Sitting on Rhonda's couch, buck naked, his cock lying soft against his thigh, Dean sips on a beer as he lazily watches a muted show on the TV screen - he's not "watching, watching," more like observing the moving pictures. At 16, Rhonda already has the house to herself most of the time. A nearly absent mom, and a dad who drinks himself into a stupor every single night, means a lot of freedom - and sure, less money, and minimal prospects, but Rhonda is not the self-pitying type; she has long accepted that this is her life and that this is probably it. And she makes the best out of it - mostly by getting fucked stupid and building a solid reputation as the school slut, in addition to drinking, smoking up, even hustling men twice her size in pool in shady bars. Dean has seen the girl in action, and she's good. She can wiggle her way through anything, including getting them into some pretty exclusive clubs without showing IDs.
He doesn't know how she does it but he's not complaining.
Right now, she has thrown a thin crop top on, and she's sitting on a love seat to his right, her breasts covered, but the lower half of her body completely nude. She's not even trying to hide her modesty; she's sitting cross-legged and her pussy lips are spread from the position, showing off her pink opening and because she's lazily lying back against the seat, Dean can also glimpse her pucker. Her shamelessness is quite gripping!
She looks sexy as hell, but Dean fucked her at least three times in less than four hours and even at 14 that's pushing it. He can enjoy the view, but at this point, his dick is not interested in anything beyond twitching feebly in response to the visual stimulation.
Rhonda is sipping on scotch, neat. She offered him a shot earlier but Dean of course declined. She's also smoking and he wouldn't come near cigarettes no matter what. Never again. The last time he did, his mom smelled it on him, and he went through scorching hell for a couple of days.
His mom can forgive him for anything, except wrecking his own health or harming himself. When he smelled the smoke, whose smell Dean had mistakenly thought had faded from his mouth and clothes, Sam was furious. Dean had never seen his mom this mad - except for the time when Dean had called him a 'dirty whore' but even then Sam's rage was fleeting, and he was quick to forgive then beg for forgiveness himself after the whole broken bones fiasco. But it wasn't the case with being caught smoking.
It happened the first time Dean went out with Rhonda, and it was tempting to try. It was only a week after Dean had hurt his hand punching the mirror. It was their first date, and Rhonda magicked Dean with her rebellion, her daring and the way she flips off the entire waken world with everything she says or does - he was inspired. When she offered him a cigarette, he didn't want to come across as a coward or a wuss, and between them, they'd smoked an entire pack by the end of the date.
Dean's not stupid; he tried to mask the smell. He tried sucking on mint lozenges, used a breath spray and gurgled with lukewarm coffee and he went home thinking he has it covered, until his mommy gave him a welcome home kiss, right on his mouth, and immediately caught on the trace of his sin. Sam's face scrunched up in disgust, and when he asked, Dean couldn't lie. Well, he tried, but his mom could read him right away, so he quickly caved in and told him everything; that yes, not only did he smoke, but he also chain smoked, and yes, it was out of peer pressure, because his friends were smoking (Dean didn't mention it was just Rhonda), and he didn't want to be the odd one out; the loser, the goody-good boy who's too afraid of his parents to try anything new. He's 14 goddamnit, he's susceptible to bad influence; it's practically a right at 14, Dean thinks.
But the look on his mom's face when he was done with his confession made him feel he should've flipped Rhonda off, and refused the ciggies altogether, leaving her to think whatever she wants to think of him.
Sam's bitchfacing abilities are legendary, and at that moment, he unleashed his best one on Dean. When Dean tried to make amends by burrowing into his mom's embrace and apologizing, shockingly, Sam pushed him away. "You reek of smoke, Dean. Never come near me smelling like that. You should be ashamed of yourself," Sam said, cheeks tinged red with anger. And Dean did feel ashamed, at that moment. For never had his mom been so harsh. Never had he felt that he'd disappointed him like this.
The next day, his mom was stone cold, and they barely talked. It was a weekend but he was grounded. His mom even threatened to rat him out to his dad, who would've probably tanned his hide if he knew. So Dean happily accepted the penalty. If his mom is this unforgiving about it, then his dad would probably break his face, or do something equally drastic.
Instead of spending Saturday evening in his mom's arms, he spent it holed up in his room feeling sorry for himself. Later, when his mom calmed a bit, Sam explained to him how it breaks his heart when Dean does anything to hurt himself; that he can't stand it when Dean's reckless or acts so irresponsibly, least of all to please someone else or out of petty pressure. Dean understood. He would've felt the same if it were Sam or Adam. He promised solemnly he won't do it again - a promise that Dean will break of course, but many years later. Not now. Now, at that moment, he promised, then covered Sam's face with kisses. Eventually, his mom softened, and smiled a little. By Sunday night, it was all back to normal, and his mom even tucked him in bed, where they made out some before Dean went to sleep. Dean didn't dare re-attempt a proper making out session, with tongue and all, so close to the first incident. So these kisses were mostly closed-mouthed, but they were lingering and deep, and many, and they left them both with swollen lips.
Right now, he listens to his mom. So when Rhonda offered him a puff post their frantic sex making, Dean firmly refused. He also realized that he too hates how smoke smells, and he especially loathes how it tastes on Rhonda's mouth. It's almost a turn off, so next time they plan to go at it like bunnies, he'll tell Rhonda in advance to lay off the cigarettes.
"What's on your mind, darling?" Rhonda purrs, from where she's sitting. "Nothing. Just relaxing."
"Tell me about her?"
"Her?"
"The girl you obsess over when I'm not sucking your dick, or riding you like a friggin' horse, Dean. Is she in the same school as us?"
Dean understands. He probably has this look in his eyes; whenever Sam crosses his mind, he gets lost for a bit. Dean will have to learn to school his features into neutrality when he's thinking of Sam, otherwise people who can read other people well, like Rhonda does or anyone else, will be able to spot the dreamy element to his thoughtfulness.
"No. And it's a he."
"Oh, the plot thickens."
"There's no plot. He's the love of my life, he's the Omega I will finally marry and settle down with. That's it more or less."
"Typical Alpha. One omega for the main course, and a beta on the side."
"Oh, sweetheart, don't kid yourself. We're nothing. You're not even my mistress."
"What? Just a one-time fuck? You're hurting my feelings, Dean."
"I don't know if it's a one-time thing. But I don't commit, Rhonda, I can't, not even to casual. I can't even promise we'll keep playing around like this. I might come back for seconds. Or not." Dean knows he will. Rhonda is a find. But he still doesn't want to promise anything.
"And when he's mine, I won't cheat. I won't have to. No betas on the side, just him," Dean adds, then gulps down some beer.
"If he has you wound around his little finger like this, so perfectly, why aren't you with him right now? What are you doing here, darling?"
"Well, it's complicated."
"Complicated how?" she says, smiling playfully, clearly amused.
"He's not exactly available. Yet. But he's mine, I know it." Dean doesn't even know why he's not shutting Rhonda up, nipping the conversation in the bud and ending it with "it's none of your business" before it's even starting. Maybe it's the alcohol, and sex afterglow, loosening his tongue, or perhaps, a part of him wants to spill; wants to find a way to talk about Sam, discuss their messed up situation, and seek comfort from the idea of letting someone else know that Sam is his, and only his; that his mom is his everything.
"He's married, isn't he?"
How on Earth are her guesses spot on like this?
"Rhonda, tread softly."
"I don't even know what this means."
"It means it's time to shut up, maybe."
Rhonda puts out her cigarette, lays the glass aside, leaves the chair and crawls on all fours, seductively, to where Dean is. She kneels between Dean's legs, grips his knees and parts his thighs further, and dives in between, sucking on Dean's naked balls, moaning as she does, like his bag is the most delicious meal. Her eyes meet his as she slurps, and he knows what she's doing. This conversation's not over. Dean can't help but throw his head back; pleasure coursing through him, his lower parts slowly coming to life, cock stirring, and blood rushing to his groin. Before he falls further into pleasure, he tips his beer bottle back, and drains the rest of it. He discards the bottle, on the floor by the couch.
Rhonda pops one of his balls out of her wet lips, and says, "Tell me a bit about him. What you love the most."
"No way, but go back to what you were doing. Jeez, Rhonda, put your mouth on my balls. Keep sucking," Dean says, breathlessly.
Rhonda runs her lips against his length, and her voice vibrates against his penis when she speaks, "na-uh, not until you tell me about your boy. Come on. What's so special about him, darling?" She kisses the head of Dean's cock. Softly. Like she's kissing a baby. It's pure torture.
"Damn it, Rhonda. I like the way he smells." She takes the head in her mouth, and starts sucking. "I like his b-body. It's soft in places, and h-hard in others. God!" She pushes her tongue into his cock slit. "I like his voice. It's manly, yet full of love and warmth. And ... Rhonda, God." He can feel the slit give, the tiny hole expanding under Rhonda's assault, and he's never had a blow job that felt so dirty. She continues her ministrations, and he continues spilling, and although he feels erotically blackmailed into speaking about his mom, his Sammy, he still feels liberated he could even talk about him to anyone else.
He keeps going on and on about Sam's lips, Sam's eyes, his chest, his belly pudge, his cock. Even mentioning he's older. All, saving Sam's name and relationship to him of course, or anything that would give his identity away. Then Dean's brain gets sucked through his prick and he starts outright rambling ...
"When we're married, I'll pump him full of babies. And-and, put him in dresses all the time. I'll fuckin' flaunt him everywhere, I'll fuck him where people can see. So that everyone knows he's mine. God, he'll l-look - Oh, Rhonda, keep doing that, please. Ahhh - he-he will look great in panties and lacy bras. And that's the only thing he'll be allowed to wear around our house. I'll hand pick his lingerie. Uhhh. I won't even take off his panties when, when ... I'm gonna come, Rho-. Soon. ... I'll just ... I'll just part his legs and pull the panty to the side, and f-fuck his hole. I'll fuckin' fuck him into the mattress. I'll knot him. He'll be my bitch. And I'll stay in him for hours. I'll fuckin' fill him with my cum, and-and piss. Mark him all over. I'll plug him, and let him walk around with my seed and pee sloshing inside of him. I'm coming, coming. Uhhh." Eyes glazed, pulse thundering in his ears, and vision whitening, Dean's orgasm rips through him, strings of white pearly fluid shooting from his dick into Rhonda's throat. She swallows it all down, then parts her lips, and releases him.
"How was that, darling?" Her voice is raspy, and her lips look edible.
"Come here," Dean says and pulls her into his arms, slotting their mouths together, and devouring her lips, practically tasting himself there. "You know how delicious you are, Rhonda? Huh, baby?"
"Does this mean I'll see you again?" She asks, sweetly, against his lips, between hot kisses. "Maybe." She pulls away. "Well, most probably," Dean adds hastily.
"Good enough," she says, giggling. And Dean flips them on the couch so that he's lying on top of her then he resumes fucking her mouth with his tongue.
She is something, he thinks, before falling hard, again, into the throes of passion. He wonders, for a split of a second, if he can indeed keep her on the side like Alphas typically do, but his mind doesn't stay there. It's his dick thinking now. No, no, he'll just have Rhonda as long as he can't fully have his mom, then it's over, he tells himself. And until then, his mom doesn't even have to know there's a Rhonda.
Or so he tells himself.