And chapter 2 is here as promised! Enjoy!
Warning: Use of unconventional sex toys ahead
Going into the bathroom, Dean wiped his stomach down with a wet cloth, sighing with relief now that he felt clean. He dropped the cloth to the floor and stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was in disarray, cheeks and chest flushed red, pupils blown, and bottom lip swollen from constant biting. Dean closed his eyes against the image and bent to splash water over his face. He was so screwed.
Back in the bedroom, Dean caught sight of the magazine and flushed, looking at the floor. If his dad ever found out…oh god, he was so fucked. Avoiding the problem and seeing the mess of stuff he'd left out, he knelt to put it all away, tossing the clothes, gel, and knife back into the bag before freezing when he got to the brush. His eyes darted between it and the magazine on the bed, flicking back and forth as his brain raced. Could he?
No. Fuck no. But…shit.
Dean stood with the brush in hand, duffle left forgotten on the floor as he climbed back onto the mattress. Situated on the bed once more, Dean stared at the object in his hands, a brush with a round handle, not very big around, a domed tip – perfect for what he had in mind. Oh fuck, he was doing this.
Leaning back so only his head and shoulders were lifted, Dean took a deep breath. He opened his legs and slid his hand down, fingers immediately finding the tender skin of his rim and the lotion left behind from his last foray only ten minutes before. Swallowing thickly, Dean pressed two fingers back into his hole, breath hitching when they slid right in. He gave a few experimental thrusts before pulling back out, Dean's dick twitching where it lay against his thigh.
Fuck. "Might be gay" was in the dust.
Patting the bed, Dean located the tube of lotion and grabbing the brush, applied a thick line of it down each side of the handle. If he was doing this, he was making it as easy as possible. With a deep breath Dean dropped the tube back to the bed and using his right hand, situated the brush handle so the tip rested against his hole. Cock starting to perk up, Dean lifted his head to watch, fascinated as he just barely pressed the tip inside.
This experience was much different than his fingers. Where his fingers were warm and pliable, the brush handle was rigid, unforgiving, and cool to the touch. He blinked against the sweat dripping down his forehead. He wanted this. He could do this.
Inhaling deeply, Dean pushed the shaft slowly inside himself, releasing his breath with each nudge inside. Gripping the bristled end now, Dean stopped halfway, panting. He closed his eyes and then opening them to watch once more, pushed with a steady pressure until the entire length of the shaft was buried inside him.
Dean's head rocked back as a loud whimper rose past his lips. The handle felt huge inside him, pressing further than his fingers had reached, holding him open in a way his fingers hadn't. While it wasn't as wide as the fingers, Dean felt like this was more what a real cock would be like, hard and long, reaching so deep inside him. He moaned.
With another whimper, Dean rocked down onto the handle, using both hands now to push it in and out of his body at an even pace. As his muscles became more accustomed to the movement, he increased the speed, finally just keeping his hips raised off the mattress and plowing himself wildly with the toy. Fuck, this was amazing.
The lotion allowed the handle to slip in and out without dragging and trying something a little different, Dean pressed the brush handle in as far as it would go…and pulled the bristled end up towards his balls so the handle angled down, then pressed the top down into the mattress so the handle angled upward. Dean's whole body writhed at the new sensation and after cycling quickly through those motions at least a dozen times and hitting his prostate a fair amount, Dean was feeling so oversensitive and close to coming he had to stop.
Holding himself still for a few beats, Dean breathed deeply and then tried something else, something that would hopefully feel just as good without being so overwhelming. This time he pressed the handle in to its base and then twisted, the shaft rotating inside him and pulling against, almost tickling, his walls as it turned. A burst of laughter left him, followed quickly by a moan.
As much as Dean was enjoying all this, the experience was still new and he could feel his body reaching its limit. He would come soon and there was little he could do to stop it.
Dean stopped twisting and returned to a regular thrusting motion, trying different angles as he filled himself over and over again with the unconventional toy. Wanting to try one last thing before he came, Dean pulled the handle free from his body and turned so he rested on his hands and knees, dropping down so his cheek pressed into the pillow, ass in the air.
A bright blush flooded his cheeks again, but Dean ignored it in favor of returning the toy to his hole. Keeping his legs spread, he reached under his body with both hands and nudged the tip inside, before sliding it home, his hips rocking back desperately as the base met his cheeks. The new angle forced a sob out of his throat.
After one experimental thrust in and out, Dean renewed the frenzy of before, spearing his hole with the shaft over and over and over again as whimpering moans surged from deep in his chest. A low burning heat was building in his blood, filling his belly and tightening his balls.
With one more hit to his prostate and two last deep thrusts, Dean's body went rigid as he reached his peak. Completely untouched, his cock spilled white streams onto the sheets below him, hips rocking back against the shaft, hole clenching tightly around it. Dean bit his lip against the scream that wanted to fill the air, turning his face into the pillows when the surges of pleasure became too much.
As the aftershocks faded, Dean collapsed, body falling flat, the handle still lodged inside him. He panted, eyes closed, waiting for strength to come back into his limbs. He'd never felt so drained after an orgasm before. Fuck, he had to do that again soon.
Feeling returning to his fingers and toes, Dean dragged his arms out from under his body and reached behind him, slowly pulling the brush handle from his hole. He gasped as it popped free, ass clenching around empty air.
Dropping the brush on the bed beside him, Dean squirmed, the cooling wet spot under his belly growing increasingly uncomfortable. With a groan, he heaved himself up and stumbled to the bathroom to wipe himself down for the second time that day.
That evening after picking Sam up from school, Dean went out to the Impala to gather up a duffle bag worth of weapons to clean and prepare for future hunts. Even though everything was always cleaned after a hunt, they could never be too careful, and well, Dean was bored. The smell of gun-oil and the rhythmic snicking sound of blade on whetstone was soothing and Dean's nerves were thrumming after the day he'd had.
Rooting around in the trunk, Dean piled another blade onto the heap filling his bag. Reaching a little further back, and shifting a shotgun out of the way, Dean's breath hitched, his fingers coming into contact with the biting cold metal of an old MagLite flashlight.
Curling his fingers around the cylinder, Dean dragged his hand back, a huff of breath breaching his lips once all fourteen inches rested in his palm. Shit, the weight of the flashlight was holding him in place, almost like it possessed its own gravitational pull.
Dean stared, mouth dry, swallowing thickly as he imagined everything he could do with the object in his hand. A little larger around than his three fingers combined, it would stretch him so perfectly, and big even without counting the flared top, it was long enough that he wouldn't have to stop at any particular depth like with the brush.
Just picturing himself mounted on the shaft made his dick twitch in his pants, palms suddenly sticky with sweat. He rubbed his left hand dry on his jeans, shooting glances at the door to the house. He was all too aware of Sam's presence in the house and as much as he wanted, god he wanted, to put the vivid images into action, he knew he had to wait.
Forcing a deep breath, Dean tucked the flashlight into the duffle and stepped back, slamming the trunk closed and loping into the house. He couldn't wait for his next day off.
I so enjoy a young, semi-innocent Dean... Next part should follow soon :)
