Title: Dirty Talk
Reader Gender: N/A
A Week of Writing fic with @bloodysideofhell
Warnings: Talk about the kink!scene (There’s not really a lot of dirty talk)
Prompt: “May 3, I want you to taste how wet you make me”
Dean loved dirty talk in the bedroom. Like, a lot of it. He was the only switch I’d ever met that I was completely comfortable with. Some switches found it difficult to be Dom or Sub depending on if they preferred the other more, but not Dean. Dean could flip the switch so fast it almost made my head spin. In addition to that, he could both Dom and Sub really well; it got both of us off whenever we did a scene together and we fit perfectly because of it. Like they say, couples who play together stay together! This was why I was sitting on the bed in a short, pleated skirt, tight white tshirt and a bundle of nylon-polyester rope. Where was I again? Oh, right, dirty talk. I swear I could get Dean off just by whispering nasty things in his ear; he wouldn’t even need a hand on his cock.
The bedroom door opened, and Dean walked through, he shut the door and turned, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw me. I grinned devilishly and stood up. His face was a mixture of awe, appreciation, and arousal. I spoke as I walked toward him.
“Did my pretty boy have a good hunt? Does he want to relax and play?” I asked, using my code words ‘pretty boy’ and ‘play’ to ask if he wanted to scene. Even though he had never uttered the words ‘no, thank you, Mistress, not tonight.’
As I reached him, he dropped his bag to the floor and sank to his knees. His mouth still hung open slightly as he appreciated my body. His eyes roved over my body and I slid one hand into the top of his short hair and grabbed it.
“You never answered my question, Pretty Boy,” I said, with an edge to my voice.
“Y-Yes, Mistress. What would you like of your Pet?” Dean finally retorted.
I yanked the hair on his head, brining his face upward. I leaned over him, and brought my face close to his. His pupils were completely dilated in arousal already and he had absent-mindedly crossed his wrists behind his back in the kneel that I had trained him. The outlines of his muscles were clearly defined, even under three layers. He was good, sexy and-even now, kneeling on the floor, giving himself up to me-had a way of controlling without ever being in control.
“I want you to taste how wet you make me” I instructed, before leaning down and biting the soft spot on the side of his jaw.
Tagging some people under the cut