Off the Grid

There's something so good about dropping off the grid into the middle of nowhere with just the basic comforts-food, books, a firearm, and the Winchester brothers. When the boys were still just boys-barely, I was a grown woman caught up in the paranoia of Y2K. I stocked a cabin for the inevitable end of modern civilization. It didn't come and I fell back into the regular routine of being a corporate worker bee.

However, I still squirreled. I still saved. I spent my two week summer vacations at survivalist camps. Then something happened that made me stay. There was just too much-too many natural disasters, too many weird deaths, too much electric connectedness. I dropped out of sight. When I opened the door to my sanctuary, my eyes had hardly had a chance to adjust to the weird markings on my doors and ceilings before I was thrown to the floor getting doused in the face with water. It turned out to be holy water. I was thought to be a demon. And this was my "meet cute" with Sam and Dean Winchester.

Turned out they were on the run and needed a base of operations. My cabin was perfect for their needs. Once we decided we could trust each other, an amicable relationship was formed. It started out as a simple quid pro quo-they taught me their special brand of survival skills and I provided them with the occasional home baked pie and a place to rest when they needed to recover. This particular Wednesday morning, after nearly a year of just polite friendly existence, things changed.

I was at the kitchen counter mixing up a batter of pancakes as coffee percolated on the stove when Sam Winchester was suddenly behind me. He was close to me. He was closer to me than he had ever been. I could smell the combination of his sweat and toothpaste. My body froze. I gripped the wooden mixing spoon tightly by the handle just in case I had to whip around quickly and use it as an object to cause blunt force trauma. (Yep, this is how well the Winchesters have taught me.) Oddly enough, my stomach wasn't tightening with just fear. It was arousal and the heat was traveling quickly southward.

"You are too good to us." Sam leaned down and whispered in my ear. His drawl was downright seductive. I gripped the spoon handle tighter. "You are a good girl, aren't you?" His mouth was directly by my ear, and his shaggy hair was brushing against the side of my face. "Don't be afraid." He slid one strong hand down my forearm and massaged my wrist until I loosened my hold on the spoon. "I'm still me." He laughed softly as his other arm wrapped around the softness of my belly. "Check," he growled and he lifted my hand to the knife beside the mixing bowl.

When I curled my fingers around the blade's handle, I could feel Sam move back to give me room. Suddenly, I was cold and missed his body's warmth. I turned and gave Sam a cocky smile. He was standing there in boxers and a tee, and holding out his arm. I pressed the blade against his flesh and gave a quick swipe. There was a trickle of blood, and he grinned at me like a proud teacher. Next, I toss a concoction of borax and holy water at him. (In these strange days, it's not odd to keep a ready mixed container in every room like a box of tissues.) Nothing. I giggled nervously. Sam's smile widen.

"God, you're sexy when you're violent," Sam playfully chided me and leaned in closer. "I'm going to kiss you now and you're going to like it."

"And, if I don't?"

"You're going to have to teach me how to do it better." He grasped my my face between his hands and pressed his mouth against mine. It had been a long time for me, so I was stationary until his persistence defeated me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave as good as I got. We kissed until I lost balance, and Sam had my body pinned against the counter. "Stay just like that," he whispered as he pulled away from my mouth. "I want to look at you." He unbuttoned the large flannel shirt I was wearing, pushed it open and slid it halfway down my shoulders so my movements were inhibited. I could feel the warmth of my blood rise to the surface of my skin under the heat of Sam's gaze. I had been naked under the shirt.

I should have been cold but his scrutiny heated me. My breathing became a bit labored and my nipples tightened. Despite the circumstances and being ten years older, I was burning with arousal. I wasn't shy. I stood straighter, thrust up my tits a little higher and parted my thighs. "What are you waiting for?" I licked my lips. "I'm trapped and ready." I made a big show of my immobilized arms. Sam's laugh was throaty and dangerous.

"I'm not in a rush," he said while pulling off his his tee. He ran a hand down the center of his abs until he reached the bulge in his underwear. "I want you to see what you do to me." He tossed his head back and groaned. "You are so fucking hot." He squeezed his cock. "Look at me." He began to stroke himself. "This is what you do to me." He stepped out of his underwear. I was not unimpressed with his size. "Tell me you touch yourself to me." He pressed the length of his body against mine-his hot naked skin was against mine. He was kissing and nipping at my my lips, neck, and ears. "Tell me," he ordered as the hard length of his cock rubbed against the my thighs.

I couldn't lie. Some nights, when the brothers weren't there and I was all alone, I had masturbated to Sam. Sometimes Dean. Sometimes both. I was busted. "Yes," I whispered as Sam was kissing down my chest. "I do. I touch myself everywhere." I spread my legs wider, begging Sam's traveling mouth to bury itself into my pussy.

Sam's tall body slid up mine and he was looking down into my face with a mischievous grin. "We're all adults her, Becca." I felt his fingernails curl into the softness of my inner thighs. "Tell me more." He cupped my pussy and ground the heel of his palm against my clit. "I'll stop," he threatened. "Use your words. What do you like?" Things were escalating quickly.

"I think bad things about you Sam Winchester."

"Oh, do you?"

"I think about you pinning me up against the wall. Just shoving your hard dick into me, no foreplay, no kissing, just you fucking me against the wall. You slamming into me over and over." The words were no sooner out my mouth when Sam pushed two fingers into me. I screamed his name.

"You are so fucking wet, Becca." He pulled his fingers out and shoved them back in harder. "You like it rough, baby?" He wrapped his free hand around my hair and forced me to look up into his face. "I can make it really rough for you," He pushed his fingers into me harder. "Tell me more."

"You use me. Call me dirty names."

Sam kissed my lips hard and then pulled his fingers out of me. He brought them to his mouth and licked them. "But you're so delicious. Why would I call you dirty names?" I suddenly felt cold and empty without his fingers inside of me. I knew what he wanted to hear, and I was going to say it because I wanted Sam to finish getting me off. "Tell me, bad girl, or I won't let you cum." He rubbed two fingers against my clit. "I can tie you up. You won't be able to rub one out." He chuckled.

"You call me a slut and a whore, because..." Sam gave a slow caress around my clit, and I moaned. "Dean."

"What about him?"

"I took you both." I blurted out shamelessly and Sam's eyes darkened even as his smile widen. "I can take you both."

"You promise." It was Dean. His voice was as charming and an encouraging as Sam's was demanding.

Sam shrugged and tossed his brother a playfully exasperated look. "That's what she says."

Dean, already naked, crossed his arms against his chest and leaned against the counter beside me. "That is what you said, Becca." He kissed my cheek, and then gently guided my face towards his. "Do you promise?"

"I do promise." It was my turn to provide a cheshire cat's grin.

"Sammy."

"Hmmm?"

"She promises."

"But can she deliver?" The brothers were now on either side of me, naked, penises erect, and they were playing good cop/bad cop with me.

"Yes!" I shouted. "But make me come first."

"Oh, I will," Sam said grabbing my hair again and forcing me to look at him. "Then, I'm going to fuck your tight little pussy until you beg me to stop."

"That is," Dean interjected. "If you can talk with your mouth full of my cock."

I never did get around to making those pancakes.