“Aw, but you’re so cute like this,” Meg teases in her sardonic sing-song, impossible to tell if she’s being sarcastic or genuine - either way she’s enjoying it. “Itty bitty little dolly, used to be a hunter. Not so scary are you now, huh, Dean?”

She’s got him in one hand, his body curled up in her fist from the chest down so that only his arms stick out. They shove at her thumb in unfathomable frustration, and though her skin gently dips under the pressure it doesn’t so much as shift her grip. In fact, she squeezes a little bit tighter just on principal. 

The world beneath him thuds rhythmically, jostling him in regular tattoo as she walks through the motel hallway toward the room he’d been staying.

“Meg,” He warns, voice low and dangerous. “If you don’t put me down right the hell now, I’m gonna stab your ass back to the fourth layer.”

She pulls an awww face, and leans forward to just smoosh her lips against his face in a kiss. He splutters, pushes at her plush lower lip, but she doesn’t seem to care. When she pulls back, he hears a door slam shut almost deafeningly. “You might wanna watch it, kid. At your size I might just eat you up.”

And when she grins, it’s with a flash of teeth larger than dinner plates - and the realization that she actually could swallow him whole. She seems to read the expression on his face, because she rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, squirt, that’s not the kind of vore I’m into. I got something else in mind for you.”

It’s not the bed but the bathroom she takes them to, flipping on a blinding incandescent light and setting him carelessly down onto the counter before the sink. From here at her waistline, he legitimately falls backward on his ass trying to crane his neck up her body. She relishes the sight of it, straightening her spine and stepping right up against it so that the underside of her breasts block his view of her face.

“Hey now, my eyes are up here,” she says, and he can’t even see where up here is. “But that’s okay, you got the right idea. We’re gonna play for a little while, have a real good time.” 

Before him sweeps in two massive hands again, and he crawls backward for a second before realizing what they’re going for - the button of her jeans, which is about at eye-level with him when he stands up on the counter. The front of her zipper and the fly of her pants encompass his entire vision, and when she begins to drag the zipper down that metal-on-metal grinding is more audible than he’s used to.

“Oh, hell no, I don’t like big girls-” He warns, hands coming up, body stepping back. 

She shimmies her hips a little, and massive denim shifts down three or four inches to reveal a snug black pair of cotton panties that outline her public mound.

“Funny, you body shaming me at your size,” She retorts, and before he can say a word her hand sweeps in behind him to push him forward, face and chest smashed into gentle cotton. They smell like absolutely nothing somehow, and if he had to place his bets it’d be that she uses mojo to keep her vessel and her clothes clean the same way Castiel and Crowley do. “When’s the last time you pleased a woman anyway, let’s be honest. You make some pretty eye candy for a one-night-stand, but if you were any good in the sack you’d have a few more second dates, wouldn’t you, Dean? It’s always the pretty ones who think they don’t have to work for it.”

She tuts, then pulls her hand away from him to hook a massive thumb around her panty line. She pulls it down, revealing a perfect shave and pink folds, with just the hint off a soft, round clit near the top of them. “Give it a kiss.”

“You can go straight to hell,” Dean rasps out in answer, though there’s a waver there admitting the first traces of uncertainty. He can’t be completely sure what she plans to do, there are a few ways this could go, but almost none of them are gonna be a breeze.

“Oh, you wanna talk about hell, huh? Let’s put you somewhere hot to think about it for a while.” Her hand’s at his back again, dragging him up flush until his face is pressed unforgiving against her clit. It isn’t her hand that moves but her hips, rocking minutely back and forth to grind it over his face.  She hums out a delighted, “Mmm! Now that’s what I like to see - a man who knows his place.”

But that isn’t where she stops. Her panties get pushed down along with her jeans, and she wraps her fingers once again around his legs. Hovering around her waist, he watches as she lifts one to rest atop the bath tub edge, and then he soars through the air toward-

“Wait, wait, wait wait wait- Meg- don’t you freaking put me in there--”

She doesn’t falter, and he soars up a couple of inches (feet, from his perspective) until his head presses against soft, slightly wet labia. He reaches up on instinct to try and push himself away, but it’s even more fruitless than it was with her finger. She sweeps him up and down a few times, dragging his face and chest across her center, before teasingly nudging his head into her entrance. Any yelling he might be doing down there is swallowed by twitching muscle, slicked wet and pulsing softly as arousal strikes her.

She just holds him there, head in and nothing else, muscles tightening and relaxing for long, long seconds. Long enough to hear him beg, please don’t shove me in there, and other such sad, sweet variants lamenting being gripped by her pussy.

Of course, she does it anyway. She works him in slow, head, then shoulders, then chest, gently pushing then pulling him out a little, then pushing him farther, careful not to break his little body as she gets loose enough to accept him. 

For Dean, the light gets farther and farther away. All he can see before him, beside him, anywhere is tight ping muscle, which seems to grip and grind him until he’s nearly breathless. It’s warm as hell, claustrophobic, and like a tighter version of waking up in his own grave - surrounded by darkness, with nobody to hear him yelling.

Soon enough her grip disappears from his knees, and two fingers push against his feet, nudging him in those final few inches until he’s held in by nothing but the tightness of her vagina and the way it seems to be pulling at him deeper and deeper still.

She drops her leg down, and all light disappears. Her lips close, sealing him in. She pulls up her panties and then her jeans, then shifts in place to feel him out.

“Fits like a glove, it’s uncanny,” she muses, and he can hear her voice all around him rolling muted through her body until it’s almost distorted too deeply for him to understand - almost. In no time at all he’s soaked through as she steadily leaks, wet from the feeling of him inside her and, more than that, the thought about what it must be like in there for him. About what she’s doing to him. About how there’s nothing he can do about it. 

She slips her fingers under her clothes, and teases her clit with her middle finger. Her muscles clamp down, and Dean grunts in pain, pushing hard against the spot in front of him. “Oh fuck,” he hears her say, and she redoubles her efforts, grinding him like a cock and crushing out his breath as her body squeezes pleasure from him. It seems like the more he struggles the harder she clamps, and reverberating like thunder he hears, “Right there, god damn it, squirm- right there, you’re hitting my fucking-- Oh god, if you don’t make me come I’m gonna crush you, you understand? Push--”

And he does, as best as his constricted body will let him with his forearms up near his chest - grunting with effort, he shoves them against the wall in front of him, firm and textured, what surely must be her g-spot.

And then he’s flooded abruptly, soaked to the core as she comes all around him, muscles spasming and grinding and gnashing and gnawing until he thinks she’s gonna tear him apart with her cunt alone. Outside of her is the rumbling moan of a woman hitting orgasm, rubbing herself through it to get every scrap of what she can from it. 

Then it stills, slows, to only the occasional spasming jerk of a muscle to his left or to his right.

“Alright, you had your god damn fun, now let me out you psychopath--” 

No answer. Not even a hum. Nothing. Just a new sensation- a sort of rhythmic rise and drop, thud, thud, thud, thud. Too loud to be the heartbeat he hears coming from all around him, it takes him a second to realize she’s walking. He’s being slowly smothered, gripped, soaked, and she’s not pulling him out.

She’s walking away, underwear up, out the motel door.

Leaving him in her.