Yes, that's correct | No, that's simply not true | Uh, apparently there's a lot of NSFW works here, so please be advised | She/Her (if you MUST refer to me, otherwise, I don't exist lol) | 열아홉| Caribbean Queen (read: Peasant) 🤡🌴 | Definitely Not Straight Lmao 🏳️🌈♀️✊✊🏻✊🏼✊🏽✊🏾✊🏿
what movie do y’all know front to back like it doesn’t even have to necessarily be Good,, it’s just something you’ve seen so many times that the dialogue is printed into the very core of your being
A “WandaVision” spinoff starring Kathryn Hahn is in development at Disney Plus from Marvel Studios, Variety.com has learned exclusively from sources.
Hahn would reprise the role of Agatha Harkness in the series, which is described by sources as a dark comedy, though exact plot details remain under wraps. “WandaVision” head writer Jac Schaeffer would serve as the writer and executive producer on the project.
summary ➞ just after you began your political career, natasha romanoff attempted to assassinate you under the orders of the red room. so, naturally, you hired her as your bodyguard. now, in the midst of running for president, there’s been a shift in the nature of your relationship. word count : 4.2k
disclaimer ➞ 18+, strong language, implied age gap (natasha is slightly older but everything is 100% legal), smut, oral ( r reviving), fingering (r receiving), strap on use (double ended), dirty talk (praise + degradation + a little dumbification + pet names)
gif source
a/n || this whole thing came from me seeing a picture of beefy nat in endgame so that was a wild ride. this piece of work is not to be copied or translated anywhere. thank you for reading!!! comments and reblogs appreciated <3
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The idea of mystery had always enthralled you.
To have something dangle in your face and still fail to understand it was entirely too appealing to someone who had always been filled with a need to want - and to, subsequently, keep wanting until there was nothing left. You could admit that you were greedy in that way.
Lucky for you, Natasha Romanoff was a complete enigma - one of the biggest mysteries you’d ever had the privilege of encountering. Although, ‘encounter’ wouldn’t be your ideal choice of word; it sounded entirely too pleasant for the whole ordeal considering she had sought you out under the conviction that she was going to kill you.
It happened nearly four years to the day. But it could have been a year ago - or a day ago - the way that you remembered every detail down to the stomach-turning icy feeling of her knife when she pressed it against the hollow of your throat.
You remember the sickening growl in her voice, when it dropped down an octave and hovered just at your ear so that she could tell you ‘God, I’d just love to have a spoiled little bitch like you begging for my mercy but I’ve grown quite fond of you so I’ll spare you the suffering’. And you remember the cold chill that ran down your spine immediately after that.
To this day, you’re still unsure how you made it out of there alive and unharmed. You did figure it had something to do with the fact that her eyes kept flickering to your chest with every shaky breath that heaved in your lungs. Or maybe it was the way they fell to your lips as you whimpered a weak promise of ‘it’s okay, go ahead’ in that whine she would never, out loud, admit to falling in love with.
All of that aside, you had never understood the woman and had come to turns with the fact that you probably never would. Though, you did find it best not to question the loyalty she had grown for you in the days that followed. After all, it had been years now and she still had yet to let you down.
When you hired her, you figured you’d learn more about her and you did - in a way.
You learned that she liked her coffee black but she wouldn’t get it from that coffee shop down the street because their muffins were too hard on the outside. And that her favorite place to eat was the grill downtown because none of the waitresses flirted with her while she ate and they always got her order right, no matter how complicated - because, you also learned, she was not one of those people who were too afraid to ask for their order to be exactly how they liked it.
But, still, you could never really know her. And that was something you were beginning to accept.
Tonight was no different.
Your muscles are growing noticeably weaker by the time the tiredness sets in and the excitement of the day finally begins to dwindle under the dim lamp-light of your bedroom. Your chest tightens as you’re left with whatever thoughts have managed to free themselves and run rampant in your exhausted brain.
“Will that be all for the night, boss?” Natasha’s voice is gentle as she stands in the hall and peaks her head in the doorway, careful and slow - like she does every other night she asks that same question - as she tries to avoid scaring you with her sudden intrusion.
You turn on your heel and your eyes fall onto her as a sigh passes your lips, “I think so, Natty, yeah.”
Even though you don’t ask for help, she watches you struggle to reach for the zipper at the back of your dress and her head cocks to the side curiously, “Would you like me to help you?” She treads carefully with her question, fearing that she’d overstep any boundaries.
Both of her hands come up and wrap around either side of the bulky doorframe as she begins to rock on her feet in wait of your answer. A soft ‘please’ finally unhitches from your aching throat, a hint of that whine in your tone makes the red-head have to swallow a smile.
You tug frustratedly at the hips of your dress, feeling constricted in the tight fabric, and she lets a breathy chuckle erupt in her chest before catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “Every time.” She jokes as she pushes into the room, gently pressing the door closed behind her with a soft click.
You huff, “It’s not my fault. I can’t reach the goddamn zipper.” Your genuine irritation makes her laugh, a much fuller sound this time. “Of course not, Madam President.”
“Oh please,” you hiss as a look of discontentment paints across your face, “I’m not president yet and I doubt I ever will be if the press doesn’t stop treating me as a joke. Did you see the way they talked to me tonight?”
The older woman moves to you with a disagreeing hum, squaring herself behind you with a hand on either of your shoulders. The gesture forces a heat behind your cheeks and you fight from meeting her intimidating observance.
“Oh, don’t mind them. They’re bloodsuckers. You do great in every interview and your polls are up from last week. People are really taking a liking to you.”
Your eyebrows push up then, “Like when you took a liking to me?” She knows it’s part joke but that doesn’t stop her from noticing the uncertainty that sparkles in your eyes. “If I hadn’t taken a liking to you, I would have followed through with my plan to assassinate you.”
The truth in her statement has you wringing your hands together nervously and the room falls silent as you contemplate her answer. A small ‘maybe you should have’ slips out from under your breath and makes Natasha’s own heart begin to ache in her chest. But she ultimately decides not to comment.
Instead, she takes the zipper of your dress between patient fingers as her eyes flash to yours through the glass of the full-body mirror in front of you. You shift anxiously, watching as she guides the small metal piece down the stretch of your back until the connecting fabric falls away at your sides.
“Maybe presidency isn’t worth all these formal events and uncomfortable dresses.” You attempt to return the playfulness into the air between you as you shimmy out of the dress and letting it pool onto the floor around your feet.
Natasha offers a fatigued laugh, “Well, if you didn’t wear uncomfortable dresses, then I wouldn’t have the privilege of taking them off of you.” The evening’s second wave of heat rushes to your cheeks at the implication of her words.
Your relationship with Natasha had been like this, since the moment you two had become comfortable with each other - harmless banter turned into empty flirting when there weren’t any perked ears around to hear. She liked to make you flustered when the two of you were alone; watch you fumble around for words and try to figure out how to play it cool under the watch of her distracting green eyes.
She eventually shuffles away from you, letting the back of her calves hit your bed-frame before she takes a seat on the mattress. “So what is it? You don’t like all the attention you get at your big, fancy, rich-people parties?” The obvious distaste in her voice makes you turn to face her again with an unreadable expression, carefully stepping out of the puddle of fabric.
“It’s not that I don’t like it. I just…” You voice trials off as you try to find the words, padding towards the bed as her eyes flicker over your half-naked body. “I miss being able to go out - I can’t even go to the gas station for a slushie without cameras in my face and press shouting about whether I support this or why I don’t support that.”
Natasha tilts her head, “I can go get you a slushie if you’d like.” You practically melt at the genuine concern in her voice, moving to sit next to her on the bed. “That’s very sweet of you but also not the point, Nat. I just miss being able to get in the car and go somewhere without a million people trailing at my heels.”
Natasha’s eyes fall to her lap as she thinks, then they flicker back to you. “You miss me not being up your ass all the time?” Her lip tilts playfully, she’s hoping her hopeful attempt at making you laugh with succeed and it does when a giggle falls from your lips. “You are the least of my problems. If anything, you make all this work somewhat tolerable.”
She echoes back your ‘somewhat’ to make you laugh again as you scoot closer to her. “Yeah, somewhat. Don’t let that go to your head.” She nudges your shoulder playfully, “Oh no, it definitely already has. Knowing you can’t live without me.”
“Hey, I never said that!”
The two of you laugh in harmony for a moment before a comforting lull washes over you both. Her hand finds your knee, thumb rubbing gentle circles against the skin and your head falls onto her shoulder.
She can feel a tear wet her skin through the thin material of her shirt and she quickly shrugs your head away so she can take your face between her hands. “Hey, why are you crying?”
You shake your head and move to wipe the stray tears, “It’s just the stress, it makes me emotional.” You say through a half-hearted laugh; mostly at how ridiculous you feel to be crying right now.
“You need to de-stress.” Her words are a soft hum as her eyes dart around your face. “May I?” Your eyebrows knit in confusion before she’s leaning towards you and, suddenly, you can feel her breath against your lips.
It’s now that you realize the hand that had fallen back to your knee has tightened its grip and, as much as you hate to admit it, your thighs clench in excitement at the implication that she is preparing to kiss you. The thumb that is still pressed to your face swipes at your cheek reassuringly, “Is this okay?” but her eyes don’t leave your lips as she speaks.
A nod from you is all she needs to connect your mouths, hers beginning to work gently against yours as you crane forward to meet her half-way. You attempt to fight her for some type of dominance but it’s a futile fight when her tongue presses against the seam of your lips and you nearly melt into a puddle on the bed.
There’s something eternal about the way she kisses you - like you could stay here forever and never need to pull away or do anything other than kiss her for the rest of your entire life.
Your body twists to face her fully, knees coming up to tuck underneath you until you’re taller than her. Her free hand presses against your stomach so that her fingers are free to explore the skin she’d been staring at for the last bout of your conversation.
You toy with the strands of hair that usually frame her chiseled expression, pushing them out of the way. A delighted hum falls from her mouth and into yours, the sound causing you to part from her lips just enough to lock eyes with her.
You’re still towering above her but you only hold eye contact for a moment to say a million things with your eyes without uttering a word.
“Let me.” She finally mutters to break the silence and concentration. You know the words ‘take control’ are lingering somewhere at the end of her sentence but neither of you really need her to clarify as she surges her body towards you and forces you onto your back.
She’s expressing so many different emotions with her lips as she moves to hover over you and attaches them to your throat eagerly. Their path is linear across the skin, trailing the same length that her blade once had - almost as if she’s saying i’m sorry.
But the sweet burn of excited nerves makes it hard for you to concentrate on the meaning behind her actions as you revel in the delightful stinging feeling. Your knees bend towards the ceiling and feet plant against the bed, inviting her to settle between your thighs; which she does without hesitation.
Your fingers work off the buttons of her shirt, letting her tie fall and brush against your exposed stomach. When her torso is finally freed of the shirt, you push it away and toss it to gather onto the floor.
She stops kissing you for a moment, the slightest bit of fear swimming around in her olive eyes, as you examine the scars littered across her toned abdomen.
There’s one in particular, it’s raised and a pale pink much lighter than her complexion. Goosebumps flutter over her flesh when your fingers graze it and she instantly softens at the interest in your gaze. Her nerves wash away as her lips twitch with a smirk and she says “I’ll tell you all about them one day.”
You confirm the idea with a kiss, pulling her impossibly closer to you by tangling her tie in your fist and yanking her to you. Her laugh fans against your lips as she kisses you, failing to bite back the smile that’s been threatening to ruin the kiss since your mouths had first connected.
“I’ve been dreaming about this moment forever.” She admits, pushing up to sit on her knees and unbuckle the dress pants around her hips. You help pull them down her thighs, not bothering to leave the red-cotton underwear underneath them as she kicks it all onto the floor.
“You have?” It’s hard to hide the shyness that entangles itself in your voice so you move to press your face against her chest, littering it with gentle kisses and nips but she notices the shift in your demeanor anyway and lowers herself back down to your eye-line. “Look at you. Of course I have.”
She accents her truth by letting her lips find the valley of your chest, hands sliding around to undo the clip of your bra with ease, as if she had been doing it for years.
When the bra falls away, her lips attach to your nipple; taking the sensitive bud between her teeth and flicking at it with her tongue.
You almost wonder if she’d been studying your body without your knowledge - learning how to bite and kiss and lick in just the right way to force the air to deflate from your lugs and push those melodic moans from your throat.
“You sound so pretty.” She comments in between licks down your trembling stomach, fingers curling around your underwear to pull the soaked fabric down your legs and leave them to dangle from the bed-frame. “Love it when you sing for me.”
Another wave a goosebumps prick at your skin as she nips against your thighs, eyes looking up to find yours through her fluttering eyelashes and the sight alone makes a rush of your arousal drip onto the bedsheets.
Her hand comes up and presses against your sensitive skin, right above where your underwear would begin and she hums, “Do you always tremble like this when a woman touches you?”
You want to say no - deny, deny, deny, right? - and you wouldn’t technically be lying but you’ve also never willingly submitted to someone as easily as you were for her. There had never been a woman who knew how to handle your body the way she was doing now.
Lucky for you, or maybe unlucky for you, there isn’t time to answer because her flattened tongue falls out between her lips and caresses your entrance like she’d been starving all her life and you were the only food she had ever been offered.
The sudden pleasure overtakes you in a gasp, body shuddering away from the bed just to chase the feeling of her tongue. She laughs into the skin of your thigh, holding your legs open with her muscled arms, “So eager.”
She surges towards you again, burying her face in your folds and pushing her tongue into you as far as she can. You clench around her, embarrassingly tight, but it only spurs her on as she simultaneously nudges your clit with her nose and explores the fluttering walls of your cunt with her tongue.
One of her hands leaves your thigh as her mouth moves raises to suckle at your clit. A finger probes the empty hole that her tongue had only just vacated. “You taste fucking amazing. Anyone ever tell you that?”
You don’t want to answer. Not because no one had - you’ve heard it on more than one occasion - but because you’d rather forget that you’d ever been touched before her. Well, you had never been touched like this, anyway.
When her finger finally dips into your cunt, you let out an extremely loud and rather whorish moan that shatters any of the composure either of you had been left with. “That’s it.” She encourages as her finger curls inside you and your hips crane to meet her.
She lashes her tongue against your clit in one long stroke to soften the upcoming blow of her pulling away completely. Your chest is rattled with a needy whine that makes the other woman throb between her own legs. “Shhh angel, I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
You want to protest, or maybe panic as you fear you’ve done something wrong, but she’s already pulling your robe onto her shoulders and shuffling out the door before you have the chance to. Your legs twitch and clench at the empty feeling, slick coating your thighs and surely the bed beneath you.
Even though it’s only a few shot seconds, it seems to be years before she returns. When she does, an excited grin is playing across her lips as she shuts the door. The curiosity in your gaze is answered as she turns to you and lets the robe fall away, onto the floor. A thick, flesh-colored strap stands tall between her toned legs.
As she’s standing there, chest puffed confidently and you ogling the toy dangling from her hips, you can picture the crude words glowing across a neon sign: ‘DESPERATE BOSS GETS FUCKED BY HER BEEFY BODYGUARD (LOTS OF MOANING, REAL ORGASM!!)’
Natasha leans forward and kisses at your knee, hand curling around your calf to spread your legs so that she is free to slot herself between them. “Couldn’t wait to fuck you proper, angel. I’ve got to right now.” She explains, head falling to your neck where she begins to press gentle kisses.
You hum in total agreement, hands caressing the skin on her back as she kissed down your neck to your shoulder, letting her teeth scrape against your pulse before she comes up to kiss you.
“You want me to fuck you as bad as I want to fuck you?”
You answer embarrassingly quick with a ‘yes, yes please’, hands darting into her hair to grip on excitedly. “Oh baby, such perfect manners. You’re so starved of attention, huh?” Her tone is very much Natasha, playful and condescending but they still warm your belly in anticipation.
The strap nudges your clit as you eagerly take it in your hand, her eyes flutter closed at both the feeling of the toy shifting and the squeak that falls from your lips. You want to show her how good you can be as you pump the toy with your first; it becomes very evident, very quickly, that the other end of the toy is nuzzled inside her cunt.
The pleasured sounds she makes encourage you to meet her sights. Your eyes are screaming ‘fuck me, please, i’ll be so good for you’ when they lock onto hers and hers are almost saying ‘i know baby, gonna fuck you so good’ even as the toy pushes into you slow enough for you to feel your walls stretch to accommodate its girth.
She brings herself onto her knees, both hands wrenched into your hips as her arm muscles contract with the strength she uses to grip them. You could have cum right then and there, watching the animalistic need take over her as she begins pumping her hips into yours.
She’s chasing her own need, as well as yours, and the thought of it makes you want to behave just enough to see her cum because of you.
A shattered moan escapes you and bounces off the walls as she rolls her hips particularly deep, moving languidly and expertly to hit just the right spots. “You’re so messy, peach. Making a big mess of my cock.” Her words are grunted through her own labored breathing and your pathetic mewling.
“You take me so well, I’m so proud of you, my girl.” You respond with a mindless chant of ‘so good, natty, so fucking good’.
She subtly corrects your use of her name with, “Mommy’s got you so drunk on my cock, isn’t that right baby? Not a single thought behind those pretty little eyes once I get my hands on you?” and laughs wickedly as she comes down to kiss you again and her hips pick up speed.
The authority behind her tone makes you clench around the toy, gripping at her back for dear life. She growls into your ear when your nails break at the skin, never letting her hips falter but, instead, speeding up to a pace that makes you question if she’s real.
Even as she’s fucking you, toy balls-deep inside your dripping cunt, you wonder if all of this is a dream. Because she’s fucking you too well, and she knows our body too well, and she knows just what to say to keep you riled up.
She must have seen the haze in your eyes as your mind wonders because she grips at your chin, letting one arm down flex by your head and hold herself up. “Come back to me, my peach, focus on Mommy and just how good she fucks you, yeah?”
“So good, Mommy!” It’s a shout more than anything, desperately trying to grab onto something that’s going to keep you grounded as she fucks into you deeper and her breath echoes by your ears.
“Oh the poor dumb baby just needed to be fucked good. You wanna run a whole country and still let Mommy spread you open and fuck you stupid on my cock? Is that what you need, baby?”
“Mommy, please. Gonna cum. Can I - oh god - can I cum for you Mommy?”
She lets out a delighted laugh then, hand trailing away from your chin to caress circles around your clit, “Cum for me, angel. Let it all out, sweet girl.”
You try to hold it; to keep this feeling going as you almost fear you’ll never get it again, but something springs open inside of you and you let out a scream into the quieted second level of the house as you cum.
“That’s so good, you’re so pretty.” The praises come from her in sweet tongue rolls, pants and gasps falling from her lips as her own cunt twitches around the toy’s opposite end. “Yes, Mommy’s so close, baby. Fuck, just hang on.”
You can see her struggle to keep whatever is left of her composure, hips sloppy as they drill yours into the mattress. She groans into your shoulder as she cums around the toy, hissing about how beautiful you are and how she loves the way you look underneath her. But the words are muffled by the sound of the blood rushing in your ears as you struggle to regain your breath.
In fear of overstimulating your - already shot - nervous system, she pulls out smoothly. You whimper, choking on the air in your throat and she rubs at your chest soothingly. “You’re okay, my peach, you’re okay.”
You pull her into a kiss as she collapses beside you, gripping onto her as if you’re scared she’ll disappear underneath your fingertips. “I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’m gonna get you the win you deserve.”
It’s impossible to fight the tiredness that overtakes you as your head falls against her naked chest and her fingers rake through your hair as she mumbles comforts and nicknames you wonder whether or not they’ll ever leave this bedroom.
unironically want that mediocre gfs w u stuck and just the 'nat 😳😳😳what r u doing'
you know. you know what. i make myself laugh. thats what matters.
title: you dirty, dirty girl
summary:
Nat chuckles. Her hands, calloused and hot, squeeze your cheeks. Spread them. Her mouth hovers over your tailbone. “Seriously? You got yourself stuck in the laundry machine in this get-up?”
“It was not on purpose. Pull that back up, so help me-”
content: nat/f!reader, dom/sub, cum filled strap, anal, anal plug
(ao3)
Fate is cruel. So very cruel. You have never wanted to die this badly.
For over ten minutes—you can tell based on the number of songs that have played, you have been stuck in your laundry machine. In your fucking underwear like some lousy porn. What’s worse is that you decided that today of all days, you would invite Nat over. Nat, who only ever takes two-hour naps at most and went to sleep on your couch an hour and a half ago. Nat, who will laugh so hard she dies from oxygen deprivation when she sees you. And then you will die because you’re stuck in a laundry machine with no possible escape.
At least you’ll die next to each other. How romantic.
Picture this: blades at the inside of the laundry machine, cut up into strings. What bliss.
You stick your forearm into your mouth for the third time so far so you can muffle your scream of pure frustration. You will not be surprised at all if you lose your voice tomorrow.
It all started because of Nat’s stupid fucking sock. She’s always complaining that your laundry machine eats her socks, so you’d made sure to fish them all out. Except when you tried to grab the last one (patterned with cartoon spiders hanging off a faucet—a gag gift you got her for her birthday), you had leaned too far in and now you couldn’t squeeze your shoulders back out.
How does this happen in real life?
The rim of the laundry machine is starting to bite. You smack the inside of the machine with your fist, kicking your legs out. Another infuriated cry into your forearm.
Another song begins playing. You hate this song.
You close your eyes, feeling your head throb, and then suck in a deep, long breath. The air is humid, disgustingly so.
It’s time.
It’s time to suck it up.
You prepare a lungful of air, and— you screech.
Thud!
“Fuck!” comes Nat’s sleep-raspy voice.
That felt good. You scream again, making sure there’s a real guttural note to it.
“Baby?” Nat yells, confused, slightly panicked. Rapid footsteps. The door swings open. “Are you okay?”
“Get me out,” you grit lowly.
She doesn’t react immediately. You imagine she didn’t hear; she’s taking it all in. Maybe, she’s still rubbing her ass from falling off the couch. Then: “…what the hell.”
“Natasha.” Your knuckles blanche with how tight your fists are clenched. You speak louder, enunciating: “Get. Me. Out.”
A warm hand on your lower back, where your spaghetti top has ridden up. The music from your phone pauses, and Nat crouches next to you. “Is there a spider in there or something? I told you I’m not going to kill spiders for you. The joke is old.”
“I am not.” You inhale. Hold. Exhale. “I am not fucking joking right now, Natasha fucking Romanoff, if you do not get me out of here-”
“You’re really not funny. You’re not.” Nat pokes your ass cheek. “I could be sleeping right now.”
“Natasha!” you screech, thrashing your lower body. “I’m fucking stuck in the laundry machine! Get me out. Get me out!”
Another lengthy pause. Nat puts both hands on your back and leans down, presumably to peek into the laundry machine because she’s an asshole who doesn’t believe you. Which is just so—
“Annoying piece of shit! Fucking-” You slam your palms down, metallic clanging grating against your ears. You feel like a child throwing a temper tantrum.
“For real? For real, dude. You’re…” Nat presses closer and breathes down your neck. So not helping. “…wow.”
“I will break up with you.”
“But…”
“Don’t.”
“But step-sister-”
“Natasha,” you grind out between your teeth.
Her body warmth withdraws, and you sigh in relief. Then, she hooks her fingers into your panties and slides them down to your knees.
“I will kill you. I will kill you. I will kill you.”
Nat chuckles. Her hands, calloused and hot, squeeze your cheeks. Spread them. Her mouth hovers over your tailbone. “Seriously? You got yourself stuck in the laundry machine in this get-up?”
“It was not on purpose. Pull that back up, so help me-”
“I don’t believe you.” She removes a hand. Only to bring it back down in a spank.
You yelp, flushing deeply, abruptly. “I don’t care,” your voice hikes up a pitch on another spank, “Nat, please.”
“That’s more like it,” she husks, breath fanning across your back. “Begging.”
It must be a Pavlovian response to that specific tone of voice. No other explanation for why you’re moments from getting wet. You did not do this on purpose.
Nat noses along the curve of your ass. You feel her lips curve into a smile; you can just picture it: impish, cocky, shit-eating. She digs her nails into your stinging ass cheek, bites the other one, and gives it another harsh smack.
The ass bad airflow in the drum must be fucking with your head. You bite your lip to prevent a whimper from escaping. To your great shame, you feel arousal gush out. Perhaps Nat won’t notice immediately, so you have time to brace yourself for the incoming humiliation.
Nat leaves a wet mark on your ass, and it prickles on your skin as it dries in the air. She sighs very contently, and you know, at that moment, the game is over.
“Sweetheart, do you want to safeword?” You slot your teeth into the bitemark on your arm and groan into it. Her hand rubs your smarting cheek as if to console you. She’s unbearably smug when she says: “I didn’t think so.”
You move your arm to your forehead, leaning heavily onto it. This is happening. It would be fantastic if those blades appeared now.
To your horror, Nat pulls away entirely and takes a few steps back.
You make a noise of alarm, body taut like a bowstring. “Don’t leave me here. Nat, please, don’t. Please.”
Footsteps returning. Hand patting your spine. “Just for a minute, okay? I’ll be quick.”
“Promise?” you whisper, afraid for a second that she won’t hear.
But she pats you again and says, “Promise, sweet girl. Be good.”
And she’s gone for ages.
The embarrassment from this whole situation makes you heat up, makes you tense, makes you wet, and the latter makes the humiliation greater. It’s a vicious cycle. You’re definitely not thinking clearly anymore, pulled into that happy, fuzzy space where anything Nat does gets you off. Where time moves nonlinearly.
You sigh, biting your lip and waggling your foot as you wait for her. It feels like too long, but you can’t trust your sense of time, and you can’t trust Nat to not take forever just to fuck with you. But she did promise—she doesn’t usually break promises like this.
“Nat?” you ask, voice meek. Pathetic.
No response.
You brace your hands on the end of the drum and push. No go. Still.
Unfortunately, this is when Nat decides to come back. Pitter-patter of her feet incoming fast. You knew she wouldn’t lie. She wasn’t trying to drag it out—
“Well, well.” Nat stops at the door. “I was going to be nice, you know?”
You drop your arms with a sad moan. “You were gone.”
“Good girls are patient.” Her voice comes closer. “Good girls get their pussies filled.”
“Please.” You practically claw your way deeper into the machine in an attempt to appease her.
She tsks, and her hands grip you by the hips, pulling you back in place. “Hold still now. I’ll fuck you if you listen.”
“Okay,” you eventually mutter.
Nat hums. You hear clinking and rustling. She’s tampering with something. You wish you could twist around and see her, gauge her mood. Alas, the tight space does you no favours.
Anyway, you did agree to hold still, didn’t you?
For a long time, nothing happens. This time, you’re sure Nat’s fucking with you, but you don’t know what to do to get her moving. Your slick is trickling down your thighs now. The odds are stacked against you.
“Nat, please,” you whine.
A huff. “That was your second chance.” She’s still not touching you. You curl your toes, tensing up. “How many spanks for the impatience?”
“…um, five?” you attempt.
“We’ll do five times the number I was thinking. Better luck next time.” Her palm comes down out of nowhere and with a punishing force. You cry out, trying to twist into the drum. She just drags you back out. “Count for me. No mistakes, and I’ll halve the number.”
Were you not so horny, you would’ve asked her why she’s acting like a primary school math teacher. Instead, you choke out: “One.”
She hums and hits at your thigh this time. You wriggle, count, and she resituates you. Repeat. The spanks land along your ass and thighs, and, every so often, she pauses to massage your stinging flesh. By the time she hits twenty, you’re a snivelling mess.
She shushes you, squeezing a hand through to rub circles between your shoulder blades. “Five more, okay?”
You nod, though she might not see it. Still, she takes it as a go-ahead to give you five more swats, alternating spots with each one. You spit out the last five numbers in quick succession, voice small and wobbly.
Nat squats low to kiss at your tender skin, murmuring praise and encouragements to you until you sigh. “I’m okay now. Mostly.”
Her hand rests gently on a bruise. “Mostly?”
You nod again, head drooped into a pile of your arms. “Yeah. Green.”
A thoughtful hum. Then, she’s gone, and there’s the pop of a cap being opened. “Relax for me, sweetheart.”
With a keen, you do your best to slacken. Even then, when cold fingers touch your still sensitive ass, you jolt and hiss.
“Sorry, baby,” Nat soothes. Gingerly, she tugs you open. “Come on. Deep breaths. You know how prep goes.”
You do. Your clit throbs.
You do as you’re told, trying to count out each breath. You begin to appreciate her cool touch, overheated as you are.
When she’s deemed you sufficiently calm, she presses her lubed thumb against the ring of your ass and makes tiny circles on it. Your cunt clenches in anticipation.
“You’re my good girl,” she coos, ghosting her other hand along your inner thigh. “My baby. Good little slut for me, hm?”
Tiny: “Mhm.”
Nat rewards you with the first knuckle of her index finger. You gasp, and she cuts it off with one of her own. “No matter how many times I fuck you, you’re still this tight,” she says, almost like she’s musing to herself. Another press of her lips to your ass, then she pushes her finger all the way in. “So good for me.”
Yes. Good. You nod, eyes clenched shut.
Before she slips her second finger in, she gives you a few thrusts that have you groaning and dropping heavily into the laundry machine. Nat’s patient with you, waiting for you to settle back down before pistoning both fingers into you. Once, twice, three times.
She scissors her fingers, curls them, twists them. Each time, you try not to writhe. Your earlier screeching has your throat too raw to make sounds louder than a breathy wail, so you’re left whimpering and heaving for breath.
Overlaying all of this is Nat’s filthy whispers. She calls you good, her precious baby. Yet, every time your cunt leaks more arousal, or it clenches on nothing, or your sphincter spasms around her fingers, she’s groaning out greedy whore, aching for cock. Your head spins from it all.
After an age, she drags her fingers out of you with a sound that verges on forlorn.
“I’m fucking you ‘till I’m bored,” she informs you.
“Please, please, please,” is all you can say.
She laughs, probing at your asshole with the head of her strap-on, and you’re instantly babbling out pitiful sounds, and she just laughs a bit more. Your arms are damaged from how hard you grip onto them, from the occasional snap of your jaw around them.
The cock splits you open slowly, rubs against your hypersensitive skin, and you hiccup midway through a cry. Nat stops when she bottoms out, cursing under her breath at the sight of your ass wrapped tight around the girth of her piece.
Then, the sound of a shutter.
Your sound of confusion sounds like a mewl.
“Don’t think,” she says lightly, jerking her hips into a grind, “just take it.”
Your lungs run ragged, trying to take in enough air for your brain.
She strokes over your waist, down your thigh, and exhales softly. Pulls out halfway and drives the cock back in. “Oh, sweetheart,” she sighs. “Yes. Just take it.”
“Yes,” you echo, eyebrows crinkling as she starts up a snappy pace, “yes, yes, yes-”
The fit is tight, excruciating in its pleasure. The friction of your muscles around her girth has you drooling on your arm, mouth slack and open.
After a particularly loud whimper, Nat plants a hand on your back and presses you into the rim of the machine. With the leverage, she can fuck into you harder, faster. Her other hand flits around your body and slithers down your navel to cup your mound.
You buck down into her hand.
“Stay,” she barks. With her assistance, you’re returned to your previous height, much to your chagrin.
“Please,” you moan brokenly, “Nat, please.”
She pinches your ass, ignoring your mournful yowl. Somehow, she fucks you harder, your bodies swaying forward with every shove. The ache, the sound, of her front meeting your backside has you needier. Somehow, needier.
So full. Alight with sensation. Just not where you need it.
Nat takes pity. She reaches around and, this time, sweeps the pad of her finger over your clit.
You wail.
The finger draws tight circles around your clit, pressure becoming more deliberate, harsher, as your cries escalate into—nothing.
Your mouth falls open silently, overworked throat failing at producing noise.
And you’re full—so full—more full. Nat releases into you with a grunt, a gasp, and then a long groan. Fingers splayed out on your back, the other hand slipping away from your dripping cunt.
Fake cum pools heavy inside you, fucked deep inside you by the strap that Nat keeps pushing into you.
Afterwards, she drapes her body over yours with a puff of breath.
“Thank you,” you mumble eventually.
She barks a laugh. It’s a cute sound, you hate to admit. “You’re welcome for using you as a fleshlight.”
You manage a smile. “Any time.”
Another exhale as she hikes herself up using the edge of the machine and inches her cock out of you. She hums in sympathy with your quickened breathing.
You make to wiggle out after, but she stills you with a hand.
“What’s the rush, baby?” There’s a hint of mirth in her voice that you don’t trust at all. A very familiar click of shutters. “Look at you, gaping for me. Leaking for me.” Her thumb whips out to catch the cum dribbling out, pushes it back in. “Better not waste, though.”
Your clit throbs with your pulse. “…Nat.”
“What?” But she doesn’t give you a chance to continue, bulldozing on: “You know, honey, the absence of your humongous mommy kink has been quite disappointing.”
“Please stop.” Your temple throbs with your pulse.
Nat’s laugh, cackle, really, is much less charming this time around. “Hold onto this for me, will you?” she basically croons. And then she sets the tip of what you assume is a plug at your asshole. “Anyway, don’t act like you don’t love this whore that you are.”
“Nat,” you whine, but then you stop because you can’t deny her. She makes a point of holding the plug in your ass at its widest point and then releasing it, enjoying the view of your ass swallowing it.
“Greedy little hole,” she notes. Then, she claps her hands together, makes a sound like she’s dusting them off, and gets up. “Well, that was fun- Oh, you didn’t start the dryer.”
“You- Nat, you’re not leaving me-”
“Sure am.” Beep. Beep-beep. The dryer starts loudly. Obnoxiously. Nat’s shadow passes over you, and then there’s the sound again, of camera shutters. “These are great. Can’t believe this is real life. Can you?”
“Nat! You are not leaving me here!”
“Thanks for letting me borrow your phone. Let me just send that over to myself…” The fact that she used your own goddamn phone to get a picture for this really drives the shame home. “Anyway, see you when the dryer’s done.”
Footsteps receding.
You shriek, shrill. Your ass closes tight around the plug, around the cum inside you, and you feel how utterly soaked your lower half is. And your upper half, from the laundry water.
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