Author's Warning:

Meg gets very…physical…with Sam's body in this chapter. I've tried to skirt in under the rating, and think I've managed it, but if anyone disagrees please let me know and I'll raise it. There is nudity.

Enjoy is probably the wrong word, but…enjoy (and review).

Cathy.


"Mmm, this is good, Sam." Meg said, taking another bite of the meal.

It was good. Sam hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours, and even though it wasn't quite as satisfying knowing that someone else was chewing the food for him, it did taste good. The first time.

Sam was starting to feel queasy. Meg had gone into an all you can eat restaurant, they'd been in there for three hours, and she was showing no sign of stopping. She'd ordered at least one of everything on the menu, including food with nuts, despite – or probably because- he'd hoped she wouldn't. He hated nuts.

Meg was taking great pleasure in picking them out and making him bite into them whole. With nothing else to take the taste away.

The staff were staring at him in various poses of awe and horror. He wanted to hide under the table from their gaze – well he really wanted to get up and walk out, but there was slightly more chance he could force Meg (himself) to drop something and use that as an excuse to crawl beneath the table. There didn't seem to be all that many customers in here and it was quite probable that the staff spent much of their day watching TV. With all the staring someone was going to recognize him and call in the cops.

Sam was trying to quell the temptation to choke, as he felt a chunk of food passing down his throat. Meg hadn't chewed it quite enough and there were some sharp edges digging in. It was a horrible sensation feeling the food passing through your throat, when you had no control over it. If he choked, he would be unable to drink anything to help wash it down. If he inhaled any he doubted Meg would let him cough to breathe. He was picturing this lump of food passing down his neck, sticking out as Meg swallowed.

"This is really good, I've missed food." Meg made him take another mouthful – peanut satay. He wanted to swallow as quickly as he could, hating the taste, but Meg savoured it.

Her next bite burned the roof of his mouth, and she pressed his tongue up against the food, holding it there prolonging the pain.

"Just wanted to give you a taste of what your Daddy is eating."

Sam held himself back from responding. He was fighting exhaustion, and the comfortable tiredness of a full stomach was not helping clear his head. He was not up to another battle of wits with Meg.

"I've won them all so far, Sam," Meg commented. She took yet another bite. Sorbet this time – at least it was something sweet for a change. Of course Meg knew the worst way to eat it, and the cold shot through his teeth straight up to his head, exacerbating his headache.

He could feel his belt starting to dig into his stomach from all the food. It was an iron band pressing against him. He knew the skin was reddening under the pressure; though Meg did not look down to allow him to see. He wanted to release it a notch, but immediately halted the thought. The last time his mind had wandered that way, Meg had heard, and tightened it in.

Meg was drinking as well as eating, and not only did he need to burp something chronic - anything to relieve some of the pressure within - he also needed to go.

He wanted to squirm in the chair. He could feel the burn pressing heavily against the top of his leg. He wanted to dance his feet, but Meg carried on sitting. He caught himself humming in his head; it was the only thing he could do to distract himself from his growing need.

Eventually he knew his bladder would release involuntarily. He was deeply worried that Meg would keep him sitting here until it happened, making even more of a scene. Knowing her she would make him sit in the same clothes for the rest of the day.

"I'm not a heathen, Samuel," she answered, chewing around a smile. Does the rule about talking with your mouth full count if you can only hear the voice in your head? "I do share your sense of smell, you know. I have no intention of leaving you in torment for too long. Just be patient!"

Sam was concentrating all his thoughts on attempting to stand up. He could feel Meg stirring restlessly in his head, so he was obviously having some influence, no matter how small.

"It's irritating, Sammy." That answered that. "If I stand up I doubt they'll let me back down, and there are still four dishes I haven't tried yet. Just be patient Sam." He felt like a scolded child.

Unable to jiggle, squirm, move or put off the need in any way, Sam was reduced to chanting in his head. "Hold it, hold it, hold it…"

"Sam, you're spoiling my enjoyment of this steak," Meg swallowed a large chunk, which Sam could feel at every stage passing down him. "I'll admit it's a little overdone for my tastes, but it's nice to be eating flesh again."

Sam found himself now having to quell nausea as well. The piece of meat she was on about was so rare it was practically raw. It sat on the plate soaked in its own juices; bloody and staring back at him. He'd never liked raw meat; too many times he'd had to help patch up his father or Dean – even himself - to ever look at bloody meat, especially not to eat it.

"Are you done yet, are you done yet, are you done yet…" He felt like banging his head on the table.

"Sam, shut up!"

His dizziness and nausea increased as he felt a vicious cuff catch him on the top of his head (inside his head) and he felt rattled all the way through.

As punishment Meg seemed to make her last three meals take as long as the first nine. The staff had all crept nearer, this one kid gawking in absolute amazement. Sam was starting to feel a little threatened, which was obviously the intention. They wanted him gone. Meg of course felt none of it.

"I'm holding a steak knife, Sam. I could rip out their throats in five seconds. And you know it."

Sam did know it. While Meg had been able to tell what he was thinking and feeling, a little of what she knew had also crossed over. Her memories were filled with fire and pain and were soaked with blood. The smell of the steak was only bringing them nearer the surface.

They filled his head until he wanted to scream.

Sam felt himself pushing the chair back from the table and rising to his feet. Meg was finally done. His stomach cramped a little at the change in position, and his legs felt shaky.

"First you were complaining because you were hungry, and now because you're too full? Be a good little meat suit and shh." Meg was in a pleasant mood – for her – obviously she'd needed food too.

The room was lurching as Sam (felt like he) waddled across the room towards the toilets. The nausea was coming on really strong now – too much food, too many varieties, and the dizziness that accompanied his movements were adding together. He wanted to swallow to try to keep the rising moisture in his mouth down. He could only imagine what it would feel like if he vomited with Meg in control. She would probably clamp his mouth shut and make him swallow it.

"Damn right, Sammy. I'm not wasting all that food. You spew it, you chew it."

Sam was concentrating so hard on not hurling that he almost didn't notice as Meg headed straight for the ladies.

"Stop!"

Meg sounded grumpy; her mild mood was fading fast. "What is it now, Sammy? I thought you were desperate to go."

Sam wanted to shut his eyes. Meg had carried on walking, and they were in the ladies, and there was screaming. And pointing. And giggling. He wasn't sure which of the three was the worst.

Meg was chuckling inside his head; it felt like his whole body was rocking with the laughter. He was so absolutely going to hurl.

"Get out." At least one of the women had kept her head.

Sam wanted to turn and leave, but Meg was reluctant. "I'm sorry ladies," his voice did not sound like that. It sounded as though he was trying to seduce them. "I guess I misread the sign. Forgive me?" Meg made him sound such a pervert.

"Get out!" Giggler had managed to swallow them, and joined in the outrage. One of the ladies was still eyeing him up though. Sam wanted to shudder – he wasn't a piece of meat to be stared at.

Despite the apology, Meg was not making any move, except for forwards. Sam could feel his head lower and then rise as Meg raked his gaze up and down their bodies.

"Creep! I'll report you." He was cheering them on.

He couldn't help thinking, however, that Dean would have enjoyed this invasion into secret woman-land. "Meg, let's go!"

"You're so grumpy today, Sammy. Whatever is the matter with you?" Meg was thinking hard at him and it sharpened the ache in his head.

Sam held himself in. He wanted to hurl, he needed to go, and he needed to scream at the bitch in his body. But he'd been trained now. He knew what would happen, and he was tired.

He felt himself being patted on the head – inside - "You're a good boy really, Sammy. I'll reward you later."

That accounted for the sudden speeding up of his heart and abrupt increase of nausea.

Meg had finally left the ladies after a shoe had been thrown at his head. She hadn't even tried to evade it, though the look she'd shot them afterwards had caused the giggler to shrink back. Sam had caught a glimpse of it in the mirror, and even he had been thrown by how menacing he looked.

The sudden easing of pressure he felt as Meg undo his belt (almost) had him crying in relief.

He felt like crying for another reason when Meg unzipped his pants. He could feel a sense of anticipation, which did not originate from him. His hand was caressing more than holding, and his touch felt wrong. It wasn't his for a start; not really.

"Well what do you want me to do?" Meg was far too amused by the situation for anything good to come of it. "I have to hold it or you're going to make a mess. Which is it to be, Sammy?"

He wanted to turn his head away and stare into the mirror. He wanted to focus on anything else. He was humming in his head. He stood there, looking an idiot, Meg taking her time enjoying his torment.

A guy came to stand next to him, business as usual in this place. To his horror he felt Meg turn his head to stare at the guy, and then his gaze rolled down as he unbuttoned himself. Meg had him doing the unthinkable. And this guy wasn't smaller than him. In any sense of the word.

"Oh Sammy, doesn't he just make you feel inadequate?"

He could feel his hand moving now, and his gaze was switched from the other man's thing – Sam didn't dare name it even in his head in case it drew the other guy's attention – to his own.

He could feel a warming in the pit of his stomach, and he knew what was coming. Think of something else! It didn't work; he could feel himself rising.

"Oh Sammy, it's been far too long for you hasn't it if just your hand can do this to you. Has there been anyone since Jessica?" She knew there hadn't been. Meg had ripped through his memories as thought they were some slide show for her amusement.

Sam willed his erection down. Think of something else. Cold thoughts. Think of the bitch in his body – that'd be enough to kill anything.

He was helped – if that was the right word – by the guy next to him zipping up, washing his hands and then slamming Sam into the wall.

He could feel the man's arm digging into the back of his neck. The wall felt cold against his face, which was pulled away and then slammed back into it again. Meg was not allowing him to move, let alone fight back. His arms were flopping like a rag doll's.

He could feel the man leaning against him, his breath warm against the back of his neck.

"Mmm, sexy."

For a moment Sam was paralysed with terror, thinking the voice came from the guy. But it was just Meg commenting. He was paralysed for another reason.

"Pervert! I'll teach you to stare at me." That was the guy this time. Sam was shaken again, Meg still doing nothing in response. She was enjoying it.

His face was bashed into the wall once more, before he was spun around to stare the guy in the face. He was in for a beating if Meg didn't let him fight back, judging from the expression on the guy's face.

The spinning didn't help his nausea any. However the punch to the stomach was the clincher, and not even Meg could hold it in. He bucked involuntarily and was shoved back against the wall where Meg lost his balance and fell back against it, slipping down to hit the floor. He landed on his knees and it hurt.

The guy had a look of fury on his face, as well as vomit on his shoe, and there was murder in his eyes. If Sam thought he'd been in trouble before… Fortunately for Sam one of the male staff came in then, alerted by the sounds of a struggle. He couldn't have been more than sixteen, but the guy in front of Sam didn't want any trouble, and contented himself with spitting in his direction.

"Are you all right, sir?"

"Fine," Meg spat out. "Go away now?"

The kid left. With the tone that Meg managed to get out, who wouldn't?

Sam felt himself stoked with adrenaline, his heart racing. Meg wasn't letting him do anything with it, she was just adding to it. He felt like he should be panting for breath.

"Sammy, that was great! Was that your first fight? Don't you just feel so alive? Want to get him back?"

To his shame, he could feel a flush of pleasure rising within him. He couldn't tell now whether it was his or Meg's. He blanked his mind.

She picked him up off the floor, dusting him down before washing his hands, cocking an eye at him in the mirror. "This floor is filthy, Sammy, I'm not touching you with these hands, and you still need to go, right?"

The battle started again. Ignoring didn't work this time – the need was too great.

Meg was pointing him, stroking him, and she wasn't letting him go!"

He found himself pushing, straining as much as he could, and was rewarded by a trickling sound. Meg's thrill evaporated and he could feel himself tensing up. His body was reacting as well, not just him (him).

"How did you do that?" Meg demanded.

Sam couldn't answer; he honestly didn't know. He hadn't done anything different from when he was trying to answer the phone, or stand up, or any other thing he'd attempted to do in the last day.

"HOW DID YOU DO THAT"

His head thundered with the sound of Meg's voice, and he could feel the sensation of fingers digging into his brain, prodding.

He was glad he'd been able to go because he'd probably have pissed himself from the pain.

"Involuntary, of course," Meg muttered to herself.

Sam's thrill of achievement dulled. He felt like sagging as the adrenaline and fading hope left him even more shattered than he'd been before. For a moment he had actually thought he'd beaten her. He felt empty and could still taste the vomit in his mouth.

"Punishment," Meg obviously didn't intend to wash the flavour out. He didn't ask what he was being punished for.

"Come on." Meg dragged him out of the bathroom and diner, to frankly relieved gazes from the staff. "What shall we do today, Sammy?"

Meg reached into his pocket and counted out what little cash he had. "Well there's not much here to have fun with. I guess I'll just have to look, not buy."

Shopping. Sam wanted to groan. He was already knackered. A day of shopping would kill him.

"Don't be so melodramatic; it'll be fun."

Awareness faded a little, and he found himself walking dully in and out of shops without really paying attention to what they sold, or even where they were. He could have sworn he'd been in some of these three or even four times. His feet hurt. Surely Meg couldn't spend that long doing this, it wasn't like he had any money to spend anyway.

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Sam was exhausted. He'd been on the go for nearly two days. They hadn't been restful and it didn't look like this day was going to end for him any time soon.

Meg had started to dress him in shirt and smart pants. They looked new; he'd certainly not seen them before. Meg was modelling them in the mirror. Sam wasn't really sure why, she'd spent nearly an hour just matching them with a shirt, and now she was undecided if they went together? He thought they seemed to suit him quite well.

"All your old stuff stank, and it was...well old, and outdated," Meg twirled him around. He could feel bile rising from the vertigo. He wished she'd warn him before she did things like that. "Really Sammy, you'd think it was you who'd been stuck down in Hell, not me. Your clothes are so passé."

Sam didn't feel like humouring her, so he ignored her, concentrating on the feel of the cotton, soft against his skin. He was enjoying the new clothes' smell – it wasn't as though he'd had all that many opportunities to experience it.

"Stick with me and see the world, Sammy!" He was pretty sure he'd already seen the parts of it she frequented.

She'd even bought him new shoes.

"How did you afford all this, Meg? I didn't have enough cash on me for this!" Sam was worried that shoplifting was going to be added to his résumé of misdeeds.

He felt his face form a grin, and his hand tapped his nose. "A girl's got to have some secrets, Sammy. Now come on, show me how to use this razor."

Sam balked. He did not want Meg getting anywhere near his throat with a sharp implement. Of course it had no effect on Meg.

"Oh come on, Sammy, how are you going to pull anyone if you look like something the cat dragged in?"

"You're no cat; wrong species." He recoiled instantly, knowing that he shouldn't have said anything. It made no difference, however, when you were trapped. Meg could get him anywhere.

He felt an internal slap ringing against his face. He wanted to sigh; as if he hadn't already been beaten up enough for one day. His stomach was still throbbing, and he knew it would bruise.

"It doesn't matter how subtle you think you're being, Sammy, you forget I know what you're thinking. That hurt me."

He was pissed off and couldn't hold back. "That hurt me!"

Meg didn't react, and his mind slowly turned over what she had said, wondering why. He watched his face take on a look of glee in the mirror as Meg watched, listened, whatever, to the dawning of his eventual understanding.

"Finally! Took you long enough." She wasn't a patient demon.

"No Meg," Sam wanted to shake his head. "Don't do that to me. Not that."

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," Meg was shaking his head along with the words, and the razor was dangerously near his throat. "I told you it's been too long. You're so tense all the time. I'm just trying to help you relax."

"Don't you think being invaded might have a little to do with that?" It came out a fraction too bitter, and he (tried to) recoil away in anticipation.

For once she didn't react. "Oh but Sammy, I'm doing you so much good." In what way? "No, you need to get out more, I know your brother's been saying the same thing to you."

Sam cursed his memory. Why did she have to invade everything?

"Because you have so much scope for torture in there, you're your own worst enemy. We're going! And unless you want me to shave your legs as well, I suggest you shut up and let me concentrate."

Meg gently rubbed the blade against his arms, and he could feel his hairs standing on end in reaction. "I wouldn't want to cut you up any, you have such pretty skin."

Sam wanted to shudder. He could feel the blade in his hands, but he'd never thought of it as a weapon before.

Meg did a pretty reasonable job for her first time shaving a face; she'd managed not to draw blood. "Well, I do have some experience wielding a knife; though it's certainly the first time I've tried not to cut anything."

Sam tried not to think about that.

She didn't use any aftershave though, and he felt his face burning as Meg walked him out of the motel room and drove into town. The sensation didn't subside much when he entered the smoke-filled club, nor did it help with the comments that Meg was making about some of the girls.

She was far worse than Dean ever got.

"Well excuse me, Sammy. It's not like I get to see things with a guy's hormones that often. There are some firsts for me too, you know?" Sam was getting fed up with that phrase. If he knew did she think he'd be wondering?

Somehow Sam's wallet had filled up with cash. He didn't want to wonder where it had come from, so was trying to ignore it. It was hard; not only was she flashing it every time she bought him drinks, but she was plying several young girls with booze as well.

The music was loud, modern and he hated it. It probably had a lot to do with the pounding in his head, and Meg singing along, but he was not enjoying himself. He preferred to sit down at a quiet bar; he did not like dancing, especially not with strangers.

Meg had no such qualms, and she made him appear the life and soul of the party. There couldn't be a girl in here that she hadn't made him dance with. If he'd thought his feet hurt before…The smoke was in his eyes and his throat, and he could smell beer where one of the girl's significant others had objected to Meg's friendly approach.

The alcohol she was making him down, the remarks she was making, and where she was staring, were all causing him to respond physically. He couldn't will it away – not with Meg actively encouraging him to get some.

His heart rate had increased tenfold as Meg had initially stared at the guys. He'd already had one encounter he didn't want repeated. Meg needed to control…him…better.

"Oh Sammy, do you know how wonderful it is to feel a guy in you? Thrusting yourself down…"

Sam tuned her out. He'd finally learned that by singing really loudly to himself he could drown her out at least for a little while. She didn't like to be ignored, and it soon hurt. But it was worth it for that little piece of quiet.

Meg forced his attention back. "I want to try something new though, Sammy, I've never been inside anyone else before."

He wanted to ask her what she thought she was doing now, but his breath (would have) caught as she just walked up to a blonde by the bar and asked her to dance.

She said yes.

From behind, she'd looked like Jess. He knew Meg had picked her on purpose.

"Shh, Sammy, I'm concentrating." His head shook internally as he was silenced and spun round, dancing.

His stomach had been emptied earlier, and the copious amounts of alcohol Meg had forced him to drink were having an effect. He was drifting in an out of focus. No wait, that was the world. His head spun.

Somehow, Meg had convinced the girl – Sam hadn't even caught her name – to invite him home. What the hell?

"I know, Sammy, some people are just a sucker for a pretty face. We'll make such a great team with your looks and my experience."

"Shut up!" Sam started humming again. He found himself unconsciously looking to Dean for help as he was humming Metallica. It wasn't calming him.

"I do have to admit though, she is such a typical blonde. I mean inviting the guy to her house on a first date? She should never have left with you."

Naturally Meg didn't tell the girl that, and he couldn't, though it wasn't for lack of trying.

Then they were in the house, the girl locking the door behind her, turning and practically throwing herself on Sam. She felt young, and warm, and Sam couldn't help but respond, no matter how hard he willed it away. He didn't want this.

He was tugged over to the bedroom.

Sam's hands felt clumsy, as though they should be shaking, when Meg unbuttoned the girls blouse, caressing her shoulder, and slipping down under her bra strap before flicking it undone with one hand.

"How did you learn that?" Sam's thoughts were echoed by the girl's, spoken aloud. It was the only thing he recalled her saying.

Meg responded by thrusting his lips upon her parted ones. They felt warm and soft, and she kissed him back, moving her lips up the side of his face, her hands in his hair pulling him down.

His hands were cupping her breasts, and he could feel his temperature rising as his clothes were stripped from him. Against his will his breath started to quicken.

Then they were on the bed, mattress sagging beneath the weight. Their bodies were beginning to slick up as they kissed and pressed against each other. He could smell the shampoo and smoke in her hair, which curled down onto his chest. Blonde curls, so like Jess' but not them.

His hands were…Meg's hands were scooting lower, nestling in her hair. Sam's breath caught, and he could feel his muscles tensing. No amount of singing in his head could prevent him watching and feeling this. Even the alcohol was starting to wear off. Meg wanted him to know.

It was wrong. He wasn't ready. The last time he had been this close with someone it had been Jess. She'd been his first, and his last, and he wasn't ready for this; not even close.

There was a part of him that felt excited by it; it felt right. It was the Meg part. It had to be.

"I told you you needed it." Sam actually welcomed hearing her voice just then. It reminded him that this wasn't him; that he wasn't in control. It might be his hands that could feel the warm smoothness of the girl's skin. It may be his eyes that were staring into her blue ones. It may be his nose that was breathing in the scent of sweat and pleasure but it wasn't his choice. It wasn't him. Not really.

He kept telling himself that as his body released, and the two of them climaxed together. It didn't help.

The girl was crying with pleasure. She'd obviously enjoyed it. Meg certainly knew what pleased a woman. He couldn't even feel happy for her.

He felt like crying too. He was hot, he was cold, the sweat was drying on his skin, he couldn't get the smell out of her his nose. She wasn't Jess. Everything felt wrong. He'd been violated. He hadn't been ready; he was still grieving.

"Oh shut your whiney ass, Sammy. You had fun. Your body certainly seemed to enjoy it."

Sam couldn't respond. He couldn't even think beyond a whimper. His mind felt like it had just ripped apart.

He couldn't process it when Meg pulled out a steak knife; how had he missed her picking it up from the diner? Too much had happened to him, in too short a time. He was numb.

He barely even noticed Meg slash it deeply across the girl's throat. It wasn't until the blood started to pump over his hands and bare chest that he heard her choking.

He was forced to watch as the light in her eyes died.