cultural things that we had to keep to ourselves, but a few rites a couple times a year was it. Mom said it was our family history."

"What kinds of rites?"

"Feast days, special prayers, dances. I loved the dancing." Zena's voice warmed, slipping back into memories of her childhood. "The dancing is what I miss most. Mom moved beautifully, like she was telling a story, and I learned by imitating her. She encouraged me to find my own style, my own originality, and she was so pleased whenever I would dance for them. She said I would change, and that I wasn't to dance outside the house any more. I thought she was being protective. I danced for my parents on my birthday, when I turned 18."

Zena marveled at the memory, her eyes bright. "The longer and harder I danced, the less tired I became. I didn't know my body could move like that. I danced for three days straight. I could hear my neighbors moaning in the night. When I dropped of exhaustion, the last thing I saw was my parents, locked in a knot of passion."

The further away they got from the town lights, the calmer Zena became. A long time passed before she spoke again.

"I killed my stepdad that night. I'm sure he died happy, but still, he died because of me. Mom told me I had to go."

"You were just a kid," Dean tried to console her. "You didn't know."

"But I did," Zena said with a sad smile. "It felt too good. Just like tonight. I knew better. I just missed music so much. I thought just a little dancing couldn't hurt." She looked out the window like her heart was breaking. "Where are you taking me?"

"A little spot in the hills I like to go to, when I want to be alone."

She smiled at him. "But you're not. Won't I ruin it?"

He made an abrupt turn down a hidden road. It was a single lane, unpaved but smooth, leading up a sharp incline. "Never."

About three miles in they came to a sudden clearing. The spot was a small, inactive volcano, millions of years old, that had been filled over time by a natural lake. It sparkled in the moonlight, surrounded by a sandy, scrubby beach.

Zena gasped and jumped out before the car came to a complete stop. She ran to the water line like a child.

"This is beautiful, Dean!"

"It's just us for miles," he called, fiddling with the car radio. Reception was bad out here, but he found an old bossa nova station with a decent signal and turned up the volume. "You can dance all you want."

Zena threw her arms up as the old-timey music swelled. Her movements mixed rhumba and salsa and West African influences, until she simply began to twirl like a dervish, spinning faster and faster until it made Dean dizzy just to look at her. When he did, he could see she was crying.

It was the most wonderful thing anyone had ever done for her.

He kicked his shoes off and joined her, quickly losing the bit of chill that lingered on the night air. He was swirling in her spell, but he reached out and grabbed ahold of their connection, using it as an anchor. Matching her intricate steps, Dean tapped into some dormant part of himself and unhooked his soul from the years of heartache and suffering. He pounded out the weight through his feet, unspooled the guilt with his hips, telling Zena without words everything he felt in his heart.

He didn't know how long they danced, but at some point he looked down at himself, amazed to discover he wasn't even tired. She let out a whoop when he dipped her, then tried to unsuccessfully dip him. Dean let himself fall back into the sand, drawing her down with him. He found her lips and, pulling her beneath him, sunk into her lush kiss.

His hands roamed up and down her body until she trembled.

"You cold?" he whispered.

She shook her head no. Goosebumps raised on her chest, but she was definitely feeling warm. Dean held himself above her by his forearms. She could feel him blunt and insistent below the waist, his body demanding what his lips wouldn't.

"I've got an idea," Zena said, locking her legs around his waist. Dean grunted at the contact, ready to plow her through the soft sand, when she twisted her body hard and threw him on his side. Firmly seated before he knew what hit him, Zena grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, then stood and shed the skirt, revealing her long, powerful legs. Turning her back, she unclasped her bra and flung it to the ground with her clothes. She discarded her panties last, flashing Dean a look at her bare buttocks as she scurried toward the surf.

"It's gonna be—" he tried to warn her, but her scream cut him off. "Cold," he guffawed, stripping down to join her. He liked this game.

There was only one way to adjust to the temperature: Zena splashed past the shallows and sat on the sandy bottom of the lake. Her nerve endings thrilled to the sudden chill; dancing had lulled her but now she felt fully conscious and intimately connected to the universe. Each of stars overhead seemed turned up a little brighter, just for her.

Immersed up to her eyes, she watched Dean approach. His sculpted body had Zena wetter inside than out. Dean's broad shoulders and chest narrowed to a tightly ripped waist, a sharp vee flowing into the start of strong, muscle-corded hips. His wide, pale dick bobbed ahead of him like a hungry fish. But it was his eyes that had her locked. They were dark as the lake, and the water stuck his lashes thickly together.

She rose, allowing the lake to buoy her until she stood waist-deep. Rivulets of water streamed off her body, shimmering in the moonlight. She crossed her arms coyly over her bosom as Dean splashed over to her. He took one of her hands, then the other in his, unwrapping her like a present, drinking in the sight of her wet, beautiful breasts. How could he not have brought her here sooner?

"Hey, you." The night looked so good on her skin. Even the air wants to make love to her, he thought. He traced his thumb along her lips and she bit it, eyes laughing at him.

"You little..." he smacked her bottom a little harder than he'd intended, and rubbed it to soothe the sting. As his fingers kneaded her rump, she angled her head to his. The kiss was languorous, a first leisurely exploration of each other's lips. He gripped a fistful of braids and gently tugged her head back, tipping her chin higher for better access.

He ran his hands under her bum, cupping it up and open. She had so much soft, sweet ass, but he couldn't get a grip on it. It was too slippery. Zena giggled, feeling his long fingers dig into her backside, attempting to hang on. Dean played with it a little, bouncing it, even dribbling it a bit, then shifted under her so she straddled her hips. It happened so fast she squealed. She was aloft in the night air, solidly supported by his strong body.

"Put me down, Dean," she giggled, twisting about.

"If you insist. You know, I still owe you one for biting me."

"You wouldn't!"

"Oh, but I would." Without further delay, Dean tightened his grip on her and, yelling "timber," plunged them both under the murky water.

Sputtering, Zena found her feet for a few seconds, but Dean was playing, showing off his familiarity with the lake. He circled her underwater like a shark and grabbed at her calves, attempting to flip her head over tail again. She turned the tables when she went under and he felt her hot mouth sheath his penis.

His vision went crimson and he gasped as she emerged laughing to the surface.

"That's not fair," he sputtered. "Unless I can do it, too."

He dropped to a sitting position on the lake bottom, and after a second she stepped forward. She followed his prompts to fit one, then the other leg over his shoulders, and he dipped his mouth to her sweet center. He ate her until he thought his lungs would burst. Then, gripping her arms with his hands, he stood, inhaling her and oxygen at the same time.

She slid her body lower onto him, encouraged by his hands on her buttocks, and her toes tickled down his back as he walked them ashore.

"You called me 'just another zombie that wants to fuck.' I've been called lots of things by lots of women, but never that."

"Guess that makes me special."

"It does," he kissed the tip of her nose. "I know, now, the effect you have on people. But..." he searched her face. "I think there's more between us."

Zena looked down at his cock pushing against her thigh. "I'll say."

She knelt between his legs and unzipped him, and her jaw dropped. Seeing it was different from feeling it bump against her mound. Her fingers couldn't wrap all the way around it; he was the thickness and half the length of a small child's arm.

What the hell? Deena was a bit in awe. She stroked it a few times and jumped when Dean tilted her chin up.

Deena focused on his wet, dark eyes as she brought his cock to her closed mouth. He pulled her face up his length, slowly, but not so slowly she didn't gag. He kept pushing until he felt her throat constricting his head. She threw her hands up to stroke his sac like locks to which only she held the combinations. Her tongue scrolled along his cock wherever she could make room and saliva bathed her chin. Two or three inches still protruded from her mouth, but she worked him over with such gusto he doubted he could last if she took it all.

Deena had never had her mouth so filled. Her lips stretched so widely for him she couldn't imagine how he'd fit inside her. But sucking him was transcendent. His tender, rigid flesh leaked pre-cum over her tongue, making her taste buds tingle. He felt like a tree, growing his root into her belly. She ached with emptiness. Each squeeze of her thighs left them wetter.

Deena was feasting on his moans and sighs as much as on the thick cock in her mouth. His utter helplessness against her prowess turned her on 10. She engulfed his whole length and managed to flick his sac with her tongue, shocked and pleased to find it drawn up so tightly already. He would be spurting soon. Would copious amounts of sweet milk overflow her jaws, or would he feed a thick, ropy load straight into her belly? She hummed in anticipation.

"You thirsty, baby?" His gravelly register made her suck harder. "Mmm, you want to swallow me?"

She nodded, letting his cock slide around in her mouth.

"Too bad," he teased her. "I can't wait another minute."

Dean pulled free, dragging a strangled cough and a glut of saliva out of her throat. It splashed onto her breasts, clear strands suspended like a bridge between her lips and his prick. They glowed in the starlit night. Dean got on the ground and she opened before him like a feast. Without a moment to waste, he speared her.

The sheer amount of dick all at once made her scream. His first thrust seemed neverending, and it stretched her to capacity. When he finally bottomed out, he was so deep and snug, Dean was afraid to move. He counted from ten backwards, brow furrowed in concentration, eyes closed against her beauty. But he couldn't do anything about the lush rack, soft thighs and tight pussy claiming his body, demanding he fuck. Gritting his teeth, he pulled back and slammed into her center. Again and again; until he saw stars.

He had just enough willpower not to stuff the whole ten inches into her. Her insides squeezed his cock so deliciously, he could tell she hadn't been active in a while and he was bigger than she was used to. With each thrust, her lip snarled up in one corner, unwittingly egging him on to fuck her harder, deeper. Her tits jumped with every thrust; he couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Ohhh damn it, baby," he mumbled, falling on her lips. The kiss was slow, deep and sweet, though Dean's waist never stopped moving. They mingled tongues while he stirred his dick deep in her belly. Deena wondered if he was rearranging her insides. Short, tight strokes thumped her g-spot and pressed her overstimulated clit, sending electrical jolts through her body. Her legs jerked in time with his thrusts. A droplet of water slid off her long lashes and down her face. She made him feel like Superman.