[leeharkerd]

21 ✁ nav.

...previously known as sidneyprescottswhore...

she/her 18+ blog lesbian

requests: open

MEN AND MINORS DNI OR GET

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[wandasaura]

ROCKING THE BOAT

summary — there are a few things natasha has to see to before you and her can make the great escape to norway

warning(s) — established relationship, black widow film semi-canon, emotional exhaustion, brief angsty vibes, the accords, dom/sub dynamics, soft?hard?daddy? (all of the above?) dom!natasha, domestic banter, essentially negotiation ensues, humiliation kink, size kink, makeout session, fingers in hair, hair pulling, lip biting, spit play, thumb sucking, previous knife play, admittedly just freak behavior, undressing, neck kisses, shaving, every kind of teasing, gentle reassurance, manhandling, threat of spanking, clit slapping, nipple stimulation, clit licking, cum play?, cum tasting, bathtub sex, slow fingering, begging, moaning, soft orgasm, aftercare, cuddling, kissing, showering, talks of hair braiding, morning after vibes, hand holding, packing, public play, free use kink at large, biting, exhibitionism, clothed grinding + groping, strap-on usage, dirty talk, elements of cnc, thigh fucking, clit stimulation (nat!receiving), just the tip, delayed orgasm, choking, mutual orgasm, praise kink, pet names, men/minors dni

authors note — so… i’ve never written anything like this and i cannot even be sure how i thought of this so... enjoy? would love to hear your thoughts and comments!

It’s not the best place you’ve stayed, but you’re leaving tomorrow morning before the sun even breaks across the sky regardless, so you try not to focus too much on the cobwebs toward the far corner of the room tapered across the ceiling like nonchalantly acknowledged decorations, or the draft that blows in from beneath the door and fights the heating system that you’ve had cranked up to seventy-nine degrees since the very moment Natasha had turned the deadbolt behind her that morning. It’s not the best place you’ve stayed. Not by a long shot. There have been cleaner apartments, warmer trailers, more thoughtfully decorated shacks that you’d slept in across the larger United States up until this point, but you’re choosing to see this situation as an opportunity for reflection rather than what it actually is; a devious and emotionally devastating rerooting of your lives by force from the elected government officials who see your girlfriend as a weapon and yourself as a necessary casualty in their crusade — though it feels more like a manhunt.

It’s not the nicest place you’ve stayed during the last two months of constant moving and continuous planning for something larger, but if you think about the cobwebs instead of the fact that Natsaha’s out securing the very last of the fabricated documents you need to maintain a low profile life outside of the states and everything you’ve ever known, it at least keeps you comfortable in bed beneath thin blankets, not pacing the creaky floors sick with nauseating worry and unease. For the first time, cobwebs are a nicer alternative than facing your reality.

You’ve been trying not to glance at the analog clock that’s propped up on the nightstand by a waterlogged bible, but your eyes shift toward it regardless of your intentions. She’s late. Natasha Romanoff, a woman who had once been allergic to tardiness, now drowns in her own timelines and overlapping escape routes. The last two months have been draining for you, exhausting in a way you hadn’t previously had a fundamental understanding of, but this is the adrenaline that she’d been carved from with razor blades, and the comfortability she exudes even still rattles you as you sit alone in the bed. It’s a cute little bungalow, but she’d promised to be home before nine. The cover of darkness adds a layer of protection to her already masked identity, but the last parade around town that she’d let herself get lost in had led to three different whispers of a Black Widow sighting, and a fourth just won’t do before you can slip away into the advantage of international waters.

Across the room your bags are packed. Two backpacks that couldn’t have appeared more different when you’d first come into possession of them now dulled by the elements and violence you’d been barely escaping since the accords had dismantled everything you’d finally found peace in. The deadbolt giggles, and then the latch turns. Two quick knocks tap the center of the door before panic can swell in your already tight throat, Natasha’s fingers always faster than your mind can anticipate in every setting. She breaks into the room with a strictness in her stare that sets alarm bells off in your head too quickly. She’s four minutes late. It makes no sense to you. Nothing insignificant would’ve deterred her from the objective at hand, but something imminent would’ve postponed her arrival much later. The darkness in her pupils unnerves you more as silence emphasizes your empty hands. You have no cards to play right now, no insight, no clue what could’ve happened or what will happen.

“You’re late.” You find yourself saying instead, because you have to say something, but there’s nothing left to say when the last four months have consisted of nothing but talking. So much talking. You’re tired of it now, something you once never thought could happen with Natasha. Your voice is brittle. Even in your dryness toward her, your voice can’t hide the nervousness you feel that she can’t comprehend. She knows you have valid reasons to be nervous, but it had been a long time since she’d been allowed to feel with every aspect of her being, and this is a life she’d never wanted to tangle you into so intricately, so she struggles to meet you at a level that’s not dismissive or overly suffocating.

“I want control.” She says instead of answering the unspoken question in your statement. Your brain stops for a moment as it considers the depth of her statement. It’s been weeks since you’d last released any kind of tension; outside of the nights you find Natasha out of bed and outside hitting a tree with wrapped knuckles, but at least she’d stopped emptying her barrel into tin targets as an immediate response to the nightmares. Avoiding sex hadn’t been either of your objectives, you either didn’t have the time, the space, or the desire since you’d left the east side of the country and came west, but it still feels like something you hadn’t even considered as it turns in your brain. The last last time she’d touched you, really touched you for more than just ten minutes at a time, there’d been nothing but exhaustion in your muffled moans and panting. It was, in all blatant terms, a quickie that might’ve left you more unsatisfied than satisfied, but you’re reserved to agree. Something could happen. It feels like that’s what you should be waiting for instead of a night of intimacy the government doesn’t think you deserve.

“We leave early tomorrow.” Your eyebrows furrow and Natasha takes two steps closer, her own expression beginning to mirror yours as she drags her eyes over the visible portion of your body. Your hands sit in your lap patiently, but your thumb rubs your knuckle raw as it works perfect tiny circles into your skin. Your cheeks are pale, lacking their usual color as the curtains remain drawn.

“So you need to sleep good.” She reasons, walking nearer until her thighs hit the end of the bed, her hands encouraging you closer as they wait in front of her toned frame calloused palms up. You comply with a huff that feels heavy in your chest, twisting your body until the blankets slip off of your thighs down to your ankles, out of the way enough to get your body upright and situated on your knees that are littered with scars from chain link fences and rocks — a visual reminder of the last two months you didn’t ask for. Her thumbs are cold as they brace your cheeks first, her palms slowly easing down onto the flush apples of your cheeks until they’re squished between her touch not too much, but enough to draw her focus down to your cupid's bow.

“I don’t think its practical to be fucked-out in the middle of our international escape.” Her hands have an addicting hold on your brain function, but they’re too cold to pull you beneath her fully how she wants, and an amused fire burns in her eyes as her nose squints and she twitches just slightly with a repressed laugh.

Her tongue clicks against her teeth before she speaks, a whimsical essence to her stare that hasn’t existed in weeks now as she lets herself forget about visas and falsified birth certificates and the likelihood of dying before you can even find peace again. “I don’t think it’s necessary for you to be thinking about the logistics of anything at all.” She teases, knowing how much you resent her throwing your words back at you near verbatim even if it is in jest.

“Natasha, I’m serious!” You pull away with a laugh, batting at her chest with hands that always appear so tiny when they’re up against her. She’s thinned out since you fled New York, bulked up and toned thoroughly sure, but her face is slimmer now. Hollow around her cheeks and bony in her nose. Still, she manages to make you feel tiny just by the confidence she exudes. “Tell me what took you so long first.” You throw out your only card to play with a resigned sigh.

“I bought razors.” She answers you simply, nodding toward the bag on the floor by the door that you hadn’t even seen her drop as she came inside. It takes a minute for your brain to come up with a reason for why she could’ve even possibly needed to go out of her way to purchase razors before it dawns on you and your body melts into the bed, all resistance evaporating into the air to be replaced by a pitiful state of submission Natasha hadn’t seen in many moons.

“No.” Your voice is whiny, high pitched and soft in a way that tells her she’s won this fight your brain just hasn’t caught up to your body yet. “Why does it even matter if I shave?!”

“Because you’re supposed to get your period in the next three days and we have more pads left than tampons and you get grumpy when the ad—“

“Why do you pay so much attention to the most random things about me!” Your face flushes, eyes wide with mortification that turns your bones hot and fuzzy. You know that she knows this about you, you know this about yourself, but nobody had ever felt it necessary to speak it aloud, and you’d never previously considered how much you appreciated that before.

She doesn’t so much as flinch at your outburst, only raising an unimpressed eyebrow at your interruption as it happens before she continues the moment your mouth closes. “—hesive gets caught in your hair. And. I want control.”

“Can I at least do it?” You plead, eyes squinted, glassy with arousal that pools in your panties and slowly rises to a boil in your belly, but there’s time before it bubbles over, not yet unbearable beneath your skin as your mind sinks into the subconscious state of submitting. When there’s expectations instead of options, things are just easier, but your hands have not been forced yet. The door to independence and resistance hasn’t been fully closed on you yet. Harsh white lighting still shines brightly through the crack in the door that Natasha watches through with a sick smile. You still don’t even realize that you beg for it every time. Maybe not with your words directly, but with your body, with your willful resistance that really just begs for harshness and direction. You know the answer is no, but she hasn’t said it and you want to hear it. You want it laid down upon your skin like a burning hot rod ready to brand you.

“No.” She shakes her head, her eyes questioning as her head tilts. “It’s my body, isn’t it? My pussy between those legs?” She doesn’t need to touch you for you to feel the implication of those words. Your thighs twitch as pleasure shoots off in your core, your eyes pinching shut as you exhale through your lips

“Yes.” It’s a quick nod of your head that satisfies her, not the titleless whisper that falls off your lips quietly and pathetically. She’s taught you better than to answer her so halfmindedly, but there’s time to remind you.

“Then you let me take care of it.” The finality in her voice seals your coffin for the night indefinitely, but Natasha’s not done reminding you how effortlessly she can get your body to fold. She’s not done abusing the power she still has left beneath her fingertips. “Kiss me. Come up here and kiss me, baby.” She nods her head, reminds you of how high her frame hovers over yours when you're situated like this, all folded into yourself on the bed while she stands, dressed in tactile clothes with more knives than you’re aware of tucked into the waistbands and pockets of her outfit.

Her lips are rough when yours first brush against them, your hands braced on her toned belly as you lean your weight against her body and sit up on your shins, the very tops of your knees hanging off the bed yet stationed between her strong thighs. The aquaphor you’d been sharing since Texas had been lost somewhere between scaling the rusted picket fence and jump starting a black camaro, but your lips haven’t fared the same fate as hers. Somehow, your lips are still cushiony and soft as they settle between Natasha’s, but she hadn’t expected anything less. Not from someone so perfect, so angelic and sweet.

Her tongue is probably the only warm thing about her body right now as it breaks through her lips and swipes across your bottom lip that maintains suction around hers. Your hands hold her belly, but hers make their way up to your hair as your head turns to let her tongue in to wander. You don’t need to be shown how she likes you anymore, you just fall into place, knowing the pleasure that follows. A whine climbs your throat as she tangles her fingers into the hair nearest your scalp, tugging only slightly as if to edge the accumulated tension from how often you’ve had it swept up into a ponytail.

Natasha moans when you brazenly — with all of the control you have left in your body — suckle on her tongue that scrapes across yours, and in a moment that's too quick for you to process but slower in reality, her fingers pull at your hair hard enough to shock you, regaining control of the kiss that you’ve nearly derailed. Her teeth bite your bottom lip as she pulls away too soon, cheeks flushed and lips swollen as a string of saliva follows her glistening mouth.

“Cheeky girl.” She hums, admiring the way you lick your lips clean of her taste without being told to clean yourself up. Her thumb comes to help what you can't reach with your tongue, swiping away the wetness beneath your lip before she feeds it back to you with a heavy pressure on the center of your tongue that gags you. She lets you have a moment of bliss only after the tears dissipate from your waterline, your cheeks hallowing around her thumb as you suck with a drunken gleam in your eyes that’s intoxicating.

“Please.” You lean in, begging for another chance to kiss her that deeply again, but Natasha shakes her head, pulling a knife from the cuff of her suit. It stirs something inside of you that you hadn’t thought about before, knowing she’d just been so soft with you, and yet a knife that she’d definitely killed someone with was being kept so close to your face.

“You like that one.” Natasha tracks your eye, a smirk pulling at her lips as she continues to undress haphazardly, like its not ruining her panties to watch you sweat with excitement over a weapon she’s plunged into many. “The one I used to cut your panties off in Venice.”

”Oh.” You shift on the bed, pressing your thighs together as you get lost in the memory of that night and the uncountable amount of orgasms you’d experienced all throughout the hotel room.

Natasha hums with a glint in her eyes, setting the last knife down on the nightstand before she nods toward the bathroom. “Don’t run the tub yet, just get a towel for your back and one for me and wait for me.” She leans in close to peck your lips once before she taps your thigh, directing you away with a pointedness in her green stare.

There’s a lightness in your head that hasn’t felt so attainable in a while, and when you get up off the bed you’re aware of the tingling in your legs that comes from not only the position you’d occupied, but the eager anticipation that drags you out to sea and strands you in an ice cold current, but you can’t focus on any one thing in specific despite the running list of things you realize and notice all at once as you move through the room on autopilot you didn’t even know you were aware of. It doesn’t really feel like time is moving at all around you as you grab two towels from the linen closet on the wall in the bathroom and spin around to analyze the tub, but evidently it is because one moment you’re all alone, two white towels beneath your arm, and your gaze set upon the bathtub with butterfly wings going crazy in your belly, and the next there’s arms tugging at the hem of your t-shirt, cold knuckles dragging along your skin as your wordlessly undressed.

Natasha’s warm breath leaves a trail of goosebumps up your neck as she kisses you softly, easing your right arm out of the hole in your shirt before the left, ensuring the towels never touch the floor in the process, and that the cold you face is only temporary as her kisses bloom warmth beneath your skin. She takes the towels from you and sets them on the counter once the t-shirt is on the floor and out of tripping zones for all parties, easing your shorts and underwear down your thighs in one fluid motion next. She taps your thigh to step out, cooing softly in your ear when you shiver.

The bath doesn’t take long to draw once she reaches over to fix the plug and get the hot water running, but she leaves you standing naked beside the bathtub for longer than necessary just to keep you antsy in anticipation for something that you’re not even fond of, enjoying the sight of your bare body as she stands fully clothed in a suit that had once put so much authority onto her name. There’s so much about this situation that drives her crazy and releases the nerves she’s never learned how to express. If she let you pick, you wouldn’t be doing this. And it's not even that she likes it, it’s that you let her. You don’t like it, and it makes you feel small, and exposed, and vulnerable, but you trust her, and in moments when she can’t even find the strength to trust her gut, that counts for more than the world itself.

“Step in, baby girl.” She coaxes gently, certain that the goosebumps accumulating on your spine are only half from arousal and definitely from nerves. She breathes deeply, her shoulders dropping before they roll back to square as she helps you over the wall of the tub and into the just-right water that sloshes mid-shin. “Too warm?” She asks quietly, knowing you’re a better gauge of temperature than she could ever be. So long as her body gets clean, the means of showering has never mattered much to Natasha Romanoff, even in freedom, even in adulthood.

“No.” You shake your head, wrapping your arms around your body as half of you warms up a considerable amount in only moments. Natasha tuts, reaching out to tap her hand against your wrist, shaking her head as she begins to work the zipper of her tactile suit down her body, letting it pool in a heap of wrinkles after it is pulled from her hips. “Mmm.” The water sloshes as you whine and shake your body in protest to her silent command, yet your body obeys the direction and forces your arms to drop to your sides within the same moment, further amusing Natasha who leaves her sports bra on as she climbs into the tub behind you. “Please!” She pays you no mind, which might turn you on even more, as she reaches back to the counter and pulls the two towels you grabbed near.

“Sit down on the edge, legs on the sides.” She hums, not fussed by your accumulating blush as you stand still in front of her. “Come on, sweet girl, I’m not going to tell you again.” The gentle coaxing is backed by a strongness in her stare that has you moving, sloshing through the water, sinking onto the ledge of the tub where a towel is draped behind your back until you’re situated enough to even consider putting your legs up. “Heels on the ledge, baby.”

“Please.” Your cheeks burn with shame as you shake your head, not sure what it is about this particular setting that makes your belly burn so fiercely, but it reduces you to whimpers and whines just to think about. It’s not the feeling you don’t like, which is part of why you don’t put up that hard of a fight. The feeling won’t feel the same without the build-up.

“Don’t make me do it, detka.” Natasha warns, already sinking onto her knees as she reaches for the bag still on the floor outside of the tub. You hadn’t seen her bring it in, hadn’t seen her come inside the small bathroom at all, but there it is and here she is and this is happening whether you want it to or not unless you say the one word you’re not even thinking about using; the word you like to forget you have, even though Natasha hates when you phrase it that way.

There’s no hiding your glistening core when your heels find their place on the thin ledge of the bathtub you know is clean only because she’d soaked a blood soaked hoodie in bleach within it hours before she’d left for your fake papers. It takes effort to keep them there with your body so stiff against the wall, and Natasha tuts and shakes her head as she recognizes you trying your best to keep your thighs as close together as they can be.

“I told you I wasn’t going to ask again.” She grits between a locked jaw as her hands drop the shaving cream and disposable razor she’d been grabbing with and instead settle on your knees, forcing them apart until one hits the shower curtain and the other rests against the wall. Your butt slips off the edge at the aggression just the slightest bit, engaging your core and thrusting your hips upward just enough to satisfy Natasha who hums at the unblocked sight of your throbbing clit she hasn’t even touched yet. “Keep them open or we can revisit how much you hate a spanked and shaved pussy.”

”No.” You shake your head dazedly, your lips pouting as you look down at Natasha between your thighs. She situates herself between your legs, moving closer to your core until the tops of your thighs rest some of your weight on hers, the tension in your engaged core dissipating slightly, but not all the way. Part of Natasha wants you fucked out and pliant tomorrow because she knows that otherwise, your nerves will derail the whole thing, but the other part just wants you to feel so unbelievably good.

“So keep them open and I won't have to do that.” She amends, grabbing the shaving cream again. She cups a handful of water, letting it fall over your core as she pulls the plastic off the top of the can with her teeth, spitting it over the side of her tub with infuriating attractiveness. “Good girl.” She hums when your thighs shake, trembling as you fight the urge to close them as water falls so perfectly overtop of your understimulated and aching clit.

“Ready baby?” She asks, nozzle of the car stationed over your pelvis. You shake your head, a mumbled no falling off your lips in the last second she’s giving you to back out before damage is done, but when you don’t say your safe word and your eyes pointedly avoid hers in shame that feels so nice in your belly, she hums with acceptance of the submission she’s being shown so perfectly. “Oh well.” She mocks sympathy as she lays the first squirt of cream on your maintained patch of hair that she’s only tackling to assert control. There’s no reason for this, and yet here you find yourselves anyway.

The razor drags across your skin smoothly, and while you hate the process, you admit she gives you a cleaner shave than you can manage most of the time. Not to say this happens often, but it's definitely one of the quicker ways that Natasha feels she’s regained complete control. It almost tickles as she takes on the insides of your thighs, but all amusement you’re even considering allowing yourself to feel dissipates when her fingers pull your lips apart, her fingertips prodding at your weeping entrance before they travel up to your clit.

Natasha taps the pulsating bud with two fingertips tauntingly, laughing in amusement as your hips cant and your hands grapple to grab at anything they can find, migrating to your chest to grab and pinch at your nipples that offer release. She doesn’t offer you a hand to grab onto, doesn’t remind you of the bar that’s mounted to the side of the wall right within reach, she watches as you grope and fondle yourself to find any kind of solid ground to channel the sensations she’s causing you into.

“Such a pretty pussy. You’re so needy, my love. So needy this little clit is just dancing for some attention.” Natasha leans in close to lap at your clit with the softest kitten-like stroke. Your hips jump upwards, desperate to chase the pressure she’d barely even given you, but her hands keep you still before you can buck shaving cream all over her chin and cheeks. “Shh, stop. You’re the only one who needs to be messy right now.”

Your head gets thrown back sometime between the comment and her fingers trailing down your labia like she’s admiring a painting while trying to add her own creative touch in the process. She pulls her fingers away only after she swipes across your opening again with featherlight pressure, rubbing her fingers together and holding them up to her face to admire. She pulls them apart obscenely, chuckling softly at it pearls and slips down her fingers, too much to keep under control with such carelessness. She hums in displeasure as it slides down toward her palm as she holds her hand up still inspecting, her tongue jutting out to lick her digits clean before it can fall to waste into the water, only adding to the tightness in your belly as you clench around nothing.

You can’t watch as she goes back to shaving you bald, can’t think as you drown in the sensations that she’s forcing you to feel with no release or relent. “Clenching around nothing, baby.” Natasha comments, unable to help herself after watching your walls contract for the third time in only a handful of seconds, her thumb pulling the top of your cunt taut, your clit fully exposed as she collects the last remaining bit of hair and shaving cream on the edge of the razor. “Leaky pussy can’t even handle me just touching it. That’s all I’m doing baby, just touching you and you’re dripping. String of wetness all the way down to the water, you know that? Know you’re dripping all over me and I can just tell how tight that little cunt is by looking at it?” She wipes the razor on the towel she has draped over the side of the tub, your hair and shaving cream smeared all over half of it, but then she grabs it, balls it up until the clean side’s all that’s exposed, and brings it down between your legs where she knows sensitivity has increased tenfold.

“Daddy!” You gasp, the final straw breaking as you jerk your hips, trying both to get away from the friction and to chase it. “Please! Please please please!” It’s a breathy mantra that you lose track of as quickly as you’d found it, your voice trailing off as you shake your head, not sure what you’re begging for or what you want or where you’re going from here.

“All this wetness.” Natasha continues to drone on about your arousal, unbothered by your fierce blush, or your growing desire that's starting to become too much in your bones. “Look at it. Look at how slutty that little pussy is. Just for me.”

Your eyes glance at the towel for only a moment, but there’s no denying the smear of clear glossy wetness that dampens and dirties it. She tosses it aside without care, pulling your thighs until more of your weight rests on her.

“But it’s not your fault is it, baby girl? Can’t help that you get so wet. Daddy trained you, huh? It’s all Daddy’s fault you're a wet, needy little girl, isn’t it?” Natasha feigns a coo as she trails her fingers against your mound, down your clit, towards your entrance. She’s soft, but not teasing this time. There’s no slight pressure followed by nothingness this time. Her fingers, three of them, sink into your core with some resistance, but the tightness of your walls is no comparison to her determination or the arousal coating her fingers. ”That’s right, that’s it. Oh, it’s not gonna take my girl any time to cum, is it? Oh no, no, you’re already clenching on my fingers. Oh, do you need to cum pretty girl? Yeah you do, yeah you do. Daddy knows your body, Daddy knows. Come on, cum for me, malysh. All over my fingers, make a mess. Shh, shh, there you go, there you go, sweet girl.” Natasha coos softly, easing her fingers out of your sensitive and stretched walls the second you show the first sign of being through and past your orgasm. She pulls you off the ledge entirely, down into her lap as she sinks into the water that needs to be drained and washed away, but for the moment, she stays, your chests flush together for the first time in a while. “Haven’t cum that hard in a while, huh? Just need a minute to get that pretty head on right again?” Natasha asks when you melt against her and remain a slumped blob, not a sound or a single hum coming from your chest as your eyelashes flutter against her neck as you thoughtlessly stare at her skin. “That’s okay, baby love. You did so good for more. Now I have a nice smooth baby to play with, huh?” She teases slightly, but you let her, inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your mouth as you melt contently into her. “Yeah, just keep breathing, sweetheart. Nice deep breaths for me.”

She doesn’t mean to rush you, but you’ve tested the patience of the water you sit in, and the temperature is becoming unwelcoming as waves slosh into your sides and shoulders as you slowly sink lower and lower into the tide.

“Gimmie a kiss, baby.” Natasha directs, grabbing your chin with her fingers and guiding your face up toward the light, forcing your eyes to focus on something other than the freckles that vary in darkness across her chest. You comply, albeit loosely, your lips resting against hers much to Natasha’s amusement as she presses hard into you before pulling away. “We’re gonna shower now, baby.” She rocks you slightly, if only to make sure your limbs are able to react and support your weight sufficiently when she eventually makes you stand.

“No.” You shake your head, looping your arms around her as you find your voice quietly. Natasha laughs, scoffing slightly benath her breath as she considers how it’s possible to have you so fucked out and pliant, and yet your first coherent utterance post-orgasm is still an act of petulant defiance agaisnt her authority. She doesn’t know how you can manage it so effortlessly, but she knows you aren’t even meaning to do it, which only amuses her further.

“Yeah, baby. We’re going to shower, and you’re going to go put some jammies on and wait for me in bed, and then how about I braid this mane of yours so we don’t even have to bother with it tomorrow morning. Let ya sleep in a little bit, hm? That sound like a good plan for a good girl?” She questions you sweetly, patiently, brushing her hand through your hair that's tangled from the wetness and tousling it’s experienced.

You nod, blinking your eyes just the slightest bit faster as your head doesn’t swim so terribly thick anymore. “Okay, so then it's time to get up.” Natasha nods encouragingly, helping you to your feet in the water that's slightly disgusting to look down at. She undoes the drain, turning the shower water back on hot and turning to face the brunt of the assault as the water warms back up to an acceptable and welcoming temperature.

She doesn’t let you think about anything for too long or too deeply, guiding you through the motions of showering, drying off, and getting to bed for the night. The next morning brings the same tender fate of care and affection, her thoughtful consideration sparing you no second or reason to wander off to the list of possibilities and outcomes that you could potentially face on your great escape to Norway where the real adventuring would begin. You wouldn’t have to pretend to find joy and comfort in cobwebs and dingy showers there, you’d be able to relax a little bit, at least until Natasha got a better idea of how to fix everything.

Fixing everything and the accords never crossed your mind once as she guided you through the docking station with a tight grip on your hand, keeping you beneath a current of control that was dissimilar to the ocean beneath you so drastically. The ocean churned and protested beneath the heavy metal of the ship as Natasha slid her cellphone and yours over the railing, dressed in a grey sweat seat that she’d lifted from a continent store on the corner only an hour ago. The bulge in her pants doesn’t go unnoticed, in fact, it's the only thing you’ve been thinking about as she manages the talking and the scamming.

The ship horn blows louder than you anticipated, but Natasha takes it as an excuse to pull you between her body and the railing, letting her strong arms provide a shield from the reverberations of sound all around you and the wind that tries to force its way into your bones. It's cold, too cold, but it's less confined out here. There’s scaffolding and metal hunks you can’t name that conceal identification, and with weather keeps away a majority of the people sharing the experience with you.

You can finally breathe when the ferry begins to leave the port, pulling away from the shore with no government order to stop immediately, but Natsha doesn’t take a breath for two entire minutes as she watches the coastline get farther and farther away through her peripheral vision. She stays still, eerily so, as she lets herself feel nervousness through the control she’s still grappling to maintain as an outlet. It’s a confusing mix of emotions, but she feels it full until she doesn’t want to anymore, turning her attention to you fully, entirely and truly fully, for the first time in a long time, her face nuzzling into your neck as she bites down on your collarbone.

Your hips jump in startled shock, grinding back against the bulge in her pants that swings with her body every time the waves jostle her frame. Her arms provide more than just decoration around you, Natasha knowing with certainty that if she were to let you go, you’d tumble over within seconds with the force building beneath the both of your feet from the winter waves.

She doesn’t comment on the movement of your hips as you manually mimic the unconscious sway that had created a point of contact between your body and the silicone extension of hers. The warmth from her chest radiates through your being as she leans closer, sandwiching you between the cold metal railing and the strength of her body as she turned to take your earlobe between her teeth, her tongue licking to smooth the ache away from your mind as she silently took advantage of your body.

”Anybody could see.” She mutters after a moment, reminding you of where you are and the bodies that you’re surrounded by for the foreseeable future. The warning barely sits on the surface of your skin for a moment, brushed off just as easily as the wind rolls over the apples of your cheeks with a harshness that chaps them.

“N-Nothings happening.” Natasha doesn’t expect the response that comes falling off of your lips with a shaky softness; some of the only words you’d spoken that morning at all. She laughs softly, muffling the sound in the pocket of your neck to keep from drawing attention to yourselves, feeling like she can breathe again for the first time as she zeroes her focus in on you. She’d used that line one too many times it seems, because now even in the half-drunk state that you maintain, you’re using her manipulation against her.

“No? Nothing’s happening, baby? We’re gonna play that game?” Natasha coos, brushing strands of hair away from your jawline that she peppers kisses into seconds later, selfishly seeking ounces of your warmth wherever she can find it

”Play that game.” You nod desperately, pussy clenching around nothing as you press up onto your tippy toes, trying to get the head of the strap-on to sit against your entrance through the layers of clothing that keep you separated.

”Good thing I picked this hoodie then, hm?” Natasha rips the waistband of your pants down faster than you can register the intention of the question, your fleece lined leggings bunching right beneath the curve of your ass with the black panties she’d insisted on being the choice for today. “Covers your ass.” She fills you in while pulling the waistband of her sweatpants down just enough to finagle the head shape of the strap overtop of them, her boxers bulging around the thick, girthy shape and length.

Three fingers last night. She’d done it for a reason. Not that you’re thinking enough about last night to realize the connection. You haven’t brought the strap out since before everything had gone down between Steve and Tony. You didn’t even know she had one with her until she’d off handedly mentioned it being at the bottom of a bag last week. It’s the big one, the one she’d worked for months to be able to fuck you with at random.

She doesn’t free the strap-on from its cotton confines, letting the arousal between your legs saturate it. The sensitivity you’d experienced last night hadn’t dissipated yet, nor would it until the hair around your clit grew back, and Natasha hums, soaking up the sounds and twitches of your body that only spread warmth throughout her from the very center of her being.

You whine when it becomes too much and not enough of anything at all, but her hands only grab your hips harder, pulling you against her strap and rocking the base back into her clit by doing so. She groans, dropping her face back into your shoulder as she works the strap between your thighs harder, faster, wishing she could feel how the cotton saturates until its wet, sodden and ruined from arousal she’d surely satisfied last night, but her little sluts insatiable at best sometimes, and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been baiting it this entire time.

“Awfully fucking wet, baby.” She grunts against your neck, the warmth from her words sending shivers and shockwaves down your frozen spine. You shake your head wildly, but you know that you are, it doesn’t matter though. Your cheeks burn, flushed from heat and wind. “No? Oh, but I think you are. Mmm, let me just- Fuck.” Natasha pulls your panties aside and over the bulge in her boxers, the pressure driving the both of you insane but its short lived as she stills to change things, slipping the strap through the slot in her boxers but still refusing to put it inside, just ramming your sensitive throbbing clit over and over. “Fuck, I need to feel you.” Natasha mumbles, your head shaking again, a mumble falling off your lips that's inaudible but easy enough to fill in. “Shh, baby. Just the tip, just need to feel you a little bit. Just a little bit of this pussy.” It’s agony to pay when she slips only the head of the strap into you, splitting you open wide and staying there for a moment as she relieves the pressure on her clit, not wanting to cum just yet despite holding out for so long.

”Please.” You plead, rocking your hips back onto the strap as best as you can, but Natasha has the height advantage, and as fast as you move to get back up on your tippy-toes, her hand comes up to hold the base of your throat, not teasing, yet, just resting over the edge of your sweatshirt that you’d once wished was a full winter jacket. Not now. Now, sweat rolls off of you in pearls that dry quickly from the wind, goosebumps replaced with shivers of anticipation.

“Please?” Natahsa mimics, rocking her hips shallowly into you as her hands keep you still where she wants you. “Please what, baby? Please keep fuckign me with just the tip of your cock, or please fuck me deep until I can feel it for days? Which one is it, hm? What’s it going to be? Like this? Or do you want me, fuck, or do you want me deeper?” Natasha slams her hips into you hard, unforgivingly so, her hand dropping from your throat to sit over your bladder, pressing down with a cruel mess that has you writhing between her chest and the metal railing. “Do you want me here? In your belly?”

”Please!” Natasha will never get tired of hearing all the different ways she can get you to say it, but she concedes with your pleads before you can ask again in a different way, ramming you full with long, deep thrusts that have little speed built behind them, but enough strength to ensure bruises on your hips from the railing come morning time. “Hold it baby, just for a minute. Fuck, just so that I can get there too. Come on, be good. Be a good girl for me, fuck fuck fuck.” Natasha’s thrusts turn frantic quickly, but there needs to be no rhythm in place to secure your orgasm, your body tumbling over the edge the second permission falls from her lips cut short by a moan as na orgasm bursts through her body and yours in tandem.

A giggle tears through your chest in the aftermath of the orgasm, no real reason for the laughter but no reason to shove it all away either. Natasha laughs with you fondly, turning your head with her finger eventually to kiss you sweetly and deeply.

”We did it.” She whispers against your lips, her breath warm and welcomed across your face as she blocks it from the wind for the first time in too long. “The first step at least.”

Your in no state to weigh in on the standings of your safety and progress in the plan, and Natasha knows that, she doesn’t expect an answer, but she has to say it anyway for it to be real. You smile, nodding your head because you can recognize how significant this moment is to the both of you right now, but the only echo in your head right now is getting every inch of your body inside and on top of you at the same time, so deeply infatuated with her entire makeup that seconds pass slower, just a vortex of emptiness beside you and her tangled together and mangled.

”We’ve gotta stay out here a little bit longer, baby.” She breaks it to you eventually, her forehead resting against yours in a moment of gentle affection she would never want another soul to witness. You’re hers. She fought too hard to find you to let just anybody have the sweetest parts of you.

“It’s cold.” You whine softly, finding your voice, though not your body, still relying on her to keep the both of you standing on the deck.

”I know it’s cold, but people are still finding their spaces in there. Once it settles down a little bit we can go catch a couple hours of sleep and warmth, okay? You can be my brave girl for a little while longer, yeah?” You nod against her chest, too tired and cold to form words, not that Natasha’s ever required them from you. She’d live in silence before she found someone else. “This isn’t what I wanted for us, you know.” She says sparingly, despite both of you knowing that never in a million years had she pictured this for you even in her worst nightmare.

“I choose you.” You remind her simply, but it has the same effect as an entire monologue would’ve. Natasha nods, taking in another deep breath before she melts, resting her chin against your shoulder as she lets the both of you sway, being carried away into freedom for the first time in too long.

[cqsuanla]

say smth nice to me honey // i love you please i-

pairing: (dark?)nat/f!reader

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and you blink your eyes open, staring down at her blearily. “I just want to hurt you so bad, baby.”

notes: legit don't remember writing this or if i posted this before. posting it the way i found it in my notes app (except added bullets for non-prose sections)

If you hadn’t already known Nat’s certifiably insane then her idea of what constitutes a reward would have done a good job of convincing you. It’s really quite twisted but everything is, with her. All you’d done was offer to make dinner—and a mediocre one at that—and she’d taken it to mean you were finally accepting your circumstance, so here you are: sweaty, panting, naked, of course. And denied. Four times denied. Some fucking reward.

Your nails dig into the back of her hand, fingers interlocked with hers. She doesn’t even wince. “Please,” you say sounding suitably wrecked. “Nat, please, please, please-”

She groans into your cunt, her breath hot and moist, and— gone because she pulls away just as you’re toeing the edge. Tears spring to your eyes. Maybe you scream; you’re not sure, awareness shot as it is.

“Why?” you ask, and you keep asking, crying, begging.

She shushes and coos at you, stroking your sweat-damp forehead. “It’ll feel good in the end,” she keeps telling you.

And you believe her. It’s always all right in the end; one way or another, Nat always makes you like it by the end, but before then, it feels so very-

“Bad. It feels bad,” you moan out.

You wish you could just shove her face back down but she’s got both your hands linked with her vice grip. You think she must have known you’d get frustrated enough to entertain taking charge, known that you might even have had the gall to try it if she didn’t have you restrained. When she’d demanded to hold your hands before she went down on you, you’d actually been quite endeared by her. Oh, how quickly that particular emotion fled from you.

“Last one, then. Just one. You’re such a good girl for me. My pretty baby.” Nat crawls up your body and cradles your head in her hands. Your shared body heat is nearly unbearable right now, but she makes it better. Always makes it better. She kisses you, pets you, and combs your hair. Lets you whimper into her shoulder, teeth scraping at her skin with every pant you huff out. “You can take one more, sweetheart. I know you can, obedient little thing. My good fucking girl,” she rasps into your neck.

Fuck if that doesn’t do it for you. Still: “I’m too sensitive.”

She traces a tear track with the back of her finger, licks up the streak on the other side of your face. So sadistic, your Nat. “I know.”

For the next few moments: silence aside from your persisting hiccups and her ragged breathing. Her excitement, her morbid fascination with the limits of your boundaries, is palpable. Infectious in a way. You do want to be good for her. For her. Your lover, keeper, owner, mommy.

She always takes care of you.

Slowly, you calm. Then, you grip the back of her shirt and, in a small voice: “Just one? Promise?”

She hums, hands reaching out once again to lace with yours. “Just one, sweet girl.”

You’re not sure if you trust her. Regardless, you have no real say in the matter.

“Okay.”

On her way down, she lays kisses down your chest, your navel, the height of your pubic bone. She tuts and you make a pathetic keening sound.

“Down, baby.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and, when her thumbs keep pushing insistently into the bones of your hips, you slump fully into the mattress with a soft groan. You receive punishment for that in the form of a nip to your inner thigh. Your skin, tender and bruised already from her previous attention, sinks under the points of her teeth and you yelp.

But then her mouth moves up and the slick heat of her mouth meets the one between your legs, forging a brain-melting fire in your center. You’re overstimulated to the point that you can’t tell if you’re really experiencing those aching, throbbing sensations or if it’s some sort of phantom feeling your overshot nerves are expecting. After all, Nat’s just ghosting her lips over your cunt, tip of her tongue teasing up the curve of your labia. Mewling in the way she likes, tensing and squirming your legs around her shoulders, does nothing to encourage her. She just keeps fucking with you, not enough literal fucking you.

You squeeze her hands until you can’t anymore. She makes a contemplative noise which sends a tiny shiver through you when you think you feel the sound vibrate near your clit. Then, she abruptly dives in, a guttural sound clawing out of her throat into your cunt. The flat of her tongue drags roughly from your leaking hole to your clit, and you can’t think anymore. She keeps groaning with your desperate begging, pleading, and it keeps going directly into your clit when her tongue passes over it.

The world—it’s just Nat. It’s just Nat and you, and the bits of sheets and mattress and corner of pillow that you’re lying on. The damp air where your bodies can’t meet and the sweaty, sticky skin from where you meet. She’s everything; the endless white of a foggy horizon. Something that can swallow you whole. Something you wish would swallow you whole-

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and you blink your eyes open, staring down at her blearily. “I just want to hurt you so bad, baby.”

It takes you a moment to process that. To process that she is no longer sucking and licking at your cunt like her life depends on it.

Tears prick at your eyes again. Your lip wobbles.

She doesn’t even pretend to comfort you this time. “Oh, you’re pitiful.”

“You promised!” You try to twist away from her, furious and betrayed. Her hands clamp down, bruising. Your stubborn leg kicks at the bed. “Mommy, you promised me. You said-”

“I know what I said,” she cuts you off, an edge to her voice.

You go limp instinctively, yielding, even if you’re still in emotional turmoil. You always end up letting her do what she wants. Even so: “It’s unfair.”

“Nothing’s ever fair,” she mutters into the feverish skin of your thigh, nosing at a bruise she’d left in the beginning. “It’s fun if it isn’t fair. You’re so easy to look at like this, baby. So beautiful this way: used up and crying. Pathetic for me. Good for me.”

“Why?” You stare down at her through a film of tears. In that moment, she cranes her neck so she can rest her cheek on the top of your leg and her eyes catch the glint of the bathroom lights. “Why hurt me? Why me?”

“It feels good. You feel good.” The corner of her lips sharpen into a smile against your leg. “Don’t think too hard. I can make it hurt more.”

You shake your head. How can you even reply to that?

Her smile widens. “Say something nice to me, honey.”

This one is easy. “I love you,” you murmur. Defeat.

“Again,” she rasps, spurred into action again. To the victor goes the spoils. Her tongue covers your entrance, dips in briefly.

“I love you,” you choke out. It’s too much. You wish she’d get this over with. You wish she would keep you here forever.

Her lips wrap around your clit, tongue probing harshly at it, and her hands tug at yours.

You take the hint. “I love you.”

She laves at your clit again, your pained whimpers falling on deaf ears. A tug on your arms.

Again. Again and again and again until you can’t speak anymore. Something inside of you stiffens, then it’s splintering into pieces, and it hurts intensely but it’s nice to let it all go, but you’d never want to go through this again. When you come back to yourself, Nat’s still licking at you but this time, your sound of discontent prompts her to pull back.

“Worth it?” At your head shake, she snorts. “What do you say?”

You take a moment to make sure you’re capable of movement, inhaling sharply and watching the rise of your own chest. Then: “Thank you, mommy.”

“Any time, sweet baby.”

later run ur fingers over the indents in your thigh, mark of her bites

imagery of ambulance driving by outside w the sirens and the blue-red-blue-red of nats skin

it’s like letting the dog socialize with other dogs at the park. but i prefer to keep mine at my feet (kicks u over) …clearly

come along hound

“It’s been a week,” you say quietly, meekly. Your hand tenses on the door knob, searching for something sturdy to hold onto.

“It has,” Nat notes evenly.

She stares and moments pass, her blinking just slow enough to unsettle you.

You shift, mustering the courage to release the handle and shuffle forward a few steps. “Please? You said- it’s been a week. You said you’d take it off in one week.”

“Did I?” Nat raises an eyebrow. “I don’t recall.”

“Mistress, please. Please.”

All of a sudden, her expression sours. She stands. You shrink back, your heel hitting the door loudly and making your heart drop even more.

“Sorry,” you say in a rush.

Contrary to what you expect, she doesn’t round the desk to seize you. Instead, she leans on her desk and pins you with that searing scowl of hers. “Dumb slut. I’ll forgive you when you learn your goddamn lesson, mutt.”

You open your mouth to apologize again but she glares harder and you snap your jaw shut with an audible clack.

“Now get out.”

You do so with haste even if you ache to stay.

leave her alone for a bit obedient af she fucks ur cunt like it’s her job and gives u aftercare and ur like that’s good. duh—nat always knows, that’s why she makes the decisions, she’s in charge always

she shows u a big dildo and is like ur taking it dry and ur like ok and she thinks u finally learned the lesson and tells u to get on ur hands and knees

“Do you get it now?” Nat asks, voice rough, chest heaving. She drapes herself over your back, can’t get enough of you. Her hands roam over your body, grasping at flesh, leaving behind bruises. Runs so hot, you begin to feel sticky from perspiration, uncomfortable but in a kind of familiar way that you immediately embrace in an instinctive response. She’s all around you, cocooning you, possessing you. Squeezes tight. “Do you get it?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“What do you get?”

Your arms shake from your combined weight. She bears down and smoothly maneuvers you onto your shoulders, arms bent up on the bed in surrender. Her hands tighten around your wrists, demanding your attention.

You soak in the feel of her on top of you. “You know best,” you answer into the duvet. A hand in your hair guides your head to the side. “I just listen.”

Nat hums. You think she sounds pleased. You hope she is. Anyway, by now your over sensitive cunt has produced enough slick around Nat’s cock for this to be somewhat enjoyable no matter how rough she plans to get. Its heavy presence inside you makes you want to squirm, delights you and scares you. You’ll take anything she gives. It’s what you’re for.

“I’m yours,” you say.

And she thrusts suddenly, humping her front into your ass so the head probes farther into your cunt.

You gasp and your fingers stretch out before clawing into the sheets. Yes, you’re wet enough. It hurts, the girth, the length, but you’ll bare it because it’s enough.

“Yes,” Nat hisses on the next thrust. “Your pleasure, pain, all mine.”

You nod, jaw fallen wide as you moan and mewl beneath her. As she forces her way in, stuffing you full, and tears her way out, leaving you empty. Not once does she let up off your back, and you love the feeling of your bodies sliding together, sticking against the friction of your movements.

“I fuck you when I feel like it, baby, in whatever way and for however long I want it. When I tell you to come, you do. When I tell you to sit pretty, you do. When I tell you to shut the fuck up,” she growls into your ear, the front of her body slapping particularly loudly and obscenely into yours on every syllable of those last four words.“You fucking do.”

“Yes.” Your voice sounds foreign, strangled. Your nods are frantic, runny nose rubbing against the sheets. “Yes, yes, yes.”

It’s meant as a response to her words and as encouragement for her to keep going, not that she has any intention to stop.

“Say something nice,” she pants into you. She sounds different too; demanding and harsh, of course, but there’s something desperate about it.

Not that you really register it anyway, since you’re shrieking, “I love you,” before you can even think about it. It’s not something you need to think about. Loving Nat is a fact of life, a part of life. As natural a thing as breathing. As being short of breath. Life is hard and easy, and loving her is the same. It’s being in sweltering heat and frigid cold. It’s too much, way too fucking much, and then, all at once, in the next moment, not enough.

Her teeth close around your shoulder, though not hard enough to break your skin. You’ll bruise, though. She bites deeper on every inward movement. Her mouth is wonderfully moist and warm on your skin.

God.

“I love you,” you cry out feverishly, “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

Indents of her canines remain in your sweat damp skin. Her breath is laboured, adjacent to pained, and it fans across one side of your face. Humid near your ear.

“I’m sorry. Thank you. I love you,” you babble. “I’m yours.”

“I love you,” she says back, over the wet sounds of your fucking. She’s relentless. “My girl. My baby. Come with me, okay? My good girl.”

It hurts. You’re numb. You’re burning up. She pants hotly into your ear, and you pant into your own spittle, face as leaky as your cunt.

Nat lurches in again, your bodies jolting forward, and you slam your eyes shut, seeing nothing but the dark and, briefly, a pang of colours from how hard you’re squeezing them shut. You cum, maybe. The sensation isn’t entirely new, painful and pleasurable at once. You’re pliant in her arms, twitching sometimes, not really feeling anything. And when you come back to life, she’s still going. The world is just this: the feel of her body on yours, the smell of arousal and sweat and spit, and her voice. A voice like tinnitus. A desperate, animalistic mine, mine, mine rings in your ears.

[umbreoni-deactivated20260114]

it’s the beginning of the week so

thank you @sheriff-bodecker you’re the bestest

[flaskrobonoid]

[blvar]

I swear I hate my life. One thing goes okay and 276357 go wrong. I am so fucking tired

[leeharkerd]

user leeharkerd.. no joke i was obsessed with your works on my old account like two years ago. it’s an honor to be mutuals <333

om g i feel honored.. i love your acc smm ♡ ive been meaning to follow you ever since i saw your kinktober (..which holyshit was amazing btw)

[leeharkerd]

....natasha romanoff x reader

wc: 3530?

warnings: nipple play, dry humping, intense/rough oral sex, oral from behind, mommy kink, spanking, inspection kink, multiple orgasms, strap-on sex, squirting, overstim, natasha has body hair, it's lowkey been awhile since y'all last fucked, a wink of angst, annnddd shes fucking you in her trailer,

You're fucking gushing.

You haven’t even undressed yet—shit, Natasha hasn’t even undressed yet—and still, you can feel your arousal soaking through your panties and into your pants.

Fuck, and all it had to take was a little making out and some humping to get you this worked up? Shit, you're absolutely pussy-whipped.

But in all honestly, who could blame you?

You’re straddling Natasha’s lap, her mouth all over yours—kissing you messy, wet, and hungry as you both grind into each other. It’s hard to get any real friction, the clothes between your bodies ruining the rhythm, but you’re both too desperate to care. You’ll make it work. She groans into your mouth, her pussy throbbing, soaked through, her clit aching for attention—needy and twitching beneath the pressure of your grinding bodies.

Her hands are everywhere—groping your ass, then sliding up to play with your tits. They’re still covered by your shirt, but that doesn’t stop her. She tweaks a nipple through the fabric, making you choke out a sob. Your nipples are hard and pointy, poking so prettily against your shirt. You just wish she’d suck on them already.

"Baby, you're—you're gonna make me make a mess," she groans into your mouth as she continues to rock her body against yours, and you moan, her muscular thigh pressing against your clothed pussy almost being too much to handle. God, she needs to come. Needs to take her pants off and slide her wet cunt over your mouth over and over until she soaks your chin-

But she won't. Because why would she give you what you want so early on? You need to learn, learn to be good. Learn to listen and do as told.

It's in seconds, that shes turning you over onto your stomach and ripping your clothes off. It happens almost so quickly that you dont even remember it happening.

She tears your shirt off, which is fine. It was cheap anyways, and then your pants—okay, you'll buy new ones.

It’s not until she gets to your soaked panties—ones you’re sure she’s about to tear off—that she surprises you by lowering her head instead. She wets her lips, then drags her tongue slow and deliberate over your clothed, dripping slit, tasting you through the thin, ruined fabric.

You squirm, whining and attempting to push yourself more into her touch as she eats your pussy through your panties. It's not enough, not nearly enough.

You're so horny that you literally want to die. And Natasha was not helping with that in the slightest.

You continue helplessly rocking back into her mouth to try and chase your climax, to finally reach it, though you knew you wouldn't with this barrier of clothing, whining out her name repeatedly to try and get her to touch you properly.

"Natasha, please," you whine, and she growls into your cunt, slapping your ass harshly—which tears a guttural moan from your throat. Her voice is rough as she whispers, "what, sweet girl?" Into your inner thigh, and when you try to respond, you're abruptly cut off by Natasha rudely tearing your new, expensive panties into two.

You huff into the sheets, kicking your feet as she stares at you, her eyebrow raised. "Those were new, Natasha!" You groan into the mattress frustratedly, before looking at her over your shoulder with wet eyes. "I bought them for you," you sniffle and she frowns as she picks up the ruined fabric, inspecting it.

“They’re pretty,” she purrs, “real nice… Sounds like you should think before wearing nice little panties like these," She laughs before throwing them aside, "because your stupid pussy completely ruined them.” Her hand comes down hard on your ass again, making the already sensitive flesh burn redder, stinging in the most perfect way. "But I'm sorry either way."

You sob into the mattress as she spanks the other cheek, the pain of the sting somehow arousing you even more, a gush of slick leaking from your pussy—which, of course, doesn't go unnoticed by Natasha, her thumbs already pulling apart your folds for a further look. She coos at you as another gush of arousal drools from your hole.

She loves it.

She loves it so much that she can't even hold herself back as she goes right in, spitting on your cunt before sliding her tongue over every single inch of your pussy. Her nose, god her nose, bumping up against your clit with every pass between your folds. Shes sloppy, but your cunt is just the same.

You whine as she flips you back onto your back, holding you still with her strong arms as she dives back in, sucking on your clit before going back to tonguing at your folds. "F-fuck," you moan, and she spanks your thigh in response. The impact of the slap makes your eyes roll shut, serving as the pushover you needed as your first climax of the day shoots through your body like lightning.

You're shaking violently, crying out a string of "Natasha's" as your climax surges through your over sensitive body. As your orgasm finally passes after what felt like minutes, you expect Natasha to stop, but she doesn't. Her mouth is still relentless as she savors your wet pussy. You cry out, desperately trying to squirm away from her unrelenting mouth, but her arms keep you from doing so. Forcing you to stay completely still as she brutally eats your cunt. "Natasha," you whine, and she growls into your cunt, licking you further. It's almost like it's punishment, but for what?

Oh. That's what.

“Nat—oh fuck—Mommy,” you moan, being sure to correct yourself and watching as she smiles into your pussy, not stopping for even a second. You try to close your legs, but you’re trapped—her grip tightens, holding you open, leaving you no escape as she pushes you into another brutal orgasm.

Atleast you finally got the name right.

"N-no, Mommy, please stop,” you sob, despite being unable to stop the desperate rolling of your hips “Please stop, I c-can’t—Mommy, please, I can’t!”

She doesn’t let up, laughing into your soaked cunt, licking every inch with obscene enthusiasm. Her thumb creeps up to tease your clit, soft at first—then she’s back on it, spitting before sucking hard, drawing a broken wail from your throat as your arousal and her spit drip down the crack of your ass. “You can. And you will. Okay?” she spits, her voice rough and commanding.

You thrash your head side to side, desperately trying to escape her grasp as she continues to eat your pussy. Your clit throbs with sensitivity, and it almost makes you scream when she gives it yet another hard suck. You're crying, tears flowing freely down your face as she tongues at your clit. "Oh god, Mommy," you sob, "P-please stop," you cry out, and a tight feeling coils low in your belly, one that you didn't even know was forming—the need to piss, it hurts and aches and you whine as you try to wriggle out of her punishing grip. You sob loudly, trying to find the words to describe how you're literally about to piss yourself.. But you can't, your mouth, too slack and your brain too jumbled to even keep up with her quick tongue. Eventually, after a few more long seconds of you attempting to even get a word out, it happens.

You squirt, for the first time ever. All over her face.

It comes out in multiple spurts, catching Natasha off guard for a moment as it soaks her face—yet she doesn't stop eating. You're embarrassed to say the least, yet somehow embarrassed is an underestimate. You attempt to cover your face with your hands, only to be met with another swat to the side of your thigh—which rips another moan from you from deep in your throat. You thrash and wail, desperately trying to escape her mouth as another orgasm rips through your body, cries of "Mommy," leaving your lips as you cry through your ecstasy.

When she's finally done, she lifts her head, climbing over your body leaning into your own for a kiss. "Gimme a kiss," she huffs, "taste yourself."

You do. And its alright, but you think that Natasha tastes better. She holds you there, kissing you slowly as you ease into it. Your hands seek for purchase, deciding on just resting them on the back of her neck, your fingers playing with the baby hairs that lie there. You've missed her. You've missed this. Missed the sex, her scent, her face, missed the feeling of her holding you so close—like she doesn't want to ever let go.

You missed it all.

It's hard to go through a transition where you're always together to then be torn apart from eachother. Endless nights of you phone calling Natasha, only to be met with 6 rings and then her voicemail message. You were lucky if she were to even text back, you were even luckier if she was able to call back.

Those calls usually took place at sometime at 3 in the morning when you were already in bed for the night. You'd always pick up anyways, because when else were you provided with this opportunity? She'd always had been painfully busy on her work days, and especially during her missions. You kind of missed when you both lived back at her apartment, but some shit went down and she wants to keep you safe. You get that.

Okay, scratch that, you definitely miss when you were together at her apartment. The trailer is nice, (though it is nicer when you're not alone in it) but the apartment beats it with ease. You imagine she has a pretty good life during her missions if she gets to stay in that pretty place, besides the fact that you're not there with her.

The two of you sit there for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of being so close, and so together. And for a moment you just think, Yeah, I could get used to this again. The comforting silence easing your mind after all that time away from, before being broken. Though you didn't mind, obviously, because theres always time for that later. And right now, you just wanted to be fucked. Months without sex or just physical touch in general has seriously fucked you over, having had spent countless of nights with your fingers buried deep inside of your lonely cunt with only a few nude polaroids of Natasha to temporarily soothe the ache. Eventually, before giving you one more hard kiss, she pulls away from your overheated body, standing up and planting her feet at the front of the bed.

"Unzip me."

You practically jump at the opportunity, crawling to sit at the edge of the bed—your hands fumbling with her zipper as you shove her pants down her thighs, her underwear following soon after. You huff at the sight of her toned legs, your pussy growing even wetter at the mouthwatering view. God, you loved her muscles. After a long, shameless minute spent ogling her thighs, your gaze finally lands on her unshaven cunt. A small, accidental squeak escapes you at the sight of her damp curls and her pretty, swollen clit—peeking out from it's hood.

“Please, let me,” you beg, your voice breathy and desperate. You needed to lick her—to fucking devour her. Her pussy looks so wet, slick glistening across her inner thighs.

“Mm-mm,” she tsks, and you want to cry. All you wanted was a taste—to finally bury your face in her wet cunt, maybe even slide a finger or two inside and fuck her to the edge. But that clearly wasn’t what Natasha had planned. Not that you have any time to dwell on it, because in the next second, her hand is fisted in your hair, yanking your face closer.

“Look at it,” she huffs, and you obey, your hands moving faster than your mind. You do as told, pulling apart her folds to inspect her sticky cunt. She’s beautiful, the smell of her arousal alone clouding your mind and making your movements clumsy. Your thumb presses on her hood, causing her clit to protrude a bit more, and you press your thighs together at the sight. You’d like her to sit on your face—to trap you between her legs as she gets herself off, for her to come in your mouth and then fuck you through orgasm after orgasm.

That's a great image. You'll think about that later, when you're alone in the small bedroom of your shared trailer, fingering yourself to completion as Natasha showers in the other room—oblivious as ever. If she knew, she'd take you over her knee and spank you until you're red and raw. Though you think—no, know—that you'd like that even more.

She nods in approval through it all, letting out a soft moan when your finger accidentally slips and eases in a bit. “That’s a good girl,” Natasha groans as you collect the slick that drools onto your finger, slipping it into your mouth. You moan at the taste of her—she makes you crazy. You want more. You want to taste her for real.

You'd give anything in the world just for the permission to worship her.

Well, there’s no time for that, because suddenly she’s backing away and walking over to the nightstand, opening the bottom drawer to retrieve a harness and a dildo. She looks you right in the eyes as she steps into the harness, adjusting the buckles before pushing the dildo into the o-ringed slot.

“Is this big enough for you, baby?” Natasha husks, spitting into her open palm and stroking the fake cock. “Or do you need something bigger?”

You gulp, scanning her body for a moment—from bottom to top. You note the way her legs look when they’re unshaved. You observe how perfectly her hips fit into the harness. You notice the small, thin, trail of hair leading from her pubic area to her belly button, and then to her gorgeous abs. Fuck, her abs. You take in her strong arms and manicured fingernails. Then, your eyes suddenly fall back to the fake cock—and it’s big. You hadn’t even thought that it would fit, and now she’s asking if you need something bigger? Oh, you’ll be just fine with this one.

You must’ve been staring too long, because she breaks the silence with a quiet throat-clear. “Is something wrong?” she asks, voice laced with genuine curiosity.

You shake your head quickly, murmuring a soft “no,” but that obviously doesn't cut it—and you both know it.

“What was that?” Natasha coos, and you squirm in your place on the bed.

“Nothing,” you whisper, lowly.

“Didn’t sound like nothing,” she replies, walking to the bed and pushing you back down onto your back, dropping the conversation as a whole.

Her mouth is then on your tits in a rush, sucking and teasing the sensitive buds. You moan, trying to press your chest further out—giving yourself to her, submitting to her. She sucks harder, and you suck in a harsh breath. It’s hard to behave; you want her cock in you, and you want it now.

It doesn’t help that you can feel it pressing into your thigh, either.

Eventually, she gives in—backing away, spitting on her hand again and stroking the toy before leaning forward to spit on your cunt. “Now, normally I’d prep you. You know that. But I think you can do it, can’t you, baby? Take that big stretch?” she huffs with a laugh, pressing the tip between your folds as you nod your head "yes."

You suck in a breath, bracing yourself as she slowly sheaths herself into your pussy. It hurts—it burns—yet you still want more. Want her to hold you down as she fucks into your hole mercilessly, groaning as the harness rubs up against her swollen, neglected clit. God, you can just imagine the sound of her moaning into your breasts as she pounds into you.

She continues to push herself into you, rubbing your clit lightly with her thumb as she does. Your eyes flutter shut, a pained whimper slipping from your hoarse throat as she finally sinks herself all the way inside.

You bite your lip, eyes fixed on the massive cock buried deep in your cunt. You can already picture the stretch, the messy gape she’ll leave behind when she finally pulls out—and that filthy thought alone makes your clit throb beneath her thumb.

An audible moan slips from your lips as she starts to move her hips, slowly fucking you with the rather large cock. Her thrusts are deep, each one hitting just right—measured, controlled, the most perfect rhythm you’ve ever felt. You’d almost forgotten how seriously she takes your pleasure; had it been months since the last time you two had sex. Months since the two of you had done anything, really. The sight of her intense concentration makes you even wetter—she tries so hard, and you know it.

You watch her closely as she places both strong hands on your hips, bending over slightly to do so before slamming into you at a harsh pace. A pitchy squeal escapes your mouth as you’re forced to suddenly adjust to the rapid, unrelenting rhythm. Your pussy opens up for her, welcoming her, letting her use you however she pleases. You don’t mind—not even for a second—as your hands reach out blindly, desperate to grab onto something: her shoulders, her hips, anything.

“Do you like that?” she groans, and you nod your head rapidly. You do. You love it.

“Good. I like that you want it,” she huffs, and you take that as your chance to finally steady your hands on either side of her waist. Your head is spinning, your eyes locked on her—on the way her abs flex, her biceps strain, the way her breasts bounce in the cups of her bra, the sweat gleaming on her skin, and that face of pure, focused attention. God, it’s hard to keep watching her with how hard she’s fucking you, but you try—because there’s nothing more beautiful than this.

“Mommy,” you sob, voice breaking as she starts thrusting even faster, driving that thick cock into your cunt, splitting you open with every brutal stroke. You don’t know how much more you can take—it’s too big, too deep, and your body’s trembling from the stretch.

“Shh, I know, baby, I know. It’s okay,” Natasha murmurs, her voice low and steady. “Mommy knows you can take it.”

And somehow, with just those words, you believe her. Your pussy is sloppy, drenched in your own arousal, coating the toy as it slams into you again and again. You’ve never felt fuller, never felt more wrecked—never felt happier than you do in this moment as you take her cock repeatedly with no resistance.

Your hands slide around, slapping at her back, unable to get a stable grip as her mean thrusts seem to show you no mercy. You're about to cum again already—it's sad. But you're horny, and you don't think you can hold back your orgasm much longer.

Natasha moans, her clit rubbing against the inside of the harness with every thrust. She needs to cum, but more importantly, she needs you to. She hopes that maybe, after this mind-blowing orgasm she’s about to give you, you’ll forgive her for depriving you of exactly that for so long. But after two seconds of thinking, she realizes that that'll take time—like everything does. But she's willing to be patient.

You cry out, your voice a shrill sound, as you reach the brink of orgasm. She sees it too—immediately quickening her thrusts. "Come on, baby," she growls, sweat dripping off her forehead, "Don't you want to cum for Mommy?" You do. So fucking badly. "I- Fuck, Mommy, please!" You sob, trying your hardest to push more words from your sore throat, but nothing comes out.

Her hand reaches down to collect some of the arousal dripping from your cunt, then proceeding to toy with your throbbing clit—her fingers nearly cramping up with the task, but she doesn't care.

Aftee taking one last deep breath, you wail. Kicking your legs and shaking as your third orgasm of the night surges through your veins like electricity, you think you might pass out purely from the force of it.

Natasha watches you with big eyes, fucking you through it and slurring heavy words, "That's a good girl," "You're so pretty, baby," and then, "Fuck—I think i'm about to cum, shit!"

She does. Hard. Shuddering as she humps the material of the harness to her best ability. At one point she gets so frustrated that she just shoves her hand underneath it, rubbing her clit with her fingers—moaning your name over and over until her orgasm finally subsides.

More silence fills the room, broken only by the sounds of the two of you breathing hard, your chests rising and falling in rhythm, and your small, desperate whimpers.

"I'm fucking exhausted," Natahsa huffs against your breast, giving your nipple a wet kiss.

[leeharkerd]

tysm for all the love on this omg..

[chvoswxtch]

now showing: private dance

synopsis- it's halloween night, and the dancers aren't the only ones dressed up. when a mysterious stranger pays for a private dance, you come to find out the person under the mask isn't a stranger at all.

starring- natasha romanoff and student!reader

rated- x (18+) for explicit sexual content, graphic nudity, and strong language

run time- 4k

Dancing hadn’t exactly been your first choice in a part time job, but it was one of the only ones that worked with your schedule. It was your junior year of college, and while you didn’t have a super heavy courseload, you did have a lot of demanding classes. Specifically, Professor Romanoff’s class. She was the head of the Criminology department, and you wanted a spot in her program over the summer. It was an extremely competitive program, and the spots were slim, so you’d been working your ass off to maintain an A in her class, hoping your dedication would improve your chances.

So, when your roommate told you about a club she’d started working at a few months ago, and how much she was bringing home, you thought, what the hell. What other job could you only work a few nights a month and make enough to not only cover your bills, but to have a little extra to set aside? It was just dancing topless for a few hours. You already did that for free in your living room.

Since it was a college town, the club was always packed with frat boys and unfaithful husbands alike. Even a professor or two. The week leading up to Halloween seemed to be particularly busy. Every night, you’d worn a different little skimpy costume on stage with a different wig. You tried to disguise yourself as much as possible for your academic integrity, but you knew no one was really looking at your face. 

It was Halloween night, and there was a line out the door. Deciding to go with a crowd favorite tonight, you slipped on a tiny cobalt blue and white cheerleading skirt that just barely reached the top of your thighs, along with a top that was essentially a push up bra with a clasp in the front, and a shoulder length electric blue wig to match. Because of the holiday, the club would be open a few extra hours later, but you didn’t mind. You knew tonight you’d leave with more money than you normally made in a month.

A few hours into the night, the club owner waved you over and shouted your name over the loud music.

“Starling!”

All the dancers had stage names, and you’d taken yours from the icon that had made you want to study Criminology in the first place; the only and only Clarice Starling from Silence of the Lambs. 

“Yeah?”

“Someone waitin’ for you in one of the VIP rooms, asked for you specifically.”

In all the time you’d worked here, you’d only done private dances in the VIP rooms maybe once or twice. Your curiosity was intrigued that someone had asked for you by name. It made something twist in your stomach that maybe someone had recognized you. But you quickly tried to dismiss your own immediate reactive anxiety with logic. You weren’t the only girl dressed up as a cheerleader tonight, but it was more likely that someone had requested the one with the blue hair. 

There was an employee entrance to each VIP room. Each one had a screen and backlighting to create a shadowy silhouette, and then the screen would slowly rise to reveal the dancer. The private dances were expensive, and it was usually wealthy older men that had the money for them, but as the screen rose up, you were caught off guard by who was waiting for you in the room.

Sitting in the plush crimson velvet chair was a person in a Ghostface costume. They were leaned back casually, arms resting on the armrests, legs spread almost in invitation. They didn’t move or speak when your presence was revealed, but you could see the faint rise and fall of their chest. Letting out a nervous laugh, you took a step further into the room.

“I thought I’d be the only one in costume.”

You couldn’t tell if they were looking at you with the mask on. You assumed they were, but they still didn’t speak. It was a bit unsettling, but you tried not to assume the worst. Maybe they were shy, or they didn’t want to be spotted being here. Maybe they couldn’t talk. Maybe they were just really committed to the costume. Whatever the reason, it was just a quick dance and more money in your pocket. Clearing your throat you took another step forward.

“Did you have a specific song in mind you wanted?”

The masked figure nodded slowly, gesturing towards the speakers. The clients could either use the bluetooth connection to queue up their own selections, or the dancers could pick their own. Suddenly, Closer by Nine Inch Nails started playing through the speakers. You always liked when people chose songs you actually knew. It helped you follow the rhythm better when you danced.

Slipping into your confident dancer persona, you flashed the mysterious masked figure a sultry smirk and started walking slowly towards the pole in the middle of the room, stepping up onto the small platform that surrounded it. The most important thing the veteran dancers at this club had taught you was the art of seduction. Men came here to look at half naked women, and they knew they’d get what they wanted. But they still had this juvenile excitement about coming to strip clubs, like they were doing something they weren’t supposed to do, which added to the tantalizing appeal.

If you stripped too soon, you’d ruin the magic. If you took too long, they’d get frustrated. There was a sweet spot in teasing, and you’d learn how to perfect it. The smile of an ingénue, the eye contact of a temptress, the fluid movement of a siren. You began your routine with a spin around the pole, coming down into a squat, arching your back and sticking your ass out as you slowly stood up straight. Spinning around with your hand still grasping the pole above your head, you swiveled your hips as you slid down the pole, the metal cool against the bare skin of your back. Your thighs were spread when you lowered yourself down into a squat, giving your masked spectator a brief glimpse of the tiny white thong under your skirt that barely provided any modesty. 

As the song progressed, you continued your sensual dance, gliding your hands up your own body, caressing your own breasts. Your fingers toyed with the front clasp on your top before snapping it open, taking your time to let your tits spill free and slip the flimsy material off your shoulders, tossing it in the direction of the masked figure with a playful innocent smirk complete with your bottom lip captured between your teeth.

Letting your hands slip down your stomach, you were about to unzip the skirt when the mysterious spectator finally spoke, startling you for a moment.

“Leave it on.”

You recognized the voice instantly. It was the iconic Ghostface voice. Whoever was under the mask was so committed, they even had the voice changer. Noticing your momentary stupor, the figure held out their gloved hand and beckoned you with a crook of their index finger.

“Come closer.”

The song was beginning to fade out, your heels clacking against the floor now equal in volume with the music. When you were about a foot away, you paused, and the masked figure tilted their head to the side slowly. Silently, they slipped their right hand into their left sleeve and pulled out a thick bundle of cash. Your eyes widened slightly at the sight of it.

“I’d like a little…extra time.”

“I…that’s not really up to me, you’d have to-”

“Don’t worry, I paid the security guard outside for his cooperation. Now I want to pay for yours.”

Your lips parted as a soft breath escaped, and you swallowed thickly as you tried to process the implication of that offer.

“What…what do you mean?”

“If you let me have what I want, this is all yours.”

You had a feeling you knew what they were asking for. It was against the rules, the clientele weren’t supposed to touch the dancers, and if the cops even suspected prostitution was being conducted in these private rooms, it could get the club shut down. But people often turned the other way when money was involved, including your boss, and the security guard outside apparently.

The thick roll of hundreds had you considering it. You’d never slept with someone for money, lapdances were usually as far as you went. But that was a lot of fucking money. It could help you pay off some of your student loans, and tide you over bill wise so that you could actually take a break during finals and devote all your time to studying. 

It was just sex. Most of the guys that came in here were so desperate and lonely, this one would probably cum quick, whether his dick was in your mouth or inside you. And no one would ever have to know.

“What do you want?”

Leaning over, the masked figure set the wad of cash down on the small table in front of them. 

“Come closer.”

Biting down on your bottom lip, you slowly walked over until you stood in front of them.

“Turn around, and bend over.”

There was a spark of excitement building between your thighs. You’d be lying if you said you’d never wanted to fuck someone in a Ghostface costume before. Surprisingly you didn’t find yourself feeling repulsed by this whole situation. So far the person in the mask wasn’t a total fucking creep, and there was something almost…familiar about them. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but there was no gut feeling of danger. 

As you turned and bent over the table, another thrilling rush had that heat growing in your lower belly at the realization that you were about to have sex with an anonymous stranger. You had no idea who they were, you probably never would, and there was something incredibly enticing about that. 

The feeling of a gloved hand gliding up your thigh pulled you out of your thoughts, and your skin prickled in goosebumps in response, your breath hitching in your throat. It seemed the roles of teasing were being reversed as your masked spectator took their time pushing your barely there skirt up to your waist, allowing them to see how the tiny white thong disappeared between your ass cheeks.

“That’s a good girl. Spread those legs for me a little more.”

They caressed your ass and gave it a firm squeeze, making you let out a breath of surprise as you spread your feet further apart and arched your back. The tiny little thong just barely covered your pussy, and you gasped as they brushed their gloved knuckle against the thin material.

“Take it off, slowly.”

Biting down on your bottom lip, you reached back to hook your thumbs under the strings on your hips, slowly slipping the thong down as you were told. The rush of cool air on your exposed pussy made you shiver, and made you aware of how turned on you already were. A quiet groan sounded from the masked figure, and all of a sudden you felt a warm burst of saliva as they spat on your cunt.

A sharp gasp left your lungs, and right as you went to turn your head, you felt a sharp smack against your ass, making you surge forward and grip onto the table in front of you.

“Don’t you dare turn around.”

You knew they would’ve had to remove their mask to do that, slip the bottom of it up just a little over their mouth, but they didn’t want you catching even a glimpse of anything regarding the identity underneath. As your breathing became a little more labored, you heard a faint shuffling as they got comfortable in the velvet chair.

“Now, play with it.”

A quiet noise escaped your throat. Dancing topless for a crowd in a thong was one thing, but you’d never actually touched yourself in front of anyone before. Slipping your hand between your thighs, your lips parted and your eyes fluttered shut. You couldn’t even tell what was your own wetness and what was their spit, all you felt was your slick pussy, and a whimper flew past your parted lips when your fingers brushed over your clit.

One hand gripped the edge of the table as you stood there bent over, your back arched and your other hand between your thighs, playing with your pussy to put on a show for the mysterious figure watching. God, why did this turn you on so much? Was it the anonymity of doing this with a stranger, allowing you to act as shameless as you wanted without facing the judgment of a familiar face? Was it the thrill of doing something forbidden knowing that there was a security guard right out in the hallway? Or was it that this was the kinkiest thing you’d ever done, and the abrupt realization that you’d never fully been honest about your fantasies in bed?

Whatever it was, it had your fingers rubbing circles around your clit, letting out sensual moans as you felt your own juices start to drip down your fingers. Suddenly you felt two flesh fingers slip inside your cunt, and your eyes fluttered as you arched your back even more, pushing back against their hand eagerly as they started to pump their fingers inside your tight pussy.

“Look at you, you’re fucking dripping. Who knew there was such a dirty little slut under that sweet smile, hm?”

Feeling them stroking against that special spot inside you, making a ‘come hither’ motion with their fingers, had you swiftly swiping your fingers back and forth over your needy clit, quickly working yourself up to a climax.

“Oh fuck-”

“Ah ah ah.”

All at once, the masked figure took their fingers away, denying you the release that had been right there. A frustrated whine sounded from deep within your chest, and you were going to keep going yourself, but they smacked your hand away from between your thighs before delivering a sharp slap to your ass again. Another whimper was torn from you while both hands gripped onto the edge of the table.

“Don’t be a greedy whore. I’m paying you for my pleasure. But if you keep being a good girl for me, I’ll make sure you’re rewarded in more ways than one. Understood?”

Letting out another quiet whine, you nodded your head. The electric blue wig was quickly snatched off and tossed carelessly onto the ground, the braid underneath falling down your back. The masked figure grabbed it and wrapped it around their hand, using it to yank your head back right as they pushed their hips against your ass and gripped your hip. The rough action earned a sharp cry from the stinging resistance of your roots, but it was cut off with a gasp feeling the blunt head of their cock pressing at your dripping entrance.

Your eyes fluttered and your mouth dropped open when they pushed forward, starting to stretch and fill your cunt. But amidst the clouded haze of lust, you faintly feel the telltale ridges and veins that clued you into the fact that the masked figure wasn’t wearing a condom. Your breath hitched and you became a little more alert, a sudden panic setting in.

“Wait-”

Before you could protest, they tightened their grip on your hair and your hip, roughly pulling you back on their big thick cock that nestled deep within you, nearly making your eyes roll as a loud moan filled the room. There was no giving you time to adjust or easing their way inside you. They filled you in one swift thrust and immediately set a brutal pace, snapping their hips rapidly, fucking you harder than you’d ever been fucked.

Their gloved hand that had been gripping your hip disappeared just for a second, and then you felt their other flesh hand snaking between your thighs, fervently beginning to stimulate your clit while they pounded into you from behind. Your ass jiggled with every powerful thrust, and if it weren’t for your firm grip on the table and the stranger behind you keeping you locked in place, your knees surely would’ve given out.

“Oh my G-God…fuck…”

The orgasm you’d been denied was swiftly returning with a vengeance. The sound of the stranger’s grunts and heavy breathing was right by your ear, and you could feel the rubber of their mask pressed against your cheek as their chest was pressed flush against your back.

“You like this, don’t you? Huh? You like getting fucked like a dirty little slut?”

All you could do was moan in response, one of your hands flying back to grip onto the material of the robe of their costume. They let out a grunt, gripping your wrist to pin it against your lower back between your bodies.

“You know the rules, Starling. No touching.”

There was something about the way they said your stage name, almost in a taunting way, like they knew it wasn’t your real name. But you couldn’t focus on that right now with the way they were pistoning their hips and fucking you so hard it was making the glass table rattle.

“Please please please-”

You didn’t even recognize your own whiny hitch pitched breathless voice. The masked figure chuckled in your ear, making your cunt clench around their cock.

“Are you begging to cum on my cock?”

“Yes,”

In that moment you didn’t care how needy or pathetic you sounded. You were about to cum, and you didn’t think you could handle being denied again.

“Say it.”

They tugged harder on your hair, making your head snap back, and a wrecked moan tumbled past your parted lips.

“Please let me cum on your cock…please…please-”

Your begging was cut off by your breath catching in your throat as they picked up speed, fervently rubbing your clit in tandem with the rhythm of their hips.

“Oh God…yes-right there…don’t stop don’t stop don’t-”

As your mouth dropped open and your eyes rolled, your toes curled in your heels, and you doubled over while a choked scream clawed its way out of your throat. You grinded your ass back against their cock as your inner thighs were drenched by your powerful orgasm that you were greedily trying to ride out. 

All of a sudden, they swiftly pulled out and grabbed your hips, spinning you around and grabbing your shoulders to force you down onto your knees. Before your brain could even catch up to what was happening, with your cunt still dripping and pulsating around nothing, your face and tits were quickly covered in thick spurts of cum. Instinctively you closed your eyes so it wouldn’t get in them, but your lips were parted as you panted heavily. As a drop of the cum dripped from your top lip and landed on your tongue, you noticed a strange taste.

Cherry.

You’d given enough blow jobs and eaten enough pussy to know cum didn’t taste like artificial cherry. When you blinked open your eyes, your puzzlement only intensified as you finally got a look at the cock you’d just been fucked with. It was very lifelike with a sculpted head, ridges and veins, and realistic looking balls, but it was definitely not flesh.

“What the fuck?”

Looking up at the masked figure above you as you sat there on your knees, your brows were furrowed in complete confusion. Why would a man fuck you with a fake cock? Unless…it wasn’t a man. It wasn’t completely out of the norm to see women in the club, but it was usually in groups, usually for a bachelorette party or something. You didn’t think you’d ever seen a woman come in alone.

“Surprise, Y/N.”

Hearing your real name in that voice made a shiver go down your spine. Your initial gut instinct about why they’d asked for you specifically had been right. You knew something was familiar about them, you just couldn’t explain it. Scrambling to get up, they reached out with their hand to grip your shoulder to keep you down on your knees. 

“Uh uh, I’m not done with you yet.”

It was then that you noticed the familiar blood red polish on their nails. Where had you seen that before? You were certain you had. Looking up at them again, your voice betrayed your frustration at the confusing situation.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“You’re supposed to be cooperating like a good girl, remember?”

When you heard the masked figure’s real voice you instantly froze. You knew that voice. You’d been hearing it three times a week since late August. Your eyes widened in shock, and your voice was barely above a whisper as you stared up in astonishment.

“Professor Romanoff?”

Reaching up slowly, the mask was finally removed, and her red hair tumbled down her shoulders. There was a wicked smirk on her full lips that tugged at the corner of her mouth while her green eyes wandered over the sight of you beneath her, topless and covered in artificial cum, your skirt bunched up around your waist and drenched pussy still visible.

“Not tonight.”

Seemingly amused by the way you were gaping up at her in shock, she reached down to wipe some of the artificial cum off the edge of your lips with her thumb.

“I knew you’d be good at following orders.”

“I…I don’t understand. I-wait, how did you know I worked here?”

“I’m not paying you to ask questions, Y/N.”

Reaching down to grab your discarded damp thong, she wiped the artificial cum and your juices off the fake cock.

“Now, I told you if you were a good girl and let me have what I want, I’d reward you in more ways than one. The money is yours, but I know what you want more.”

Inhaling a sharp breath, you instantly understood the implication of her words, and she could see the recognition in your eyes. It made her smirk widen.

“Always such a smart girl, aren’t you? You’re one of my top students, you know.”

Reaching her hand out towards your face, she traced your lips with her thumb, and they instinctively parted with a soft breath.

“But how far does that dedication go? How bad do you want that spot, Y/N?”

Staring up into those mesmerizing green eyes, your heart started to race. This was it. What you’d been working so hard towards. It was right there within reach. A spot in the program could be yours, right now. You wouldn’t have to try so hard anymore to prove yourself. You knew you deserved the spot, you’d maintained an A average all semester, and that hadn’t been from sleeping with your professor.

But why not take the offer? It didn’t diminish your accomplishments thus far. It didn’t discredit any of your hard work. It was just one less thing you had to worry about. A guarantee, and peace of mind.

Sinking your top teeth down into your bottom lip, you shifted closer on your knees. Opening your mouth, you took her thumb past your parted lips, keeping your eyes locked on hers. Sucking on it softly and swirling your tongue around it, you gave the tip of it a gentle bite. There was a string of saliva connected between your lips and her thumb when it slipped out of your mouth.

“I want it.”

Her full lips stretched into a pleased grin, and it made you press your thighs together. Excitement was buzzing even more fiercely within you, like she’d rattled a hive beneath your ribcage. Reaching out, she grasped your chin in her hand, guiding your face towards the fake cock. You immediately parted your lips to wrap around it, starting to suck as she pushed it further into your eager mouth. You’d do whatever she wanted for that spot, and she knew it.

“That’s my girl.”

tags: @strawberrycheesecake262 @late-to-the-party-81

📼 court's kinktober fest 2025

[amie-777]

familiar

Kinktober Oct 6 pairing: Natasha Romanoff x afab!Reader

wordcount: 0.5k words

content (warnings): being watched while masturbating, pubic hair on reader - don't like? don't read., no consent, stalker-ish / spy behaviour., Reader wears boxers

It’s a mission. Has been for months now. Her legs propped up on the desk, snack in hand, watching. You’re on Pinterest, scrolling, saving, no rhythm. Laughing at videos, smiling and listening intently at the book recommendation videos.

On your laptop you work, sometimes, other times you watch your show. Voicing the words to lines sometimes. It's her favorite show to watch, you.

It’s been around two months, of finding you intriguing. Perverted at the thought of seeing you this vulnerable already. Natasha ordered cameras, which she placed around; shower, bedroom, kitchen, above the sofa. All with little mics.

To her disappointment you don’t secretly masturbate, you go to bed, every night, even if its your ovulation, even if its your period. You don’t.

But to her fortune she has a glorious view of your soapy tits. Watches you moisturize your curls after a shower.

She receives the smallest little sounds you do after a stretch, and she spotted you wearing underwear she brought.

One would say Natasha was enamored, by you, especially when she ordered a vibrator one on your wishlist. For two weeks you never touched it. Didn’t open the box, didn’t look at the smooth crimson colour, you didn’t even charge that damn thing.

It’s when Steve called, has her returning to the compund and take on a mission.

She checked the cameras occasionally. You never went off track from your routine.

And when she returned, she imagined you in her home. Would you draw a warm bath for her? Clean the bullet wounds? Or would you cook? She imagines it, the warmth of your breath, the smiles against her skin. Instead she returns to her apartment.

Opening the windows, getting dinner and turning on the screens. A soft flicker, and there you are. Asleep in your bed, peaceful. Natasha feels her shoulders drop, chest slowing with breaths.

You wake at around six, get up. Stretch and make the bed. Walk past the package still in the hallway and get yourself a coffee. You’ll sit on the couch and read FanFiction, one Natasha reads alongside you.

But today, you set a new routine. You made yourself a coffee and settled back into bed, and then you opened the package.

There it was, not the vibrator she got you, but a black bullet one. Natasha grows wet. “Fuck.” She adjusts sitting, sips her coffee and watches.

You’re sitting on top of the blankets, opening the package. Charging cable, vibrator, instruction manual. You plug the vibrator into the port and read the manual, front to back, focused.

And then you wait until the pink light from the vibrator is gone. Fully charged.

A smile painting your lips as Nat zooms. You undress your boxers and spread your legs, fuck. Nat opens her zipper and touches herself over the panties. And just watches you.

As you rub it up and down, an open mouth, slow, subtle sounds escaping. It’s gentle, how you rub it over your clit, and then down. Softly you push it in, a moan ripping from your throat.

Whilst Nat watches and zooms, your face and then down to your soaked pussy. Curls all around, your hand focused on task.

Sweet girl, you deserve it.

It doesn’t take long, before your legs shake and you fall apart. A last moan, a gentle smile.

She takes a look at her notebook. Under "Shower Routine" and "Comfort Shows" she starts a new passage "Pleasure"

Soon she’ll be there for you.

[majestiae]

‘ 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄

Sum. After intense training, Natasha Romanoff realizes you haven't yet fully mastered your control under pressure. Determined to test your limits, she corners you with her favorite dagger, sliding the blade over your skin with a mixture of danger and lust. Every movement is calculated, every cold touch of the metal makes you tremble, until the power play transforms into something much more intense.

Warnings. 18+, fem!reader, explicit sexual content, explicit language, dom!nat, sub!reader, knife play, fingering (n receiving), breast play (squeezing, nipple teasing), oral (n receiving), dirty talk. Minors dni.

➜ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 ‘ 𝟐𝟓 !

The sweat-slicked mats of the Avengers training room echoed with the sounds of labored breaths and the occasional thud of bodies hitting the ground. The session had been grueling — Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow herself, pushing you to your limits with her unrelenting precision. As her protégé, you'd come far under her tutelage, but today, something was off. Your strikes were a fraction too slow, your defenses cracking under pressure. Natasha noticed, of course — she always did. Her green eyes narrowed as she disarmed you for the fifth time, her knife flashing in the fluorescent lights before she sheathed it with a flick of her wrist.

"Again," she commanded, her voice low and edged with disappointment. You nodded, wiping sweat from your brow, but as you lunged, she sidestepped effortlessly, her body pressing against yours in a hold that left you breathless — not just from exertion. Her breath was hot against your ear. "You're holding back. Why?" You didn't answer, couldn't, with her thigh slotted between yours, the proximity igniting a different kind of heat. She released you abruptly, her gaze lingering. "Training's over. But we're not done."

The compound's halls were empty as she led you to her quarters, the door locking behind you with a soft click. The room was sparse, functional — a bed, a desk, weapons neatly arrayed. But Natasha's presence filled it, her red hair damp from sweat, clinging to her neck. She shed her tactical vest, revealing the tight black tank top beneath, her muscles rippling with each movement. "Strip," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. You complied, heart pounding, shedding your training gear until you stood bare before her, skin prickling in the cool air.

Natasha circled you like a predator, her favorite dagger in hand — a sleek, black-bladed knife with a hilt wrapped in leather. "You need to learn control under pressure," she said, her voice a velvet purr. "Real pressure." She stepped closer, the flat of the blade pressing coldly against your collarbone. The metal was chill, a stark contrast to your heated skin, and you shivered, nipples hardening instantly. "Don't move," she warned, tracing the blade down your sternum, light enough not to cut, but the edge's promise of danger sent adrenaline surging through you.

The knife play was her domain — a kink born from years of wielding death as a tool, now twisted into intimacy. The blade dipped lower, circling one nipple, the cool tip making you gasp. "Feel that?" Natasha murmured, her free hand sliding up your thigh, fingers teasing the edge of your arousal. "The fear heightens everything." She pressed the flat against your breast, the pressure firm but safe, as her fingers parted your folds, finding you slick and ready. "You're wet already. Good girl."

You trembled, the mix of cold steel and her warm touch intoxicating. The blade trailed down your abdomen, leaving goosebumps in its wake, stopping just above your mound. Natasha's eyes darkened, her breath quickening — she derived as much pleasure from this as you did, the power, the trust. "Spread your legs," she commanded, and you did, the knife now hovering dangerously close to your inner thigh. She traced it upward, the edge kissing your skin without breaking it, each inch building tension until tears pricked your eyes — not from pain, but overwhelming sensation.

"Nat — please," you whimpered, hips bucking instinctively. She smirked, sheathing the knife momentarily to push you back onto the bed. "Patience." Straddling your waist, she retrieved the dagger, pressing the hilt against your lips. "Suck." You obeyed, tongue swirling around the leather, tasting her grip on it, your arousal throbbing. Natasha watched, her free hand dipping between her own legs, rubbing through her pants. "You look so vulnerable like this. It turns me on."

She shed her clothes then — tank top peeled off to reveal pert breasts, nipples hard; pants discarded, her core glistening with need. Naked, she was a vision — lithe muscle, scars telling stories of survival, her dominance unyielding. The knife returned, the flat sliding between your breasts as she positioned herself over your face. "Make me come first. Use that mouth." You dove in, tongue lapping at her folds, savoring her musky sweetness. Natasha moaned, grinding down, the knife's tip tracing idle patterns on your chest — cold, teasing, the danger amplifying every lick.

As you sucked her clit, fingers joining to thrust inside her, she pressed the blade harder — not cutting, but the pressure made you arch, tears spilling now from the intensity. "That's it — cry for me," Natasha gasped, her hips rocking faster, her own pleasure building. She came with a shuddering cry, release flooding your mouth, but she didn't stop — sliding down your body, the knife now at your throat, a gentle reminder as she kissed you, tasting herself.

"Your turn," she whispered, flipping the dagger to use the hilt — smooth, rounded leather — pressing it against your entrance. "Trust me." You nodded, tears streaming, as she pushed it in slowly, the intrusion foreign and thrilling. The hilt filled you, cool at first, warming with your heat, as Natasha's fingers circled your clit. "Feel the edge?" she asked, the blade's flat now against your thigh, tracing upward. The dual sensation — fullness inside, cold steel outside — had you teetering.

She thrust the hilt deeper, angling to hit your g-spot, her mouth on your breast, sucking hard. Pleasure coiled, tight and unbearable, tears flowing freely as the knife's tip hovered near your core — not touching, but the threat pushed you over. "Come," Natasha commanded, and you shattered — orgasm ripping through, clenching around the hilt, sobs mixing with moans.

Natasha withdrew gently, setting the knife aside, her dominance softening to care. She wiped your tears, kissing each one. "You were perfect," she murmured, pulling you into her arms. In the afterglow, the blade's danger faded, leaving only pleasure — a lesson in control you'd both crave again. The training mat in the Avengers compound was still warm from the intensity of the session, the air thick with the scent of sweat and exertion. Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, circled you like a shadow, her green eyes sharp and assessing. You'd been her trainee for months now — honing your skills under her unyielding guidance — but today, something was off. Your movements were precise, but under pressure, they faltered. A split-second hesitation, a grip too loose on your weapon. Natasha disarmed you effortlessly, her favorite dagger — a sleek, black-bladed beauty with a hilt wrapped in worn leather — flashing in her hand before she pressed it lightly against your throat in mock victory.

"Sloppy," she said, her voice low and accented, a hint of disappointment lacing the word. She sheathed the knife with a flick, her red hair sticking to her neck from the workout. But her eyes lingered on you, darkening with something more than critique. "You need to master control under real pressure. Not just physical — mental. Emotional." She stepped closer, her body heat radiating through her tight black tank and leggings, the curve of her muscles a testament to her lethal grace. "Meet me in my quarters. Now."

The compound's halls were quiet as you followed her, heart pounding not from the training, but from the promise in her gaze. Natasha's room was minimalist — a bed, a few weapons on display, the faint scent of gun oil and her perfume. She locked the door, turning to you with that predatory smile. "Strip," she commanded, shedding her own top to reveal the sports bra beneath, her abs flexing. You obeyed, clothes pooling at your feet, standing bare under her scrutiny. Natasha retrieved her dagger, twirling it expertly. "This is about limits. Trust. And pleasure in the danger."

She backed you against the wall, the cool surface a shock to your heated skin. The dagger's flat side pressed against your collarbone — cold, unyielding metal that made you shiver. "Don't move," she whispered, tracing it down your sternum, light enough to tease without cutting. The edge's whisper against your flesh was electric, adrenaline surging as fear and arousal blurred. Natasha's free hand cupped your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it peaked, her touch warm in contrast to the blade. "Feel that? The knife heightens everything. Your body knows the risk."

The dagger dipped lower, circling your navel, then trailing to your hip. You trembled, tears pricking your eyes — not from pain, but the overwhelming intensity. Natasha noticed, her lips curving. "Tears already? Good. Let them come." She knelt, the blade now against your inner thigh, tracing upward slowly, the cool tip inching toward your core. Your arousal throbbed, slick gathering as the danger amplified every sensation. "You're wet," she observed, her breath hot against your skin. "The fear turns you on. Just like it does me."

She stood, setting the knife aside momentarily to shed her leggings and bra, her body a masterpiece of strength and curves — full breasts, toned abs, the scars of battles won. Naked, she was intoxicating, her own arousal evident in the flush of her skin. Picking up the dagger, she guided you to the bed. "On your back." You lay down, and she straddled your waist, the blade's hilt now pressing against your lips. "Suck it. Taste the control." You obeyed, tongue swirling around the leather, the metallic tang faint as you wet it, your eyes locked on hers.

Natasha moaned softly, her free hand dipping between her thighs, fingers circling her clit as she watched. "You're perfect like this — vulnerable." She trailed the blade down your body again, the flat pressing against your mound, the pressure making you arch. Tears slipped down your cheeks now, the mix of fear and need overwhelming. "Cry for me, detka," she purred, leaning down to lick a tear from your skin, her tongue hot and teasing. The blade's edge hovered near your nipple, tracing without harm, the sensation sending jolts straight to your core.

Her fingers replaced the knife, sliding through your slick folds, two dipping inside you with ease. "So ready," she groaned, thrusting slowly, curling to hit your g-spot. The dagger now at your throat — a gentle reminder of power — as she fucked you with her hand. Pleasure built fast, your hips bucking, but Natasha controlled the pace, slowing when you neared the edge. "Not yet. Feel the blade — let it push you higher." Tears flowed freely, sobs mixing with moans as denial heightened the ecstasy.

Natasha's own need was evident — her breaths ragged, nipples hard as she ground against your thigh. "You make me so wet," she admitted, withdrawing her fingers to taste you, then positioning herself over your face. "Eat me. Make me come while I play." You dove in, tongue lapping at her folds, sucking her clit as the dagger traced idle patterns on your chest — cold, dangerous. Natasha moaned, rocking against your mouth, her free hand pinching your nipple hard. The knife's tip pressed lightly against your skin, the thrill pushing you both.

She came with a cry, release flooding your mouth, but she didn't stop — sliding down, the dagger now sheathed as she aligned her core with yours, scissoring slowly. The friction was intense — her clit rubbing yours, slick and hot. But she unsheathed the knife again, tracing it down your arm, the edge's whisper making you sob. "Come with me," she commanded, grinding harder, her own tears of pleasure mixing with yours. The orgasm hit simultaneously — waves crashing, bodies convulsing, cries echoing as pleasure peaked in shared release.

Natasha collapsed beside you, knife set aside, her dominance fading to tenderness. She wiped your tears, kissing each one. "You were incredible," she whispered, holding you close. In the afterglow, the blade's danger was a memory, leaving only bliss — a game they'd play again, limits pushed, pleasure found in the edge.

[corpscs]

⚰︎ 𝚘𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟶𝟾. ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⚰︎ 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

zora bennet 𖦏 hunted

⚰︎ jurassic world rebirth (2025) ⋆ no use of y/n ⋆ mdni ⋆ wlw ⋆ friends to enemies to lovers ⋆ predator/prey ⋆ dominant!zora ⋆ boot riding ⋆ kind of a hate fuck ⋆ she means well ⋆ word count: 2.5k

⚰︎ warnings: horror ⋆ smut ⋆

⚰︎ after splitting off from the group, you realize that you’re being hunted by something.

uhhhhh good morning divas as usual i fell asleep before i could post this so pretend this wasn’t posted on the 9th. ♡ bones

⚰︎ Your lungs burned as you tried to put as much distance between yourself and the team as possible. You had what you came for, you could get the fuck out of here and back home. While the team was there for their viles of blood, you were there for a fauna sample. This island was a death sentence and now that you had what you needed you just wanted to get the fuck off.

After what you had considered a successful flee, you began to get the feeling you were being followed. It wasn’t long until you could hear your pursuer behind you, it was small, but just as fast, if not faster than you. You were a botanist, not a mercenary. It would only be a matter of time until whatever was tailing you eventually pounced and ripped you to pieces. Despite the fear you felt, you pressed on, sore muscles screaming for rest as you ran. You struggled to keep a sweaty gripping onto the bag that contained your samples.

You had been running for at least a mile or so before you felt the solid impact of another body against yours effectively taking you down to the direct floor with a harsh thud. The air was pushed from your lungs on impact, your body struggling to adjust and take in a new breath. You groaned while you scrambled to stand and gather your bearings. Instead of a giant carnivorous reptile, Zora Bennett stood before you holding your samples in her hands. She was just as scary if not scarier than whatever dinosaur you would have thought to been facing.

“So was this your plan from the start?” She asked, hands turning over the materials. “Use us to get in, get what you need and then ditch?”

You didn’t speak, still catching your breath but too ashamed of yourself to look her in the eye.

“And I liked you too.” Zora hummed in disappointment. You quivered under her intense gaze, feeling the negative energy roll off her in waves.

“I-I’m sorry-” You tired to sputter out an apology but she cut you off with a shh.

“Please I-”

“Shut up.” She snapped, eyes scanning the trees behind you. Your blood ran cold as your stomach began to churn.

What was she seeing?

“Zora.” You said lowly, voice wavering as your nerves showed right through.

“Get up, slowly.” She outstretched her hand out towards you. You could hear the thundering footsteps now, accompanied but sounds of breaking branches and crunching foliage. You stood up carefully before being pulled into Zora’s arms as she pushed you behind her.

You still couldn’t see what she was seeing, still watching the trees in confusion.

“Go!” She said in a hushed yell, pushing at your shoulder to get you to start running. Only you reached the crest of the small hill did you look over your shoulder and see the Tyrannosaurus step into view. Scoping the area as it continued tracking the two of you. You ran as fast as your body could allow to try and keep up with Zora. You both knew the Rex locked onto you now and was catching up.

In the distance you saw an abandoned structure in the side of a hill. As you got closer you could decipher the mangled entrance of an access tunnel with doors that were stuck half open in a horizontal direction. Half ripped off the matching giant metal hinges and wedged into the rocks and dirt around it. Zora reached back and at yanked your arm, ensuring you didn’t fall too far behind her as she sprinted to the doors.

“Faster!” She yelled, rushing you as she reached the doors first. You were a meter behind her now. She stood by the gap to wait for you, the person who had just tried to abandon the group.

You jumped through the gap with just enough time to narrowly avoid the massive snapping jaws of the Tyrannosaurus.

You crumpled to the ground, scrambling against the overgrowth to get as far away from the metal as possible. The Rex roared and rammed the wedged doors. Your back collided with the far side of the wall. It seemed to be some sort of access tunnel, you could hear the sounds of rushing water in between the roars and commotion of the Tyrannosaurus. The small room you were in held the entrance to small tunnel at the center of the wall.

“Let’s go.” Zora clipped and started her way down the tunnel. You scrambled behind her.

“Why did you follow me?” You asked, she stayed quiet, still facing forward.

“I believe I already get you an answer that works.” Your eyebrows creased in confusion to her words before you realized. And I liked you too. That’s what she had said after she tackled you. You hesitated, unable to decide what to say.

“I’m sorry.” You said quietly, she laughed.

“I’m sure you are.” Her voice was laced with venom. You didn’t respond this time. Too caught up in redirecting your own impure thoughts. It felt inappropriate to think about how her hostile attitude stirred something inside of you.

You stayed quiet until you reached the end of the dimly lit tunnel. The sound of water had gotten louder, you hoped that meant an exit as well. Unfortunately the tunnel opened up to a large flowered area, with a large cavern ceiling that casted light down. There was a steep drop off to a large channel of fast rushing water and a smaller stream that trickled from an area of smooth wall.

No exit.

“We’re going to die in here.” You blurted as you crumpled to the floor, exhaustion taking hold. Zora rolled her eyes, back still facing you.

“You’re going to die someday, but not here.” She turned back to you. “That’s salt water. When the tide finishes moving out it should be safe enough to swim.” She referred to the large channel of water.

So you were stuck.

“I’m going to let you explain yourself.” Zora folded her arms over her sweat slicked chest.

“I don’t have to explain shit.” You seethed while adjusting your grip on the satchel of samples in your lap.

“One…” She began to count. You huffed out a laugh.

“… Two…”

“You can’t be serious?” You asked. A countdown?

“… Three.”

“Fine!” You shrieked. “I’m,” you breathed in a deep breath to gather courage. “I’mbeingblackmailed.” You weeped out.

Zora blinked. “Well, I expected that sort of thing from Krebs, but you? Little miss florist?” She tilted her head in thought. “Let me guess, botanist… so maybe large-scale cultivation? Trafficking?…”

You shook your head.

“This man, they contacted me with evidence of an affair and-” Zora cut off your explanation.

“You never said you were married.”

“I’m not!” You rushed out to explain. “My… my boss is.”

“You fucked your boss?” Her eyebrows skyrocketed, arms folding over her sweat slicked chest. You gave her a sheepish frown and shook your head no. Her expression morphed into something unreadable “… You fucked your boss’ wife.”

“Yes!” The word came out muffled by you hands that covered your face in shame.

“You really are a bad girl after all.” You squirmed under her gaze. “So what? Someone’s got your sex tape?” You shook your head. “Photos?” You nodded in confirmation.

“I should reach out. Get myself some copies.”

“Stop it.” You blinked tears from your vision. “Please.” You wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole, the prospect of facing the Tyrannosaurus seemed more inviting than this.

You were only on this stupid job because after you initially turned Krebs down to advise on the expedition, you received a letter. It contained copies of the indecent photos and instructions to accept the offer from Krebs and the species of plants you needed. Follow through to the end or the photos would be sent to your boss.

Your emotions that had began to pile up were now breaking through as you began to cry on the floor of the cavern. You didn’t notice her stepping towards you until she was crouching before you. Zora took that case from your hands, sliding it to the side.

“Hey, getting upset won’t help.” She eased despite her biting attitude, while you attempted to calm yourself down.

“I’m sorry.” You wiped at your eyes with your hands.

“You know, I can’t quite tell if you’re crying because you really feel bad or if only crying because you got caught?” Her words were brash, you flinched at the final words of her sentence.

At first you didn’t feel bad about your hidden agenda, but it had not been long before you had began second guessing yourself.

“I am.” You breathed. Looking up at her as she stood. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you.” Your stomach dropped. “You’re gong to have to earn your trust back.” She cajoled while adjusting her weight onto her right leg. You nodded.

“Good thing we have some time on our hands.” She hummed. “The photos, ” Zora brought back up, “tell me about them.” She asked.

You felt the heat of embarrassment rise up your already warmed skin. You felt it settle and build in your core, Zora’s dominant attitude taking it’s effect on you.

“Was it you who took them?” Her face was gentle, but had a teasing glint in her eye. You shook your head back and forth.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t hear you?” Zora hinted. Something in your core began to twist.

“No, her.”

Now Zora really wanted to get a herself a copy of the photos.

“Describe one to me.” She ordered.

“Um, there’s one.” You began paying to take a breath. “I’m on top of her thighs.” You vaguely explained.

You squeezed your eyes tight, now fully aware of how hot and bothered you have grown from just sitting there being talked down to. You should feel mortified, the embarrassment too much to handle. Instead you were growing uncomfortably wet against the fabric of your undergarments and shorts.

“I didn’t know you were such a whore.” She spat.

Your thighs clenched together as you absentmindedly tried to relive the ache. Zora kicked your thighs apart with her foot gently before her boot was presented between your slightly parted thighs.

“Go on.” She nodded. Your brain short circuited idea of what she was implying, but your body was moving before you could think. You let out a shameless whine when you ground your hips down feeling the drag of the laces against your shorts.

“What about the next photo?” Zora asked. She threaded her fingers into your hair, holding you in place against her inner thigh.

“Mmm.” You moaned quietly, “I’m…” Your sentence died off in pleasure and embarrassment. You couldn’t properly put your worlds in order.

You choked on something between a sob and a moan as you thrust your hips against the boot. You kept your hips moving in the awkward position as your pleasure built.

“I’m um... giving her hea-” You shrieked when her foot raised against you, body curling against the cargo pants that covered her tanned leg. She giggled from her place above you, enjoying every moment of your torture.

“Keep going.” She cooed. “I wanna see you cum like this.” You moaned, finally feeling brave enough to grab at her strong thigh, using it as leverage to fuck yourself better. You finally came with a broken up moan, ruining your shorts as you you release.

Your vision danced with sparkles as you felt Zora pull her leg out from under you. Before you could stumble forwards, her boot was gently pushing you onto your back. You landed with a small oof, blinking up at Zora as you still fought to catch your breath.

“If only I had a camera right now.” She wished out loud while dropping to her knees, throwing a leg over your hips to straddle you. Zora braced her upper body with the hands bracketing your head, she leaned down and kissed you. She wasted no time dominating your mouth, biting at your lips to allow her tongue inside.

She held her wait with one hand now, the other reaching for your racerback and yanking it up over your bra, pushing that up as well. Your nipples pebbled to the cool open air of the cave. She pulled and tweaked at each bud, swallowing down your moans as she continued to steal your breath with her kiss.

Her lips trailed down your neck, skipping down to your chest. Zora sunk her teeth into the flesh of your right tit, suckling at the flesh between her lips. You let out a confused yelp, pleasure and pain mixing their signals. She released the skin, tongue laving over the blooming bruise before she did the same to a spot on your other breast. She pulled back to admire her work as her hands reached down to work on the button of your shorts. She noticed the string of your release that connected your lower lips to your panties when she yanked them halfway down your thighs.

Capturing your lips again, her hand trailed back up to where you needed her most. Your she parted your puffy folds, spreading your wetness over her fingertips. You moaned into her mouth, they her lip lightly. She dipped into your entrance with two fingers, pushing them in. Your hips tried to run from the stretch, but she kept you in place with her own releasing your lips.

Despite the tinge of pain, you ground your hips forward trying to seek more relief on your clit from the brush of her palm.

“My, my, you are quite the home wrecker, aren’t you?” Her lips hovered against yours, her hot breath fanning over your face. You shook your head in disagreement.

Your boss’ wife had came onto you first, you considered the crime less heavy that way. Zora laughed at you, your body clenched around her, feelings stirring from the humiliation

“You wanna cum? Go ahead.” She withdrew her fingers to rub fast messy circles on your clit. Your body seized, hand scrambling at her wrist as you moaned, vision blacking out momentarily. You gushed all over her hand and wrist, soaking your shorts.

“Don’t worry about your shorts, we’ll be going for a swim anyways.”

⚰︎ If you thought your body was sore before, you had no idea you could feel this sore. Every step had your knees almost giving out, tired limbs now trying to keep up with the rest of the group.

Henry called your name, drawing your attention to him. “Are you alright?” You nodded.

“‘m fine.’ You assured trying to not sound winded.

“Are you sure? You’ve been looking a bit ill. Are you having a reaction to something you’ve picked?”

“She’s just a little worn out.” Zora butted in with a chipper smile, pointer finger hooking into your back belt loop and pulling just enough for you to feel it. This was your punishment for trying to leave her. The blackmail didn’t matter anymore, once you were off the island you’d be quitting your job.

“She’ll be good as new in no time!”

⚰︎ fictober mixtape ⋆ fictober m.list ⋆ m.list ⋆ n.r. m.list ⋆

[leeharkerd]

....natasha romanoff x reader

wc: 3530?

warnings: nipple play, dry humping, intense/rough oral sex, oral from behind, mommy kink, spanking, inspection kink, multiple orgasms, strap-on sex, squirting, overstim, natasha has body hair, it's lowkey been awhile since y'all last fucked, a wink of angst, annnddd shes fucking you in her trailer,

You're fucking gushing.

You haven’t even undressed yet—shit, Natasha hasn’t even undressed yet—and still, you can feel your arousal soaking through your panties and into your pants.

Fuck, and all it had to take was a little making out and some humping to get you this worked up? Shit, you're absolutely pussy-whipped.

But in all honestly, who could blame you?

You’re straddling Natasha’s lap, her mouth all over yours, kissing you as you both grind into each other. Her mouth is messy, wet, and hungry. If you're being honest, It’s hard to get any real friction, the clothes between your bodies ruining the rhythm. But you find yourselves both too desperate to care. You’ll make it work. She groans into your mouth, her pussy throbbing, soaked through, her clit aching for attention, needy and twitching beneath the pressure of your grinding bodies.

Her hands are everywhere—groping your ass, then sliding up to play with your tits. They’re still covered by your shirt, but that doesn’t stop her. She tweaks a nipple through the fabric, making you choke out a sob. Your nipples are hard and pointy, poking so prettily against your shirt. You just wish she’d suck on them already.

"Baby, you're—you're gonna make me make a mess," she groans into your mouth as she continues to rock her body against yours, and you moan, her muscular thigh pressing against your clothed pussy almost being too much to handle. God, she needs to come. Needs to take her pants off and slide her wet cunt over your mouth over and over until she soaks your chin-

But she won't. Because why would she give you what you want so early on? You need to learn, learn to be good. Learn to listen and do as told.

It's in seconds, that shes turning you over onto your stomach and ripping your clothes off. It happens almost so quickly that you dont even remember it happening.

She tears your shirt off, which is fine. It was cheap anyways, and then your pants.. okay, you'll buy new ones.

It’s not until she gets to your soaked panties—ones you’re sure she’s about to tear off—that she surprises you by lowering her head instead. She wets her lips, then drags her tongue slow and deliberate over your clothed, dripping slit, tasting you through the thin, ruined fabric.

You squirm, whining and attempting to push yourself more into her touch as she eats your pussy through your panties. It's not enough, not nearly enough.

You're so horny that you literally want to die. And Natasha was not helping with that in the slightest.

You continue helplessly rocking back into her mouth to try and chase your climax, to finally reach it, though you knew you wouldn't with this barrier of clothing, whining out her name repeatedly to try and get her to touch you properly.

"Natasha, please," you whine. She growls into your cunt in response before slapping your ass harshly, tearing a guttural moan from your throat. Her voice is rough as she whispers, "what, sweet girl?" Into your inner thigh, and when you try to respond, you're abruptly cut off by Natasha rudely tearing your new, expensive panties into two.

You huff into the sheets, kicking your feet as she stares at you, her eyebrow raised. "Those were new, Natasha!" You groan into the mattress frustratedly, before looking at her over your shoulder with wet eyes. "I bought them for you," you sniffle and she frowns as she picks up the ruined fabric, inspecting it.

“They’re pretty,” she purrs, “real nice… Sounds like you should think before wearing nice little panties like these," She laughs before throwing them aside, "because your stupid pussy completely ruined them.” Her hand comes down hard on your ass again, making the already sensitive flesh burn redder, stinging in the most perfect way. "But I'm sorry either way."

You sob into the mattress as she spanks the other cheek, the pain of the sting somehow arousing you even more, a gush of slick leaking from your pussy—which, of course, doesn't go unnoticed by Natasha, her thumbs already pulling apart your folds for a further look. She coos at you as another gush of arousal drools from your hole.

She loves it.

She loves it so much that she can't even hold herself back as she goes right in, spitting on your cunt before sliding her tongue over every single inch of your pussy. Her nose, god her nose, bumping up against your clit with every pass between your folds. Shes sloppy, but your cunt is just the same.

You whine as she flips you back onto your back, holding you still with her strong arms as she dives back in, sucking on your clit before going back to tonguing at your folds. "F-fuck," you moan, and she spanks your thigh in response. The impact of the slap makes your eyes roll shut, serving as the pushover you needed as your first climax of the day shoots through your body like lightning.

You're shaking violently, crying out a string of "Natasha's" as your climax surges through your over sensitive body. As your orgasm finally passes after what felt like minutes, you expect Natasha to stop, but she doesn't. Her mouth is still relentless as she savors your wet pussy. You cry out, desperately trying to squirm away from her unrelenting mouth, but her arms keep you from doing so. Forcing you to stay completely still as she brutally eats your cunt. "Natasha," you whine, and she growls into your cunt, licking you further. It's almost like it's punishment, but for what?

Oh. That's what.

“Nat–oh fuck–Mommy,” you moan, being sure to correct yourself and watching as she smiles into your pussy, not stopping for even a second. You try to close your legs, but you’re trapped—her grip tightens, holding you open, leaving you no escape as she pushes you into another brutal orgasm.

Atleast you finally got the name right.

"N-no, Mommy, please stop,” you sob, despite being unable to stop the desperate rolling of your hips “Please stop, I c-can’t—Mommy, please, I can’t!”

You don't actually want her to stop, and she knows that, considering your discomfort would be easily identifiable. So she doesn’t let up, laughing into your soaked cunt, licking every inch with obscene enthusiasm. Her thumb creeps up to tease your clit, soft at first—then she’s back on it, spitting before sucking hard, drawing a broken wail from your throat as your arousal and her spit drip down the crack of your ass. “You can. And you will. Okay?” she spits, her voice rough and commanding.

You thrash your head side to side, desperately trying to escape her grasp as she continues to eat your pussy. Your clit throbs with sensitivity, and it almost makes you scream when she gives it yet another hard suck. You're crying, tears flowing freely down your face as she tongues at your clit. "Oh god, Mommy," you sob, "P-please stop," you cry out, and a tight feeling coils low in your belly, one that you didn't even know was forming—the need to piss, it hurts and aches and you whine as you try to wriggle out of her punishing grip. You sob loudly, trying to find the words to describe how you're literally about to piss yourself.. But you can't, your mouth, too slack and your brain too jumbled to even keep up with her quick tongue. Eventually, after a few more long seconds of you attempting to even get a word out, it happens.

You squirt, for the first time ever. All over her face.

It comes out in multiple spurts, catching Natasha off guard for a moment as it soaks her face, yet she doesn't stop eating. Determined.

You're embarrassed to say the least, yet somehow embarrassed is an underestimate. You attempt to cover your face with your hands, only to be met with another swat to the side of your thigh—which rips another moan from you from deep in your throat. You thrash and wail, desperately trying to escape her mouth as another orgasm rips through your body, cries of "Mommy," leaving your lips as you cry through your ecstasy.

When she's finally done, she lifts her head, climbing over your body leaning into your own for a kiss. "Gimme a kiss," she huffs, "taste yourself."

You do. And its alright, but you think that Natasha tastes better. She holds you there, kissing you slowly as you ease into it. Your hands seek for purchase, deciding on just resting them on the back of her neck, your fingers playing with the baby hairs that lie there. You've missed her. You've missed this. Missed the sex, her scent, her face, missed the feeling of her holding you so close—like she doesn't want to ever let go.

You missed it all.

It's hard to go through a transition where you're always together to then be torn apart from eachother. Endless nights of you phone calling Natasha, only to be met with 6 rings and then her voicemail message. You were lucky if she were to even text back, you were even luckier if she was able to call back.

Those calls usually took place at sometime at 3 in the morning when you were already in bed for the night. You'd always pick up anyways, because when else were you provided with this opportunity? She'd always had been painfully busy on her work days, and especially during her missions. You kind of missed when you both lived back at her apartment, but some shit went down and she wants to keep you safe. You get that.

Okay, scratch that, you definitely miss when you were together at her apartment. The trailer is nice, (though it is nicer when you're not alone in it) but the apartment beats it with ease. You imagine she has a pretty good life during her missions if she gets to stay in that pretty place, besides the fact that you're not there with her.

The two of you sit there for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of being so close, and so together. And for a moment you just think, Yeah, I could get used to this again. The comforting silence easing your mind after all that time away from, before being broken. Though you didn't mind, obviously, because theres always time for that later. And right now, you just wanted to be fucked. Months without sex or just physical touch in general has seriously fucked you over, having had spent countless of nights with your fingers buried deep inside of your lonely cunt with only a few nude polaroids of Natasha to temporarily soothe the ache. Eventually, before giving you one more hard kiss, she pulls away from your overheated body, standing up and planting her feet at the front of the bed.

"Unzip me."

You practically jump at the opportunity, crawling to sit at the edge of the bed. Your hands fumble with her zipper, then shove her pants down her thighs, her underwear following soon after. You huff at the sight of her toned legs, your pussy growing even wetter at the mouthwatering view. God, you loved her muscles. After a long, shameless minute spent ogling her thighs, your gaze finally lands on her unshaven cunt. A small, accidental squeak escapes you at the sight of her damp curls and her pretty, swollen clit—peeking out from it's hood.

“Please, let me,” you beg, your voice breathy and desperate. You needed to lick her, to fucking devour her. Her pussy looks so wet, slick glistening across her inner thighs.

“Mm-mm,” she tsks, and you want to cry. All you wanted was a taste.. to finally bury your face in her wet cunt, maybe even slide a finger or two inside and fuck her to the edge. But that clearly wasn’t what Natasha had planned. Not that you have any time to dwell on it, because in the next second, her hand is fisted in your hair, yanking your face closer.

“Look at it,” she huffs, and you obey, your hands moving faster than your mind. You do as told, pulling apart her folds to inspect her sticky cunt. She’s beautiful, the smell of her arousal alone clouding your mind and making your movements clumsy. Your thumb presses on her hood, causing her clit to protrude a bit more, and you press your thighs together at the sight. You’d like her to sit on your face—to trap you between her legs as she gets herself off, for her to come in your mouth and then fuck you through orgasm after orgasm.

That's a great image. You'll think about that later, when you're alone in the small bedroom of your shared trailer, fingering yourself to completion as Natasha showers in the other room—oblivious as ever. If she knew, she'd take you over her knee and spank you until you're red and raw. Though you think—no, know—that you'd like that even more.

She nods in approval through it all, letting out a soft moan when your finger accidentally slips and eases in a bit. “That’s a good girl,” Natasha groans as you collect the slick that drools onto your finger, slipping it into your mouth. You moan at the taste of her. She makes you crazy. You want more. You want to taste her for real.

You'd give anything in the world just for the permission to worship her.

Well, there’s no time for that, because suddenly she’s backing away and walking over to the nightstand, opening the bottom drawer to retrieve a harness and a dildo. She looks you right in the eyes as she steps into the harness, adjusting the buckles before pushing the dildo into the o-ringed slot.

“Is this big enough for you, baby?” Natasha husks, spitting into her open palm and stroking the fake cock. “Or do you need something bigger?”

You gulp, scanning her body for a moment from bottom to top. You note the way her legs look when they’re unshaved. You observe how perfectly her hips fit into the harness. You notice the small, thin, trail of hair leading from her pubic area to her belly button, and then to her gorgeous abs. Fuck, her abs. You take in her strong arms and manicured fingernails. Then, your eyes suddenly fall back to the fake cock—and it’s big. You hadn’t even thought that it would fit, and now she’s asking if you need something bigger? Oh, you’ll be just fine with this one.

You must’ve been staring too long, because she breaks the silence with a quiet throat-clear. “Is something wrong?” she asks, voice laced with genuine curiosity.

You shake your head quickly, murmuring a soft “no,” but that obviously doesn't cut it—and you both know it.

“What was that?” Natasha coos, and you squirm in your place on the bed.

“Nothing,” you whisper, lowly.

“Didn’t sound like nothing,” she replies, walking to the bed and pushing you back down onto your back, dropping the conversation as a whole.

Her mouth is then on your tits in a rush, sucking and teasing the sensitive buds. You moan, trying to press your chest further out—giving yourself to her, submitting to her. She sucks harder, and you suck in a harsh breath. It’s hard to behave; you want her cock in you, and you want it now.

It doesn’t help that you can feel it pressing into your thigh, either.

Eventually, she gives in—backing away, spitting on her hand again and stroking the toy before leaning forward to spit on your cunt. “Now, normally I’d prep you. You know that. But I think you can do it, can’t you, baby? Take that big stretch?” she huffs with a laugh, pressing the tip between your folds as you nod your head "yes."

You suck in a breath, bracing yourself as she slowly sheaths herself into your pussy. It hurts—it burns—yet you still want more. Want her to hold you down as she fucks into your hole mercilessly, groaning as the harness rubs up against her swollen, neglected clit. God, you can just imagine the sound of her moaning into your breasts as she pounds into you.

She continues to push herself into you, rubbing your clit lightly with her thumb as she does. Your eyes flutter shut, a pained whimper slipping from your hoarse throat as she finally sinks herself all the way inside.

You bite your lip, eyes fixed on the massive cock buried deep in your cunt. You can already picture the stretch, the messy gape she’ll leave behind when she finally pulls out—and that filthy thought alone makes your clit throb beneath her thumb.

An audible moan slips from your lips as she starts to move her hips, slowly fucking you with the rather large cock. Her thrusts are deep, each one hitting just right—measured, controlled, the most perfect rhythm you’ve ever felt. You’d almost forgotten how seriously she takes your pleasure; had it been months since the last time you two had sex. Months since the two of you had done anything, really. The sight of her intense concentration makes you even wetter—she tries so hard, and you know it.

You watch her closely as she places both strong hands on your hips, bending over slightly to do so before slamming into you at a harsh pace. A pitchy squeal escapes your mouth as you’re forced to suddenly adjust to the rapid, unrelenting rhythm. Your pussy opens up for her, welcoming her, letting her use you however she pleases. You don’t mind—not even for a second—as your hands reach out blindly, desperate to grab onto something: her shoulders, her hips, anything.

“Do you like that?” she groans, and you nod your head rapidly. You do. You love it.

“Good. I like that you want it,” she huffs, and you take that as your chance to finally steady your hands on either side of her waist. Your head is spinning, your eyes locked on her; on the way her abs flex, her biceps strain, the way her breasts bounce in the cups of her bra, the sweat gleaming on her skin, and that face of pure, focused attention. God, it’s hard to keep watching her with how hard she’s fucking you, but you try—because there’s nothing more beautiful than this.

“Mommy,” you sob, voice breaking as she starts thrusting even faster, driving that thick cock into your cunt, splitting you open with every brutal stroke. You don’t know how much more you can take—it’s too big, too deep, and your body’s trembling from the stretch.

“Shh, I know, baby, I know. It’s okay,” Natasha murmurs, her voice low and steady. “Mommy knows you can take it.”

And somehow, with just those words, you believe her. Your pussy is sloppy, drenched in your own arousal, coating the toy as it slams into you again and again. You’ve never felt fuller, never felt more wrecked—never felt happier than you do in this moment as you take her cock repeatedly with no resistance.

Your hands slide around, slapping at her back, unable to get a stable grip as her mean thrusts seem to show you no mercy. You're about to cum again already—it's sad. But you're horny, and you don't think you can hold back your orgasm much longer.

Natasha moans, her clit rubbing against the inside of the harness with every thrust. She needs to cum, but more importantly, she needs you to. She hopes that maybe, after this mind-blowing orgasm she’s about to give you, you’ll forgive her for depriving you of exactly that for so long. But after two seconds of thinking, she realizes that that'll take time—like everything does. But she's willing to be patient.

You cry out, your voice a shrill sound, as you reach the brink of orgasm. She sees it too, immediately quickening her thrusts. "Come on, baby," she growls, sweat dripping off her forehead, "Don't you want to cum for Mommy?" You do. So fucking badly. "I- Fuck, Mommy, please!" You sob, trying your hardest to push more words from your sore throat, but nothing comes out.

Her hand reaches down to collect some of the arousal dripping from your cunt, then proceeding to toy with your throbbing clit—her fingers nearly cramping up with the task, but she doesn't care.

Aftee taking one last deep breath, you wail. Kicking your legs and shaking as your third orgasm of the night surges through your veins like electricity, you think you might pass out purely from the force of it.

Natasha watches you with big eyes, fucking you through it and slurring heavy words, "That's a good girl," "You're so pretty, baby," and then, "Fuck—I think i'm about to cum, shit!"

She does. Hard. Shuddering as she humps the material of the harness to her best ability. At one point she gets so frustrated that she just shoves her hand underneath it, rubbing her clit with her fingers—moaning your name over and over until her orgasm finally subsides.

More silence fills the room, broken only by the sounds of the two of you breathing hard, your chests rising and falling in rhythm, and your small, desperate whimpers.

"I'm fucking exhausted," Natahsa huffs against your breast, giving your nipple a wet kiss.

[leeharkerd]

so basically.. this may or may not be posted depending on how happy i am with the finished product lol

[leeharkerd]

heyyy just wanted to say im IN LOVE w your works!! to me ur like a lesbian saint who blesses our thirsty souls 🥺🙏 btw THAT maeve drabble? oh god. pathetic!maeve has been on my mind ever since and refused to let go tysm

THANK YOU SM! honestly more people need to write maeve like that because once you peel back that layer of her hardass personality, that's exactly what she is </3

i plan to write more by the way, again thank you for this sweet compliment love! ❤️

[leeharkerd]

WE MISS U 😭😭🫶 sidneyprescottswhore 🔛🔝

STOP I MISS U im writing more things so i will have something to put out eventually

[leeharkerd]

Ngl you had me so excited when I got the notification you posted and saw the gif until I actually clicked it and realized it was a repost 😭

im sorry 😭 ill post soon i swear