Not a drabble, just an extension. Why? Cos I'm horny, and bored, and my man is not here...
Imagination lives through fiction.
Dedicated to all the Sam girls out there.
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Sam entered the motel room armed with a rock salt filled shotgun, a bottle of whiskey, and a pocketful of condoms.
He couldn't believe he was doing this, wasn't sure he even could.
But he had to save Dean.
Had to try.
He couldn't risk losing him.
Not again.
Not ever.
The witches were lying on the bed.
All three of them.
Together.
"Ready to break the spell Sam?" the raven haired witch asked.
Sam had his pants and shirt off in seconds.
The sooner this was over the better.
The witches squealed in delight at the sight before them.
Perfectly sculpted God like body.
Abs made of steel, shoulders broad, and muscles ripped.
They worked their way down his body, raping him with their eyes.
Standing there in just his boxer briefs left little to the imagination.
The brunette witch patted the bed. "C'mon Sam."
"Mmm' California King," the blonde one said.
The witches all laughed then, for the bed was only a Queen.
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A/N: Should I go there? Should I?