Wanda Maximoff (G!P Magic induced) x Fem Reader (Dark Wanda)
by summer2224
18+ Smut
Content: Smut 18+
SHIELD sends you to infiltrate a Hydra cell in Berlin. But the intel wasn’t the mission, Wanda Maximoff was. Now you're chained in a secret facility, Wanda interrogating you with her mouth, her magic, and the brutal edge of power she wields like a weapon.
You swore you'd never break.
You didn’t expect to beg.
Written July 12-14th, 2024
Enemies to Lovers | Power Play | Dark Wanda | Degradation | Magic-induced pleasure
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Your wrists are bound.
Thick leather straps bite into your skin, arms pinned behind the steel chair bolted to the floor. Your lip is split. Blood, yours, trickles down your chin, thick and metallic. You can taste it when you breathe through your mouth.
The room smells like rust and ozone.
The lights flicker overhead, one buzzing faintly with every surge of magic lingering in the walls. Sigils burn low and red along the perimeter, glowing faintly like dying embers. You recognize the language, they're in Sokovian. Not for protection.
Control.
She's close.
You keep your posture straight, even if your back aches from the blow that dropped you earlier. You don't know how long you've been in this place. Hours? Days? SHIELD protocol demands silence. No matter what she does, you don't break. But the truth is: she hasn't even touched you. Not yet.
Because she doesn't need to.
The door hisses open.
She walks in without fanfare, without armor. No red leather. No crown. Just Wanda Maximoff in a black shirt, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hands bare.
And that's somehow worse.
You watch her circle the room like a lioness in slow motion. She doesn't look at you at first. Just drags a finger across the dusty table in the corner, brushes nonexistent dirt from her cuff.
Her voice cuts the silence. "I thought they'd send someone... bigger."
You smile with bloody teeth. "Disappointed?"
Wanda finally turns her gaze on you.
It's a punch to the gut. Her eyes are unreadable, green, gold, red, all at once, and she tilts her head just slightly as if reading you. The way a surgeon sizes up the patient before making the first cut.
"No," she says. "You're exactly who I wanted."
You lean back in your restraints, feigning comfort. "Funny. I didn't know I was so popular with terrorists."
Her jaw twitches. Just a flicker. Then she walks toward you, slow and controlled. Her boots echo on the concrete floor like a metronome winding down.
"You think I'm a terrorist," she repeats softly.
"You kidnapped an entire town."
"I freed them. Eventually."
"You killed people."
"And you've never pulled a trigger in your life?"
You glare. Her smile deepens, not warm. Not even cruel. Just fascinated.
"They told me you were smart. They didn't say you were pretty."
She stops in front of you. The heat radiating from her body coils around your skin. Her power hums just beneath the surface.
"I read your file," she murmurs. "Y/n L/n. SHIELD infiltration specialist. No psychic sensitivity. Resistant to telepathic suggestion. Advanced interrogation resistance training."
You smirk. "Enjoy the reading material?"
"I always enjoy learning how to break things."
Her fingers brush your jaw.
You flinch, but don't look away.
"Tell me what SHIELD wants from me," she says.
"Why not dig it out of my mind? Isn't that your thing?"
Her thumb wipes a smear of blood from your lip. Then she brings it to her mouth. Licks it clean.
"Where's the fun in that?"
Your thighs clench.
She notices.
Her mouth twitches.
"You're not afraid of me," she says, curious now.
"I know exactly what you are."
She leans in. Her breath hits your neck, warm and slow.
"Then why are you shaking?"
You're not.
Or... maybe you are.
You hate her. You want her dead. You want her closer.
"You're wasting time," you bite out. "You won't break me."
Wanda hums thoughtfully. Her hand slides to your throat, not squeezing. Just holding. Feeling the pulse. The vulnerability. The trust she knows you don't give.
"Maybe not with questions," she says. "Maybe not with pain."
You hold her gaze.
"Then what?"
She leans closer, her lips a breath from yours.
"Maybe I'll just make you beg."
Your heart slams against your ribs.
The lights flicker again.
This isn't about information anymore.
And you don't want it to stop.
She moves like shadow and flame, a slow burn with sharp edges. Her fingers drift from your throat, trailing down to your collarbone, and for a second, you swear, she hesitates. Just long enough for you to feel it.
"What's the matter, Maximoff?" you rasp. "Losing your nerve?"
Her power flares.
Red tendrils lick up your arms, not quite touching your skin but burning close. The restraints tighten with a creaking groan. She steps between your thighs, gaze locked to yours, and her expression has cooled into something dangerous.
"You want pain?"
You bare your teeth. "I want you to pick a side. Monster or martyr."
She laughs once, low and sharp. "Always so black and white with SHIELD."
Her hand glides over your sternum, then lower, slow and intentional.
"Let me show you the gray."
The magic binds your chest, curling like silk ribbon and iron wire all at once. It's not tight enough to suffocate, but it's enough to remind you that you're utterly at her mercy.
You inhale through your nose, exhale slowly. You won't give her the sound she wants. Not yet.
Her lips brush the shell of your ear.
"Tell me, agent..." Her voice is a whisper of heat. "When I finally crawl inside your mind, will you fight me the same way your body does?"
"You'll have to get in first."
Wanda chuckles, and it's dark this time. Not amused. A sound filled with hunger and warning.
"Oh, sweetheart," she murmurs. "I already am."
You twist in your restraints, testing them, not out of panic, but calculation.
Wanda watches every twitch of your muscles like she's memorizing you. Her hand finally settles at your hip, fingers digging in just hard enough to bruise.
You hate how your body responds.
But you don't hide it.
You meet her eyes and say nothing.
She tilts her head. "Still so quiet. That training must be exhausting."
You lean forward the inch your bindings allow. "Try harder."
Something dark flashes in her expression, not anger.
Arousal. Her magic ignites.
And the room begins to burn.
"Let's talk about your last mission," Wanda says, voice rich with mock curiosity as she pulls a chair from the corner and drags it across the floor. She flips it around and straddles it backwards, arms resting over the top, her posture casual in a way that drips with power.
You narrow your eyes. "You already know everything."
"Humor me."
Her fingers flex and suddenly a red wisp tightens the strap across your chest. Not choking, but closer. More intimate. Like a hand curling possessively beneath your ribs.
"You were embedded in Berlin," she begins. "Tracking an asset I happen to value. You made contact with one of my allies. Fed them false intel. Sabotaged a weapons exchange."
You offer a bloodstained grin. "You left your back door wide open. Rookie mistake."
Wanda leans forward. "And now here you are, caught in my cage, mouthing off like you're not minutes away from falling apart."
She reaches out and rests a finger against your knee. Just a single point of touch, but it's enough.
A pulse of magic climbs your thigh, slow, deliberate.
Your breath catches, and you hate that she hears it.
"There it is," she murmurs.
You bare your teeth. "You're going to have to do better than foreplay."
"Oh, I intend to."
The chair scrapes as she rises, her expression unreadable again. Her magic pulls at the restraints around your thighs, spreading them slightly. Just enough.
"You're still in control," she says softly, as if it's a kindness. "I haven't taken anything you haven't already given."
You know she's lying.
And yet your pulse is already racing, breath shallowing with the tension.
"Tell me what SHIELD sent you to find," she says. "And I'll make it good."
You tilt your head. "And if I don't?"
Her smile is razor sharp. "Then I make it better."
She steps forward.
And her hands go to your thighs.
You open your mouth to fire another quip, but Wanda is already moving.
A sickening crack echoes through the chamber as her knuckles collide with your jaw. Not a slap. A punch. It splits the inside of your cheek and rocks your head to the side. Blood drips from your lip to your chin, thick and hot.
You taste iron. You taste her power humming around you like the static before a storm.
The room falls silent.
Her footsteps are slow, methodical. When she grabs a fistful of your hair and wrenches your head back, there's no tenderness, only cold precision.
"You think this is a game?"
You glare at her. Smile with blood streaked teeth. "Looks like you're losing."
Her hand tightens in your hair. The other lifts, glowing red.
A needle-thin thread of energy snakes toward your temple. You feel it trying to push, in, but it doesn't get far. The resistance burns. You scream, just once, involuntarily.
She stops. Withdraws. Smiles.
"Interesting," she says. "You're harder to crack than most."
She leans in, nose nearly touching yours.
"But everything breaks. Eventually."
She conjures a blade of scarlet light, thin and elegant like a scalpel. She presses it just beneath your collarbone, slicing shallowly. You flinch. Blood wells and trails downward.
"Pain is honest," she murmurs. "It doesn't lie like your mouth does."
You pant through clenched teeth. "You're enjoying this."
"No," Wanda says. "I need this."
She drags the blade lower. Not enough to kill, never that, but enough to leave you bleeding, twitching. Open.
Then, she cups your cheek with the same bloodied hand.
"Now," she whispers. "Let's try again. What did SHIELD send you to find?"
You spit blood at her feet.
Wanda wipes it from her boot with a flick of magic, eyes never leaving yours.
"Fine," she says. "We'll start with something simpler."
Chains of red wrap tighter around your wrists, ankles, chest.
"Your pain tolerance."
She steps back, lifts her hand, and the screaming begins anew.
The red magic lashes through your nerves like fire and ice, biting into your skin, your bones, your thoughts. It's not just pain. It's sensation, overwhelming and precise. She calibrates it like a scientist, like a witch, like a lover who knows every threshold you refuse to name.
You shake in the chair, biting down on your tongue hard enough to reopen the wound in your cheek. The blood fills your mouth again. You choke on it. Swallow it. Gasp.
She watches.
"You don't scream like they do," Wanda muses aloud, as if she's observing a specimen under glass. "Most of them break here. Men. Agents. Super soldiers. They cry. They beg. But not you."
She steps forward. Her fingers trail down your arm with false gentleness, her voice like poison in silk.
"Is it pride that keeps you quiet? Or is it something darker?"
You force your eyes open, meet her stare. Your lips curl despite the blood. "You like it when I take it."
She exhales slowly, nostrils flaring. Her nails dig into your thigh.
"Masochist," she whispers.
You grin. "Takes one to know one."
And for the first time, she laughs. Quiet, genuine, cracked around the edges. Then her smile fades.
"You're going to bleed for me," she says. "But you're also going to give me what I want."
She flicks her fingers. The chains around your legs snap tighter. You groan, pain, pressure, heat. You don't beg. You won't.
"Why were you in Berlin? What was your real target?" she demands.
You spit again, slower this time. "I was watching you."
That catches her breath. Just a hitch. She covers it with violence, a blast of magic slamming into your ribs, then spreading into heat, crawling lower.
"Then watch me," Wanda hisses, stepping close.
She rips your shirt open with a flash of power. Her hand presses flat against your bare abdomen, the skin hot where she touches. Her lips are at your ear.
"You want pain? You want to prove how much you can take? Then you're going to take me."
And the interrogation becomes something else entirely.
She leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear, her voice a silk-wrapped blade. "You break so beautifully."
The chains don't loosen, but shift, pressing you down, forcing your legs wider, your back flush to the cold steel. You don't resist. You can't. You wouldn't.
Her mouth brushes your jaw. "Let me hear the truth now. Not for SHIELD. Not for your cause. For me."
Her hand trails lower, between your thighs, knuckles grazing the sensitive heat she's been drawing out of you with every calculated word, every electric moment of pain.
"You're soaked," she murmurs, her tone colder now, like disappointment wrapped in silk. "And you're still pretending this is about loyalty."
You choke on breath. You want to curse her. You want to beg.
You do neither.
"Say it," she commands.
You shake your head.
Her fingers tighten around your throat just slightly, just enough to remind you.
"Say who you belong to."
You bare your teeth, defiant.
She smiles. Not kindly.
"Then I'll carve the answer into you."
And when her fingers slip inside your waistband and inside you, it's not tender. It's a claim.
Every movement is control. Every breath she lets you take is permission.
And she doesn't let you look away.
"Keep your eyes on me," she says, low. "You want to take me? Prove it. Show me how good you suffer."
You do.
And for the first time, you wonder if surrendering might feel like victory.
But you don't give her silence.
You laugh.
It's sharp, cracked, ugly, and it makes her pause.
"You think this proves something?" you rasp, voice raw. "You think your little throne of red light makes you a god? You're just a girl who couldn't control her grief, and now you're playing warlord because you're too afraid to be alone."
The change in her is instant.
Her hand snaps to your throat again, this time harder, pressing you back into the chair with brutal force. Not enough to cut air, yet. Just enough to remind you who owns the space between breaths.
"You don't get to talk to me like that."
You choke out another bloody grin. "Then make me stop."
She leans down until her forehead presses to yours, eyes glowing like twin furnaces.
"You think SHIELD will come for you? That anyone is coming? I've buried better agents than you beneath the bones of empires. I unmade gods for less."
She punctuates the word with a thrust of her fingers inside you, rough, deep. Your body jolts, but your smirk doesn't falter.
"Still just a scared little girl under all that power," you whisper.
She groans.
The magic flares so violently that the lights above burst, glass raining down behind her in slow motion.
"I am everything you fear in the dark," she breathes, slamming her hips forward, pressing into you with her whole body now, her voice a growl in your ear. "And the only reason you're still alive is because I like the way you sound when you break."
You gasp, shuddering, your voice shaking now. Not from fear.
"Then break me properly."
She does.
With a flick of her fingers, the physical restraints snap open, metal clattering to the ground like discarded rules. But you're not free.
Scarlet bands of power seize your limbs before you can even move. Your body is yanked upright, suspended for a heartbeat, before she slams you face-first into the cold concrete floor.
Pain blossoms across your cheekbone and shoulder. The breath leaves your lungs in a single stunned exhale.
You barely register the sound of her boots pacing behind you, slow and deliberate.
"On your knees for me now," Wanda murmurs. "You want to fight? Then crawl."
You try to push up, only for the magic to shove you back down. Her power pins you by the neck, spine arched, hips raised. Your dignity shatters one inch at a time, and she watches.
Her voice turns cruel. "You look better like this. Not so smug now, are you? A trained little agent without her leash."
Your pants vanish with a hiss of heat and red. The cold air hits you, and her hand follows, dragging across your bare skin like a brand.
"So wet," she sneers, voice thick with power-laced venom.
You groan, humiliated, furious, turned on in ways you refuse to name.
She crouches behind you, one hand pressed hard between your shoulder blades, the other trailing fire between your legs.
"Now tell me," she groans, mouth hot at your ear. "What was the objective in Berlin? What did SHIELD want from me?"
You grit your teeth. "Go to hell."
Her fingers thrust deep without warning.
You scream.
She moans.
"That's more like it," she purrs. "You'll scream all my answers eventually. And if not, I'll just fuck them out of you."
She begins to move, slow and devastating, every thrust forcing your knees to scrape against the floor, her power keeping you exactly where she wants you.
"Say it," she demands. "Say who you belong to."
You hiss. You curse. You don't say it.
Her magic tightens again.
"Louder, agent," she snarls, her voice low and vibrating with cruel hunger. "I want the world to hear the moan you choke down. Let them know exactly what happens when they send one of their best to kneel before a goddess."
You bite down a sob, but what escapes is worse. A moan. Raw, guttural, defiant.
It cracks the silence open like glass.
Wanda stills.
Then she laughs, low, slow, cruel. The sound crawls down your spine like cold fire.
"You moan for me like that and still pretend you have control?" Her fingers twist in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck strains. "Pathetic. You think this is strength? It's submission in disguise."
Her grip tightens. Her magic burns hotter.
"SHIELD trained your body to endure," she hisses against your ear, voice thick with venom and desire, "but they forgot your mind. They forgot what happens when you beg without words."
Her fingers slam into you again, sharp, punishing.
"No one is coming for you. Not SHIELD. Not your handlers. You are mine now. You're ruined for anything but this."
She releases your hair just to shove your face down into the cold floor, your cheek scraping stone.
"I want you to remember this position. Every time you try to be brave, every time you pretend you're not aching for me to take you apart again."
Still, you don't give her the answer.
Then she stills.
You hear her breath, slow, deliberate, as her hands leave you, and the warmth of her body steps away. Your heart pounds, chest heaving. You almost speak, but then....
Cloth rustles behind you.
You dare to look.
Wanda strips with a terrifying calm, peeling her black shirt up over her head like she's shedding a skin. Her body is all sharp lines and soft curves and power humming beneath her skin like a second pulse. She steps out of her pants, slow, deliberate. Not for show. For dominance.
And when she kneels behind you again, bare and burning with magic, she doesn't touch you at first.
She presses her chest to your back, her skin scorching against your spine, her breath hot against your ear.
"Masochist," she purrs, voice like venom-laced silk. "That's what you are. You like being used. Hurt. Fucked raw until your name doesn't matter anymore."
You shudder.
She grinds her hips into you, slick and bare and hard with want, magic still wrapped around your wrists, your thighs, your throat.
"Say it," she whispers. "Say yes to me. Say who you want."
Your mouth moves before your mind can stop it.
"Yes," you moan. "Yes, Wanda."
She groans into your ear, voice guttural.
"Good," she growls. "So am I."
And then she takes you. Not with fingers this time.
You feel it when the magic surges, low and bright and crackling, reshaping her body into something not quite human, not quite divine, but built to ruin you. You cry out as the thick head of something new presses against you, slick and pulsing with red-hot energy. Her hands brace your hips. Her mouth hovers at your ear.
"Do you feel that? That's mine. All of it. Made for you."
You gasp as she pushes in, inch by devastating inch, her breath ragged now, low groans vibrating straight into your spine. Your nails claw at the floor, scraping across stone. Your mouth falls open. No sound. Just raw, wordless pleasure twisted with submission.
She bottoms out and doesn't move.
Her hand slides up your back, curls around your throat. Holds you there.
"Give me the truth," she hisses. "Tell me what SHIELD was after. Tell me who you serve."
You moan instead, neck straining, back arching, walls clenching helplessly around the thick magic she's buried deep inside you.
She thrusts once. Hard. Deliberate. Cruel.
"Say it, agent. Give me the mission, or I'll tear it out of your cunt."
You bite your lip until it splits, your fingers clawing grooves into the stone. Your body betrays you, every nerve alight.
She grabs your hair, yanks your head back, her lips at your ear.
"Tell me why you were really in Berlin," she growls. "Whose blood were you after?"
You whimper through gritted teeth. "You..."
Another thrust, sharper. Deeper.
"What was your extraction plan? What asset did you plant? Don't make me ask again."
You gasp, jaw dropping, unable to form the words fast enough.
She fucks into you again, her magic pulsing through every thrust.
"Tell me who gave the order, agent. Say their name. Say it while I ruin you."
You shake under her, a moan escaping before you can swallow it down.
"That's right," Wanda hisses. "You're not holding out. You're holding back. Because deep down, you want this. You want to give everything to me. And I'm going to take it. All of it."
She slams into you again, and you break.
"You," you sob. "You. You."
Her moan is primal, dark, triumphant.
"Good girl," she breathes. "Now scream it until they hear you in whatever grave SHIELD buried your backup in."
And when you do, loud, wrecked, pleading, she groans low in her throat, hips stuttering before she regains her rhythm with punishing force.
"That's it," she hisses. "You beg so pretty. But I want more. Give me the fucking intel or I pull out and leave you empty."
You cry out, body rocking beneath her, words spilling from your mouth like surrender. "Don't stop. Please—don't stop—"
Her laugh is dark, amused, merciless.
"Then give me a name. Say who sent you. Or I stop right now and make you finish with your own fingers while I watch."
You shake, gasping, desperate. She pulls back halfway. The threat is real.
Your voice cracks as you plead. "No—Wanda, please—"
She presses back in, hard enough to bruise.
"That's better. Keep begging. Keep giving. Or I take my cock and my mercy and leave you in this hole to remember what it felt like to be full of me."
You scream for her again. Not in pain. In total, broken, blissed-out need.
And Wanda? She moans against your ear like she's finally home.
Your face twists, eyelids fluttering, mouth slack, sweat and tears mixing as you writhe beneath her. Your voice is no longer defiant, it's raw, pleading, desperate.
Her groan is vicious, satisfied, dragging against your spine. She doesn't stop. She moves harder.
"There she is," Wanda hisses. "The obedient little mouth I've been waiting for. Give it to me. Now."
Your moans break around the words. "It was coded intel—drop point under the checkpoint in Berlin. They wanted your extraction pattern—your weaknesses—"
"None," she snaps, biting your shoulder. "I have none."
"I know," you sob, gasping. "I know—please—"
She fucks you deeper, like reward, like punishment.
"Say it again. Who do you belong to?"
"You," you moan, eyes rolling back. "Only you."
She groals in your ear, dark and ravenous.
"That's right. And you'll never belong to anyone else again."
You whimper beneath her, barely able to breathe between moans. "They have files," you gasp. "Everything on you. Enhanced surveillance. Power pattern analysis. Emergency strike plans in case you went rogue—"
Wanda snarls, driving her hips forward with sudden fury. "They planned for this? For me?"
"Yes!" you sob. "But nothing—nothing that could stop you. Please—"
Her hand wraps around your waist and she shifts position, dragging your body up with hers. She presses your back to her chest, spreading your legs wider with her knees, fucking you at a new angle that sends lightning down your spine.
You throw your head back against her shoulder, moaning openly now.
"Right there—right there—please don't stop—"
"Then keep talking," she commands. Her voice is a growl against your ear. "Tell me what else they know. Tell me what they fear."
You babble through tears and broken gasps. "They know you're unstable—they think grief is your weakness—but it's not, it's not—"
"No," Wanda breathes, her pace brutal, delicious. "Grief made me free."
She shifts again, slamming into you harder from behind, forcing your palms flat to the floor as you sob beneath her.
"Say it again," she growls. "Say whose name you scream for."
"Wanda—" you cry. "Yours—only yours—"
And she rewards you with everything.
Her hips snap. Her power sears. Her mouth is a weapon pressed to your throat.
And you break for her again, giving her every secret you were trained to die with.
"They had contingency spells," you gasp, shaking beneath her. "Dark tech—backdoor psionics keyed to your DNA signature—please, right there—"
Wanda groans behind you, thrusts sharpening, pace punishing. "Keep going. You talk, I fuck you deeper. That's the deal."
"They were working with the Sorcerer Supreme," you moan, eyes rolling back, hips jerking back into her. "Mystic containment units—fail-safe tech hidden in Prague—I wasn't supposed to engage—I just—I had to see you—"
She groals, slamming into you so hard your hands scramble against the floor for purchase.
"Good girl," she snarls. "Keep confessing. Every word makes you tighter. Do you feel that? That's your body begging to betray everything you stood for."
You sob out, "Don't stop—please, Wanda, I'm yours—I'll give you everything—"
She leans in, lips at your neck, breath hot and cruel. "You already have.""
Her thrusts slow, grinding, deep, drawing out every sob, every broken moan she's pulled from your throat. She presses a kiss to your jaw, wet and open-mouthed, her voice a low snarl against your skin.
"All that training," she murmurs, "and this is what finally breaks you."
Your nails scrape helplessly at the floor, your back arching as she pounds into you again. You can't form words. You don't need to.
"You gave them everything," she growls, nipping at your shoulder, "and they gave you to me."
Another thrust. Then another.
"And now," she whispers, voice dark with satisfaction, "you're going to come for me like the good little traitor you are."
And when you do, screaming her name, there's no doubt who owns you.
Your body locks, every nerve alight, your orgasm crashing through you like a warhead. You sob her name again and again, voice cracking on every breathless syllable. Wanda doesn't stop, not until she groans low and deep behind you, her body shuddering against yours.
You feel her pulse, thick and hot, deep inside, magic flaring red across your skin like sparks in a blackout. She pants into your neck, pressing tighter, nails digging into your hips.
Then, slowly, she pulls out.
You collapse to the floor, shaking, spent. You don't dare move. Can't.
She rises, naked and towering, unhurried as she gathers her clothes. Red tendrils of energy curl protectively around her skin, warding, cloaking. Her body is still flushed, lips parted, chest rising in deep, satisfied breaths.
Her voice breaks the silence like a spell. "SHIELD thinks they've caged a god. They're wrong. I'm going to burn their plans. Their files. Their cities."
You stare up at her, dazed, ruined.
She steps toward the door, pausing just long enough to look back over her shoulder.
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Balletinstructor!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader
♪ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You attend a highly favored ballet school in New York, and are your instructor's star dancer. Little did you know she had differing intentions than previously imagined.
♪ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Innocence corruption, sexual tension, cunnilingus, naive reader, Wanda needs that, competence kink, sizeable age gap ( W is 38, R is 19), Dom = W, Sub = R, and yea
♪ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3k
You frantically dig in every nook and cranny of your pink gym bag for your phone as you near the grand, slightly run-down entrance of the studio; you cannot be late again.
"Aha! Thank god," you exhale, a small victory. You think to check the time, 12:13 pm, great. Miss Maximoff won’t be here for another fifteen minutes; you can stretch some more.
It’s pretty cloudy today, and it's probably going to rain soon. You hum as you shove your phone into your back pocket, then push open the double doors of The Scarlet Ballet School. You were just as surprised as everyone else that you got in, more so even. Not many of your relatives are supportive of your passion for the art of ballet. Wanting you to pursue something more sustainable, more real. But you didn’t let them stop you.
Only the dancers with the most credibility got in, but you... were an exception. You're here on a scholarship. Screw up? And it's back to square one.
You’ve been at this studio for a few months and in New York for a little less than a year, and it’s treated you well, especially your new ballet instructor. Wanda Maximoff. Wanda… has a more hands-on approach. So to speak.
The inside of the studio has the sort of charm that you only see in movies. Never did you think you'd make it a reality. The front desk is manned by Billy, the scrawny, awkward teen with smudged eyeliner, every day. He types away at whatever as he sips his Monster.
"You know drinking those every day will give you heart murmurs, right?" You smirk as you approach the desk, propping your arms on it.
Billy doesn't spare you a glance; he rolls his eyes, though. "That? Is a myth."
"Fuck around and find out, I guess." You shrug, which gets a small smile out of the teen. "Has Yelena come in yet?" You ask, lightly drumming your fingertips on the desk.
Billy nods, finally meeting your eyes, "Mhm, like five minutes ago. She said she'd meet you after she's done in Miss Romanoff's room."
You hum, "Alright, thanks, Billy!" you say as you begin to walk away.
"Cute skirt!" He calls after you, and you smile brightly over your shoulder.
--
"Are we still on for lunch tomorrow?" Yelena Inquires, stretching her leg on the barre, putting her short blond hair in a small ponytail. "Since you cancelled last week." She mentions with a pointed look.
You huff before you get a sip of water from your bottle. "Yes, Lena, we're still on for lunch tomorrow." You playfully roll your eyes and smile easily, though it falters somewhat. Your brows knit together in concern. "Shouldn't... shouldn't, Miss Maximoff be here by now?" You glance at the entrance to the ballet room.
Yelena follows your gaze before meeting yours again, shrugging lightly. "Little graces," she snorts, getting off the barre to stretch her back now, adjusting her navy leotard straps.
You sigh. You're sorely aware of the fact that no one here likes the older woman. You can practically feel the dread suffocate the room when she comes in on bad days. Sure, she's abrasive sometimes, too strict, and can be mean. However, for whatever reason, you never got to experience that side of her. She differs from you. Patient, a sweet-talker, and lenient. You have no clue as to why. The other girls in your room hate you for it, too. Whispering amongst themselves and giving you sideways glances.
Suddenly, the doors to the room swing open as Wanda struts in like she owns the place. Confidence exudes from her every step, not the in-your-face kind of self-assurance, but the quiet kind. One that shows just how comfortable she is being who she is. Her black pencil skirt is just shy of the knee, and her blood red satin button-up is perfectly tucked into it, with a few tantalizing buttons left unbuttoned. The sound of her heels reverberates on the vinyl floor.
Click.
Clack.
Click.
Clack.
Your heart skips a beat at the sound. Your hands subconsciously smooth over your fitted black tank top and small pink skirt.
"Speak of the devil, and she will appear," Yelena mutters beside you, her stretching halting. You subtly nudge her.
Everyone in the room waits with bated breath for Miss Maximoff to speak; conversations die mid-sentence, and a few girls suddenly become very interested in their stretches. Someone near the mirrors straightens so fast she nearly loses her balance.
Wanda regards everyone with a pointed look, assessing, before they land on you. Something in her gaze shifts, something… dark, it makes you blink and falter. "Good afternoon." She says briefly, getting her keys to her office out of her purse. "Since everyone seems fascinated by the time of my arrival," she says coolly, removing a pair of reading glasses from her blouse pocket, "perhaps someone would like to explain why we're standing around instead of warming up."
Like clockwork, everyone who stopped stretching to show some sort of respect for Miss Maximoff, scatter to continue stretching; it's almost comical.
__
Some time has passed, and Yelena is practicing her ballons on the opposite side of the room. The other girls are working on whatever movements Miss Maximoff has drilled them to perform. You stand alone, near the barre, in first position, your legs burn from the effort you put into them today, in fear of disappointing your instructor. You take a minute to breathe. Suddenly, you feel warm hands glide gracefully to support your sides, and you straighten almost instantly, ignoring how every inch of you screams to settle into the touch.
The scent of her, vanilla and something faintly smoky, like incense, hits you before she even speaks.
Wanda’s hands are firm but gentle, warm from the studio lights above. Her fingertips press just slightly into your ribs through the thin fabric of your tank. No one else gets this close to her during class - not unless they’re being corrected harshly or praised quietly.
You don’t turn around right away.
Instead, you feel her lean in, her breath a whisper against your ear, and then that low voice wraps around you like velvet, “Breathe deeper than that, detka.”
Ugh, that pet name makes your gut coil.
Her lips brush the shell of your ear for half a second before she pulls back slightly to adjust how she’s holding you, but you miss the barely there touch. Your pulse spikes so hard it feels audible in the quiet.
“Now rise.”
Wanda’s hands don’t just rectify you; they linger.
When you rise, her palms slide up your sides like she’s memorizing the curve of your waist, thumb brushing the dip just above your hip. She doesn’t let go when you’re fully upright. No, she keeps one hand there, warm and possessive at your back, while the other lifts to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
Too intimate for an instructor during class… everyone knows it. No one dares say anything, though. Not with Wanda Maximoff standing two inches away from you, her favorite student. You don't mean it with sovereignty; it's simply a fact.
“You look tired.”
You blink out of your reverie, stammering. "I-I… yeah. I am, I was up too late practicing for the past two days." You explain sheepishly.
The brunette's presence shifts to one of concern and disapproval. She raises a brow and sighs lowly. Her grip on your sides tighten imperceivley, sending a cold shiver down your spine. "Now, why did you think that was a good idea?"
Your lip catches between your teeth, and your green eyes follow the motion. "I don't want to be behind, I'm here on a scholarship… I need to be ahead." You elaborate determinedly.
Wanda pouts, "I see how hard you work, honey. I'm proud of you, but burning out won't help anyone." She pulls back slightly, her hand still on your left hip, and slowly glides up your back, to your shoulder, stopping just shy of your neck, her thumb barely caressing your collarbone. "You don't need to prove yourself to me." Miss Maximoff whispers in the most intoxicating tone you've ever heard, and your lips part.
You don't know what comes over you; maybe it was the stress, or the weight of expectation, or perhaps the lack of real sleep.
Your eyes well up with tears.
Your instructor notices almost immediately, and her taller form comes a step closer before you, her hand now fully holding the back of your neck, her thumb gently rubbing your cheek. Her brows furrow, grabbing your jaw lightly when you try to avoid eye contact. "Hey, hey, look at me when I'm talking."
You fight and fail miserably to stop the stray tear that falls, you sniffle, then meet Wanda's eyes, hesitating some.
Wanda smiles. "Good girl. You wanna come to my office, sweetheart? We can talk about it," she coos.
The way Wanda spoke to you makes you feel small, dumb, and incapable of handling this on your own. The words catch in your throat. You nod.
Wanda shakes her head, "Nuh uh, use your words."
You take a shuddering breath, scared the dam will break. "I do. Want t-to talk about it." You wipe another tear.
Wanda hums approvingly, standing straighter; she almost looks relieved. "Smart girl." She praises, her hand falling from your neck to your lower back, leading you to her office. You don't want to look and see everyone staring in the ballet room, but you do catch Lena's questioning gaze, her head tilted, she mouths, 'Where the hell are you going?', throwing her arms up slightly.
You wince, 'I'll be back', you mouth in reply.
—
The office is small but cozy, cluttered with ballet books, framed photos of Wanda’s friends, you assume, a few potted plants that look like they’re barely surviving, and the ever-present scent of her vanilla-sandalwood perfume.
Without asking permission, she sits right beside you on the plush velvet couch, the kind made for crying students or exhausted instructors who just need five minutes alone. Close enough that your knees touch, and hands you your tea.
You mutter a thank you before taking a sip.
Wanda watches you sip the tea, the sliver of green remaining in her eyes tracking the way your lips press to the rim of that scarlet mug, how your fingers curl around it for warmth.
“Is it good?” she asks softly. Her voice is honeyed, no sharp edges like during class. You nod slightly, and she smiles, a small, private little thing meant only for you.
Then, without hesitation, she lifts her free hand and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear again. Her fingertips linger there - a featherlight brush along your temple before sliding down to cup your jaw gently.
“Look at me,” she commands gently.
Your eyes meet hers, your breath catches at how the older woman stares openly at you. Hungry, sympathetic, and restrained. All demonstrated by her flushed cheeks, parted wet lips, and furrowed brow. You set your mug down on the old coffee table, praying that your tremors aren't visible.
"I know... what can make you feel better, honey."
A beat passes, which feels like an eternity as the gears in your head shift. "What?" You gulp.
She licks her pink lips, "You're gonna have to trust me, think you can do that for me?" She asks hopefully.
You nod frantically.
"Say it."
You subconsciously squeeze your thighs together, failing to quell the ache. "I trust you."
Her hand finds your thigh, fingers pressing into your thigh. “Do you?"
"I-I really do..."
"Good girl."
Your eyes widen, chest constricting as she rises from the couch and sinks slowly to her knees before you on the faded Persian rug. The shift of her weight, the quiet rustle of her black pencil skirt, it feels obscene.
Her warm hands slip under your skirt slowly, stopping on your mid-thigh. You’re sure Wanda can feel the heat radiating from your pussy.
“You do so much. Being my star student, dorogoy. It must be exhausting,” she pouts, gently kneading your inner thighs, coaxing you to spread them wider. The older woman smirks.
“I wanna make you feel better.” She continues.
Your not even fully aware you're holding your breath; you’ve never actually gotten eaten out before. Sure, in high school, a girl fingered you in the bathroom once, but other than that, nothing. You really hope Wanda can’t tell.
“P-please…” The whine that follows your plea surprises even you.
Wanda seems to excite from the noise, her cheeks flushing once more, blinking repeatedly.
Her expression softens, deepens. She realizes that you're the type to whimper, to whine. To beg. She swallows hard, her mind racing with new, dirtier thoughts. "Please what, honey?"
You stammer, “D-do something!”
She laughs, a breathy, delighted sound that vibrates in your abdomen. Without warning, she taps your thigh, signaling for you to lift enough for her to peel off your damp, cotton panties. They stick to your glistening folds, embarrassingly so.
Never mind to Wanda, it seems, she leans in and licks a slow stride from your hole to your throbbing clit.
You cry out, back arching off the couch cushions. "Oh fuck!"
"Like that?" She inquires coyly.
She dives back in before you can even process that she spoke, her tongue circles your clit gently but firmly.
One hand grips your hip possessively, holding you still as she licks into you again, and again. She settles between your spread thighs, face buried against your pussy, tongue working lazy circles around your clit. Her other hand moves to cover your mouth, muffling the whimpers and cries that spill past your lips.
Your hips move without your permission, seeking more pressure, more contact. She groans against your pussy, the vibration making you see stars. She pulls back briefly to speak against your core. "Quiet, honey... God, you taste so good..."
She goes back to eating you out like she's starving for your taste, her tongue never stopping its gentle circles around your clit. Your whines are getting louder despite her hand covering your mouth, and she knows you're close when your hips start rolling harder against her face.
The tip of her tongue curls, deliberately tracing the letters W-A-N-D-A across your throbbing clit and sensitive folds. It’s possessive and obscene, branding you from the inside out. Your back arches violently, a muffled sob tearing from your throat behind her hand as she writes the final 'A' with agonizing precision.
A full-body shudder wracks through you when she finishes spelling her name. Her name is written in saliva across your pussy. Her mouth stays glued to you, sucking softly on your clit.
Your hands grip Wanda’s hair tightly, and you whimper constantly against her hand. You accidentally tug on your instructor's hair in the midst of your pleasure.
A deep, throaty moan reverberates against your core as she feels your fists tighten in her hair. The sound sends vibrations directly to your clit, making you gasp louder against her palm. She actually smiles against your pussy, loving how desperate and noisy you're getting.
Her mouth is sealed over your clit when your orgasm hits, the intense suction sending you hurtling over the edge. You convulse against her face, fingers yanking hard on her hair as a silent scream tears through you. She drinks you down greedily, swallowing every drop of your release.
Wanda licks your heat a few times before her head rises, her hand falling from your mouth. Her lips glisten with your come; she licks them slowly, "Good girl," she praises. “You did so well for me, sweetheart.” Miss Maximoff pants while wiping her chin, then moving her chestnut hair from her face.
You reel from your orgasm, your vision still swimming some. “T-thank you…” You cannot believe you actually-
A/n: this makes no sense and is hella rushed, but fuck it
Summary: All you wanna do for the summer is work as much as possible to avoid your new stepmother, no matter the cost on your body and mind. Your rich stepmother seems appalled by the idea, forcing you on a weekend getaway with her to... bond.
Wordcount: 4k
Warnings: Step-parent, the most unoriginal plot in existence, mommy kink, dom/sub, mock sympathy, pet names, praise kink, age gap (R=mid 20s, W=early 40s), smut, somnophilia, grinding, mild dub-con, humping, fingering, perv Wanda, rich people
The cracked handle of the broom is clutched loosely in your hand as you take in the massacre before you.
Countless cereal boxes are scattered along the floor, some slowly seeping out more work for you as pebbles and crumbs ooze from the broken plastic seals. Drifting in an ocean of Captain Crunch, Lucky Charms, and Cheerios, you get closer to the source of your interrupted break.
It seems that during your fifteen-minute lunch break, the cereal aisle exploded.
Clusters of cereal lie strewn along the floor with strange voids in the middle, like a shitty murder mystery, just that instead of a body being outlined by white tape, it was more like a blob monster drawn with Cheerios.
It wasn’t the first time either- this is the third time just this week that you’ve had to clean it up.
Safe to say, your workplace has a cereal killer on the loose.
The squeak of obnoxiously loud sneakers screeches to a halt on the opposite side of the murder scene. A shadow falls across the dire situation as murder suspect #1 completely disregards the mess in front of you. Instead, the boom of hands colliding with each other has you raising your brows in annoyance.
“Why are you just standing there? Come on, we need you at the registers, chop chop!” Kyle, your asshole of a manager, doesn’t waste a second to hear your response, already halfway across the room before you can open your mouth. His condescending clapping still echoing down the hall with his retreat.
If it weren’t for the fact that he always gave you the shifts you wanted, you would’ve made him the murder outline by now. However, as it stands, he’s the only reason you get out of the house as much as you do, so with a huff, you get to work.
To say your time back from Uni has been dull would be an understatement. The thought drifts somewhat loosely in your head as you clock out at the end of your shift. It’s late, the time trickling into midnight as you make your way across the parking lot.
Mindlessly kicking a rock around, it jumps over bumps and crashes against divots in the pavement. The gentle clatter of stone striking is suddenly overpowered by the honk of a car.
The air shifts, her presence layers itself like something tangible until it slathers against the inside of your throat. You can’t escape the jump of your pulse or the squeeze of your lungs as headlights illuminate you in the darkness.
You attempt an on-foot escape from the familiar Porsche closing in on you. Your shoe digs into your heel, the bent material has become a near-constant ache as it aggravates the blister that brewed long ago. A slick dribble of blood smears itself against your white sock, spreading until a ring of red peeks over the edge of your shoe.
The voice of your stepmother follows your hasty retreat, but your ignorance is short-lived as Wanda points an accusatory finger through her rolled-down window.
“Nuh uh, no avoiding me today, baby Bambi.” The pet name runs through you like a splash of cold water, sending chills down your spine as you freeze in your path.
Wanda points to the passenger seat, undeterred by your initial resistance. It has become a dance between you and your stepmother since you came home for the summer. She would insist that you both do something together, to bond or whatever, while you would take on extra hours and avoid her religiously.
She has tried to pick you up from work multiple times now, but you would pretend you didn’t see her, simply walking past or hitching a ride with a coworker.
You know it’s rude, but you’d rather be rude than admit that you have a crush on your own stepmother.
There is no telling how it festered, but since the moment you laid your eyes on her, she’s consumed you. The idea of spending more time with her than strictly necessary sinks like a weight into the pit of your stomach.
You’d rather she hate you than be disgusted by your perverted crush.
Besides, you are well over the age where you need to bond with your father’s partner. It’s not like it will last anyway, anyone with a pair of eyes can tell they married for business’s sake. Your father owns a rather lucrative business in the corporate world, a business that just so happens to have been your stepmother’s business rival until the two CEOs supposedly found love.
Yeah, love is what you would call the new car in your dad’s driveway and him stepping down to let Wanda handle both businesses.
There was no telling why she hadn’t left him yet.
Today would be another one of your elusive instances if it weren’t for the look she is giving you. It’s stricter than usual, with a tightness around her mouth and firmness in her eyes.
With a sigh, you climb into the passenger seat. A waft of rich perfume engulfs your tired frame. It creeps over your skin like a second layer, spreading the warm scent of cinnamon and cherry over your sweat-stained uniform. Wanda regards you with a strange fondness in her eyes as your slumped frame not so subtly leans toward her in pursuit of the smell's source.
Wanda is dressed more homely today, her blond hair slung into a side part and her face void of makeup. Even her clothing choice is far beyond the usual. You’ve gotten used to the blazers and form-fitting dress pants over the past few weeks, but today she’s in a simple white shirt coupled with some washed jeans.
The sluggishness of your exhaustion must be doing a number on you, as you don’t even realize you’re staring until a touch against your leg startles you.
A hand settles, palm up, on your thigh as she drives out of the parking lot. The shitty fabric of your work pants does little to diffuse the heat that radiates from her. A strange lump forms in your stomach at the thought of heat spreading elsewhere, as her patience seems to run thin. “Come on, hand it over.”
You blink in confusion, looking over to where her eyes stay glued to the road, in question.
She glances at you, a hint of amusement and something you’ve never seen on her, flashing across her features, “Your phone. You know the rules, honey.”
Ah right…
It was one of the weird things she had started implementing into your life.
The rules.
Most of them were fairly easy: keep your room clean, wash the dishes when it’s your turn, and help make dinner when you aren’t working. Then there were the stranger ones. Suddenly, you had a curfew at 10 pm outside of work hours, you weren’t allowed on your phone in Wanda’s vicinity, and only approved guests could stay over.
Knowing there is no point in making a fuss about it, you fish your phone out before dropping it gently into Wanda’s waiting palm. She opens the middle console and puts it in before leaning over slightly to pat your thigh in reward.
“Well done, darling. Thank you.”
The pet names are another odd addition to Wanda’s involvement in your life. Though they are always sweet, they make you squirm. People in your life never really use nicknames, or pet names, or anything other than your name when they are referring to you.
Wanda is an anomaly in your preferably predictable life.
The crunch of gravel beneath the tires lulls you out of your thoughts. The car drums gently atop the small rocks, some of them knocking against the rim in a soothing hiss that rings through the quiet car.
However, it does confuse you. The road back to your dad’s place doesn’t have any gravel roads. Now that you’re thinking about it, you're pretty sure Wanda is driving the wrong direction altogether.
“Where are we going?”
The slim silence while Wanda seems to ponder her wording makes a drop of sweat drip down your back, “My apartment. Your father is gone for the weekend, and I thought we girls should bond a little.”
Your sluggish mind takes a moment to catch up, merely staring at her, until it hits you like a slap in the face. Spending more time with her addicting presence is the last thing you should be doing. If Wanda had any sense in her, she would see why you avoid her and run for the hills.
“Wan-”
Her hand, not currently occupying the steering wheel, is in your face. Squishing your cheeks together harsher than necessary, Wanda tsks, “No. I don’t want to hear it. Is it really that horrible to spend time with me?”
Fingertips release you from her hold, instead, they glide softly along your cheek. It hypnotizes you, your need to comfort her is stronger than your will to stay away: “No, of course not.”
A happy hum is all you get before her warmth is gone, both hands on the wheel and eyes staying strictly forward as Wanda keeps driving. “Good. Then it’s decided.”
You sigh your agreement.
────୨ৎ────
A lone chair sits in Wanda's luxurious hallway. It’s the first thing you notice, its rich brown color absorbs some of the warm light filtering from above. It’s a stark contrast from the rest of the white hall.
Paintings are scattered across both sides of the hallway, the illustrations vary, some abstract pieces hanging above the coatrack while a far too explicit painting of a woman engaging in… some interesting acts… sits atop the door that you assume leads to the living room.
You squirm where you stand, twisting your fingers as blush crawls up your neck. Wanda’s soft chuckle directly behind you does little to diffuse the sudden tension tightening your stance.
“Come here.”
There is no time to react before Wanda pushes you onto that neat little chair.
The groan of wood falls on deaf ears as all your senses hone in on Wanda’s hands. Fingers slide against your knees, the pressure of her fingertips pushing against the stiff material of your pants before grasping your ankle. Words choke themselves, stuck as your stepmother inspects your bloodied sock.
Blond tresses sway against your exposed skin as she lifts your pants for a better look. A dried slab of blood clings to your skin, a smudge of red festering on the back of your shoe where the broken back resides.
A suspiciously handy med-kit resides under the chair, Wanda getting to work with a quiet, “Poor baby.”
You stay silent as she goes through the motions of cleaning your bloody blister before adding a silly-themed band-aid over it. Leaning back on her knees with one last pat to your heel, Wanda eyes your destroyed shoes before looking back at you.
“I fear those will have to go.”
You know she’s right: if not for your bleeding heel, then the fact that the soles are practically nonexistent by now. Still, you can’t help the tears that build in your eyes at the news. You know you’re just tired and being stupid, but you really like these shoes.
The thought of fighting against her words must flash across your face because Wanda clicks her tongue before you have the chance to open your mouth.
“Now now, I know you’re tired, but there is no reason to throw a tantrum, baby Bambi.”
A stunned stillness settles over you at her words, it’s infuriating how she belittles you, yet some small part of you blooms under the condescending tone that drips so sweetly from her tongue.
The pitter-patter of Wanda’s socked feet hitting the wooden flooring as she starts walking away from you almost has you on your knees begging for forgiveness before she stops.
Illuminated by the bathing light of the living room, Wanda stands directly under her unique art. The warm orange bounces against her loose curls, leaving a strange dreamlike effect as her words float around the far too empty space between the two of you.
“Now, come, it’s late and mo- and I don’t want more attitude in the morning.” The soft murmur of her voice fades away from you as she turns, leaving you to force your depleting strength into your muscles and dart after her at what you hope is an appropriate speed.
Wanda leads you into a guest room, leaving with a curt goodnight.
It all seems awfully rushed to you. You know it’s probably for the best, the mere sliver of affection she granted you today already having left an addiction buzz inside your head.
But you’re greedy.
You want more.
It’s the last thought you have before you succumb to the strangeness of tonight, drifting in an ocean of cinnamon and cherry as your head hits red silk.
────୨ৎ────
The cusp of darkness lies like a shroud above you as you wake up. Something is pushing toward you, heat engulfing your tired frame. Seconds tick by in a meaningless fashion before your mind catches up to the tickle of blonde tresses against your back.
It seems that sometime in the night, Wanda has come back for you. She cocoons around you, pushing in at strange intervals.
You almost ask her if something is wrong before a sound submerges your train of thought.
Wanda’s scattered breath weighs heavily in the air. Sounds you have never heard from her before now moaned directly into your ear.
It stuns you into silence as you focus on her movements.
Hips buck against your back, seeking pleasure in your unassuming form. Wanda grinds gently, like waves cruising along the coastline, back and forth in smooth motions. Her sleeping shorts ruffle on your lower back, bunching with the movement of her hips and pressing into you.
You can hear her breath grow heavier by the second, puffing against the shell of your ear. The last remnants of slumber burn away from you as your own breath hitches in your throat. You wonder what she’s dreaming about.
At least you think she’s dreaming…
The lips resting against your neck expose Wanda's pleasure as she moans silently, “Fuck, I can’t stop… Baby Bambi, fuck.”
The sound of her sends a shiver through you. She isn’t dreaming. Your stepmother is humping your sleeping form because she wants you.
Needs you.
You have to suppress the need to grind back into her desperately. It’s like a sickness, her desperation bleeding into your own as your breath grows quicker.
A hand sneaks beneath your t-shirt. The warmth of her palm travels up- up- up until she’s cupping one of your tits gently. Fingers circle the sensitive flesh of your nipple, not hard enough to rouse any real reaction, but constant enough for the wetness between your thighs to grow.
“You feel so good, baby Bambi.”
The ache in your chest explodes at her words, leaving you to pant against the sheets as you try to keep quiet. You fear what would happen if she knew you were awake, the thought of her stopping almost lets a whine slip past your slack lips.
Her other hand palms against your side now, gripping your hips lightly before braving the path down. She skims over your lower stomach, pushing you deeper against Wanda’s moving hips before she’s rubbing a teasing pressure against your underwear.
Two fingers rub in circular motions, only interrupted by her wild jerking. Wanda’s fingers drag a path across the sticky wetness of your pussy. She tests the stretch of your underwear, pushing against your opening before retreating and returning to your clit.
The bucking turns rougher, with sporadic jumps followed by a drawn-out “Baby, fuck-”
You squeeze your eyes shut, begging for the mercy of her mounting pleasure before you come in your panties, untouched, and reveal yourself. Instead, there is a murmur against your neck, something that sounds suspiciously like “fuck it,” before soft lips trail kisses against the back of your neck.
The movement of her hips stops, then her haughty voice breaks the newfound stillness: “I know you’re awake.”
For a moment, the world freezes as a thousand thoughts drift through your head.
Has she known the entire time?
Were you not supposed to wake up?
Is she mad at you?
But your inner panic is cut short as a thigh pushes itself between your legs. The warmth of her is a stark contrast to the wet patch sticking to the inside of your thigh.
Her hands shift to hold your hips firmly as she starts rocking you with her movement, surrendering you to her mercy as she drags you against the meat of her thigh. Your swollen clit strains against the soaked fabric of your underwear, the flimsy material the only hindrance between your flesh and hers.
“Let mommy take care of you, hm, what do you say, baby?”
A desperate keen is the only response she gets as she flips you.
The weight of a body pins you flat against the bed, coarse fabric pushing along your back as her chest settles atop you. Rougher hands lift until your hips wag in the air.
“You really thought mommy wouldn’t notice, baby?”
There is not a moment of wasted breath before your underwear is quickly pushed to the side and her fingers plunge into you. The naughty noise of wet squealing and your surprised moans bounce against the bedroom walls.
“Fuck, well done, baby Bambi, you take me so well.” The hair on the back of your neck drifts with her words as they blow over your skin. Wanda’s pushing against her hand, humping you as she fucks you roughly.
She grunts deeply, “Can mommy tell you a secret?”
The pads of Wanda’s fingertips rail against your sweet spot repeatedly, her words barely hanging on to meaning. She laughs at your pathetic cries, pushing your head further into the sheets. A pool of saliva turns the white fabric sheer.
Her moans grow in volume with your own, the both of you speeding toward pure bliss.
“Shit, I've been thinking about this for so long.”
Your skin surrenders to her teeth as they lodge into your shoulder.
“Ever since I first saw you, mommy knew you needed her.”
She forces your head to the side before she’s kissing you deeply, a tongue forcing its way down your throat. Wanda licks into you as if she's starving, drinking your spit like it’s one of her expensive wines. Her pace speeds up, hurling you toward pleasure faster than you can keep up.
The pressure in your stomach grows and grows, your crying spreading spit across both of your faces.
Wanda hushes you, “Oh, I know, baby, I know.”
“You’ve been working so hard trying to hide from mommy, haven’t you, baby Bambi?”
Her voice grows louder, hinting at how deeply she is affected by her own words.
“It’s why you’re going to quit your job and spend your time with me.”
The fingers inside of you are the only thing you can focus on as you moan your answer.
Wanda releases you from her hold, sitting up on her knees until she towers over your frame. The sweet bliss of your orgasm fades away as she takes her fingers with her. You whine, tears springing to your eyes as the taste of your denied relief sits strong on your tongue.
“Will you do what mommy tells you?
Your ass pushes against her crotch, a small cry of frustration the only sound you manage to make as she palms your ass. You twist your neck all the way to see her, her question going unheard as the sight of her licking your arousal off her fingers consumes you.
The pink of her tongue curls around her digits, dragging across the wet pads of her fingertips seductively slowly. Wanda holds eye contact all the while you watch helplessly, wanting nothing more than for the fingers to drive back into you. A moan rumbles from deep in Wanda’s throat, your answering whine going ignored as she refuses to touch you.
Wanda clicks her tongue, the mental timer ticking down to its end tally.
A slap rings through the bedroom like a gunshot, almost louder than the keening moan that tears through you.
It startles you enough to have words spilling out of you faster than you can comprehend them,
“Yes! Yes, whatever you want! Please, mommy, anything!”
You barely know what you’re saying. Your words are nothing more than nonsensical babble, but it must have made her happy because her fingers come back, railing you harder than ever before. Wanda is back to humping you too, pushing her fingers deeper as she grinds into you.
“There you go, good girl!”
You can’t hear her anymore, the pressure in your stomach is now balancing on a needle’s point. It’s overwhelming: the thickness of your desire choking you, and you begin to fight against her grip. You don’t know what you’re doing, your mind far away as your body fights the inevitable.
Her weight settles back over you as she shushes you gently, her words soft even as her fingers continue their drilling into your wet hole.
“Hush, baby, you’re okay. You’re okay, give in. You can give in now.”
You whine, a panicked noise your only response as the feeling inside of you reaches its limit. It feels like you’re going to explode, the feeling stronger than you have ever felt it before. It blisters inside you, festering onto every nerve, expanding the numbing pleasure from the tips of your fingertips and down to your toes.
Wanda pushes your face into the pillows, the suffocating lack of air, strangely enough, sending you flying over the edge. The loud moaning and jerking against your back tell you that Wanda came right with you.
It’s the last thought you have before the void plunges you in headfirst.
A hazy flicker of static hums inside you as you float far above your own mind. Dim lights simmer beneath your eyelids, a pattern of no sense or reason drawing across your mind like a gentle embrace. Warmth envelopes you, a soothing voice cooing at you while wetness and sweat are wiped away with soft hands.
You’ve just returned to your body when Wanda slides back next to you in bed—all resemblance of space a laughable notion now. Her voice drifts along your residual softness, “Well done, my beautiful girl. You’ll call your manager in the morning, and then we’ll talk. Let's sleep.”
Her palm brushes your cheek before she leans down to plant a sweet kiss atop the red flush. You hum your agreement, the previous conversation long gone from memory. But if it’s what mommy wants, then it’s what she’ll get.
Wanda wraps around you, her body curling into your own as her hand cups you carefully.
AO3 | My Stories MasterList | Tip Jar💰| Agatha + Reader List |
Warnings: A/O / Alpha Boss Agatha / Love and Humping / G!P / Trapped AU / Knot / wlw / Boss x Reader / quitting / love declarations / scenting / clothed grinding / Possessive / 18+
You slammed your finger against the elevator button harder, begging for it to close.
But the second you saw your boss’s blue eyes clock you, she was moving towards the door with gusto.
No matter how many times you pressed the button, the doors didn’t close.
She was 10 feet, 9, you saw the blue black bouse you loved on her.
8, oh come on.
You spotted the envelope opened the letter creased in her hand.
There was a a metal scratching noise as finally the elevator doors groaned and started to close.
7 feet, and can hear her heels now.
You really didn’t want to do this, that’s why you’d waited until she was in a lunch meeting to drop the letter on her desk.
The elevator door is less than a foot from being closed but the fifty year old woman in her pencil skirt, heels, and blouse is jogging fully to the elevator now and her hand reaches out.
Sliding between the metal doors, and it doesn’t so much as kiss her knuckles before it opens
Your eyes cast down at your shoes.
Mrs. Harkness presses the elevator button that your sweaty fingers had just been jabbing.
The doors close once more, and you are holding your breath.
“What is this?” Your boss turns to you, she looks positively put out. Or maybe something more?
“It’s my resignation letter.” Your voice doesn’t shake, thank god for small favors.
You slink back to the metal handlebars on the side of the ugly metal elevator.
“I have my PHD I promise you I know how to read. Look at me!” Harkness's anger flares and you flinch. Hating yourself for not getting your scripts filled, hating yourself for being emotional.
You tried to open your mouth but Harkness snapped again.
“Look at me, damn it!”
Your eyes snapped to hers, you smell the alpha in the metal box.
The spit glistening on her bottom lip, you’ve never seen her so furious.
You shifted on your feet and tried to look away, but Mrs. Harkness wasn’t having it. Fisting your resignation, she yelled again.
“Don’t you dare look away from me while you abandon me! Look at me, while you throw away-all we’ve-” Her face pales and she changes her sentence mid way “-worked so hard to do-to do here!”
“Mrs. Harkness, I said in my res-”
“I don’t accept, I don’t accept your letter or resignation. You cannot leave me.” Harkness insisted and you hated how your heart ached.
She ripped up the paper like a child throwing a tantrum. It was stubborn and ridiculous, and god if you didn’t love her.
How her pheromones were bursting, you smelled her rage, her fear, her…want.
The elevator dinged and the two of you spun to see the doors opening on a floor you hadn’t chosen.
Three people about to get on.
“Elevators full, get the next one!” Harknes shouts and they look irritated.
“There’s plenty of room.” The guy said but the CEO is pounding the buttons again, not allowing for such
“Step onto this elevator and you're fired before you can press a button.” Mrs. Harkness's lip curled like some kind of caged tiger.
They all backed up, like the floor was in fact lava.
The doors closed once more, and this time, your boss smashes her fist against the emergency shut off.
You're both cast in darkness except for the low white light glow.
The air unit shuts off too and now you are in for a world of hurt.
“No, bad idea, very bad” you whisper, but she’s by the buttons, and you can’t figure out how to explain the terrible error she’d just committed.
“What did I do? Why? Why would you want to leave? Is it the pay, I’ll give you a pay raise! I’ll double it!” She says, chest heaving, and your panic is misread.
“I’ll triple it, god your worth that and ten times more? Is it the workload? I know I ask too much of you-I call all hours! You need space-” Her voice cracks and you see the sweat trickle down the column of her neck.
You press your sweaty palms against the metal wall and feel the heat.
“Mrs. Harkness-” You try professionally but the alpha was practically snarling at you. And the chemical reaction was causing your heat to kickstart.
Still, the CEO was terrified, and she was spiralling, and not understanding that the woman of her affections, the omega, was in a very intense predicament.
Nor was she aware of what you were doing to her own body.
Her hand went into her hair and her forehead as she tried to stop the panic attack, but losing you wasn’t something she thought to fear.
“All those nights, I-I get it -but I thought we were. I mean I thought you-” She’s losing her mind in front of you. Real time, right here, in a metal coffin hanging in a skyscraper.
“Agatha-” You pant again, but the slick is rolling down your own legs, soaking through the expensive slacks, and you would soon drip down onto the floor.
Your underwear like sandpaper on your puffy lips.
Your knee tilted in, making you look like you were going to piss yourself.
Agatha tried to stand up straight, but as you stared at her you wanted to yell, surely she could tell physically something was off.
Her inability to read this situation was out of character on every one of her CEO business deals.
And her face was flush, as she tried to stiffen up, not look like she wanted to fall to her knees and beg.
But as she tried to find some model of decorum, her voice broke open;
“I-I’ll do anything-I-I can be better.” Your boss loses her ability to pretend this was about work.
“Harknes, it’s just business. You’ll find someone else who ca-” You say, trying to detach, but your voice is hoarse. Your heat is already clouding you, and you can smell her.
It’s not the perfume that sits on the top of her blouse fabric and wrists.
Nope.
You swear that feral bit of your vein can see the vein in her neck, the sweat, the heat - you blink a few times.
What did your ancestors do without supressents? How were you supposed to do this?
“I need you-not not for work I can’t.” Agatha is making fists as her adrenaline skyrockets.
“You need to start the elevator again,” you groan body completely pressed against the wall now. Your wincing, it’s painful, way worse then you had
“I don’t mean for work I mean for-” Agatha’s losing her ability to speak and you grunt and twist in pain.
“ALPHA FOR FUCKS SAKE START THE ELEVATOR!” You scream and Agatha’s eyes bulge.
But so did the shaft in her pencil skirt.
Her hand reached out to the metal wall.
“You-you’ve never called me-“ The arousal deepens her voice and it’s doing things to your womb.
You double over grabbing your stomach in pain, but you lift your face to see your boss.
Fuck it.
“I quit because I was doubling the medically recommended doses of suppressants. We are too compatible, not just how we both order the same stupid take out! Not like I know how to help you in business deals or can anticipate your moves. Like stupid chemical type of compatibility. I’ve been heat sick for the past month and I’m out of suppressants- and I can’t sleep and all I can think of is the way you lick your lips - I can’t focus! I can’t do business because my uterus is just as in love with you as I am! NOW START THE ELEVATOR BEFORE I MOUNT YOU!” You yell at her and Agatha hesitates but her hand numbly reaches out for the elevator emergency button.
Then her fingers flick the metal lever up, then down, and up again, back and forth it clicks, and you groan out an angry noise.
“Agatha!” You yell but the highly educated CEO is flicking the lever over and over and nothing is happening.
“No, no, no, no, no, no, this isn’t happening.” You shook and then knelt onto the ground. Hand trembling as you reached inside your pants pocket to pull out your phone.
No bars.
Of course not.
Agatha is pressing buttons on the elevator, but her PHD must have in fact been in resignations and not the electrical work in lifts.
“Your phone! Did you bring your phone?” You cry out at your boss. Her dark hair whips quickly as moves her hands to her hips.
Pencil skirt, no pockets, of course not.
“No, come on!” You looked up into the dead elevator ceiling.
“Stay calm.” Agatha put her hands out, spreading her fingers but not coming near you. You can see the tent in her skirt, down to the girth and swelling knot near her base.
“Oh my god, you so not telling me that right now!” Your fingers dig into your own thigh.
“Bunny, what do you want me to say freak out, that’s what people say, right?”
“Oh my god!” You don’t - you can’t.
“Take a deep breath!” Agatha’s nostrils flared, she was taking deep long intakes - high off the smell of you.
“I’m not in labor I’m in heat and you smell like your going to be in a rut so don’t tell me to breathe! GOD SO LIKE AN ALPHA!”
The vein in Agatha’s forehead was pounding so hard you could see it from the three feet away.
You were in the corner on the floor, and the CEO of this building was clinging to the corner with the buttons.
“Bunny, I’ve been on suppressants for a rut since you interviewed. Trust me I’ve masturbated more than a frat boy. It’s amazing there’s anything left in my balls, it’s like you have a string connected to my cock!” Agatha shouts at you, and you wince again.
“Don’t call me Bunny- Fuck and don’t yell at me! God poor you and your hyper sex drive and your lonely hand! I’m going to-” You stop degrading the most terrifying CEO in the United States.
Too embarrassed, the pheromones your body was trying to push out to calm the alpha.
“I-my god, you smell so sweet.” Alpha puts a hand up to her mouth and nose but she’s inhaling like a pervert sniffing panties.
“Tell you what, you stay in your corner and I’ll stay in mine.” You regard her like a prize fighter.
“I-”
“No, don’t say anything kind or dirty- I like you too much. Just stop looking at me.” You say but Agatha spots the puddle on the floor, all the blood goes right to her shaft.
“Baby-I.” Agatha’s voice deepens, she’s sorry, she feels horrible you know, you can tell.
“Don’t look at me, if we do this-I get pregnant and you keep your fast track CEO life with your penthouse life and your rich parties! It’ll be me who’s got to quit and get big and fat! I’ll be alone putting child locks on my apartment with cracked nipples and endless nights of screaming baby and vomit in my hair! SO STOP THINKING OF FUCKING ME AND IMAGINE CHILD SUPPORT!”
The elevator shifts, no not shift, it lurches forward, and the alpha’s basic desire kicks in.
So Agatha falls to the floor and grabs you. Cradles your body like it was all that mattered. Lifting you into her lap and curling around you so that whatever hell fell on you, fell on her first.
But as the ground slanted to the right, your boss held on and waited for you to to descend to the bottom of the building.
But as you lie in her lap, her erection presses against your butt and you whimper and moan.
You two are a sweaty heap on the floor. In the dark.
Agatha holds herself back from biting your neck, deciding right there that if you two died, she wanted her last act to make sure you knew.
You were it.
You were panting faster, it was painful and erotic and all you wanted but now you felt crazed.
You're scared, but Agatha’s arms around you are so tight, her lips move to your ear, and she speaks the truth;
“I would give up the penthouse, I’d get rid of the jag, I hate the damn lonely place and the stupid car. It’s just stuff, it’s all dumb, I’d- I’d get a minivan-”
You laugh weakly in her hold. Unable to ever seen that.
“You would never get a minivan in this city.” You whisper and wince in pain again.
“I’d get us a paddled bubble on wheels, keep you two safe. Plus the best car seat. I’d rub your feet when you're gorgeous and swollen. I’ll wash the vomit out of your hair, buy you French fancy creams, and put them on your nipples yourself.”
You both moaned when Agatha’s cock tip seemed to like that idea too much.
“You just want to fuck an omega in a heat without a condom.” You squirm in her lap and Agatha’s arms wrapped around your middle don’t lessen.
“I want to push inside of you and bite your neck so no one ever gets the chance to.” Agatha admits trying to make a joke, and be honest. But you both moan as you shift against her.
“Stop flirting.”You whined, but you felt her shaft press against you and you didn’t want her to be such a gentleman anymore.
“You're in my lap, it’s all I can do to breathe in your scent and pray I don’t devour you whole.”
“Aggie-” You moan, having never called her that outloud before.
But the lights turn on.
“What fresh hell?” The alpha growls.
“The elevators working.” You wine, and Agatha pushes a possessive scent.
“Please don’t attack the nice firefighters trying to get us out of this- Agatha?” You groan as she moves her arm and reaches as far as she can. Smashing it to stop the elevator again.
“Agatha!” You yelp but she pushes you onto the ground, her blue blouse ripping open, and she has you in a cute little bunny humping position. Her fingers finding the waistline of your trousers and yanking the wet fabric down.
A cute little breeding pose.
You gasp at the cool air against your pussy.
“I’ll learn how to put a car seat in tomorrow, okay?” Your boss promises and you’ve seen her build companies and empires of money and power. If the powerful alpha could do all that, well, she could do anything.
You grunt, and the idea of Agatha being a good parent only makes you want her more.
The alpha’s hands move down your ass cheeks, and you’ve never wanted to be someone's so badly.
Agatha’s cock leaks in her tight skirt as she pushes your lower back further down. Loving you with your hands and knees. Your ass in the air, slick coating the inside of your thighs.
Agatha’s mouth waters, and her knot pulsates at the scent of you.
“Fuck,” you can’t breathe, and try to hump her face.
“Bunny, call me Aggie again. I’m not your boss; you resigned.”
Your soaked panties drag along her thigh, as she flexes and shifts underneath you to make sure your clit feels pressure with every little movement.
“Tsk.” Wanda’s hand moves from her book to your hip, guiding you to set the pace. “I know it feels good, but Mommy told you to not speed up.”
The gentleness in her hand as she moves it from your hip to brush a thumb over your cheek is almost frightening.
“You’re doing so well, my little sweetheart,” she coos, flexing her thigh once again and delighting in the sound that leaves your lips. “That’s it. Keep making a mess on Mommy’s pants. Shh, shh, no thinking. Just keep riding, baby.”
The pressure that’s been building is kept just under the level you need it to be at to cum. She’s still clothed, and she’s got that book in her hand, and you’re completely bare other than the panties you’ve ruined. The fabric sticks to you, and it does nothing to prevent your wetness from leaking out onto your thighs and Wanda’s pants.
“Oh, that’s it, what a good girl for Mommy,” Wanda laughs out, setting the book aside. Her hands—warm and solid—curl around your waist once again. “Mommy’s messy baby. Doing so well, grinding like that. I knew you could listen and behave. Oh yes, you can. Who’s my good girl?”
You don’t have to say it out loud.
The way you moan and grind a little faster tells her all she needs to know.
Trigger Warnings: Smuttttttt. Horribly written smut.
Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader
Rating: M. Minors DNI
Masterlist with parts 1-7 here
Chapter Eight
Translations: котёнок - Kitten; malyshka - baby; lyubov - love; dorogoya - darling; I probably missed some… I should have probably been doing this the entire time, no? Eh… My b.
A/N: Its uhhh.. My first time writing smut for the public so uh… be gentle pls? Lol. Lemme know how it went. Writing dialog and smut makes me cringe haha. This was also written while I was in the hospital. Is it bad that the 5 day stay was almost a vacation compared to life? Haha, living the dreeeaammm. Someone pls hit me with their car or something so I can go back and have 0 responsibilities for another week. Promise I won’t sue 😛
Once again, edited while floaty. Apparently that’s the only time I can get the motivation to open my laptop. In my defense, I’m currently in the middle of a move and starting a new job so pls forgive my laziness. I’m a tad overwhelmed. It’s finnnne.
During your time at the aquarium with Wanda, you hadn't noticed how late it had gotten. Logically, you knew it was around dinner time because you both had just eaten, but you didn't realize until you both entered the dimly lit cottage that it was so dark outside. Despite the long day you’d had, you weren't ready to go to bed just yet. Body thrumming with an unfamiliar energy, and you could tell it stemmed from Wanda's hand still holding onto your waist. Now that you were home, it would be socially acceptable for her to let you go, but instead, she chose to linger.
Never one to enjoy having others in your personal space, regardless of if you were touch starved, you were thrilled to discover that you didn't mind the witch being so close to you. In fact, the mere thought of being separated from her made your stomach roil with anxiety. Looking at the redhead next to you as you traversed the hallway towards your room for the evening, a new kind of craving overcame you. This one was different from the hunger you had experienced just before dinner, and you realized that you couldn't get enough of the witch’s touch and presence.
Reaching your shared room Wanda finally moves to separate from you, and as she heads opposite from you, her hand falling away, you make a split-second decision. Well. Decision was being generous. More accurately you allowed your impulses to take over, unable to think logically - you couldn’t let Wanda get too far. Not that there was anywhere for her to go in a bedroom you both shared, but your brain wasn’t exactly running on all cylinders at this time.
“Wait!”
You don’t know what, or even if you were thinking, knowing only that in the scant few feet the witch was away from you, your whole world felt like it was collapsing. A lightly calloused hand shot out as you turned to grab her hand again, and in your exuberance, you accidentally ended up yanking the woman towards you. In an unexpected feat of grace surprising both of you, you managed to catch Wanda. Despite her velocity, you were able to use her momentum, spinning both of you. A small jolt of pain wracked through your bones as your back landed harshly against the smooth wall, with Wanda safely in your arms. Chests heaved for air, both of you having fully expected to collide, ending up in a heap on the floor.
After the initial surprise wore off, both women giggled, though neither made a move to separate. “What is it, Y/N?” the older woman asked. Amusement colored her gaze, mixed with something else you couldn’t quite decipher. You were still learning new facial expressions to this day.
“I-” You started then stopped, trying to assemble your thoughts and determine just how vulnerable you were willing to be. “Thank you, Wanda. For today. For… everything. This was..” you trailed off, unable to find the words. “Everything.”
You hoped Wanda would understand what you meant by that even if you yourself weren’t quite sure just yet. What you were sure of is that you wanted to return to Wanda at least a fraction of the care and devotion she had shown you in all this time. You knew you didn’t want her to walk away, heart aching at the concept. What you didn’t know was what you wanted to do next, you hadn’t exactly gotten that far, but you couldn’t stomach the thought of being apart from her.
The redhead’s gaze softened at your words. “You don’t need to thank me, lyubov. You deserve so much, and I just want you to be happy.”
The words “with me” went unspoken, though she was dying to let them out. Instead, well-manicured hands lifted the tips of her fingers to gently push some fallen strands of your hair from your face, as she studied you curiously. A feeling you both were on the precipice of something settled firmly within the witch’s chest. Wanda was fairly confident she knew exactly what that something was, but she wouldn’t plunge you into anything you weren’t yet ready to fall into.
Though certain in her assumptions, Wanda was unable to clearly read your surface thoughts. A jumbled mass of emotions, each thought no more than fleeting before another took its place, your mind was a whirlwind. The next steps had to be taken by you, and if you weren’t up for that yet, the redhead was content with where you both were at this moment.
A palpable tension filled the air, conveying an unspoken awareness that something transformative was about to occur. Anticipation lingered in the atmosphere, creating a delicate blend of nervousness and excitement. There was an understated, magnetic attraction that drew you closer to Wanda. Completely unaware as you were, enthralled by the alluring softness of her lips which stoked a longing within you to know if they felt as velvety as they appeared, you were unconsciously learning forward.
It was a moment of breathless expectation, where time seemed to stretch. The world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you suspended in the beauty of the impending inevitability. Eyes finally connecting with Wanda’s, a silent, mutual understanding was shared, and in that moment, you made a decision.
”May I…?” your voice a husky tremor, thick with emotion.
Never had Wanda found you more endearing than in that moment. Your innocent consideration that you would need to ask her permission after everything. As if she hadn't been waiting for this very moment for so long. As if this wasn’t what she had been waiting for since first discovering the Darkhold, and all the possibilities of a multiverse.
“Please, Y/N.” The witch’s reply was all but a breathy whisper.
As your lips and hers finally connected in a gentle, exploratory kiss, an electric current seemed to pass through their bodies, igniting a fire within your souls. It was a moment of pure magic, a culmination of all the emotions and desires that had been building between you both. Breaths mingled, blending together in a perfect harmony of passion and longing.
The softness of the kiss spoke volumes, revealing a depth of connection that you were certain words could never fully capture. A tender exchange, filled with a delicate balance of vulnerability and trust. Each touch, each movement of Wanda’s lips against yours, was deliberate, as if she was savoring every precious moment of this newfound intimacy with you.
With every passing second, the world around faded away, leaving only the two of you enveloped in a bubble of pure bliss. Time seemed to stand still as you explored this uncharted territory together. A feeling as if something inside, you hadn’t known had been missing, was now perfectly slotted into place. Home.
When it came to kissing you, Wanda marveled at the stark contrasts between your Avenger variant, and you. While your other variant was self-assured, often taking command of a kiss with practiced skill, you, on the other hand, were gentle and tentative. It was evident that you were willing to let Wanda take the lead, which she found incredibly empowering, almost addictive. She knew she should probably take this first kiss slowly for you, however, your submissiveness was simply too delicious for her to pass up such an opportunity.
Long, slender fingers came to rest just under your jaw, firmly holding you close, Wanda using her body to press you harder against the wall, as if trying to merge your two bodies into one. A gasp escaped you at the length of the witch’s body pressed so intimately against you. Wanda, ever opportunistic, took advantage of your open mouth to deepen the kiss, her lithe tongue swiping softly at the seam of your lips in askance.
You couldn’t even fathom a moment where you would ever deny Wanda this request, opening your mouth to grant her the access she desired. Her skillful tongue sensually slid against yours, eliciting a barely suppressed whimper from you. With a little coaxing Wanda was able to entice your tongues to engage in a seductive dance, leaving you breathless and heady.
Eventually, the kiss broke, leaving both of you craving more. It had opened the door to a world of possibilities, and in that moment, everything changed. The bond between the pair of you had deepened more than you could know, and more than Wanda had hoped for. Despite initial reservations, your heart knew then you would follow Wanda anywhere, irrevocably tied to the witch forever. There was no one you wanted or trusted more.
While trying to catch your breath, no words were spoken. Taking this moment, your intrusive thoughts began creeping in because of course they were. Desperately you hoped the woman wouldn’t view the kiss as a mistake, praying that you measured up to your superhero counterpart. That you were truly what she had been looking for all this time, even if you weren’t anything special.
You would do anything to have her lips on yours again, and briefly a thought occurred to you that this woman could murder you, and you would probably thank her for the privilege. Therapy, maybe you should ask Wanda if she could get you in to see a therapist, because that wasn’t concerning at all.
It wasn't in you to feel ashamed just then though, not when the very thought resonated in your soul. Gods, was this what you had been missing your entire life? And it had been right under your nose, for ages you had been unknowingly depriving yourself, hellbent on self-sabotage.
As you finally caught your breath, the witch gazed at you hungrily, causing a shiver to race down your spine.
"What do you want, detka?" Wanda asked, voice sultry. She tilted her head as if curious, but in reality, she was relishing in your disheveled appearance, eyes raking over your blown pupils, and kiss-swollen lips. So responsive for her, and this was only a kiss. Your first kiss with her, to be specific. Wanting to completely ruin you, it took every ounce of self-restraint for Wanda to wait for your answer instead.
Chest heaving, your brain struggled to pull together enough brain cells in order to provide her with an answer. When you finally spoke, your voice had a throaty quality you had never heard before.
”You. I want you.”
Green eyes, the color of jade, sparkled in such delight they could have practically illuminated the room with their vibrant glow. As you stared into her mesmerizing gaze, you got lost in her presence. Your mind was a myriad of thoughts, unable to focus on anything else. Every word she spoke, every movement she made, had a profound impact on you. As if the witch had cast a spell over you, weaving her magic effortlessly, and you willingly succumbed to her enchantment, eager to be under her captivating influence.
A mischievous smile played upon her lips, adding an air of mystery to her already enchanting demeanor. The grin hinted at the hidden depths within her, the playful intentions that lied just beneath the surface. So, as Wanda’s mischievous smile lingered, you couldn't help but be drawn further into her web of enchantment, willingly surrendering yourself to the metaphorical spell she had cast.
"Oh, lyubov, will you let me ruin you?" she asked teasingly, her voice filled with impishness and a hint of excitement.
Swallowing nervously, you felt desire building deep within you. Your experiences in this matter were limited, but you trusted the former avenger all the same. Still, you had a sneaking suspicion that whatever Wanda had in store for you would likely test your limits, even if you had no idea what those were yet. Eagerly, you nodded, ready to throw yourself headlong into this unknown, trusting the witch implicitly.
The moment her silky lips met yours once again, a hunger ignited within her, surprising both of you with its intensity and passion. Wanda pulled you close, her fingers curled in your hair, keeping you in place as she plundered your mouth. You could do little but let her lead the way, trying not to embarrass yourself with how much she was turning you on. Her sharp teeth tugged on your lower lip before biting down hard enough to draw blood. A pitiful whine was barely restrained by you as Wanda lapped at the new wound she had caused.
Deciding to test your boundaries during the kiss, the redhead gently wrapped her other hand around your throat. Not tight enough to cut off your oxygen supply, but the pressure did restrict some of the blood flow to your brain, leaving you in a deliciously foggy haze. A breathy moan escaped you, which Wanda eagerly swallowed as you gladly ceded control of the kiss to her. Pride out the window, you were no longer capable of trying to withhold any sounds she could draw from you. Wanda found it delightful that so far you were proving to be the perfect little котёнок for her. The redhead eagerly anticipated discovering what other surprises you had in store for her.
The other hand not on your neck moved from your hair down to the first button of your shirt and hesitated. “Is this okay, Y/N?” She asked, voice surprisingly soft for someone who currently had one of their hands wrapped around your neck.
Sluggish thoughts hazy with lust, you nodded with what would have probably counted as an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm. Having someone as gorgeous as Wanda in front of you, asking for your consent, you found you couldn’t be bothered by your eagerness. You were a simp, and you were fine with that. Anything to get more of Wanda touching you.
The former Avenger grinned, finding you utterly adorable. She was charmed by how needy you were for her. Unable to help but revel in the power dynamics between you, relishing the opportunity to challenge your blissed-out mind and watch as you struggled to comply with her demands. It was a delightful game for Wanda, and she was going to have fun training you.
Before she could continue though, the witch wanted you to be absolutely sure. Regardless of how long she had waited for you, if you weren’t truly ready, Wanda didn’t want to push you. She wanted all of you, everything you had to give, but if you still weren’t ready, weren’t sure, she could wait. Wanda would wait forever if she had to.
“Lyubov moya, if you want me to stop at any point, just say the word, and I’ll stop immediately, okay? Full stop, I promise, and I won’t be upset with you.” she insisted, voice thick with longing as her nose grazed gently across yours in a reassuring manner.
Even now, Wanda was always putting your safety and happiness as her top priority, endearing her evermore to you. How could you have ever doubted that this woman had anything but your best interests at heart? The purest of intentions?
Knowing it was a bit over dramatic, while you appreciated her reassurances, if the witch didn’t do something in the next few seconds, you felt like you might combust. Releasing a needy whine, you hoped to convey your desperation to Wanda who only chuckled at your behavior.
“Relax, malyshka, I’ll take good care of you, I promise. But first, I need you to use your words, darling.” The hand on your throat easing its grip a little, allowing more blood to your brain, giving you back some of your intellectual capacity.
With Wanda’s body covering yours, you petulantly ground against her in the hopes of achieving any sort of friction, causing her lips to quirk upwards in an amused smirk. You weren’t going to get out of this until she had confirmation of your understanding, and if she happened to tease you into a petulant, writing mess in the process, well, that was just the cherry on top.
Giving in, you let out a keening whimper. “I understand Wands, please. Just touch me. Please!”
A wolfish grin overtook Wanda’s face at your begging. Green eyes locked with yours, and she could see the desire and longing in your eyes, mirroring her own. The way you looked at her, with a mixture of vulnerability and trust, made her heart flutter with a sense of joy and fulfillment. You were willing to surrender yourself to her guidance, to allow her to take the lead and shape you into the person she knew you could become. That kind of implicit trust and faith you had in her shot her arousal through the roof.
With each passing moment, Wanda's excitement grew, knowing that she had the opportunity to train and mold you into her perfect little котёнок. She relished the thought of all the fun games that lay ahead, confident in her ability to guide you towards your full potential. Your willingness to submit to her desires fueled her passion, making her all the more determined to own you completely. This power was the ultimate high, and she didn’t think she could ever get enough of it.
Her hand moved from your throat to wrap around your waist with a firm yet gentle grasp, pulling you closer to her in an undeniable display of ownership. The touch of her hand on your hip sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, igniting a fire within you that you had never experienced before. It was a possessiveness that transcended the boundaries of mere desire, a possessiveness that spoke volumes about the depth of her emotions for you.
Far from being suffocating, her dominance was a testament to the strength of your bond. A tangible manifestation of the passion that burned between the two of you, it was a flame that only grew stronger with each passing moment. Her assertive touch was a declaration, a proclamation of her utter devotion and fierce protectiveness towards you.
In that instant, you couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the intensity of her feelings. A sensation that both thrilled and comforted you, it was a magnetic pull that drew you closer to her with each passing second. Feeling as if you were the center of her universe, the focus of her unfaltering attention, and you visibly preened under her attentiveness. Your hands which were clenching the bottom of her shirt held fast, unwilling to let her move more than a few inches away.
Now that she had your consent and had subtly established your place with her, Wanda's svelte hands returned to the task of unbuttoning your shirt. Unable to resist the allure of your lips for long, she passionately kissed you once again. As your lips moved against each other with a sensual rhythm, Wanda swiftly unbuttoned your shirt. Before you knew it, your shirt was completely undone, revealing your torso to her exploring hands. A shiver ran through your body as her slightly cool palm pressed against your abdomen for the very first time, the gravity of her body pressing you further into the wall. While you had felt her touch on your skin before, it had never been this intimate, this exhilarating.
As her hand glided over your bare skin, heat coursed through your body, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. The flames within you steadily stoked by every caress. Your breath hitched as her touch lingered, tracing delicate patterns along your abdomen.
Growing desperate you deepened the kiss. Your hands instinctively reach for her, moving from the hem of her shirt to tangle in her hair as you pull her closer. The magnitude of the moment was almost too much, feeling the desire consuming you from within.
Wanda's lips slid against yours with a fervent hunger. Her roving hands continued their journey, tracing every curve and contour of your torso with an almost reverent touch, sending pleasure coursing through your body. As your lips moved in perfect synchrony, heightening your senses, it left you yearning for more. The room was filled with a heady mix of desire and anticipation, as you both gave in to the draw of the moment..
Lost in the haze of passion, you couldn't help but give yourself completely to Wanda's touch. The way she explored every inch of your body with a delicate yet possessive hand left you breathless, craving more of her commanding aura. It was a dance of pleasure and surrender, a symphony of sensations that left you craving her touch like a drug. You had never needed anyone or anything as much as you needed Wanda to continue doing whatever she wanted to you.
As the kiss broke, both of you gasped for air. Wanda, still breathing heavily, leaned back to take in the sight of your newly revealed skin, her eyes darkening with want. Though never having been confident in your own body, often choosing to cover up, to hide in your self-consciousness, the way Wanda was looking at you now though left no doubt she liked what she saw. Yet still your insecurities plagued you, especially now that you were no longer covered up and there was nothing for you to hide behind.
The witch didn’t need to read your mind to know where your thoughts were going. The expression on your face, the way you tried to curl in on yourself made it plain. Voice thick with desire, Wanda needed to reassure you. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N. Don’t ever let yourself believe otherwise.”
Though you didn’t truly believe her words, her tone and the way she held you like she couldn’t get enough was almost capable of convincing you in and of itself. You decided then that throwing yourself into this was the fastest way to get out of your head. Throwing caution to the wind, you slammed your lips against Wanda’s again, desperate for more of her.
Impatient, you couldn't resist the urge to guide Wanda's hands lower, craving for her to touch you more. Deft fingers brushed against a particularly sensitive spot, sending a surge of pleasure shooting through you, and tearing a quiet gasp from your mouth. Your body responded eagerly to her every caress, arching into her hands, silently begging for more. Emboldened by your response, Wanda's touch grew daring, her kisses to your neck pressing harder leaving red welts that would purple over by tomorrow. Her marks on you would tell all who you belonged to. Her fingers began exploring your body with a newfound confidence. The touch was both gentle and possessive, leaving you with the utter clarity that she wanted to mark every inch of you as her own, even the parts of you no one else would ever see.
The room was filled with the sound of your shared breaths, heavy with desire. Feeling the urgency building within you, your body pressed closer to Wanda's, seeking to ease some of the pressure within. Her touch was all at once overwhelming yet not enough.
Determined to elicit every delicious sound she could from you, one of Wanda's hands finally moved to your breast. Gently she cupped it while her thumb teased you by gliding around your areola, avoiding your hardened bud. She took great enjoyment in your whimpers and gasps as she teased you. If she had it her way, she would keep you like this, never giving you quite what you wanted. Wanda would ease you into that eventually though. For now, this was enough.
Eventually she had mercy on you, letting her thumb lightly graze across your nipple. A deep, throaty groan emanated from within you, your hips bucking against hers, unbidden. Taking the opportunity you had presented her with, Wanda slotted her knee between your thighs, applying firm pressure just where you needed it most. You whispered an exhaled curse as your head slumped forward onto the older woman’s shoulder. Your grip on her tightened, the urge to just rut against Wanda’s leg nearly overpowering what little was left of your rational mind.
Wanda could feel the subtle grinding of your hips against her leg, and she encouraged it, pressing harder each time you arched towards her. The witch grasped your hips firmly, helping to set your rhythm as you desperately sought more friction between the apex of your thighs.
For someone who hadn't even taken off their pants yet, you were surprisingly worked up, but you were far too focused on chasing your high to be overly concerned about it. Sensing how close you were, Wanda pulled away from you, calling forth a keening whine from you. The older woman chuckled softly at your desperation. Her raspy voice next to your ear made you shudder.
"Patience, dorogoya, I don't want you to come just yet unless it's in my mouth or on my fingers."
Wholly unprepared for her words as you were, they almost single-handedly threatened to ruin the witch’s plans as you nearly came on the spot. Wanda was aware that you had likely never edged before, and while she should have shown some mercy, she found no enjoyment in that prospect. Her intention was to have you so drunk for her to the point where you would become a helpless, trembling wreck, willing to do anything she desired just to reach that peak. Then, she planned to repeatedly push you off that ledge so many times that you would be a boneless, quivering mess for her by the time she was done with you.
As her words hung in the air, you felt a mixture of anticipation and hesitation. This was a new territory for you, one that you weren't entirely sure of what you were getting into. But as you looked into Wanda's eyes, filled with desire and a touch of mischief, you couldn't deny your feelings. You wanted to experience everything she was willing to show you, to give yourself fully and trust in her to guide you through this journey of pleasure.
With a deep breath, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper, "I trust you, Wanda."
A smug smile played on Wanda's lips as she gently held your cheek. "Good," she purred, her voice laced with satisfaction. "I promise you won't regret it. Now, let’s take this to the bed.” She didn’t want your first time together to be rutting up against a wall.
Wanda grasped your hand, leading you the remainder of the distance to your shared bed. Once there the witch assisted you in removing the remnants of your clothes, gently pushing you backwards onto the bed. Before joining you, she took a moment to admire your naked body, as you looked up at her with a combination of desire and excitement. You were uncertain of her intentions, but the fact that you were willing to trust her filled Wanda's heart with joy.
With a gaze that could only be described as ravenous, she studied you and quietly uttered a curse. "Fucking exquisite" she husked, hoping to drive home her words from earlier.
Squirming under her intense gaze, you blushed deeply at her compliment. No one had ever called you that before, not in your entire life. The longer you laid there, alone under her scrutiny, the greater your need for Wanda grew. Before you could ask her to rejoin you, she was already removing her own clothes with purpose. You waited with bated breath, as Wanda revealed her body which you swore could have been sculpted by Michelangelo himself. Honestly, you thought it was a little unfair for someone to look so perfect. You felt absolutely privileged to be in this moment with her, that she had chosen you of all people to witness her glory. No one you had ever seen, in person or even on tv could compare. Wanda was a goddess, and you wanted to worship at her altar.
The redhead knew she was an attractive woman, but your loud thoughts were giving her quite the ego boost. She had you right where she wanted you, but Wanda would be damned if she allowed your self-deprecation to continue. There was not a single doubt in her mind that you were equally deserving to be here with her.
“Your thoughts are loud, malyshka.” She almost giggled at how red your face turned when she called you out, reminding you of her powers, and your gaze dropped.
“While I’m flattered, darling, you need to know.” Wanda said with certainty as she began crawling up the bed towards you. Once she had crawled up the length of your body, the witch trailed her fingertips along your thigh, and up your torso to your face. Curling a graceful finger under your chin, she tilted your face upwards until you made eye contact.
“You are stunning, lyubov moya. There is no one else I would want to be here with right now. Not in the entire multiverse, believe me, I’ve looked. No one but you. Can you trust me on that, Y/N?”
Green eyes searched Y/E/C for any sign of lingering insecurity. With the witch looking at you so earnestly, your doubts faded into the background. They would likely never be completely silent, but in this moment, those thoughts were just white noise. Speaking was currently too difficult for you so instead you simply nodded at her words.
No longer able to hear your uncertainty as loudly, Wanda felt you were ready to continue. “Good, but just to make sure, I’m going to show you.”
Before you could ask what she meant, Wanda kissed you again. Her hand, which was previously under your chin, caressed down your chest and cupped your breast. She gave it a gentle squeeze, causing a soft sound to escape your throat.
As Wanda's touch re-ignited the flicker of pleasure within you, her lips and tongue traced a path of heated kisses down your neck, leaving a hot trail of saliva behind. Her skilled hand continued to explore your body, evoking an oeuvre of gasps and moans. Eventually, her lips settled on one of the places you desired the most, enveloping your nipple.
Once Wanda's lips closed around your hardened bud, a jolt of pleasure shot through your body, causing you to arch your back in response. Her tongue teased and circled the sensitive bud, sending ecstasy pulsating through your veins. While Wanda continued to lavish attention on your aching nipple, her other hand trailed down your body, caressing and exploring every inch of your skin. The combination of her skilled touch and the intense pleasure coursing through your body made it difficult to think or focus on anything else.
Her hand continued its exploration, gliding over your skin with a feather-light touch. Every brush of her fingertips, each flick of her tongue against you sent your arousal to new heights. Your senses were completely consumed by her, the world around you fading once again into a distant blur.
Completely at Wanda's mercy, you found yourself basking in her every touch and caress. The pleasure she was bestowing upon you was the best high you had ever felt, addictive and irresistible. Your mind was filled with a primal need, a craving for more of the pleasure that only she could provide.
Wanda switched breasts, moving to lavish attention on the other one ensuring it didn't feel neglected. Her hand continued to tease your flesh, raising goosebumps to form on your skin.
Unable to sit still, your own hands came up to tangle themselves in the redhead’s hair. Head held firmly in place by you, Wanda's hand slid lower, exploring the wetness that had pooled between your thighs. Svelte fingers teased your entrance, and you gasped as the anticipation nearly undid you. Back arched, begging for more, you whispered a “please!”
Helpless to deny your plea, Wanda's fingers dipped inside you, your slick allowing them to slide in with ease. You moaned lowly as she began to move her fingers in a slow, deliberate rhythm, curling and stroking against your most sensitive spots. The pleasure built within you, radiating through your body like an electric current.
Your hands tightened in her hair, pulling her closer to you as your hips instinctively rocked against her hand, seeking deeper pleasure. Wanda matched your movements, her pace increasing, driving you closer to the edge. Her lips found yours once again, swallowing your moans as the pleasure consumed you.
The room was filled with the sound of your shared breaths, the wet, almost obscene sound of her fingers moving inside you, and the symphony of your pleasure. Each stroke of her fingers sent you spiraling further into this rapturous euphoria, your body trembling with desire.
Lost in the carnality of the moment, you could feel the heat building within you, the pressure mounting until you were teetering on the edge. Sensing your imminent release, Wanda's fingers quickened their pace, driving you towards oblivion. Moans growing louder, they mingled with the sound of your ragged breaths.
“Are you gonna come for me baby?” She asked, voice dripping sweetly with lust, not letting up the pace even a little. The woman knew what she was doing to you, and couldn’t resist drawing it out just a bit.
Beneath her, you squirmed and bucked in place, desperation eeking off you in waves. You hadn’t exactly had many partners to begin with, and you had certainly never been especially vocal with any of them. Wanda couldn't have you being all shy on her now though. She wanted to hear each and every sound she could possibly draw out of you as proof of how good she was making you feel, her fingers hitting that special spot deep inside of you that had always been just out of your own reach.
“Now dorogaya, use your words. Are you going to be a good girl and come for me? If you can’t answer me then I guess I should stop.” Wanda slowed her pace and you all but wailed your frustration.
“Yes, yes I’m going to come. I’m so close, Wands, please don’t stop!”
Truthfully that should have been enough for her but sadistically she wanted to push your boundaries further still. She smirked at your pleas.
“I won’t stop, Y/N, but you can’t come until I give you permission.”
You didn’t think you had ever been on such a precipice of euphoria before. It was right there if only Wanda would let you. Part of you wanted to ignore what she said and let yourself go, but the part of you that yearned to be good for her won out in the end.
You begged pitifully. “Please Wanda, please let me come! I’ll be your good girl, please, just let me come!” You would say anything the woman wanted as long as she would let you finally finish.
It was positively sinful how your submission made Wanda feel. She wanted to experience you like this every day for the rest of your lives. The tremor of your voice as you begged, how quickly and completely you accepted her commands, it was positively sublime.
“Well when you beg so prettily for me, how can I resist? Be a good girl, Y/N - come for me.” Her fingers curled deliciously, mercilessly hitting your new favorite spot.
With Wanda’s permission, the world shattered around you as your orgasm crashed over. Your body convulsed with exquisite hedonism, every nerve ending alive with sensation. Wanda's name were the only words from your mouth as you rode the high, your orgasm careening over you in a tidal wave of pleasure.
For Wanda, feeling your wet heat tighten around her fingers, practically refusing to allow her to pull back to even help you through your peak, was so perfect. You didn’t know it, but it was enough to make Wanda topple over the edge alongside you, her head dropping to the crook of your neck while she whispered sweet nothings in your ear, struggling to bring you gently down from your high.
As the aftershocks of your release subsided, Wanda gently withdrew her fingers, her touch lingering for a moment before she pressed a soft kiss to your lips. She held you close, her presence a comforting anchor as you came down from the heights of pleasure. You whimpered at the feeling of emptiness after being so joyously full.
Breathless and sated, you nestled into her embrace, feeling a profound sense of contentment and connection. And as you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, you felt that this was just the beginning of something beautiful between you both. You had made the decision to trust Wanda with your body, heart, and soul, and in this moment, everything felt so right.
Wanting to return the favor, and make Wanda feel as good as you did, but as you tried to shift in her embrace, the former avenger simply held you tighter. Feeling rejected, you wilted in her arms. Perhaps you had already failed to live up to her expectations, so much so that she didn’t even want you to touch her. How heartbreaking to have failed so soon, to never get the chance to prove yourself.
Voice soft, Wanda alleviates your fears. “Not tonight, darling. Tonight was all about you. Rest with me for a little while, detka, I just want to hold you. May I do that, Y/N?”
Murmuring a quiet assent, you settled into the comfort Wanda provided. You both laid there, basking in the intimacy you both had just shared, feeling content and happy. It wasn’t long until your eyes began to droop, signifying you were about to nod off.
Sensing how close you were to sleep, the witch gently roused you. She giggled at your grumblings for the disruption but insisted you both needed to clean up. Shaking your head, you whined as you tried to hold her in place with you, unwilling to let her go for any reason. Wanda had to actively restrain herself from cooing at your adorable stubbornness.
“Come on now, it’ll be just a few minutes and then we can go back to sleep, okay darling?”
Petulantly you shook your head, and Wanda full on belly laughed, holding you tightly to her while she did so. Her laughter was infectious, and you couldn’t help but chuckle as well, knowing you were being a bit ridiculous.
Eventually, both of you calmed down, and Wanda pulled away from your embrace, mentioning that she would be right back. You let her go, but you pouted the entire time she was in the bathroom. After a few moments, you could hear the sink running, and then the witch returned to you with a warm, damp washcloth in her hand. With an unprecedented level of care, Wanda cleaned between your legs, removing any trace of the night's activities, while being mindful not to overstimulate you.
“There we go, detka. All clean. Let me just throw this in the sink, and we can go to sleep.”
Doing exactly as she had said, Wanda quickly returned, swiftly maneuvering her way into the cozy bed beside you. With a few gentle movements, she skillfully arranged the soft sheets to envelop both of you, creating a warm and comfortable cocoon.
Once she was finished setting up the sheets, you wasted no time in crawling back into her arms, burying your face into the divot where her neck and shoulder met. You felt like you had been through the wringer, but in the best way. When she had gotten up to clean you both, with her no longer being in your arms, your emotions had run all over the place. Now all you wanted was to be as physically close to the redhead as possible, to reassure yourself that she wasn’t abandoning you after such a vulnerable act.
Wanda was not at all opposed. Quite thrilled in fact, and as she held you, one hand came to gingerly trace random shapes along the side of your face, whispering nonsensical words of love and solace. Pillowy lips placed a soft kiss to your forehead.
As you drifted off to sleep, feeling safer and happier than in your entire life, you heard Wanda whisper in her native tongue. You were curious, but too far gone to ask her what she meant.
“я так люблю тебя, дорогая. (I love you so much, darling.) I promise I will always keep you safe, and I will never let you go.”
A/N 2: ... Why do I have a higher word count for a chapter with smut than any other chapter? .... Reasons. We're going with "reasons". So uhhh... yay? nay? Yeet myself off a cliff? Also if anyone wants to be added to the taglist just lemme know in the comments.
Since a new part of Our Little One is on the horizon, I’ve finally decided it’s time to make a masterlist just for this fic. I plan to keep adding more parts, drabbles, headcanons, and questions, so it seemed fun to have one central place for everything, though honestly, it’s probably not strictly necessary, oops.
Summary: You moved across the country to start fresh at a new college. What you didn’t expect was that, with a little nudge from your roommate and a touch of fate, you’d meet two incredible women who would open your world to love, care, and kink in ways you never could have imagined.
Please make sure to check the warnings at the start of each part to stay safe. Some sections get heavy and cover potentially triggering topics. This series is also 18+ due to smut and kink content.
Parts:
It Was Just Fate
Brats Don’t Get Soft, Brats Get Used.
Oh, Malyshka…
Hey, Roomie
Moya Malen'kaya Shlyukha (My Little Slut)
You Make Such Pretty Sounds When You're Sorry.
I think you both need Daddy, hm?
Red
What Christmas Should Be
Drink.
Drabbles:
What if R purposely broke rules to get attention?
What if R got sick?
Headcanons & Questions:
How did WandaNat meet?
Where did the motivation/idea to write this fic come from?
Is Yelena going to be a bad (bratty) influence on R?
Summary: Sneaking around campus with your professor girlfriend? Check. Getting punished in class with a remote-controlled vibrator? Double check. A night of rough, drunk sex with both your dommes? Triple check. What more could you possibly ask for?
A/N: Just a little note before you dive in: Natasha is very harsh in parts of this fic. This is not soft, gentle Daddy Natasha. This is pent-up, feral Daddy Natasha, and quite frankly, she is absolutely ready to ruin R. Oh, and for everyone who has been in my asks begging for her to finally get to cum… here you go. I have, at long last, stopped torturing our girl.
Also, a huge thank you to @nattaik for all the help with this one. Not only did she help with some filthy translations, but she has also officially become my BDSM advisor, making sure all of my scenes stay accurate and ethical. So thank you, Nat! 🩵
Tip Jar (Ko-Fi): No pressure at all, but if you would like to support me further, you can leave me a tip here 🥺🩵
Word count: 16,509
NSFW below the cut, you can also read on AO3.
Thinking back on it now, you could trace every step that had led you here with clarity, yet that understanding did nothing to soften the sharp edge of it. It did not make it feel any less unfair, any less nerve-wracking, or any less wicked in the way it settled low in your stomach. If anything, knowing that it was entirely your own fault only made the heat in your cheeks burn brighter.
Natasha’s office had been dimly lit, the afternoon light filtering through the tall windows in soft streaks that caught on the polished wood of her desk and the neat stacks of papers arranged with precision. The air had smelled faintly of her perfume mixed with old books and the lingering warmth of the radiator.
You had been bent over the edge of her desk, her strap buried deep inside you, the firm rhythm of her hips steady and unyielding. Each movement had pressed your body further into the smooth wood, your hips digging into it, your fingers scrambling for purchase against the edge as you tried and failed to keep yourself quiet. She had leaned close to your ear, her voice low and stern, instructing you to stay silent, but you hadn't.
The sensations had overwhelmed you too quickly. Every thrust had dragged against that sensitive spot inside you, the stretch and fullness making your thoughts blur at the edges.
You had whined before you could stop yourself, the sound thin and needy. Then came the soft moans, the breathless little pleas that slipped out despite the way you bit down on your lip.
You knew the walls were not soundproof. You knew anyone walking past might hear. That knowledge only made your pulse race harder, panic and arousal tangling into something absolutely electrifying.
Natasha had warned you, she had given you chance after chance, her voice low but increasingly sharp, tension threading through it as her own composure began to fray.
There had been heat beneath her words, a flicker of her own desire, her own urgency, as she told you to stop making noise so that you could both reach what you needed without drawing attention.
She needed you to meet her halfway. But you didn't. You couldn’t. The closer you drifted to the edge, the less control you seemed to have. Your pleas and whines got louder and louder. Your body betrayed you, trembling beneath her touch, tightening and arching as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you.
The room felt smaller, the air thinner, your pulse roaring in your ears as you teetered on that fragile brink. And just as you began to tip over it, just as your entire body clenched in anticipation, she stopped and pulled out.
The wet sound was loud in the quiet room. It echoed far too clearly against the wooden furniture and lined bookshelves. You felt it in your bones, in the slickness between your thighs, in the way your cunt clenched desperately around nothing. The sudden emptiness was shocking.
A broken whine tore from your throat before you could swallow it down. You felt raw and exposed, your skin prickling with frustration and need. Your legs shook as you straightened, your entire body still thrumming with unspent pleasure.
Natasha did not look impressed. She moved away calmly, adjusting her shirt and pulling her trousers over the still dripping strap as though nothing inappropriate had just occurred.
The quiet click of the drawer opening sounded far too loud in your ears. You watched her hand disappear inside before she drew out a toy, small and sleek, a remote also glinting between her fingers.
Your confusion must have been written across your face, because her mouth curved into that small, knowing smirk she wore when she was three steps ahead of you. “You need to learn how to keep quiet. Now you won’t have a choice,” she said, her tone measured and composed, almost clinical in its restraint.
That calmness only made everything worse. The cool detachment in her voice contrasted so sharply with the heat still simmering between your thighs.
The authority in her words settled heavily over you, and the realisation of what she intended sent another wave of warmth curling low in your belly, twisting with humiliation and anticipation all at once.
She had waited for your words of approval, but still, when she pressed the toy inside you, the intrusion made you gasp softly. It filled you differently, snug and deliberate, the external part settling firmly against your clit. You were already sensitive, still slick and swollen, and the added pressure made your knees threaten to buckle.
She pulled your panties back up, smoothing them into place to hold the toy securely, followed by your jeans. The fabric felt unbearably tight now, trapping the warmth and the evidence of what you had been doing. You could feel everything. The fullness. The reminder of how close you had been.
As she laid out her plan, the weight of it did not strike you all at once. It settled slowly, heavily, each word sinking in until your pulse began to thrum in your throat. You would sit through her entire lecture exactly like this. No sounds, and no release waiting at the end as comfort.
It was not just a consequence for ignoring her instructions; it was a lesson. She intended for you to learn, for you to master your reactions. To hold yourself together under pressure. And if you failed, if you let even the smallest sound slip past your lips, you would endure the mortifying awareness of it in a room full of unsuspecting students.
You had agreed, of course. Even with the sharp edge of anxiety curling in your chest at the thought of humiliating yourself, you had nodded, you had said “green”.
The risk of embarrassment should have outweighed everything else, yet it did not. The idea of her holding that kind of control over you, in a room full of people entirely unaware, was intoxicating in a way you could not ignore.
You knew she would stand at the front of the room, composed and immaculate, delivering her lecture as though nothing were out of the ordinary, while you fought to keep yourself together.
You could already picture the calm set of her shoulders, the steady cadence of her voice, the faintest flicker in her eyes betraying that she knew exactly what you were feeling.
And she would be watching. Even if her gaze only brushed over you occasionally, you knew she would be cataloguing every shift of your posture, every hitch in your breathing, every attempt you made to steady yourself. She would notice it all.
The knowledge that any tiny slip, even the smallest involuntary noise, could be heard by the people sitting only a few feet away, made your pulse hammer harder. The danger of it, the exposure, the razor thin line between control and mortification, sent wetness pooling once again between your thighs, no doubt coating the toy nestled inside you.
—
Now you were sitting in her classroom, tucked among the other students as though you were no different from them. The bright overhead lights felt harsher than they ever had before, glaring down and illuminating every polished surface.
The low murmur of conversation before the lecture began seemed deafening, each laugh and scrape of a chair setting your nerves on edge. The air smelled faintly of board marker and paper, a clean academic scent that had replaced the warmth and intimacy of her office, yet your body still carried the lingering heat of it.
You felt full. Acutely, distractingly aware of the toy hidden beneath your clothes. It was impossible to forget, impossible to ignore. Your thighs pressed together on instinct as you adjusted in your seat, forcing yourself to appear composed.
You focused on breathing evenly, slow inhales and careful exhales, willing your racing pulse to settle. Your skin felt hypersensitive, as though every inch of you was crawling with heat. Even the slight brush of fabric when you shifted sent a subtle, treacherous reminder of what was nestled between your legs.
When Natasha entered the room, she did so as if nothing at all were unusual. She was poised and collected. Completely, and utterly in control. She moved to the front with the same calm authority she always carried, greeting the students in that smooth, confident tone that filled the space effortlessly.
There was not a single outward sign that anything illicit had taken place only a short while ago, or that she currently had a remote control in her pocket that could leave you whining and dripping in seconds.
Meanwhile, you sat there flushed and overstimulated, still sticky from earlier, and painfully conscious of the quiet, hidden threat resting inside you.
Luckily, today was a revision session. She began walking through one of the theories most people struggled with, carefully breaking it down in preparation for the upcoming exams, but you knew this topic inside out.
She had spent evenings with you going over it when your anxiety about the exams had first taken hold, patiently explaining and rephrasing until the panic in your chest had eased.
You could still picture those nights at the table, her voice softer and encouraging. The way she rewarded you with her head between your thighs when you had finally understood. Praising you for working so hard, for being her “smart girl.”
Perhaps that was why she was allowing this. Because she knew you did not truly need this lesson. She knew you would not fall behind if your attention wavered. A quiet warmth spread through you at that thought, cutting gently through the tension coiled in your body.
Beneath the control, beneath the teasing cruelty of her punishment, there was care. Consideration. She must have thought about this before ever even suggesting it. She had thought about you.
But before that warmth could settle too deeply, a gentle buzz stirred to life, yanking your attention back to the present. Your legs snapped together on instinct, muscles taut and trembling as you sucked in a quiet, shallow breath and lifted your head.
For a heartbeat, you were convinced everyone must have noticed, the hitch in your chest, the quick inhale, the way your eyes flickered, but the classroom carried on as though nothing had happened. Pages rustled. Pens scratched against paper. A distant cough punctuated the low murmur of conversation.
And Natasha wasn’t even looking at you.
That simple fact sent a fresh jolt of heat spiralling through your body. She stood at the front, her voice calm and unwavering as she explained the theory. She wasn’t glancing your way, not a flicker of concern, not a hint of acknowledgement.
And that deliberate disregard made the buzz beneath you feel far more potent, far more intimate. You felt impossibly small, entirely exposed, completely at her mercy, and the distinction between her composed control and your frantic, trembling body twisted something raw and aching inside you.
You forced yourself to breathe through your nose, slow, measured breaths that barely disguised the shiver running down your spine. The vibration pulsed lightly, more of a teasing hum than a full on assault, but that was enough.
Enough to remind you of the slick warmth pooling low, enough to make your thighs clench instinctively, enough to make every subtle movement feel magnified into something dangerous.
Your fingers curled around the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening as you focused on holding still. You were managing it. Barely, but enough to stay upright, enough to appear normal to anyone who might glance your way.
And yet, the longer it continued, the more impossible it became to keep your thoughts anchored to the lecture. You could feel the toy nestled inside you, its soft, insistent hum brushing against every sensitive nerve.
Your stomach twisted, your thighs felt aflame, and your pulse thudded, each beat in rhythm with the teasing vibrations between your legs. Every fibre of your body screamed to shift, to adjust, to release the smallest whimper, but you clenched your jaw and pressed your shoulders down, forcing yourself still.
That was until the buzz shifted again, sharper this time, pressing insistently against your clit and vibrating deep inside you, forcing your back to arch slightly against the chair. Your chest tightened, your breath catching in your throat, and you had to smother it with a quick, stifled cough, desperately forcing your body to appear calm while your mind spun with heated awareness.
As you tried to steady yourself, the corner of your eye caught a subtle flicker of movement at the front of the room. Natasha’s gaze had swept across the students, calm and attentive as ever, and then, for just a heartbeat, it lingered.
Her eyes met yours briefly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Not enough for anyone else to notice, not enough to give anything away, but enough to make your chest tighten, a reminder in an instant that she knew exactly what was happening.
The second passed, her attention drifting back to the lecture as though nothing had occurred. Yet the fleeting look left your nerves humming, your stomach twisting with that intoxicating mix of fear, anticipation, and heat.
And then, without warning, the vibration stopped. The sudden quiet inside your body was almost disorientating. One moment, your entire awareness had been narrowed to that rhythm, and the next, there was nothing but the echo of it, a hollow absence that felt unfinished.
The memory of it lingered beneath your skin, a phantom sensation that refused to fade, leaving you suspended somewhere between relief and aching frustration. Every nerve screamed for it to return, craving the teasing, insistent pressure that had just been ripped away.
You sat there, forcing yourself to reassemble your composure piece by fragile piece. The classroom continued exactly as it had before, unbothered and ordinary. The ticking clock marked each second with maddening indifference.
Natasha’s voice remained smooth and measured as she worked through the theory, patient and precise, as though she were not orchestrating the most private turmoil from only a few metres away.
Time lost its structure. Minutes stretched thin, until you could no longer tell whether it had been thirty seconds or five full minutes since the hum had vanished. The anticipation settled into you differently now. It was less frantic and more consuming, a low simmer beneath your ribs.
A few times, she slid her hand into her pocket, and your chest jumped with a sharp spike of anticipation, only for it to withdraw, leaving you stranded in torment.
The restraint felt deliberate, as though she were studying you, gauging how long you could exist in that suspended state before the waiting itself became unbearable.
And when the vibration resumed, it did so without drama. You inhaled slowly through your nose, determined not to react so visibly this time. Your shoulders remained level. Your gaze stayed forward. You even managed to jot down a note on your paper, handwriting only slightly tighter than usual.
A quiet satisfaction warmed your chest at how steady you had managed to remain. There was something subtly defiant in the composure you held, in the deliberate restraint you had practised so carefully. You had not unravelled. You had not drawn attention.
Beneath that pride lingered a softer thought that Natasha would notice the difference. That she would see how hard you were trying. Your cheeks warmed at the idea of her approval, at the imagined praise.
As if summoned by the very thought, Natasha’s gaze lifted and found yours. It was not accidental. It lingered just long enough to feel deliberate, to make your pulse shift beneath your ribs.
There was something assessing in her expression, something quietly knowing, as though she had sensed the direction of your thoughts.
That brief flicker of acknowledgement was all the warning you received before her hand slipped once more into her pocket, and the intensity surged, climbing multiple levels at once, a demonstration that your control had only existed because she had allowed it.
The vibration deepened and sharpened at once, no longer teasing but consuming. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, shoulders stiffening, hips shifting involuntarily against the chair. Heat unfurled through your core, sudden and overwhelming, pulling a strained sound from your throat before you could stop it.
Immediately, you froze, panic flaring through you at the thought that you had been heard. That thought was confirmed when Carol, who was sitting just a row ahead, turned in your direction.
Her brows were drawn together, curiosity and concern flashing in her eyes as she whispered just loud enough for you to hear, “Are you okay?”
Heat pooled in your stomach in a completely different way, mixing embarrassment with the throbbing pleasure that still consumed you. Your pulse shot even faster, and your chest tightened, each inhale shallow and ragged as you fought to stay composed.
The knowledge that someone had noticed, someone had heard, and that specific someone being Carol of all people, added a new layer of intensity to every pulse of the toy. Every subtle vibration, every teasing thrum, became almost unbearable, torture magnified by the risk of exposure.
You forced your expression into something neutral, something plausibly uncomfortable rather than undone.
“I’m fine, Carol. Period pains,” you murmured quietly, aiming for casual irritation rather than strain. The excuse was ordinary enough, you hoped, bland, unremarkable, the sort of thing that discouraged further enquiry.
Carol’s expression softened at first, then shifted into something more amused. A faint smirk curved her mouth as she leaned a little closer, lowering her voice. “You know I could help with that,” she said lightly. “Orgasms are great for cramps.”
The comment might have been flippant under any other circumstance, but now it felt like a private joke at your expense.
The irony pressed against your ribs almost painfully. If only she knew how dangerously close, and yet impossibly far, that suggestion truly was.
A strained half-laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “I think I’m good,” you replied, keeping your voice low and steady despite the renewed surge threading through you. “Advil and a hot water bottle will do.”
Carol studied you for a moment longer, then finally turned back around, attention returning to the lecture. Only once she faced forward did you allow yourself to glance up again.
Natasha didn’t falter. Her voice carried on with the same measured cadence, the same effortless authority. Yet there was something in the quiet precision of her posture, in the composed stillness of her expression, that betrayed the truth: she had noticed. She always noticed. And the thought hit you like electricity, jolting straight through your chest, and straight down into your core as it throbbed in response.
The vibration continued relentlessly, and the heat coiling in your body refused to ease. Every nerve felt raw and hypercharged, every breath sharp and uneven.
You fidgeted subtly in your seat, desperate movements disguised as shifting discomfort, but it was impossible to conceal the tension threading through you.
You closed your eyes briefly, desperate to reclaim a sense of control. But the instant your eyelids met, the ache surged hotter, wrapping around your ribs, pressing deep into your stomach, leaving your mind dizzy with the impossibility of remaining composed.
And then your thoughts fractured, splitting into two irreconcilable pulls. One part clung to restraint with a white-knuckled insistence, forcing you to maintain composure, to follow Natasha’s rules.
To conceal the utterly mortifying truth from your classmates, that your cunt was clenched so tightly it made your legs tremble, that every pulse of the toy shivered down into your toes, that your professor was the one holding the remote.
That part of your mind pleaded silently with Natasha, begging her to intervene, to ease the pressure between your legs even briefly, to give you a moment to steady yourself before you couldn’t stop yourself.
The other part of you pulsed with a wild, greedy energy. It whispered that you didn’t have to hold back, that maybe it was okay to surrender entirely, to let the sensations sweep through you unchecked.
You imagined letting your body take control, letting yourself come in the middle of the room with no shield between you and everyone watching.
Stripped of the careful composure you usually wore, every sound, every movement, every reaction laid bare for all to see. Letting them see the truth of who you were… Daddy’s ‘kotenok,’ her plaything, a body at her disposal, hers in a way no one else could ever understand.
The thought hit like fire, making your pulse thunder in your ears and your chest tighten so sharply it felt as if it might shatter.
Another ragged sound escaped your throat despite your best efforts, and your body betrayed you, rocking instinctively in your seat as though it had a will of its own.
You were barely holding yourself together. Every nerve screamed for release, the ache coiling lower and lower until it felt like it had settled deep in your bones.
Your breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, each inhale sharp, each exhale trembling against your lips. Your hands clenched the edge of the desk, fingers tightening with a desperation that seemed impossible to control, as though even the smallest movement would undo you completely.
And then, just as the edge of surrender pressed impossibly close, it stopped. The intensity vanished, leaving behind a hollow ache and the vivid memory of every pulse, burning hotter in its absence.
Your body trembled violently, chest heaving as though you had run a mile, relief and frustration crashing over you in equal measure. Your legs quivered beneath the desk, your fingers still tight on the edge, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d ever recover from the sudden absence.
Natasha’s eyes flicked to you again, this time lingering just slightly longer. Her gaze was assessing; you knew what she was looking for.
You forced a quick, shallow nod, and she turned away as if nothing had happened, leaving you burning, your brain foggy, and your cunt clenching and sticky.
The rest of the class faded to a blur. You weren’t listening, weren’t thinking about the lecture or the people around you. Your mind had narrowed to a single, overwhelming focus: the desperate need for relief, for release, for Natasha, to be seen by her, held by her, praised by her, protected from the rest of the world. You were raw, needy, and entirely consumed by her.
And then, to your utter disbelief, people began packing up. Your eyes flicked to the clock. The lecture was over. You hadn’t even heard Natasha dismiss anyone, hadn’t really noticed anything since Carol’s whisper.
Your body still throbbed with tension, your mind spinning, and you couldn’t find the energy to move. You were glued to your seat, trapped in the lingering heat of what had just passed.
Carol noticed, as if reading your frozen state. “You’re free, you know? Go home and rest!” she said, gathering her things in front of you. You couldn’t even form a reply, words failing, your thoughts consumed entirely by your need for Natasha.
She tried again, now with a sharper note of concern in her voice. “Hey… seriously, do you need some help? Are you okay?”
That finally forced a response. You managed a shaky nod. “I… I’m fine… I just… I need to speak with Nat… Professor Romanoff,” you stammered, cursing the slip of her first name and praying Carol didn’t notice.
Either she didn’t, or she was kind enough to ignore it, because she only tilted her head slightly and said, “Ahh, I see.” There was a quiet understanding in her tone, as though she had pieced together why you seemed so off. “This class is tough. Don’t feel bad for struggling. If you need a study buddy, just let me know.”
You couldn’t engage with any of that right now, but you gave another small nod. “Thanks, Carol,” you said, blunt and distracted, unable to form anything more.
She let out a soft sigh, as though disappointed in your brevity, then swung her bag over her shoulder and offered a casual, “See ya,” before leaving.
You remained seated as the classroom continued to empty around you. Chairs scraped against the floor, bags were slung over shoulders, and murmurs of conversation faded into the background, but none of it penetrated the haze you were trapped in.
Your legs felt heavy, unresponsive, and your mind refused to catch up with the world around you. Every sense was still sharpened, your pulse racing, your thoughts circling helplessly around Natasha. She was the only thing you could focus on, the only thing that seemed to matter.
At last, the familiar click of Natasha’s heels echoed through the empty classroom, pulling your gaze upward and your attention back into focus. Each step was deliberate, measured, yet somehow carried an almost tangible weight in the silence. She stopped just a step from your desk, the quiet authority in her posture pressing down like a tether you couldn’t pull away from.
Her eyes swept over you, catching every tremble in your hands, every flicker of strain on your face. And yet, there was something more, a subtle tightening in her jaw, a slight narrowing of her eyes, a restraint she was holding in check. It wasn’t obvious, but you saw it, flickers of heat and tension she tried to hide, and it set your pulse racing in ways you hadn’t expected.
“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice low and calm, but edged with that unmistakable firmness. It wasn’t a question you could evade. She had seen everything: every shiver, every stifled breath, every moment you’d fought to contain yourself.
You nodded too quickly, as if motion alone could convince her. But inside, your body still burned, your thoughts spun, caught between the desperate urge to collapse into her care and the ache of wanting what you weren’t allowed.
Natasha’s gaze softened almost imperceptibly, but her presence remained unwaveringly firm. She crouched slightly beside your desk, settling to your level, the air around her charged with quiet command and impossible warmth.
“Talk to me, kotenok (kitten)”, she asked, her voice firm but threaded with warmth, insisting on your attention.
“I… I… are we done?” you stammered, voice trembling, and your eyes dropping to the desk in shame.
“Done?” she echoed, calm but querying. “In what way?”
“I… I know you said I didn’t get to cum… but Daddy… I… I need it,” you whispered, each syllable trembling with want, spilling out before you could catch them. A desperate hope rose that she might relent, let you taste what you’d been denied.
“No,” she responded firmly, shaking her head. “This was a lesson. And don’t think I didn’t notice everything, your reactions, your little conversations with Carol… Your release isn’t yours to demand, not right now. Do you understand?”
A low, frustrated whine slipped from your throat, raw and full, but you didn’t argue. You knew, deep down, that there was not much point, not here anyway. “Okay,” you murmured, voice almost swallowed by the quiet as you relented for now. “Can we go home, please?”
Natasha’s lips curved into a small, approving smile, just enough to make you feel the weight of her recognition. She reached for your bag, packing up your things for you.
“Yes. Of course,” she said, her voice low and indulgent, still carrying that quiet authority that made your chest tighten. “Good girl for asking. You did well today, kroshka (little crumb). We’ll get home and have some proper aftercare, alright?”
“Thank you,” you murmured, letting the words brush against the warmth and weight she radiated. “That… sounds nice.”
And even as you spoke, a spark of defiance lingered. You might be yielding for now, letting her believe she had won, but you knew exactly how this would end. You would get what you wanted, one way or another.
All that remained was getting home, where you could finally put on a show for Wanda, letting her see exactly how needy you were, knowing she would give in as she always did.
Or maybe it would be Natasha this time. She wasn’t always so easy to sway, but you could sense how tightly wound she was, the way her control threatened to fray, the subtle sparks of need you could just glimpse beneath her composed exterior.
The awareness of it sent a delicious shiver through you. She wanted more, and yet she refused, holding herself in check with impossible discipline. You could feel it in the way her eyes lingered for a fraction too long, the almost imperceptible tension in her hands, the subtle bite of her jaw.
Every instinct whispered that you could use it, that you could tease and push her just enough to draw it out, to make her surrender to the very thing she tried to control.
Your chest tightened, a storm of relief, desire, and that wicked thrill of having even a sliver of power over her. It was heady, dangerous, and utterly irresistible. The anticipation made your body hum, knowing that if you played it right, the rules could bend just enough for you both to get exactly what you craved.
—
Once you stepped through the front door, the warmth of home wrapped around you instantly, soft and familiar, a stark contrast to the tight coil of tension still wound through your body.
The quiet hum of the house, the low light from the living room lamp, the faint scent of something sweet that Wanda must have lit earlier, it should have calmed you, but it didn’t.
Wanda appeared almost immediately, her bare feet silent against the floorboards as she stepped out from the living room, drawn by the sound of the door. The moment her eyes landed on the two of you, her expression shifted in a way that was subtle but unmistakable.
Her lips curved slowly, deliberately, and something sharpened in her gaze, curiosity tinged with suspicion, as though she could already sense the charged air clinging to you both.
Natasha closed the door behind you with measured calm, the soft click echoing faintly in the hallway. There was no hesitation in her movements as she crossed the space.
She reached Wanda in a few purposeful strides, her hand sliding around Wanda’s waist with quiet possession before drawing her close.
The kiss she claimed wasn’t soft or playful. It was slow and deliberate, but it burned, deepened almost immediately into something that carried the weight of everything unspoken from the day.
Natasha controlled it effortlessly, angling Wanda’s face, holding her steady, pouring heat into it until Wanda’s fingers fisted lightly in the fabric of her shirt.
A soft, breathy sound escaped Wanda, a barely-there moan that seemed to thrum in the space between all three of you. You swallowed hard at the sound. Watching it, hearing it, felt almost too intense when your own body was still humming.
The fire that had been simmering inside you flared brighter, fed by the sight of Natasha’s composure cracking just slightly at the edges and the way Wanda melted under her touch. It was overwhelming in a way that made your pulse stutter, your skin feel too tight.
When Natasha finally pulled back, her thumb lingering for a fraction too long at Wanda’s cheek, Wanda’s eyes fluttered open slowly. There was a faint flush across her cheeks now, her lips slightly parted as she steadied her breath. And then her gaze shifted to you.
You stepped forward almost instinctively. Your kiss was softer, gentler, a brush of lips that lingered in quiet contrast to what she had just shared with Natasha.
You tried to keep it steady, to hide the tremor beneath your skin, but your awareness of every small sensation betrayed you.
Wanda’s hand lifted to your jaw, fingers curling there as she kissed you back, slower than usual, as though testing something. Feeling for the tension beneath the surface. You focused on keeping your breathing even, on not reacting too visibly to the way her thumb stroked lightly along your jaw.
She drew back just enough to study you, her gaze lingering in a way that felt almost invasive. Not accusing. Not yet. Just aware. She could feel the shift in you, the heat coiled tight beneath your skin, the restraint you were barely maintaining. Her lips curved again, slower this time, as though she’d found exactly what she was looking for.
“What’s going on with you two?” Wanda finally asked, her voice light but threaded with curiosity, her eyebrow rising slowly as a mischievous grin curved across her lips.
There was something in the way she looked at you both, a teasing, perceptive spark that suggested she might already have a rough idea.
Natasha didn’t even bother feigning innocence. Her hand slid possessively to the small of your back, fingers splaying with subtle authority.
“Well, malyshka (little one) and I were having a very pleasant time in my office.” She paused, letting the statement linger in the air, her gaze flicking between you and Wanda in a way that was both casual and pointed, as though daring anyone to challenge her claim.
“But she couldn’t keep her mouth shut, moaning and whining, begging for someone to hear us,” she continued, and the tightening of her fingers at your back was enough to make a shiver run through you.
Her eyes lowered to meet yours on the final words, dark and sharp, the intensity of her stare making your pulse hammer against your ribs. “So I taught her a lesson. Didn’t I?”
The heat that bloomed across your cheeks was immediate and fierce, a flush of embarrassment and desire mingling together until your skin seemed to burn. You couldn’t stop the small, involuntary nod, the movement as automatic as your pulse racing in your throat.
Wanda’s grin widened slowly, teasing and knowing. “Oh?” she drawled, stepping closer, her bare feet silent against the floor, her presence wrapping around you like a tangible weight. “And how exactly did you teach her a lesson?” Her voice was soft, but there was an edge to it that made your stomach coil tighter.
Natasha’s tone didn’t waver in the slightest, each word measured as if she were discussing something mundane, though the authority in her voice cut sharper than any command.
“I pulled out,” she said, her voice calm and precise, each word deliberate as she adjusted the cuff of her sleeve with effortless composure. “And replaced my cock with a remote vibrator. She wore it through the entire class, learning how to stay quiet.”
Her gaze flicked to yours, and you felt the faint pressure of her hand at your back tighten, a reminder that she could sense every shiver, every twitch you tried to hide. “I even tried a few different settings,” she continued, a low note of amusement threading through her tone, “just to see how well she could handle it.”
Wanda’s breath caught just for a moment, a subtle hitch that spoke louder than words, betraying exactly how much the thought had stirred her. “And… did you behave?” she asked, her voice low and soft, even teasing.
Before you could answer, Natasha’s voice cut in. “A few slips,” she said, almost casually. “Though Carol decided to involve herself.” A faint edge crept into her voice. “She needs to mind her business.”
You glanced at Natasha briefly, a spark of frustration and heat swirling together before letting your attention drift back to Wanda.
“I tried,” you murmured, voice trembling, raw with the effort it had taken to hold yourself together. “I really did… it was just so hard.” Your words wavered into a soft, almost plaintive cry. “I wanted to be good…”
Wanda’s lips curved, her voice honeyed as she moved toward the wine cabinet, the tone carrying a weight that made your knees weaken. “Did Daddy torture you through her whole lesson, maličká (little one)?” she asked, eyes lingering on you with an intensity that had you dripping.
You nodded eagerly, a little too eagerly, lips parting as the words tumbled out in a soft, breathless rush. “Mhm! And she didn’t let me cum.” A faint whine slipped through, instinctive and petulant, a sound that conveyed the raw ache of your frustration and need. “It aches, Mommy… and I’m so sticky.”
Even as Wanda moved to pour the wine, her eyes caught yours, glinting with heat and curiosity. You watched as she lifted the bottle and two glasses, pausing briefly to glance at Natasha before returning her gaze to you, her attention deliberate, teasing, making your stomach tighten in a delicious mix of anticipation and need.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Wanda cooed, her voice soft but teasing, threaded with that irresistible mix of warmth and mockery, “Daddy really was cruel to you, wasn’t she? You must have been so desperate, and so, so wet.”
“She was! I was! Please! Can you make it better?” you whimpered, every syllable dripping with need, as if it alone might pull her closer.
Wanda’s eyes lingered on you, a flicker of heat dancing in their depths, and she stepped forward, two glasses in hand, perfectly poured. One she passed lightly over your head, passing it toward Natasha with a subtle, knowing tilt of her wrist.
But Natasha’s voice sliced through the room. “No. This was a punishment, a lesson. You don’t get what you want just because you’re uncomfortable.”
She lifted her glass for a small sip, the calm precision in her movements only sharpening the firmness in her words. “Now, we need to get you cleaned up.”
“No! Please!” you whined, the words spilling out before you could temper them, your composure slipping just enough to betray how tightly wound you still were. Your gaze flicked quickly between them, searching, almost desperate for any sign of hesitation, any crack in their resolve that you could slip through.
“I need it… please,” you added, softer this time, breathier, the plea shaped deliberately to sound smaller, more fragile, even as something restless and quietly defiant continued to stir beneath it, refusing to be fully subdued.
Natasha didn’t bend, not even for a second. Her presence remained immovable in a way that made it clear she had already decided how this would go, and nothing you said was going to shift that.
“No,” she replied as she set her glass down, the soft clink against the table echoing in the heavy silence, drawing attention to the finality of both the gesture and her tone. “Upstairs. We’re done here.”
It should have ended there. It should have been enough to make you follow without question, to fall back into the rhythm you knew so well. But the frustration that had been building all day, stretched thin and sharpened by hours of restraint, twisted into something reckless instead, something that pushed back rather than gave in.
The idea came quickly, and before you had time to reconsider it, your hand had already moved, reaching for the glass Natasha had just set down. Your fingers curled around it without hesitation, the cool surface grounding in a way that only made the decision feel more deliberate.
You tipped the glass back in one smooth motion, swallowing it down despite the unpleasant taste, the bitterness lingering across your tongue as you forced yourself not to react. The wine itself did not matter. What mattered was what it meant, the silent message carried in the empty glass now lowered from your lips.
It was the signal, the one the three of you had planned for, the clear indication that you were ready for the very specific scene you had spoken about beforehand.
Almost immediately, your eyes lifted to Natasha, the empty glass still loose in your fingers as you watched her, waiting for the flicker of recognition, for the moment she realised exactly what you were asking for.
And she gave it to you. A brief pause in her breathing and the slight tightening of her jaw, followed by a subtle nod, was all you needed to know that she had understood the message.
But it was the way her eyes snapped to yours, darkening just a fraction more, that said everything else. There was the faintest crack in her control, a shift so small most people would have missed it, but you saw it instantly.
You had caused it. You had reached beneath that carefully maintained composure and touched something sharper, something darker, and the realisation sent a thrill through you.
You knew, in that moment, that you were about to get exactly what you had asked for, and likely far more than that.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her voice low and measured as she slipped into the scene effortlessly, though now there was something sharper threaded beneath the calm, an edge that had not been there only a moment before.
You gave a small shrug, forcing an almost careless lightness into your posture as you tilted your head slightly, settling further into the role you had chosen. “Well…” you said, letting the word linger for a beat, feigning innocence even as a thread of bratty defiance curled through your tone, “if I’m not going to get what I want, I should at least get to drink, right?”
You let the words hang between you, your gaze fixed on hers as you carefully tested the tension in the room, pushing just enough to see how far you could go before that carefully held control began to crack.
“You got me all worked up,” you added, the faintest pout tugging at your mouth, “and that’s not fair.”
Wanda reacted before Natasha had the chance to. A small, startled sound escaped her as she nearly choked on her own sip, and when you glanced her way, her eyes were wide, her expression caught somewhere between shock and barely concealed amusement.
Even knowing exactly what the scene was meant to be, your boldness had clearly caught her off guard.
Natasha didn’t share her amusement. If anything, her expression hardened further, her presence filling the space in a way that made the air feel heavier and harder to breathe.
“I’m going to give you one chance to take that back,” she said quietly, each word deliberate, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
You could feel that familiar spark of reckless defiance rising, the same edge that had pushed you forward to start this in the first place, urging you to lean in rather than retreat.
“Or what?” you challenged, the words spilling out before you could stop them. You didn’t avert your gaze, even as a flicker of surprise passed through your own mind at how brazenly you’d spoken.
For a moment, Natasha said nothing at all. She drew in a slow, steady breath, her eyes closing briefly as she reined herself back in, smoothing over whatever had threatened to surface.
When she opened them again, the flicker you had caught was gone, replaced by something far more controlled, and far more dangerous for it.
She turned away without a word, moving with measured grace rather than haste, heading toward the cabinet where Wanda had been just moments before.
The faint clink of glass against wood echoed softly in the quiet, each step carrying a subtle authority as she pivoted back into the room, the wine bottle held loosely in one hand.
When she reached the sofa, she lowered herself onto the seat with an almost casual ease, her posture relaxed in a way that seemed to deny the charged tension still lingering in the air.
Only then did she lift her gaze. Her eyes found Wanda first, lingering with an unspoken understanding that passed silently between them.
Then, gradually, her attention shifted back to you, and even from a seated position, she seemed to occupy every inch of the room, her calm control settling around you like a tangible weight.
“Come,” she commanded softly, the single word carrying both invitation and authority, drawing you in.
That was all it took. The quiet command in her voice pulled at you instantly, your body responding before your thoughts could catch up, your feet moving toward her without hesitation. Wanda remained where she was for a second longer, watching carefully.
“If she wants to drink,” Natasha said at last, her voice calm again, “then she can.” Her fingers tapped lightly against the neck of the bottle, her gaze fixed on you. “And she’s going to take what I give her.”
A faint smirk touched her lips then, doing nothing to soften the intensity in her eyes as they held yours completely. “Isn’t that right?”
The edge of defiance you had been clinging to faltered under it, slipping away almost instantly as you nodded, the response coming far more easily than it should have, her tone cutting straight through whatever bravado you had tried to muster.
Wanda spoke then, her voice quieter, threaded with a note of careful concern that shifted the atmosphere just slightly. “Nat… I don’t think this is the right time for this,” she said, choosing her words with intention, her eyes searching Natasha’s face. “You seem… on edge.”
Natasha’s expression softened, not completely, but enough as she turned her attention to Wanda, something warmer breaking through the sharper control she had been holding.
“I’m okay, Wands,” she replied, her tone gentler now, though the underlying tension hadn’t fully disappeared. “I’m just… wound up. Probably as much as our little one.” A quiet, almost amused breath left her, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. “She wasn’t the only one who missed out on an orgasm today.”
She paused briefly, her gaze flicking back to you before returning to Wanda. “And she’s been asking for this,” she added, more deliberately now. “We’ve talked about a scene like this more than once. I promise, I am okay.”
Wanda held her gaze for a moment longer, weighing it, before exhaling slowly, some of that tension leaving her shoulders as she nodded. Then she stepped forward, closing the distance between you, her hands lifting to cup your face with familiar warmth, grounding you instantly.
“What’s your colour, zlatíčko (darling)?” she asked, her voice low and gentle, eyes locked on yours with that careful, searching attention she always gave when she needed to be sure.
She wasn’t just asking; you could feel her weighing you, making sure you were really here, really aware, giving you the space to make the choice even though you’d been the one to set all of this in motion.
It was in her nature to worry, and with this being the first time you’d tried something like this, you knew that beneath the calm, measured tone, there was probably a flicker of her own anxious anticipation.
You drew in a breath of your own, instinctively matching the steady rhythm of hers, letting it anchor you before you answered, your voice quiet but certain. “Green.”
Wanda’s expression eased at that, a small, approving smile touching her lips as she nodded. “Good girl,” she murmured, her tone still warm, though it shifted subtly, something deeper threading through it as her eyes darkened just slightly. “I think it’s time you go and face Daddy, hm?”
“Yes, Mommy,” you breathed, the words slipping out without a second thought, smooth and steady, each syllable carrying the weight of surrender. The obedience felt effortless now, instinctive, as if your body had been waiting for this exact moment, anticipation coiling tighter in your chest with every heartbeat.
You turned back toward Natasha, who was already watching you, that same knowing smirk resting on her lips. One of her hands lifted, tapping lightly against the space beside her on the sofa.
You moved immediately, lowering yourself into the exact spot she had indicated. The shift in your posture was instinctive, your spine straightening, your hands settling neatly in your lap, your gaze dropping as you composed yourself just as she had taught you.
Stillness settled over you, but it wasn’t calm. Beneath it, your body thrummed with anticipation, every nerve aware, every thought narrowing to the moment unfolding in front of you.
You startled slightly when Wanda sat beside you, not realising she had moved at all, your focus so completely fixed on what Natasha was about to do.
Wanda let out a soft, amused breath at your reaction, her hand brushing lightly against your arm in reassurance. “You’re okay, baby… just breathe,” she murmured, her voice gentle and grounding as it always was.
You nodded, forcing yourself to follow her instruction, drawing in a slow, steady breath and holding onto it for just a second longer than necessary before letting it go, trying to anchor yourself in something other than the anticipation curling tightly in your stomach.
Even that small effort felt fragile, easily disrupted the moment Natasha rose to her feet and pushed the coffee table back without effort.
You hadn’t even noticed your mouth had fallen open until she reached for you, her fingers brushing lightly along your jaw before guiding it closed with a quiet, deliberate push. The brief press of her lips to your forehead followed, a contrast that only made the tension feel sharper by comparison.
That quiet reminder that even at her firmest, there was always something steady and deeply affectionate beneath it, something that never let you forget exactly how much she cared.
“Before we continue… I think we need to take this out, hm?” Her gaze dipped briefly, a flicker of intent in her eyes before it lifted back to yours. “It’s been in long enough. That can’t be comfortable.”
Your reaction was immediate, your head shaking before you could stop it, the idea unsettling in a way you hadn’t expected. The presence of the toy, the steady sense of fullness, had become something grounding over the past hours, something familiar to hold onto, and the thought of losing that left you feeling strangely panicked.
“No?” she asked, a faint trace of amusement curling at the edges of her tone, though her gaze remained steady and assessing. “You want it to stay?”
“Yes,” you murmured, your voice quieter now but no less certain, nodding again as if to anchor the answer in place. Your pulse quickened under her attention, painfully aware of the way she was watching you.
A small shift passed across her expression then, something settling into place with quiet finality. “That’s a shame, kotenok (kitten),” she replied, her voice smoothing into that calm, unyielding authority you knew so well. “Because I want it out.”
There was no room to argue, no invitation to resist; her decision was already made. She stepped closer, the space between you closing with deliberate intent, her hands moving with careful precision as she began to undo the fastening of your trousers.
The expectation was clear without a word, and you responded instinctively, lifting slightly to help as both your jeans and panties were eased down your legs, leaving your lower half bare.
Her touch returned immediately, fingers tracing upward along your thigh with light, almost maddening pressure, sending quiet shivers through you without offering any relief.
Beside you, Wanda’s hand remained steady, thumb gliding in slow, grounding circles along your arm, anchoring you even as the coil of anticipation wound tighter and tighter inside you.
You clung to that rhythm, matching your breathing to hers, though each subtle brush of Natasha’s fingertips against your leg sent tremors through you that no amount of focus could contain.
“Look at you, my desperate little thing,” Natasha murmured, her tone sharp, yet threaded with awe. “Your whole body is trembling… and what am I doing?” Her fingers brushed lightly along your leg, deliberately slow and teasing. “Barely even touching your leg.”
Her gaze held yours, drawing you in until looking away didn’t even feel like an option. “I bet you’re already thinking about it,” she continued, her voice low, almost coaxing. “Everything I might do to you…” A faint, knowing tilt touched her expression. “You would let me do anything right now, wouldn't you?”
You nodded without hesitation, the response instinctive, your thoughts already slipping, bending around her words, willing to agree to anything if it meant getting what you needed.
A low, dark chuckle rose from her chest at that, the sound settling heavy in the space between you before her fingers began tracing carefully over the lingering evidence of earlier and the fresh arousal that had begun to gather, entirely aware of the effect she was having on you.
When she finally eased the toy from inside you, the change in sensation stole your breath entirely. Your lungs constricted, chest tightening as a shiver passed through your body.
After hours of constant fullness, the gradual withdrawal felt almost unbearable, and when the fullness vanished entirely, the sudden emptiness pulsed in its place, echoing in every nerve ending.
A soft whine slipped from your lips, unrestrained now that you no longer had to hold yourself together. It lingered in the quiet room, heavy with need and exposure.
Natasha’s own breath faltered, and there was a pause that stretched long and tense. You looked up, and she was utterly still, her hand lingering against your hip as though forgotten, gaze fixed on your cunt, and the flushed, oversensitive, swollen, dripping evidence of everything she had made you endure, and something in her expression darkened more, her pupils dilating, jaw tightening as hunger raged.
You swallowed, your throat tight, as her thumb resumed its slow, absent-minded path along your hip, moving as if unconsciously while her gaze remained fixed on you. Each pass of her touch stoked the fire curling low in your belly, sending it brighter, hotter, leaving you trembling under the weight of her attention.
“Daddy… please,” you whimpered, voice trembling, eyes locked on her as she continued to stare down at your clenching pussy. The plea was raw, unguarded, heavy with need, each shiver that ran through your body punctuating the desperation in your tone.
Natasha’s eyes snapped up, locking onto yours, pupils blown wide, her breath hitching just slightly, leaving her looking utterly undone, completely wrecked by the way your body trembled and quivered, aching for her touch.
She drew in a slow breath, steadying herself before she spoke, as though reining herself in. “You’re dripping for me,” she murmured, her voice roughened with hunger as her thumb pressed with deliberate precision into your clit, pulling a sharp shiver through your body. “All of this… you’ve been holding it in. Every ache, every throb, every desperate little pulse…”
Her fingers shifted, moving slowly as they traced along your soaked folds, each careful pass drawing soft whines from your lips. “So needy,” she added quietly, almost thoughtfully, as if observing something she already knew. “Practically begging for it.”
There was a brief pause, her touch lingering just long enough to make you ache for more before she pulled back slightly, her gaze still locked on yours.
“But first,” she continued, voice smoothing into something lighter, almost teasing, “I think you need something to drink, don’t you?”
Before you could respond, her fingers vanished fully, ripped away from your heated core, leaving you with a sharp, instinctive whine as your hips bucked, searching for the friction that had been so suddenly removed.
Wanda leaned closer, pressing a soft, grounding kiss to the side of your head, murmuring gentle reassurances, while Natasha’s other hand shot for the wine bottle.
Her fingers tangled into the base of your skull, sliding through your hair to tilt your head back, not roughly, just enough that your body obeyed, lips parting instinctively with a soft moan escaping as she took control.
Your mouth was open and ready before the first drop of wine was even poured. Slowly, she lifted the bottle, tipping it so the liquid poured in a steady stream, and your lips closed around it instinctively, gulping down the sharp flow as it slid down your throat.
Despite your best efforts to keep up, some escaped the corners of your mouth, dribbling down your chin and pooling over the gentle swell of your breasts, staining your pristine white t-shirt in messy, deep burgundy streaks.
“There’s a good girl,” Natasha cooed, and you felt the heat of her praise as she tilted the bottle further. “Just a little more for me.”
You nodded automatically, swallowing each gulp as best you could, as the wine’s warmth began to seep into your limbs, making your movements slightly sluggish, your body already starting to feel like it was melting from the inside.
Between the praise, the intensity of her focus, and the alcohol already settling deep into your system, your thoughts began to blur at the edges.
Your mind softened, slipping into something simpler, where thinking felt distant and unnecessary, and all that remained was the instinct to follow, to accept whatever she gave you without hesitation. You drank as she commanded, each gulp a tribute, each shiver an offering, utterly consumed by the moment.
When she finally pulled the bottle away, it was empty, a near-full bottle gone in the space of a few minutes. The effect hit you all at once, sudden and heavy, as you gasped sharply, dragging in air you hadn’t realised you’d been denying yourself.
The dizziness deepened with each breath, your head swimming as the room seemed to tilt gently around you.
Natasha’s smirk widened as her gaze swept over the mess you’d become, wine streaked across your chin, down over your chest, and splattered across your shirt.
“Look at you,” she purred, her voice teasing, letting each word coil tight around your chest, “all sticky and sloppy.”
Her fingers hovered just above your cheek, teasing without touching, making the tension curl tighter inside you. “Trying so hard to be a good girl, taking what I gave you… And yet, here you are. Such a mess.”
Another soft, breathy whine escaped you, your core pooling with heat, chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven gasps as her words and the teasing sank deep.
Your mind was already fuzzy, tipsy from the wine and Natasha's attention, and every syllable she spoke sent sparks crawling over your nerves, igniting a body already trembling with anticipation.
Leaning closer, letting her breath brush your ear, she murmured, “You know I love it, don’t you? How desperate you look… how pathetic… how badly you want me to fix it.” Each word wrapped around you like a chain, pulling tighter, leaving your fingers twitching in your lap, nails scraping against the soaked fabric of your shirt.
Her fingers drifted over your chin, tracing slowly through the sticky wine, gathering it in soft, deliberate strokes as she murmured, “My messy little thing.”
“You see that, Wands?” Natasha added, her voice threaded with amusement and a sharp edge of condescension as she took in the way you trembled beneath her attention. “Don’t you just love her like this?”
Wanda’s lips curved into a knowing smile, something warm but undeniably teasing settling in her expression. “Oh, absolutely,” she said, her tone light but pointed as her fingers slid along your arm. “I don’t think she can even think straight right now.”
Her touch was gentle in contrast to the way her words lingered, a quiet reminder of just how exposed, pliant, intoxicated, and vulnerable you had become.
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your gaze stayed fixed on Natasha, wide and searching, something soft and pleading settling there instead of words.
Your thoughts felt thick, heavy, slipping through your grasp before you could form them, your body left to respond on instinct alone, every nerve humming under the slow warmth of the alcohol.
Natasha’s laugh was quiet, “I think we can take that as an answer,” she said, tilting her head slightly, her eyes never leaving yours. Her hand drifted lower again, and the faintest touch was enough to send another sharp shiver through you.
Her fingers lingered at the edges of your slick folds, teasing in slow, deliberate sweeps that drew unsteady moans from your throat. Each motion was measured as though she were tracking every reaction she could elicit from your trembling body.
Wanda’s hand stayed on your arm, her thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles as she leaned in, her voice still carrying that mocking edge. “Look at you,” she whispered, almost reverent, “all wobbly and desperate… my poor little girl.”
Your breath caught sharply at the words, every part of you responding on instinct alone, aching for something more than the relentless teasing.
You wanted more, needed more, but the words wouldn’t form, your thoughts too blurred and sluggish to shape them into anything coherent. All you could do was stay where you were, trembling and waiting, completely at their mercy.
Your chest rose and fell erratically, every fibre of your body strung tight, craving her hands and touch. Then Natasha’s fingers were inside you, curling deep against the spongy spot she knew so well.
The moan that ripped from your chest was loud, unrestrained, desperate, and you felt yourself melting against her, all thought stripped away, leaving only raw need.
Your mind swam, the alcohol leaving everything woozy and soft around the edges, your body reacting far faster than your thoughts ever could.
“That’s it, malyshka (little one),” Natasha murmured, her voice low and soothing, though there was still a roughness beneath it; she was still fighting to keep herself composed. “Just take it, yeah? You don’t need to think. You don’t even need to speak. Just let Daddy take care of you.”
The words settled over you like permission, and you surrendered to them completely. While Natasha kept pumping her fingers, curling at just the right times, Wanda began peeling your damp, sticky shirt away, easing the wine-soaked fabric from your skin.
You barely moved, barely even registered the shift beyond the cool air brushing across newly exposed skin. Your body felt pliant, heavy, almost boneless beneath their hands, letting them guide you however they pleased.
Natasha had said it herself: you didn’t need to think right now, only to let yourself be used, and take what was being offered.
Wanda leaned in, her lips finding the curve of your neck in slow, lingering kisses while her hands moved to your breasts, her fingers tweaking your nipples with careful intention, just enough pressure to keep you anchored with them, and just enough to send sharp pulses straight through to your cunt that Natasha could probably feel as you clenched around her fingers each time.
Moans slipped from your lips without restraint, louder than you would ever usually allow yourself to be, but the haze settling over your mind from the wine and the submission to your dommes left no space for embarrassment, no instinct to pull yourself back or quiet the sounds.
Beneath all of it was the steady certainty that you were safe here, with your girlfriends, safe enough to let yourself be completely open, vulnerable, and as needy as you felt without fear of judgement even when Natasha’s low chuckle curled through the room, her voice carrying that familiar, teasing condescension.
“God,” Natasha murmured, disbelief lacing her voice, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you this loud.” There was a bite to her words, but beneath it shimmered the hunger, the fascination, the raw affection she never bothered to hide. “A couple of fingers and a squeeze to your nipples, and you’re acting like a virgin who’s never been touched.”
The words sent fire racing through you, igniting every nerve. You knew that tone, that precise, teasing cadence, how she loved to draw you right to the edge, to see you soft, trembling, utterly hers.
A broken sound escaped you, somewhere between a moan and a whine, and you nodded helplessly, body moving on pure instinct, hips grinding down into her fingers, craving more, always more.
All around you, the room was alive with sound: slick, rhythmic wetness, Wanda’s soft, coaxing whispers against your ear, the rough, insistent brush of Natasha’s nails across your skin. Tension coiled tighter with every second, climbing higher, and you knew there was no way to hold back. Your body was too heavy, too overwhelmed, every nerve screaming as the climax threatened to crash down.
A flicker of panic ripped through you, dragging words from your lips for the first time in what felt like forever. “Fuck… please… shit… ah… I need…”
Each syllable fractured under Natasha’s relentless fingers, dissolving into breathless moans as sensation spiralled. Wanda’s voice cut through, soft and teasing, edged with condescension. “Oh, my poor baby,” she cooed, chuckling lightly at the end. “What is it? What do you need, hm?”
Heat surged through you at the sound, your face burning as you fought to string words together. “Need to… need to… cum… please!” This time, the plea left your lips whole, desperate and clear, even as your body felt impossibly tight, unbearably full, ready to shatter.
“Please!” you gasped, the word almost torn from you as the tension peaked.
Natasha’s low, rough voice cut through the haze. “Go ahead,” she murmured, the words dark with approval. “You can let go whenever you want tonight. Just let us use you.”
When the first shudder hit, it was anything but gentle. It tore through you, violent, raw, and unstoppable, your whole body convulsing as you clung to them, trembling and shivering, utterly consumed by it.
Drunk, messy, and exposed, you were completely theirs, and neither of them had any intention of easing up.
Wanda’s fingers lingered against your arm as she slowly pulled back, a sly, knowing grin tugging at her lips. “Be a good girl for Daddy while I go get something,” she whispered, letting her hand trail over your skin one last time.
Your mind was thick with wine and the heavy fog of your climax, barely able to hold onto her words as she disappeared from the room.
Natasha’s gaze darkened the moment Wanda was gone, her fingers still moving, but only just. The pace had slowed to an almost cruel tease now, barely enough, her thumb no longer brushing where you needed it most. “Look at you,” she purred, “all drunk, all soft… I hope you’re ready, kotenok (kitten).”
Your hips jerked instinctively, chasing the touch you were no longer being given, desperate for more, but Natasha’s hand held you firmly still, making you endure every whine, every tremble, every shudder that rolled through you. She leaned in close, her breath warm against your ear, and her voice dropped to something low and cruel.
“I know you’ve wanted this for so long,” she murmured, the words curling around you like a promise, “and you’re going to take it.”
Footsteps in the hallway pulled your attention away, and when Wanda returned, your breath caught in your throat. She was dressed now in lingerie that clung to every perfect curve, the fabric hugging her body in all the right places and lifting her breasts beautifully.
Around her waist sat your favourite strap, already secured in place, and the sight of it alone sent a sharp clench through your cunt.
In one hand, she carried another toy, one you recognised instantly. It was slimmer, longer, less girthy than the one fastened to her hips, and the moment your eyes landed on it, your body reacted before your mind could even catch up, tightening in anticipation.
A wicked, knowing smile curved across her lips as she watched your gaze travel over her body, down to the strap at her waist, and then to the second one in her hand. It was as if she could read every thought running through your hazy mind.
Still wearing that teasing smile, Wanda moved back towards the sofa and lowered herself onto it, reclining with deliberate ease. The air around her carried the soft scent of perfume tangled with arousal, warm and intoxicating.
Then she lifted one hand and crooked her fingers, the gesture slow and purposeful, drawing you back into her orbit like she knew you could never resist.
You hesitated for only the briefest moment before letting yourself sink onto her, your hips meeting the strap she had already lined up.
The instant it slid inside, a low, guttural moan was torn from your throat. Wanda’s hands immediately threaded into your hair, tugging you closer until your chest was pressed flush to hers, your lips hovering only a breath apart, leaving you exposed and ready for Natasha.
Before you could gather any sense of yourself, a new sound broke through the haze behind you, the quiet shuffle of movement, the soft metallic sound of Natasha undoing her belt, followed by the sharp zip of her trousers and the whisper of fabric slipping to the floor.
Instinctively, you tried to turn, desperate to look, your mind already painting the image for you. You could almost see her: still dressed in the sharp lines of her work clothes from the waist up, that delicate shirt and perfectly tailored blazer still in place, while below there was only the mystery of what she had chosen this time.
Sometimes it was boxers, sometimes sleek black panties, and the not knowing only made the anticipation sharper. God, you wanted to know.
But Wanda held you firmly in place, keeping you pressed against her as her lips found your neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin there while one hand tightened in your hair.
Behind you, there was more movement, the unmistakable rustle and pull of straps being fastened, and you could only imagine Natasha securing the harness into place.
Then she was there. She stepped in close behind you, the firm press of the toy attached to her harness settling against the backs of your legs, her presence hot and consuming.
Her breathing was already ragged, each exhale betraying the control she was so clearly fighting to hold onto. Then you heard the soft click and pop of a bottle opening, and your stomach tightened at the unmistakable sound of lube being uncapped behind you.
Slowly, deliberately, Natasha’s lubed finger traced against your back entrance, teasing, coaxing, before sliding in. You gasped, hips jerking, and she added a second, stretching you just enough while Wanda’s strap pressed deep inside your cunt.
Every instinct in your body screamed for more, moans spilling freely, your muscles opening willingly, helpless under their control.
Natasha’s fingers finally stilled, lingering at your rim as her grip held you in place. She drew a few deep breaths, voice low and husky.
“So slick… so ready,” she murmured, almost to herself. Then she shifted closer, the weight of her pressing down, the leather of her harness cool against your heated skin.
Carefully, she lined herself up between your cheeks, tracing the edge of your opening, feeling the tight, instinctive clench that welcomed her. With one slow, deliberate thrust, she pushed herself in, steady but firm enough to make you cry out, the burn sharp and delicious.
Wanda’s lips skimmed over your neck, soft against your skin. “Shhh… shhh… just let Daddy in, okay?” she cooed, her hands gliding along your thighs before finding your clit. Circles of pressure and motion eased the intrusion, letting a flicker of relief mix with the fire, just enough to make the overwhelming sensation feel almost bearable.
After a moment to settle, you felt Natasha shift, pulling back slowly before driving forward again, her hands gripping your hips like iron, no doubt restraining herself from going too fast, too soon. Still, the stretch of being filled from both sent your body spiralling, shaking violently, nerves alight with overstimulation.
“Fuck… ah… too much…” you whimpered, voice breaking, your body trembling uncontrollably. “Please… I… can’t—!”
Natasha let out a low, amused chuckle, dark and sharp. “We all know this isn’t too much for you,” she spat, her teeth flashing as she leaned close to your ear.
“You were made for this… made to be used by us. Just take it, like the good girl you are.” Her hips slammed forward, filling you completely again, tearing a moan from your throat, hot tears streaking your cheeks, a mix of exquisite pain and raw, consuming pleasure.
Wanda pulled you down for a wet, feral kiss, hunger and possessiveness radiating from her. Her hips ground against you as best they could from her position, the strap inside you pressing and dragging, the ridges and veins she’d chosen scraping precisely where they would sting and tease, even as your alignment under Natasha momentarily constrained her.
Behind you, Natasha’s thrusts began to sharpen, the slow, measured grunts giving way to rougher, harsher sounds, every movement still controlled but undeniably merciless.
Her breathing had turned ragged, each deep drive of her hips forcing every inch deeper, making you feel the full stretch of her with every thrust.
Then the sharp sting of a slap cracked across your skin, making you cry out against Wanda’s lips. Natasha was losing herself too, the last threads of restraint beginning to fray.
Her hands tightened around your hips as she took hold of your body, guiding you with firm, insistent pressure, forcing you to move with her.
Even though Wanda couldn’t thrust much from beneath you, Natasha set the rhythm for all three of you, rocking your body so Wanda’s strap drove into you as well, every movement making the stretch feel fuller, deeper, more consuming.
Moans slipped from your lips as you finally found the rhythm, your body beginning to move in time with them. Natasha’s thrusts from behind and the forced grind against Wanda beneath you merged into one relentless pace, both of them filling you completely, every motion dragging another helpless sound from your throat.
Natasha leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear. “Look at you… both holes full, dripping, shaking.” Her tone was edged with something sharp and possessive. “Taking it so well. You’re our little whore, aren’t you?”
All you could do was nod and whimper, your voice splintering into breathless, desperate sounds. “Y-yes… oh god… please… ah…” Every syllable felt like surrender, every cry another admission of how completely they had you.
Natasha’s hands tightened around your thighs, dragging you back harder against her as her thrusts drove deeper. A low, feral growl left her as the wet, unmistakable sound of the pace between all three of you filled the room.
“Gryaznaya malen'kaya sucka (filthy little bitch),” she murmured, the words rolling off her tongue with a dark, sharp edge. You may have been struggling to learn Russian, but you knew these words all too well. Her voice was equal parts venom and praise, lacing through every syllable. “Listen to that… such a fucking mess.”
A sharp whine escaped you, half in response to the deeper thrusts, half to the cruelty spilling so effortlessly from your girlfriend’s lips.
She was not always like this during sex, not always this cutting, this vicious in the way she spoke to you, but this had always been the plan for this scene, and God, you loved it.
Your mind, already softened by the wine and submission, had been reduced to something simple and pliant. A toy in their hands. A body for them to use. Holes to be filled, stretched and claimed. Unable to do anything except take what they gave you.
That was what you wanted. No, more than that, it was what you needed.
Your entire body trembled violently, slick with sweat and overwhelmed by the sheer force of it all, the overstimulation and the raw intensity pouring from both of them.
Wanda’s eyes had gone dark with hunger, her hands gripping your sides hard enough to leave angry crescents in your skin, marks you already knew would ache beautifully tomorrow.
Behind you, Natasha pressed even closer, forcing herself impossibly deeper before sinking her teeth into your shoulder.
The bite was sharp enough to pull fresh tears from your eyes, hot and stinging, and still she refused to let go. She stayed there, teeth buried in your skin, as she continued to drive into you, every relentless thrust tearing another helpless sound from your lips.
The room dissolved into a maelstrom of wet sounds, broken gasps, moans, and shaking bodies, skin slick with sweat, nails dragging, teeth biting, every touch rough, possessive, and utterly feral. Both the woman beneath you and the woman behind you were moaning and grunting now, the sounds of their pleasure only driving you higher and higher.
You did not even know when the vibrator had been slipped between you and Wanda, nor where it had appeared from, but the second it was pressed into place, your body convulsed.
The orgasm hit without warning, violent and completely involuntary, leaving you with no chance to even try and warn them. A loud moan tore from your throat as your body squirmed and shook, yet neither of them eased up for a second, continuing their relentless assault through every tremor.
Wanda was not far behind. Her own moan followed, it sounded deep and utterly satisfying, vibrating through her chest beneath you as she came, her fingers digging harder into your skin as her body tensed and shuddered.
Behind you, Natasha’s sounds only intensified. Her grunts sharpened, rough and guttural, she must've been close. She hadn’t even paused to comment on your climax, not a single biting word about how much of a whore you’d been. She was gone, completely lost in the rhythm, grinding harder into the harness with each punishing stroke.
Then her movements shifted, sudden and urgent, and a low sound tore from her throat. You assumed she had come, her body tensed, hands gripping your hips like iron, but the way she moved told you otherwise.
It wasn’t relief. If anything, each thrust grew more frantic, sharper, more desperate, as if whatever release she might have reached hadn’t touched her at all.
Her hands slid from your hips to rake down your back, nails digging deep, burning lines into your skin, and a growl rumbled from her chest that sounded almost inhuman. Every harsh breath, every animalistic grunt, made it clear: she wasn’t sated.
Your body shook beneath her, every movement colliding with Wanda’s own short thrusts and the vibration between you. Your moans tangled with theirs, wet, ragged, uncontrolled, echoing through the room.
You were utterly consumed, taking everything they gave, unable to separate one sensation from another, and utterly aware that Natasha’s fire, far from being quenched, had only been fanned into a blaze you had no hope of escaping.
“Vozmi eto, shlyukha (Take it, whore),” Natasha hissed, teeth dragging along your shoulder, her voice raw and biting as she slammed in harder, forcing a scream from your throat. “Da, krasotka (Yes, beautiful),” she growled, each word rough, each syllable sharp against your skin.
But she was lost to the moment, feral and unrestrained, venom lacing every word that spilled from her lips. “You think you’ve made me cum? Think again. I’m barely even touched, and I’m still hungry… starving, and you’re going to fix it. Do you understand me?”
You couldn’t respond, couldn’t form words, couldn't even nod. Your body just trembled violently, bucking and shivering, crying out as they moved inside you, every thrust dragging you closer to the edge again.
“That’s it… just like that,” Wanda murmured against your ear, her voice soft and velvety, fingers teasing over your clit with gentle insistence. Her words wrapped around you, grounding you in the warmth of her praise, a tender contrast to Natasha’s sharp words. “Such a good girl.”
You cried out again, body convulsing as the first wave of another orgasm tore through you, hot and unrelenting. Wanda moaned with you, hips snapping up to meet yours, and you could feel the way her body responded, shivering and trembling beneath you as she rode through her own high in response to yours.
But Natasha? She wasn’t slowing, wasn’t giving the slightest sign of being finished. Her thrusts were merciless, one hand still dragging your hips back, nails biting into your skin while the other hand smacked your ass repeatedly, and her teeth bit and scraped at every inch of skin she could reach, claiming, punishing and demanding everything you could give.
“You’re mine,” she growled, voice raw and jagged, breath burning against your ear. “Needy little whore… taking both of us like the perfect little slut you are.” Each word vibrated through you, making your body tremble anew, fraying you further at the edges.
You were lost, wrung out and frayed, yet every thrust, every bite, every slap, every scratch pushed you higher again. Your moans collided with Wanda’s low, satisfied hums and Natasha’s guttural growls, and still Natasha didn’t reach that edge.
She stayed just beyond it, every movement sharper, harder, driving herself into a desperate, pent-up frenzy while your body trembled, shivered, and shook under them. Wave after wave of pleasure tore through you, each climax washing into the next until you were utterly consumed, drenched, and dizzy.
Your mind felt thick, foggy, drunk on wine, overstimulation and exhaustion, thoughts slipping away into breathless moans and whimpers. Every touch, every press of leather, every thrust of the strap, every scrape of nails felt impossibly intense and overwhelming.
Your hand tapped Natasha’s shoulder twice, yellow. Not red. You weren’t done completely, but you needed the relentless pounding to stop. Your words came out slurred and shaky. “No more… please… I can’t…”
Natasha stopped, her breath ragged, chest rising and falling as she took a couple of deep, shuddering breaths. “What is it, kotenok (kitten)?” Her voice, though still thick with energy, had softened, threaded now with care.
“I… can’t… again,” you slurred, body melting into Wanda’s hold, legs trembling, hips still twitching from every sensation. Your drunk, spent brain barely managed the words, unable to summon more than a whispered plea.
“Good girl for telling me,” Natasha murmured, kisses trailing slowly down your spine, warm and grounding as she pulled out, even as your body quivered uncontrollably.
Wanda pressed soft, lingering kisses to your tear-streaked cheeks, her lips warm, her touch gentle but insistent, holding you steady in the haze of pleasure and exhaustion.
“Well done, sweet girl… you’ve done so well,” Wanda cooed, voice dripping with warmth as she eased her own strap from between your legs. The emptiness left behind hit like a weight and a relief all at once.
You were boneless, spent, floating between the haze of alcohol and the lingering waves of orgasm, unable to think beyond the soft heat of their hands. Natasha gently turned you over, so your back pressed against Wanda, who shifted to hold you, cradling your trembling body.
“You want to be done?” Natasha asked softly, though the heat and hunger in her eyes belied her words. “You called yellow, but that looks like red to me.”
Your head lolled slightly, eyes half-lidded, mind swimming, body trembling in every joint. You could see Natasha coiled with tension, her muscles tight, her breath heavy. You wanted to give it to her, but your limbs felt like lead. “I… want you to… cum… want you to finish,” you slurred, voice barely more than a whisper, “I just… I don’t want more.”
Natasha’s nostrils flared, her eyes darkening once more, the fleeting softness on her face evaporating, replaced once again by that sharp, hungry, merciless look that she had worn all evening. “You just want to lie there… let me use you to get off? Is that it?”
You nodded weakly, words slurring from your lips, thick and broken, barely audible over the ragged wet sounds of your breathing. “P-please…” you rasped, “…use me, Daddy.”
Natasha groaned low in response, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, like she wasn’t entirely sure how she wanted to use you. That was until something clicked. You saw it in her expression, that sharp lightbulb moment. “Wanda, give me the toy from your harness,” she commanded.
Wanda shifted slightly, fumbling the toy free from the O-ring where it rested before passing it over to Natasha. “Chto ty delayesh' (What are you doing)?” she asked Natasha, curiosity threading through her tired, heavy voice.
Natasha did not answer straight away. Instead, she stepped out of her own harness, disconnecting the toy she had been using before peeling off her underwear.
From where you lay, dazed and boneless, you could now see that she had been wearing boxers, and even in your utterly spent state, the sight sent a fresh spark of heat pooling low in your stomach.
Your mind was far too fogged to follow what she was planning, too overwhelmed and exhausted to even try. So you simply waited, body limp and pliant, letting her move you however she wanted without the slightest resistance.
Dropping to her knees, Natasha lifted the harness she had just removed and slowly slid it over your feet, guiding it up your legs and over your thighs. You barely moved, hips heavy and uncooperative, far too clouded to offer any help as she positioned it around your waist.
The moment she secured Wanda’s toy into the O-ring, a slow smirk curved across Natasha’s lips, and behind you, Wanda let out a sharp, shuddering breath.
“Oh… that’s what you’re doing,” Wanda murmured, her voice thick with exhaustion and raw intrigue, clearly affected by whatever plan had just clicked into place.
Natasha gave a small, deliberate nod as she rose to her feet. “My little whore wants me to use her,” she said, her voice dark with certainty, every word steeped in possession, “so I will.”
Then her hand slipped between her own thighs, fingers sliding into her cunt. She pumped them slowly a few times, a deep, broken moan leaving her lips at the sensation.
Even through the haze clouding your mind, you could hear how wet she was, the sound alone enough to make your body twitch despite how oversensitive and utterly worn out you already were.
Before you could properly piece together what she was doing, Natasha climbed over you and slowly lowered herself onto the strap now secured around your waist.
Her hands came down hard on your shoulders, fingers biting into your skin just enough to drag a sharp gasp from your lips, your whole body twitching as oversensitivity still crackled through every nerve.
“God… fuck… ahh…” she moaned, her voice breaking as she began to drive herself down again and again, every movement rough, desperate, and feral.
Her nails scraped across your skin, leaving hot, burning red streaks in their wake as she hauled you closer in pure need, folding herself over your trembling body, her lips brushing your shoulder, your neck, anywhere she could reach.
You were so utterly spent that all you could do was lie there and take it, watching through half-lidded eyes as her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, and when her dark eyes finally dropped back to meet yours, there was something in them so raw it was almost frightening.
Natasha rode the strap with every ounce of effort she had left, her whole body driven by a hunger that had started so early that day, and only grown more consuming as the night wore on.
There was something almost animal in the way she moved now, as if every breath, every shudder, every motion was fuelled by instinct rather than thought.
She looked utterly undone. Her shirt was creased and rumpled now, every once neat line completely ruined, her blazer half-slipped from one shoulder and bunched untidily around her waist with every frantic movement.
The sight of her like that, so visibly unravelled, so stripped of every trace of control, made your breath catch in your throat. She was beautiful and terrifying all at once.
Natasha’s hips jerked violently against the strap, a low grunt tearing from her throat as she chased the climax she craved. Every muscle in her body was taut, coiled with need, and the desperation in her movements sent shivers through your spent, trembling body.
You could feel her every shudder, every grind, every snap of tension reverberate through you, slick and overwhelmed, barely able to breathe between gasps.
“You feel that? That’s you giving it to me. You don’t get to move, you don’t get to think, you just exist for me to use,” she snarled, voice breaking as her hands dug deeper into your shoulders.
Behind you, Wanda held you close, grounding you with firm, steady pressure, lips pressing against your shoulder, whispering, “You’re okay, you’re so good, sweet girl… just let her take what she needs.”
Her voice was a warm anchor beneath Natasha’s storm, a tether keeping your mind from floating entirely away, even as your body shivered and convulsed under Natasha’s assault.
Natasha’s breathing was ragged, sharp and broken as she dragged herself over the strap, every movement frantic and unrestrained.
Her thighs tensed, shaking as she pressed down, grinding her hips with jagged desperation, and you could feel the heat of her release building, a wildfire burning just beneath the surface.
Then she broke. A strangled, almost inhuman cry tore from her lips as her body shuddered violently, every muscle trembling. Her hands clawed at your shoulders, dragging you closer, pulling you into the chaos of her pleasure, her teeth sinking briefly back into your skin.
The sound of her release was raw, untamed and primal, a cascade of wet, desperate cries, ragged breaths, and guttural moans that filled the room.
Her hips jerked, grinding into the strap, her whole body trembling uncontrollably, and you could feel every pulse, every contraction, every frenzied motion rippling through you, leaving you completely drenched, trembling, and undone.
Wanda’s arms tightened around you, holding you as your body quaked, moans slipping from your lips in half-formed, drunken bursts despite how done you already were.
Her fingers trailed lightly across your stomach, up your sides, grounding you, while her voice, low and warm, whispered, “So good… You took it so well.”
Natasha’s chest heaved, sweat glistening across her skin, dark hair damp and clinging to the sharp lines of her face, her eyes still wild and shadowed with the lingering hunger of her release.
But slowly, almost imperceptibly, that fire began to soften. The sharp edge to her breathing eased, giving way to deep, satisfied sighs as the tension finally started to drain from her body.
She let herself sink down onto you, collapsing close, her warmth pressing into you as she held you tightly, every muscle slowly beginning to loosen, every jagged edge of that desperation softening against the heat of your skin.
You lay utterly spent beneath her, limbs heavy and unresponsive. Wanda’s arms remained wrapped securely around you, anchoring you in place as Natasha’s warm, trembling weight settled over you, her lips brushing softly against your shoulder in quiet, exhausted affection.
The room was filled only with the sound of breathing gradually evening out, Natasha’s still slightly unsteady against your skin, Wanda’s calm and measured behind you.
The frantic energy that had consumed the room only moments before had dissolved into warmth, into the quiet, comforting weight of bodies tangled together.
Natasha’s hand slid slowly up your side, no longer gripping, no longer demanding, just tracing soft, absent-minded lines across your skin, as though reassuring herself that you were still there beneath her. Her lips brushed your shoulder again, gentler this time, lingering in a way that felt almost reverent.
In response, your own hand moved to wrap around her waist, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt, your fingertips tracing little shapes against the warm skin of her back.
Behind you, Wanda’s hand moved into your hair, fingertips combing slowly through the damp strands and easing them away from your face. Her touch was careful and soothing, the steady rhythm of it pulling you deeper into that blissful, floaty haze.
You felt her shift slightly, her other hand coming to rest on Natasha’s shoulder, massaging softly, making sure the tension fully drained from her muscles, a quiet reassurance that she was just as safe to relax as you were.
It was quiet. It was safe. It was bliss.
—
It felt as though you had been lying there forever, your eyes closed, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of Natasha’s breathing as it gradually evened out against your shoulder. Her weight was still draped warmly over you, like a living blanket pinning you safely in place.
Behind you Wanda’s fingers continued to thread lazily through your hair, separating the damp strands and smoothing them back from your forehead with an absent tenderness that made every inch of you soften further into the sofa.
The room had settled into that rare, precious kind of quiet that only came after intensity, when the air still felt thick with warmth, sweat, and the remnants of everything that had just happened, but the storm itself had finally passed.
All that remained now was softness, slow touches, and the occasional sleepy sigh, and for a long moment you simply let yourself exist in it, suspended in the warmth of both of them.
Eventually, Wanda leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to the side of your head before speaking, her voice low and careful in the way it always became when she was making sure you were fully back with her. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling, zlatíčko (darling)?”
The question took a moment to reach through the haze clouding your mind. Your thoughts still felt thick and blurred, softened by exhaustion and the lingering wine.
When you finally answered, the word came out small and slurred, barely more than a murmur. “Tired,” you mumbled, your voice heavy with sleep. “Really… really tired.”
Wanda let out a soft laugh, full of affection rather than amusement, and you felt her fingertips stroke gently across your scalp as she kissed your hair again. “I know, maličká (little one),” she murmured warmly. “You did so well. Can I get you anything? Water? Blanket? Food?”
You gave a lazy shake of your head, the movement barely more than a tilt, and she smiled against your hair before whispering, “Okay, just let me know if I can,” and returning to those slow, soothing strokes through your hair.
The room fell quiet again after that, not empty silence but the kind that felt safe and full, the sort that wrapped itself around you like another blanket.
Time became difficult to measure, each second blending into the next beneath the weight of Natasha and the softness of Wanda’s touch, until eventually you felt Natasha begin to stir.
At first it was only subtle, a shift in her shoulders and a change in the rhythm of her breathing, but then she lifted her head slightly from where it had been tucked against you, and it dawned on you with a sleepy sort of amusement that she must have actually fallen asleep on top of you.
Somewhere between the warmth, the sweat, and the lingering stickiness of spilled wine, you had noticed a faint dampness near your shoulder, and the suspicion was immediately confirmed when Natasha sleepily lifted a hand and wiped at the corner of her mouth.
“Nice nap, najdrahšia moja (my beloved)?” Wanda asked softly, and even without looking you could hear the fond smile in her voice, and could practically picture the teasing curve of her lips.
Natasha blinked slowly, dark lashes heavy as she pushed herself up just enough to look between the two of you, still clearly halfway caught in her own post-orgasm haze. She gave a small nod before whispering, her voice rough with sleep and exertion, “Didn’t mean to sleep.”
Then her gaze dropped to you, and something almost sheepish softened her expression. “Sorry, kroshka (little crumb).”
A sleepy smile tugged at your lips, and your hand moved lazily up her arm, your fingertips brushing over her skin in a slow, absent line. “It’s okay, Naty,” you murmured, your voice still soft and slurred. “It was nice. You were like a blanket.”
That pulled a real grin from Natasha, crooked and warm and just a little smug. “Then you’re welcome,” she replied, the faintest hint of teasing returning to her voice.
After a beat, though, the grin softened into something quieter, something almost uncertain, and one of her hands brushed gently over your waist. “Are you okay?” she asked, softer now. “That… wasn’t too much?”
There was a faint shyness to the question that made your chest ache a little, because after everything, after all the intensity and feral desperation, seeing her like this, stripped back and vulnerable, felt almost more intimate than anything else.
You shook your head again, more firmly this time, even though your body still felt like lead, and lifted your gaze to meet hers. “Not at all,” you said, a slow smile spreading across your face. “It was good. So good.”
Natasha returned a soft, quiet smile, though a flicker of concern lingered in her eyes. “You called yellow,” she said gently, voice careful, “can you tell me how you feel about that? Was that the right call?”
For a moment, your mind went blank, and you blinked, trying to remember. Then it clicked, and a small laugh escaped, breathless and warm. “Oh… yeah, I forgot,” you said, shaking your head a little.
“It was… a lot. But exactly what I wanted. I wanted to see you finish, but I just… I couldn’t take more. Yellow was the right call, I wasn’t done with being part of the scene, just… needed a change, and you did that.”
Her gaze softened completely then, the tension in her jaw easing, and she leaned closer, brushing a hand gently over your arm. “Thank you,” she whispered, just for you, the weight of her relief and reassurance wrapping around you like a quiet warmth.
Then your smile turned sleepy and teasing as a thought slipped through the haze of your exhaustion. “But I think I need to see you riding a strap like that again when I’m actually lucid enough to remember it properly in future.”
That earned a soft laugh from both of them. Wanda’s fingers stilled in your hair for a moment as she laughed quietly behind you, while Natasha’s grin widened into something darker and more familiar, the old edge slipping back into her expression just enough to make warmth curl low in your stomach again despite your exhaustion.
Her fingers traced lightly over your hip as she looked down at you, her voice dipping back into that dominant cadence she wore so effortlessly. “I’m sure that can be arranged,” she murmured, the smirk in her voice almost as clear as the one on her face. “If you’re good.”
—
Thank you so much for reading, and an even bigger thank you to everyone who sent in requests! I ended up with so many wonderful ideas, and I knew I’d have to weave a few of them into one fic, so this chapter ended up being a mixture of several requests. I really hope you enjoyed how it all came together 🩵.
Tag list: @chansawrelier, @Angelicbrats, @Brooklyn-r-dawson, @lizzieolsie216, @godhatesgoodgirls, @libbyofc, @sevikasoneandonlywife, @jizzuo308, @ciaoooooo111, @natashasmuse, @angelxblink (If I’ve accidentally missed you from the list, I’m so sorry, I know I’ve probably missed a few comments! Also, if you’d like to be removed, just let me know.)
After moving to New York, a collision while cycling sends you flying into the lives of Wanda Maximoff and her wife, Natasha Romanoff. Together, they teach you a new way of belonging and being loved.
Chapter Summary: You spend an evening with Wanda and Natasha, watching a movie. In the morning, you and Natasha have a chance to get to know each other a little better.
Word Count: 6.3k
It takes you an age to finish your dinner; you’re so restricted by the sling, the pain, and the fear of spilling your food in such sophisticated company. By the time your plate is clear Natasha has already finished her second helping, and you’ve long since stopped looking at Wanda since her encouraging smiles make you feel flustered — and therefore more at risk of missing your mouth.
“Thank you for dinner, Wanda,” you say, looking up from your plate finally. “It was really delicious.”
“You’re very welcome, darling,” Wanda replies, with a warm smile. “You did a good job getting through it; I know it can’t be easy with your shoulder.”
You bite your lip and nod, grateful that she understands.
Natasha stands up and starts stacking plates. You spring up too, eager to help.
“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Natasha tells you gently. “I’ve got it.”
“Please,” you murmur. “I’d like to help.”
You hate being injured, not just because of the need to rest (which you’ve never been very good at), but also the way it makes you feel useless. You want to be helpful. You need to feel helpful.
“Let her, Nat,” Wanda advises, and you blush at the shared look between them.
“Alright,” Natasha relents. “You can take the glasses, Y/N. Thanks.”
So you do. It’s silly really, since Wanda insists you take them one at a time again, and this makes it a slow, laborious process which Natasha could have easily averted by taking them herself. But she thanks you when you place the third glass by the sink, where she is filling a washing up bowl with warm water and bubbles.
“Is there anything else I can do?” you ask her, pivoting your feet on the shiny floor.
“Hmm…” Natasha considers, glancing between you and her wife. “You could take Wanda downstairs and pick a movie for us to watch. Just be warned: she will try to choose a rom-com and I’m trusting you to convince her otherwise.”
You can really feel that your head has been knocked today, by the amount of time it takes to process her words. When they finally sink in, you giggle quietly.
“Okay,” you whisper, and you feel your chest flutter when Natasha gives you a proper smile and a conspiratorial wink.
You feel like skipping back to Wanda, but you walk sensibly instead. She’s wiping the table, even though you don’t remember seeing any spillages. They’re so diligent, the two of them. The easy domesticity makes you feel strangely comforted. Like you fit in to their daily routine, without disruption. But then, maybe that’s just the mark of good hosts. Making the difficult seem easy.
“Um, Natasha says we should go downstairs and choose a movie,” you inform Wanda shyly.
“That’s a great idea,” Wanda hums, finishing wiping the table and gesturing with the cloth to tell you she’s just going to put it away. You watch her bring it to the sink, murmur something to Natasha as she leans in to rinse her hands, then return to you. “Alright,” she smiles, “let’s head down.”
Wanda glances back every few steps, checking you’re okay. You feel a little lighter, now that Natasha seems to be opening up and there’s a clear plan for the evening. It’s good that you won’t have to talk much; you like being able to spend time with people without the pressure of chatting all the time. Especially now, when your thoughts can’t seem to form proper sentences.
You hover by the sofa downstairs, wanting Wanda to sit first so you can gauge where you ought to go. But she seems to be waiting for you.
“Do you want to sit on that side again?” she asks, nodding towards the far right end, where you fell asleep earlier. You shrug noncommittally, sort of wishing she would make the decision for you, so you wouldn’t have to think.
“Okay, well I think you should sit there,” Wanda ponders aloud, “because it seemed to be better for your shoulder before, hm?”
You hesitate, then nod in agreement.
“You know, sweetheart, it’s okay to tell us what you think, and what you prefer,” Wanda tells you quietly. You blush, and shrink in on yourself.
“I - I know,” you stammer. You’re staring at the floor but still, you can feel Wanda analysing you.
“Is it just hard, at the moment?” she asks gently.
Your teeth take hold of your bottom lip, stopping it from wobbling. You nod.
“Hey, that’s okay,” Wanda approaches, and places a hand on your good shoulder. “We can help you out, then. You just let us know if you’re ever uncomfortable, alright?” With her free hand, she cups your chin and adds a gentle upwards pressure, encouraging you to look up. When you do, you see her expectant face, soft and watchful. You sense that she wants you to respond, to demonstrate you have understood.
“Okay,” you whisper. “I - I can do that.”
She beams at you. “Good girl. Now, let’s get comfy and choose something to watch before Natasha comes down and has chance to take over.”
You sit at the same time as her, head reeling from her soothing praise and the way she moved on so swiftly, preventing it from truly landing. She’s sitting so close to you too, and she’s moved her right hand to take your left, while she presses on the remote with her other hand. You watch in a daze as she pulls up Netflix and navigates to her list.
“Anything you suggest?” Wanda asks, turning to you intermittently. “These are all films I haven’t seen yet, but want to watch.”
Your eyes strain to make out the images and words. Wanda must see you squinting, because she slows down her scrolling to allow you to process the options. When you see a film you know and like, your eyes must show recognition, because Wanda stops her button-pressing and tilts her head at you.
“This one?”
You look between her and the TV screen, fidgeting slightly at the realisation she can read you so easily.
“I like it. It’s a bit sad, though… The director, Joe Wright — he made Pride and Prejudice and Hanna too.” The words come out easily, without pre-planning or any kind of filter. You blush at the unintended monologue, when a simple nod could have sufficed.
“Was that the Pride and Prejudice with Keira Knightley?” Wanda asks, and this time you manage to contain yourself to a nod. “Oh, I love that film! I’ve not seen Hanna though, is that good too?”
Again you nod, but you’re smiling now, feeling a little safer after her enthusiastic response.
Wanda pulls up Atonement, but makes sure to pause it so that Natasha won’t miss any. She’s stroking your hand gently with her thumb, and it’s making you sink into the cushions behind you, finally relaxing again.
“So, who’s in Hanna?” Wanda enquires, keeping the conversation going easily, despite your reticence. You swallow, and focus on both locating the answer in your brain, and refining it into a measured response.
“Saoirse Ronan and Cate Blanchett,” you say quietly, leaving out the other names which popped into your head. “It’s like, an action-y spy thriller.”
You shut down then, feeling you’ve said too much as a product of the concussion and the painkillers. You’re probably not even talking as coherently as you think. Wanda’s interested expression and conversational openers were most likely just polite gestures to pass the time in your company.
Natasha appears in the doorway, a welcome distraction from your ramblings.
“Picked something?” she asks as she swans in and launches herself onto the sofa on Wanda’s other side.
“Yes,” Wanda says, opening her arm and wrapping it round Natasha’s shoulders. Their bodies entwine effortlessly, like they’re drawn together with magnets. “Y/N recommended this one.”
Natasha leans forward to meet your gaze.
“Rom-com?” she asks, raising her left eyebrow meaningfully. Your lips quiver into a smile as you shake your head adamantly. “Good,” Natasha sighs, then she gives you another subtle wink.
Wanda presses play and leans back, continuing to stroke your hand very gently. You try to steady your breathing and ignore the touch and the tantalising closeness of your bodies, as well as the gentle display of affection between Natasha and Wanda’s connected forms.
It’s strange, watching a film you’ve seen before in their company, and getting to witness the way they respond. Wanda is overt in her reactions: sharp intakes of breath, furrowed eyebrows and scandalised glances at you whenever there is a twist. You only see Natasha in brief glimpses, since she’s mostly obscured by Wanda. But she seems, predictably, impassive throughout. That is, until the long-take scene of Dunkirk beach.
You’re set off, as always, by the horses being shot. Wanda turns to you and squeezes your hand sympathetically when she spots the silent tears. She joins you soon enough, affected by the swelling music and the scenes of destruction. But it’s not until it cuts to inside, when Natasha clears her throat, that you get to see the effect on her.
“I’ll go and make drinks,” she announces, and Wanda pauses the film in acknowledgement. “Y/N, do you want anything?”
You look up and see that her cheeks remain dry, but her eyes look a little misty. You wriggle your hand out of Wanda’s so you can wipe the tears out of your own.
“Um, I’m okay, I think. Thank you though.”
Natasha cocks her head and scans you, like she’s deciding for herself.
“Are you sure? I’m going to grab myself a beer, and make a peppermint tea for Wanda…”
“Yes please, my love,” Wanda cuts in gratefully. Natasha smiles cockily at her, seemingly proud of her intuition.
“…so it’s no bother. I could also get you a juice, or soda?” Natasha gives these options easily, but it’s hard for you to process, let alone make a choice. You’ve never been good at making decisions at the best of times, so it’s really no wonder you’re struggling now. Wanda strokes some hair out your face and tucks it behind your ear. It’s a sweet gesture, but it makes you blush and stops your brain computing for an additional couple of seconds.
“Maybe, could I get a peppermint tea as well, please?” you ask finally.
Natasha nods.
“Of course. You relax ladies, I’ll be back with you momentarily.” She gives a little bow before she leaves, and you giggle at the unexpected silliness coming from such a serious-seeming person as Natasha.
“She always does this…” Wanda tells you confidentially, as Natasha disappears into the little pantry adjoining the living room, “…leaves when she catches feelings during a movie. Nat tries her best to hide it, but she’s really a certified softie.”
You let out a tiny giggle at the disclosure, and pull your feet up onto the sofa, crossing your legs beneath you.
Wanda turns on the sofa, mirroring your movements so she’s sitting cross-legged next to you, regarding you with a studious look.
“How are you doing, sweetheart?” she asks, serious all of a sudden. “Is this okay for you, us all sitting together and watching a movie? It’s not too much, is it?”
Looking at Wanda’s eyebrows slightly knitted together, it occurs to you that she’s worried, concerned that she’s approaching this all wrong. You don’t want her to feel bad or guilty about anything she’s doing, because although your head spins from the kindness and their close way of interacting with you, you wouldn’t reject it in your wildest dreams. Keen to assuage her worries, you shake your head quickly. Then nod ever so slightly, confused about which question you are answering, and which gesture is required. Realising your non-verbal response is only intensifying the frown she wears, you force yourself to find words amongst the fog in your head.
“I’m okay. It’s nice, being with you. I feel…” you search for the right word, somewhat regretting the sentence you’ve set up, since you now need to identify a description which is the right level of honest in depicting how you are feeling. Finally, you settle on one word; truthful and all-encompassing. “Safe.”
Wanda reaches out with both hands and encases your left hand between her palms, wrapping her fingers protectively around you.
“I’m glad,” she replies, her voice hushed, her lips curled in a smile of relief. “I want you to feel safe here. Just… let me or Nat know if it gets too much, if you need space. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”
You nod earnestly, glad you can give her this confirmation, this commitment in return. But really, will it ever be too much? Despite everything they’ve already done for you, there’s a shameful part of you that’s still left wanting, yearning for more.
Natasha returns with a mug in each hand. When she spots your positions, facing each other on the sofa with Wanda’s hand wrapped around yours, there’s an odd expression that comes over her face. Something, you think with trepidation, rather like suspicion. Under the guise of preparing for the tea, you tug your hand gently away from Wanda’s grasp and start turning your body around. She lets you go at the first hint of your movement, making you wonder if she, too, feels a little caught by Natasha’s prompt return. When Natasha places a mug on the coffee table in front of you, you murmur a thanks without looking up, too ashamed to show her the colour of your cheeks.
“Just be careful,” she warns. “It’stoo soon to be drinking it just yet.”
You glance up, and see that she’s not looking at you, but instead at Wanda. Fixing her with a meaningful look which has you worried, scared that you’ve crossed a line. But Wanda sees you looking, and smiles reassuringly at you as Natasha returns to the pantry. You bite your lip and stare at your knees, waiting self-consciously for Natasha to bring her beer back and enable the film to proceed, and everyone’s attention to leave you.
It takes longer than you expect, but you persist in your determined downward gaze. When Natasha re-emerges, you listen to her footsteps approach, anticipating the sound of her body sinking into the sofa. But instead, the next sounds you hear are of multiple hard objects being placed on the coffee table. You flicker your eyes up slightly, to see her beer on the far side of the table, a big bowl of popcorn in the middle, and a stack of bowls beside.
“Popcorn?” Natasha asks, leaning forward once she’s sat down so she can catch your eyes. You look up sheepishly, scared to meet her gaze but more afraid of appearing rude. She seems curious rather than annoyed; when you hesitate, she continues calmly, as if trying to put you at ease. “It’s a mix of sweet and salty. I hope that’s okay.”
“Excellent,” Wanda says approvingly, setting an example by shuffling forward to the edge of the sofa and grabbing a bowl. “Do you want some, Y/N?”
“Yes please,” you whisper, shuffling forward too. “Thanks, Natasha,” you add, forcing yourself to look over at her again to give her a grateful smile, which feels rather wobbly on your lips. She smiles back though, making you feel a little better.
“You’re welcome. Dig in.”
Wanda passes a bowl to you, which you set in your lap before reaching for the popcorn. She lifts the big bowl closer to aid you, letting you grab a measured handful closer to your bowl, reducing the risk of spilling. Once Natasha has grabbed some too, Wanda checks both of you at her side, then presses play. You shuffle back to lean against the sofa cushion again, feeling your heart thudding through your chest, heartbeat still not settled since the strange moment when Natasha returned from the kitchen. You try to distract yourself with the film and the tea and the popcorn, but it takes ages to redirect your attention from the anxious thoughts. At some point, Wanda’s hand moves to rest on your bouncing knee, calming it with a gentle touch.
“Sorry,” you whisper, embarrassed by your fidgeting.
“It’s alright, sweetheart,” she reassures you. “Do you need anything? I can pause the film if you like?”
Your embarrassment intensifies at this, her unspoken implication of what you might be needing, but not expressing.
“No, it’s okay — I just fidget sometimes, without realising. I’ll stop.”
Wanda opens her mouth to reply, but then closes it again. She gives your knee a gentle pat, then removes her hand back to her lap. You feel like your leg has been staked into the ground now; you daren’t move it again for fear of further assumptions.
Eventually you fall back into the film, getting caught in the plot and the passive enjoyment of sneaking glances at Wanda and Natasha’s reactions to the twists, to the drama of it all. Wanda blurts out her emotions, letting out strangled sounds when it gets too much, whereas Natasha merely becomes more stern-looking and tense in her seat, like she’s trying not to react to the gut-wrenching events of the film.
When it finally finishes and the credits begin to roll, there’s a silence amongst the three of you. You wait, nervous to know how your recommendation was received since you feel responsible for the emotional rollercoaster it has put them through.
“Well, I’ve got to give it to you, kid,” Natasha says, looking straight ahead and running a hand through her hair. “That was the opposite of a rom-com.”
You watch her, trying to see her face and ascertain whether this is a joke, or a veiled criticism of your film choice. You’re relieved when she turns and gives you a wry grin, one eyebrow raised.
“I enjoyed it, Y/N,” she tells you, perhaps seeing the worry in your expression. “Good choice.”
You smile back shyly, squirming a little at the attention and the positive feedback.
“Yes, it was good,” Wanda agrees. “But I think I’m owed something feel-good next time, Natasha. No more influencing Y/N to pick sad movies — my heart can’t take it.” She clutches her chest dramatically at this, but grins at you too so you can see she harbours no ill feelings over the film choice either.
Settling back into the sofa cushions, you watch as Wanda finishes her tea and Natasha grabs another handful of popcorn. They chat a little more about the film, sharing their observations, but you’re only half listening as your body relaxes and emits a yawn.
Wanda turns to you, and smiles in a particularly soft way.
“Hmm, I think it’s time someone gets ready for bed,” she suggests gently, checking her watch. “You’re due some more painkillers around about now too, sweetheart. I’ll come up with you and help you get sorted.”
You don’t argue, because you do feel exhausted and it would be good to get some painkillers in now, before the rising pain begins to swell. So when Wanda stands up and offers her hand, you take it without hesitation and let her help you up.
“Goodnight, Y/N,” Natasha says, looking up as she grabs the remote for the TV. “Oh — it might help to have a pillow on your side, to stop you rolling over that way. It saved me a lot of bother with my collarbone when I figured that out.”
You blink, trying to comprehend this but struggling to understand the mechanics of what she is describing in your tired state.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Wanda reassures you. “I know what she means; I’ll sort you out.”
You nod at Wanda, then give Natasha a bashful smile.
“Goodnight,” you whisper. She smiles back at you, then turns to the TV, changing the input source and grabbing a PS5 controller from the shelf beneath the coffee table.
Wanda leads you out and up the stairs, her gentle pull against your hand an anchor in this strange scenario. Your exhaustion is making you process everything a little differently; maybe now that the day is nearing an end you are finally able to reflect on it properly, and realise how bizarre recent events have been. Today you’ve been hit by a truck, had your bike destroyed, broken your collarbone, and basically been adopted into the care of two kind, generous — gorgeous — older women. Everything has moved so fast and so slow all at once.
“Are all your toiletries in the bathroom already?” Wanda asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. You find yourself on the landing of the top floor, Wanda hovering outside the door to the bathroom. You nod, not feeling able or willing to speak just now. She smiles at you, almost knowingly, but doesn’t move for a few seconds. You’re not sure why. She’s not letting go of your hand, and you certainly don’t want to let go of hers.
“Okay,” she whispers, almost to herself. And then she leads you in, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bath. You sit without question — or even confusion. You’re just there, now. Listening to her movements. Waiting for her next instruction. She seems to be taking her time. Or maybe that’s you, struggling to keep up with the concussion? You’re not sure.
“Darling, can I help you wash your face?” Wanda asks, placing a hand on your left shoulder. You tilt your head sleepily to the side, then nod. She responds to this with a gentle squeeze, then she moves away to the sink, retrieving a facecloth from the cabinet and wetting it with liquid from some bottle.
She’s so gentle, wiping away the makeup and dirt that remains on your face, and warning you before reaching your chin that it might hurt there, where it is grazed. It stings a little, but her gentle hushing sounds makes it easier to tolerate.
Your eyes feel droopy now, and you let them flutter, not bothering to hide your exhaustion. You want to lean against Wanda’s arm but she withdraws, making you open your eyes to see where she is gone. She’s holding your toothbrush out to you, toothpaste already squeezed on it, and she encourages you to brush your teeth a bit. You do, even though you hate it, and would gladly forego this part of the routine tonight. The texture feels worse when you are this tired, and you feel the goosebumps spreading down your arms at the sensation of the bristles bending and scraping against your teeth and gums. Disgusting as always, but you’re doing it for Wanda tonight.
When you can bear no more, you step over to the sink and spit out the toothpaste, trying not to look at your bedraggled reflection in the mirror.
“Good job,” Wanda praises you, turning the icy shivers into warm tingles. “Now, I’m going to go get your medication and a glass of water to wash it down. Can you go to the toilet, and meet me in your room when you’re ready?”
You’re past the point of being embarrassed now, so you just nod pliantly at her request, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to be directed like this.
Wanda smiles, gives you a pat on your good shoulder, then leaves.
It shouldn’t take long to go to the toilet and return to your room, but the process is such an upheaval now with only your non-dominant hand and your wobbly state of consciousness that by the time you’ve finished and made it across the landing, Wanda is already waiting in the doorway of your bedroom, holding the pill bottle and a glass of water. As you come in, she places the glass on the wall shelf and then shakes one pill out the bottle, before handing it to you. You take it, drop it in your mouth and push it to the back with a swallowing motion, readying it to be washed down with the glass of water she hands to you next. You gulp down some water — and with it the medication — grimacing despite your best efforts. Wanda takes the glass from you then, and delivers it to the bedside table so it’s there if you need it in the night. She also places down the pill bottle, leaving the lid unscrewed and balancing on top.
“Don’t take any more unless you wake up after three, and need another,” she tells you. But then she studies your face, and seems to doubt your reliability. “If you’re confused, you can come downstairs and get me. Anytime of the night, wake me up if you need. Natasha too. We’re here for you.”
You smile serenely at this, not really paying it much heed. You’re so ready to collapse into bed now.
“Do you want to change into anything else?” Wanda asks, observing your clothing. You’re still in the joggers you put on earlier and the t-shirt Wanda helped you into. This will do fine. You’ll shimmy off the joggers under the covers once Wanda is gone. You can’t bear to wear anything other than underwear on your legs at night, but you’re not quite gone enough that you’ll strip in her presence. So you shake your head and focus in on trying to undo your watch from your left wrist, attempting to undo with strap with the fingers of your right hand without jarring your shoulder. Wanda intervenes at once, gently taking over, removing it from your wrist then placing it on the bedside table.
“Okay,” Wanda smiles. “Let’s get you sorted then, and try out Nat’s trick.”
She opens the duvet cover to let you slide in, and you manoeuvre with some difficulty into the bed with one arm. Once you’ve slid over, responding to Wanda’s gestures, she positions a cushion to your right side, so there’s a barrier preventing you rolling onto the sling.
“There,” she says. “Comfortable?”
Not really, you think. Wearing the sling is horrid, and you wish your joggers were off already, but this will do for now. So you nod amicably, and let her gently drape the duvet back over you.
“Well, goodnight, Y/N,” Wanda says quietly. “Sleep well. And get me if you need anything, okay?”
You nod again, since she seems to need the reassurance more than you. Your eyes are fluttering so much that you doubt you’ll wake at all before morning, once you’ve drifted off. Even the ache in your collarbone is nothing to the exhaustion settled into your skeleton.
“Goodnight,” you whisper, as she leaves. She gives you one last smile as she closes the curtains over, then she turns the light off and closes the door over, not quite fully.
You let a few moments pass, hearing the receding sound of her footsteps, before you wriggle your joggers off and kick them down the bed. Now, at last, you are ready to sleep.
———
The night slips by with nothing of note to report; you remember no dreams when you wake, and you know only the stabbing pains in your shoulder and the throbbing ache throughout your body that let you know the painkillers have well and truly left your system. You groan as it overwhelms you, like a morning song of pain, it commandeers your senses entirely. Dragging yourself into a seated position, you grab the pill bottle beside you and shake it out onto the duvet cover over your lap. You take a pill from the spillage and throw it into your mouth before gulping water from the glass and swallowing it down so hastily that you splutter.
Once it’s swallowed and the pressure in your throat recedes a little, you tidy up the mess by balancing the bottle in the recession between your legs and returning the poured out pills into their receptacle. Then you place it back on the bedside table, leaving the lid balancing on top just as Wanda did.
You remember her guidance suddenly, and you grab your watch from the side to check the time. Twenty four minutes past six. Okay. You just need to remember that now, for calculating the doses later. Maybe you can manage that. You feel a little clearer than yesterday already. Particularly compared to last night. You shudder, trying to ward away the memories of how you behaved before bed, too scared to examine them. Trying to distract yourself, you focus on
Maybe you should head downstairs? You’ve run out of water and you can still feel the acidic burn of the pill in your gullet. Something to eat or drink would help a lot, right now.
You faff about a while, changing your underwear but pulling on the same joggers from yesterday, since you’d rather wear something comfy than clean at this point. Also, you feel a bit gross from the lack of showering and clean trousers won’t resolve that issue. And besides, you have no hope of changing your t-shirt with one functioning arm and half of your torso rigid with self-protective stiffness. So this dishevelled getup will have to do.
You briefly visit the toilet before heading downstairs, though you decide to delay brushing your teeth until later. Small blessing, today.
The floor below is very quiet, and though the door to Wanda and Natasha’s room is slightly ajar, you can’t tell whether this means they are awake, or if it was simply left open in case you needed to call upon their assistance during the night. So you don’t linger; you head down one more flight, making for the kitchen.
When you reach the bottom of the next set of stairs, you are greeted by a soft, warm presence that wraps around your legs familiarly.
“Hey, Mayakovsky,” you whisper, stooping down with difficulty, resolving to endure the pain in order to greet him as he deserves. You are careful to offer him the same hello as yesterday, extending a closed fist with one outstretched finger for him to boop and rub against, before attempting a stroke. He lets you, purring loudly and meowing his acceptance. “It’s good to see you too,” you tell him, feeling his purrs disarm some of the pain coursing through you.
Mayakovsky gives you one last firm rub of his head against your leg, before walking over to the kitchen, turning round and meowing to maintain your attention. You see Natasha leaning over the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the marble and a steaming mug cupped between her hands. She’s watching you intently, apparently pondering your appearance. You cringe slightly at the realisation that she’s witnessed the whole interaction, seen you chatting to her deaf cat and grimacing in pain as you contorted to stroke him.
You follow Mayakovsky a little hesitantly now, greeting Natasha with an awkward smile. Her hair looks damp, like she’s just had a shower, but she’s in comfy clothes, which you assume isn’t what she will wear to work today (if, indeed, she is working today — you’re too shy to ask her any details about this).
“Good morning,” you murmur, feeling like you’re walking in on her private time, disturbing her peace.
“Morning,” she says, sipping her coffee then allowing you a small smile. “Did you sleep okay?”
You nod. “Yeah, I slept through, actually. I think I was pretty tired.”
“No wonder,” she says, lifting her elbows off the counter and standing up to her full height. She lets go of her mug with one hand and slides a document of a few A4 pages across the counter towards you. “Here, for you.”
You step forward cautiously, then spin the paper to face you. The title reads “Broken Collarbone Rehabilitation”, and you see a chunk of text, followed by an image with a description of a particular shoulder movement.
“It’s just some exercises which helped me recover when I broke mine,” Natasha explains offhandedly. Then she leaves her mug on the counter, and begins to turn, throwing a question over her shoulder. “Coffee?”
“Thank you,” you say, looking up and smiling gratefully. Her thoughtful offering touches you, makes you feel seen and — in part — accepted. “And, um, yes please. To coffee.”
She nods neutrally, and makes her way to the coffee machine in the corner. You pull out a stool and start to sit down, before Mayakovsky’s plaintive meowing distracts you.
“Ignore him,” Natasha advises. “He’s just hoping he can convince you to give him a second breakfast.”
You smile, and regard Mayakovsky with an apologetic look as you sit down. He quickly gives up when you turn your attention to the exercises Natasha has printed out, and scurries off towards the staircase, heading down when he reaches it. You see the door to the balcony is closed and assume he’s off to use the cat-flap downstairs, in the hopes of finding more food outside.
The exercises Natasha has printed out are sorted into stages, with the first set being advised to start from a few days post-accident. Still, you give the first an attempt, a gentle neck roll to the side of the injured collarbone. You hiss as you try it, finding it a lot more painful than you hoped.
“Easy,” Natasha chuckles, turning round to see you. “If I knew you’d be so gung-ho about it, I would have saved it until next week. Wanda will kill me if she thinks I’m encouraging you to exert yourself.”
You grin bashfully, sliding the paper away a little to show you’re going to hold off for a little while longer.
“Are you always up this early?” you ask, surprising yourself a little by the sudden confidence.
Natasha nods. “I like to get up early to train. Also, I’m kind of stuck with it now - that menace of a cat has realised it’s possible to get his breakfast at 5:30 and he will not stop meowing outside our door if I’m even five minutes late for his lordship.”
You giggle, imagining Natasha berating Mayakovsky for his manners in the morning, when they’re all alone.
“Espresso or Americano?” Natasha asks, reverting back to the coffee chat.
“A-americano please,” you request, still finding it difficult to keep up with her tendency to swing between her serious, task-oriented self and her more silly, humorous side. She nods, and presses another button on the machine, prompting more hot water to dribble out into the mug.
“What are you training for?” you ask, hoping this is a good question to ask to get Natasha to open up a little more.
“Nothing in particular,” she says, still watching the mug. “Partly I need to stay fit for work, partly I just enjoy it.” You’re just wondering whether it would be appropriate to ask what she does for work, now that she’s brought it up, when she diverts the conversation again. “Milk?”
“Um, a little, yes please.” There’s something about the efficient way she moves the mug to the counter and takes the milk out the fridge that makes you think that any more work chat has been relegated to off-limits again. So you don’t say any more, until she passes the mug of coffee over to you. “Thank you.”
Natasha nods in lieu of a “you’re welcome”, a habit of hers you’re beginning to pick up on. Like she feels uncomfortable being thanked, and prefers to move on swiftly.
“Do you cycle a lot?” she asks, surprising you a little that she is initiating further conversation with you. Maybe she does just find new people a bit challenging, like Wanda said? You resolve to try not to let her stiffness get to you today, and to notice the warm moments rather than the chilly ones.
“Just to commute, really. I did some mountain biking with my Dad as a kid, but I’ve never really got the chance to do any as an adult. I’d like to, though.”
“Hmm, yes, it seems like it could be fun,” Natasha considers aloud, returning to her spot but pulling out a stool this time so she can sit.
You sip your coffee, holding back from asking more questions, or adding more detail to your answer. You want to fit in with Natasha’s morning as much as possible, not disrupt it.
“Do you do any other sports?” she asks, tapping her nails quietly on the side of her mug. Your instant thought is that she’s bored, but then you try to re-examine your interpretation, and remind yourself not to jump to conclusions today.
“I run a bit,” you say shyly, deciding to keep it vague. Natasha nods approvingly.
“Have you ever done any martial arts?”
You frown, wondering if this is the kind of training she does. Shaking your head honestly, you tilt your head in the hopes she’ll offer more information. You’re in luck.
“You should learn how to fight, when your shoulder is better. It will help strengthen it. Boxing, or Muay Thai, they’d be good for rehabbing it later on.”
“Could you teach me?” you blurt out, immediately regretting your boldness, even before Natasha fixes you with a particular look. You feel the blush overcoming your face, and dart your eyes down to your coffee. “Sorry, I…”
“Maybe,” Natasha says, very quietly. When you look up, mainly to determine whether you actually heard that word or if she’s still staring at you in that discerning way, you see she’s standing up again, making her way to the cupboard. But just when you feel the temptation to run back upstairs taking hold of your legs, she turns back to you, looking calm and entirely unperturbed.
“Hungry?” she asks, and you feel relief wash over you at the welcome diversion, the opportunity to distract from your impulsive thoughts spoken aloud.
Author's Note: I really hope you enjoyed this! I'm slowly adding the chapters to Tumblr but I'm very behind - at present (1st June 2025) I have 15 chapters published on AO3 but I'm only just posting this on Tumblr. If you have access to AO3 and don't want to wait, you can read more here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62001889/chapters/158556517
tags: stalking, perving, blood, southern Wanda, kissing, strap on sex, r receiving, blow job, w receiving, mommy kink, legal age gap, nipple play, dub con
The sound of pedals turning and birds whistling fills the air, wind blows against your face as your feet push the pedals as fast as you can. The bikes wheels rotated quickly against the road, creating a gentle hum.
You like to ride during the early morning when the sun has barely introduced itself. Finding the somber color of the morning sky comforting. Although today is a bit foggy, you still deemed it safe to ride along the long familiar road surrounded by trees and wild life.
Repeatedly your legs move. Each leg taking turns to move up and down. A satisfying burn forming in your thighs and calfs. This road is typically empty, allowing you the freedom to ride down the middle instead of off to the side. You’re rarely interrupted by passing cars, the only passers being people who live on the strip, which aren’t many.
The sound of metal snapping beneath you fills your ears. Your only warning before losing all control of the bike. The malfunction happens so abruptly. You don’t register the error quick enough to save yourself from drifting off the road and into a ditch.
Stinging pain blooms on the side of your thigh. Your arms aching at the sudden impact onto the ground. You grip the dirt beneath you, cringing at the feel of soil entering your nails as you attempt to push yourself up. Moving your other hand up, you grip onto the handle of your bike pushing it off of you.
Once off you position yourself onto your knees. The tiny rocks and sticks pressing into your skin under your weight. It stings, but your thigh, still aching, overpowers and draws your attention instead.
Blood covered with dirt is what your met with when your eyes drift over to the mean cut that’s formed on your thigh. “Fuck”
“I thought he said he fixed it!” You shouted into the fog, speaking out loud to no one in frustration.
Your father said that he’d replace the chain on your bike for you when you came to him one afternoon with complaints about the problem. You could have easily gotten yourself a new bike, but this being the last gift your mother gave to you before she died discouraged you. You only asked him for one thing and he couldn’t even do that. Typical.
Placing your hands onto the ground, you lift yourself back onto your feet. Brushing off as much dirt as you can. You attempt to clean at your wound. Sweeping your fingers gently at the dirt surrounding it to avoid infection.
This is just great.
Climbing your way out of the ditch. You reach for your bike to lift it up and out as well. Turning your head, you look down the foggy road. Sighing at the long walk you have ahead of yourself.
Along the way, you spot something bright forming through the fog. As it comes closer you realize that its headlights. You never really liked it when cars drove pass. You liked being alone and people driving by just rose up your anxiety.
You noticed that the car began to slow down. ‘Noo just ignore me, you plead in your head. Of course they didn’t.
The truck eventually reaches you and stops. It was a red ford with a white stripe in the middle of it. It looked old, but well preserved. You cringed at the smell of gas it produced. You always hated that smell. It didn’t have a back seat or a middle console.
You were expecting some random guy inside, but instead you were met with a very pretty woman. She had red lipstick on. Not that aggressive bright one, but a darker calmer tone. Her hair blonde and cut short. She wore big glasses, but you could still see her big green eyes behind them.
“Well, what is a girl like you doing out here all alone?” She asks you, her tone playful, but laced with concern, an amused smile plastered across her face. It’s friendly, and oh so pretty.
“Uhh..” You begin, distracted, but quickly reorganize yourself to not look like a complete idiot in front of her. “I was riding on my bike but then it broke.”
She pouts at you before saying “oh, that’s too bad.” The woman turns her head back to gaze out the back window. “That’s a long way back you got there.. mind if I give you a ride?”
You think for a moment. You know that you shouldn’t get in cars with strangers. Especially not in the middle of no where surrounded by nothing but trees, and a terrible police force. But she doesn’t look crazy. And at least she’s a woman.
You caved and accepted her offer. Little did you know. This woman has been stalking you for about a month now. When she saw you for the first time one morning, riding your bike down the road as she drove past you. She knew she had to have you. She would look out for when you rode past her path learning your schedule. She even followed you back home once. ‘Thankfully, you didn’t question how she knew how far away from home you were.’ She’d take pictures of you through your window with her camera at night. Even touched herself when she saw you bare for the first time. She couldn’t help it! You were just so cute. And so hers.
She smiled brightly at you “here let me help you put your bike in my trunk.” Opening the car door, she stepped out and rounded to the other side to meet you. “I’m Wanda by the way” she introduced herself, holding her hand out.
“I’m y/n” You accept her hand. Ignoring how tight she holds onto you. “How about you go ahead and get inside. I’ll handle this on my own.” You obey, opening the passenger door and hopping inside.
You look around her car as you wait for her to finish. Seeing little trinkets and such. A cross dangles from the mirror. The drivers side door opens and Wanda comes into view. She places her foot on the step before hopping inside.
“Oh my y/n, your thigh! Oh you poor thing. That looks like a nasty cut you have there. Here let me” she reaches over you grabbing for some tissues and a water bottle. She takes out a hand full and dampens it with the water. “Let me know if I hurt you, okay” she says, lifting up your pink skirt for better access to the cut. She admires your soft skin, grabbing at your leg while she cleans up your cut.
“There, all better” she gave you a closed lip smile before handing you some dry tissues to hold against your wound.
“Thankyou Wanda”
“Oh don’t worry about it” she replied back. Moving her hand to the key to start the car back up. “You tell me where to stop okay” she orders. “yes ma’am.”
You take notice that she’s driving suspiciously slow. Unexpectedly, you feel her palm at your thigh. Looking down at her hand you hear her say, “You’re really pretty you know.”
nervously you try to wiggle your way out from under her hand, but she just grips you tighter. Almost like a warning. “Uhm-“
“shhh” she cuts you off. Her hand slowly sliding higher. “Wanda?…”
“What?”
“What are you doing?” she just looks over at you and smirks before shifting her gaze back to the road. “I think you know what I want, you seem like a smart girl” her voice is lower now, less performative.
Sliding her fingers up your thigh, she finally reaches where she’d been longing to touch you for too long. Your hesitance isn’t going to stop her now. She knows that you’ll submit to her eventually. She decides to pull over. She had put your door on child lock pre picking you up, so she knows you’re not going anywhere.
“I don’t want this Wanda stop.” you pathetically attempt to refuse her attempts. Wrapping your hand around her wrist to get free from her grasp. Even though she’s beautiful, and her touch made your pussy twitch. You couldn’t give yourself up to some stranger you met just five minutes ago, like some whore.
“I don’t recall asking.” Her tone becoming impatient. No longer asking but demanding. Annoyed by your refusal she says, “I know what kind of girl you are. Don’t try and play innocent with me.” Her fingers begin rubbing at your clothed slit. “You touch yourself like this almost every night. Probably thinking of some stupid bitch fucking your cunt worthless. Slut”
Suddenly, she removes her hand from your cunt. You try and convince yourself that you aren’t disappointed as she reaches for your hair. Grabbing at it and pulling your head down to her pants zipper. You’re just now noticing how it’s abnormally full. She unzips her jeans and reveals the reason. She’s strapped. Did she plan this?
She uses her other hand to palm at the false cock, slapping it against your cheek before moving it to your lips. You refuse, keeping your lips sealed tight. She grunts, annoyed, then grabs at your cheeks roughly. Squeezing your cheeks against your teeth hard until you couldn’t take the pain anymore and opened your mouth.
She thrusts her hips up, shoving the strap into your mouth. You whine around the strap from her forced penetration, as she uses your hair to guide your head up and down her cock. You feel your pussy start to ache from her roughness. Further making you feel like a whore.
“Fuck y/n” she moans to herself. Even though she can’t feel you, the image of you at her mercy, choking on her cock, feels like a dream. “That’s right, get it wet for me baby.”
Eventually she decides that it’s wet enough and it’s now time for some natural lube. Even though her actions aren’t a good reflection, she really doesn’t want to hurt her special girl. Tugging at your hair, she lifts your head up from her cock and you gasp for air.
She pauses for a moment to admire how pretty you look right now. Tears running down your face with spit dripping from your mouth. You look better right now than any fantasy she ever imagined at night to get herself off.
She grabs at your tits. Gripping and squeezing them through your shirt, before sliding her hand under for skin to skin contact. You no longer try to resist her touch. Your mind feeling too empty. All you can do is sit there and get fondled with like a toy.
One of her hands slides down your tummy and into your skirt, rubbing at your pussy again. You sigh at the pressure. Finally getting relief.
“Oh there’s my good girl” she husks. Your lips pout. You’re not sure why you’re letting her do this. It’s all so confusing. Her voice breaks through your thoughts “are you gonna be good and let mommy fuck your sweet pussy?” You look up at her dazed. She’s smiling down at you, knowing that she has you right where she wants you.
Looking up at her gentle smile, you begin to realize that listening to Wanda’s orders aren’t confusing. Listening to Wanda’s orders make you feel good. Listening to Wanda is good. Suddenly, you feel an overwhelming need to be good for her.
“Yes! Yes I’ll be good”
She hums, pulling your panties to the side and massages your clit. She leans down to lock her lips with yours. Spreading your legs as she continues to rub at your achy cunt. You start to moan and whimper against her mouth. Wet sloppy sounds fill the car.
Sadly, her fingers stop their ministrations causing you to mewl at the loss of contact. Keeping eye contact with you, she brings her fingers to her mouth and puts them in, sucking them clean of your arousal. You can smell yourself on them from how close she is to you.
“Lay back” she orders, and of course, you obey. Once laid, she pulls her jeans down to her mid thigh and turns to you. Grabbing at your thighs, she spreads your legs. “Oh, so pretty.” She rubs her cock against your pussy for a moment, before sliding down to your hole and entering all the way in with one swift thrust. You squeak. The action unexpected. You can feel the burn of her stretching you. The strap isn’t too big, but you’ve only gotten fucked two times before you decided you didn’t like men and preferred rubbing yourself over fingering.
She pauses for a moment to let you get use to the feeling before pulling out. It feels so fucking good getting stretched by her like this. You stare at her above you, she looks so beautiful, and that turns you on so much more. “Fuck y/n, you’re so tight” she pushes back in before setting her pace.
The fog outside, and the humidity inside causes the car windows to fog up, so hopefully no one can see you getting slutted out by the older woman inside of her truck. Her pace starts to quicken. Her moans so girly and pretty as she starts to fuck into you for her own pleasure. Opening her eyes, she looks down at you. You look so cute and pathetic. Your big eyes looking down at her cock entering your pussy over and over again. She grabs at your face, shifting your head up so you could make eye contact with her before she raises her hand and brings it down against your cheek. The impact causes your head to turn to the side, as your cheek stings profusely. She grabs at your throat, repositioning your head to face her.
“Ohh you’re such a slut- ah!.. you’re not gonna let anyone else fuck your pussy like this right?.. only mommy..”
When you didn’t reply. Her grip on your throat tightened. “Say it. Tell me only I can fuck you”
“Only you can fuck mee mommy..”
“Open”
You open up your mouth. “Stick your tongue out” she demands, and you do so. She spits onto your tongue before telling you to “Swallow.” Closing your mouth, you swallow her spit. she smiles at your obedience before fucking into you harder. “Good girl” she praises.
You can hear her moans getting shakier and her thrusts becoming more desperate. It makes your pussy squeeze around her strap at the image of her getting off to using you. The muscles in your body feel tighter. She takes notice and move her hands to cup at your breasts. Her thumbs start to play with your nipples. Flicking and pinching them in the way that makes you feel like jelly.
“Mmh, are you gonna come baby? Are you gonna come with mommy?”
You nod your head rapidly, whining in desperation for release.
“Come with me baby, come with mommy” she moans out fucking into your pussy. An overwhelming warmth tingles throughout your body like an ocean wave before your muscles tense up. Your cum leaks onto her cock, coating it In your arousal.
She’s still thrusting into you while the both of you ride out your orgasms. Her moans loud and shaky. You begin to feel over stimulated by her cock still thrusting in you so you place your hand on her lower tummy to tell her to stop. Thankfully she does, and pulls out of you.
You lay there for a moment. Trying to register what just happened while she pulls her pants back up and starts the engine. You whimper when you attempt to sit back up. Your cunt still sensitive.
Turning her head, Wanda gazes at you for a moment, before reaching for your chin. “You have made me very proud sweetheart.” Her soft voice breaks through the thick air. A warm smile introduces itself onto her face as her hand moves to fix your hair back flat.
You don’t respond. You’re not entirely sure what to make of this. Wanda didn’t mind your silence though. You didn’t need to think. Mommy will handle everything for you.
Cupping your cheek she tells you, “oh don’t be shy now.”
𓂃⋆.˚ They've crossed multiverses to find you again. And they are delighted to know that in this one, you're their biggest fan. Perhaps they will finally find the guts to ask you out (again) after your next interview with them.
Natasha leaves for a business trip, and you’re left alone with Wanda at home. That evening, she takes you out to dinner, and when the waitress flirts with you, you feel Wanda tense beside you. In the car on the way home, you can’t ignore the way her eyes burn with desire and possessiveness, the way her hand tightens around yours. You realize, in that moment, just how much Wanda wants you, and how thoroughly you belong to her.
Word Count: 5.3 K
Master List
The morning sunlight spilled through the wide windows of the living room, catching the gleam of polished floors and illuminating the quiet corners of the house. You sat cross-legged on the couch, fingers curling around the soft throw draped over your legs, while Wanda moved around the kitchen, humming as she prepared coffee. The familiar scent of toasted bread mixed with Wanda’s delicate perfume, a comforting combination that made the house feel warm and alive.
Natasha had been preparing for her business trip all week, her movements precise and methodical, her voice occasionally clipped as she double-checked flights, itineraries, and work documents. Even though she reassured you that she’d be back in just a few days, the thought of her leaving still sent a nervous flutter through your chest, a tight, uneasy knot that made your fingers fidget in your lap.
“She’ll be gone for three days,” Wanda murmured, pouring coffee into two mugs and setting one in front of you. Her voice was soft, but you could sense the concern threaded through it. “It’s only a short trip, darling, but I know it still feels strange.”
You picked up the mug, drawing comfort from its warmth. “I just, I don’t like when she’s gone,” you admitted quietly.
Wanda knelt beside the couch, her hand finding yours. Her thumb brushed in slow, soothing circles across your knuckles. “I know, sweetheart,” she said gently. “It’s natural to feel that way. You care about her deeply. But she trusts us, and she wants you to feel safe and happy while she’s away. That’s what matters.”
You nodded, the warmth of her touch easing the tension slightly. “I know,” you whispered. “It’s just different when she’s not here.”
Wanda squeezed your hand gently. “I understand,” she murmured. “And I’ll be here with you. Just us, darling. We’ll make the time fun and cozy. You don’t need to worry.”
The sound of Natasha’s footsteps echoed from upstairs. She appeared at the top of the staircase, carrying her suitcase, the air of controlled authority she always carried with her accentuated by the sleek suit she wore for the trip. But when her gaze met yours, there was a softness reserved only for these private moments.
“You’ll be okay while I’m gone, little one?” she asked, her voice steady yet warm, her green eyes searching your face for signs of anxiety.
“I’ll be fine,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly. Your fingers twisted nervously in the fabric of your sweater.
Natasha crouched slightly so her eyes met yours, resting her hands lightly on your shoulders. “I know it feels strange, but remember the safewords. Remember the routines. And remember that Wanda is here with you. She’ll take care of you while I’m gone. You trust her, don’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy,” you whispered. Saying the title without hesitation made your heart pound, the words carrying a weight of both longing and comfort.
Natasha’s lips curved into a proud, approving smile. “Good girl,” she murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead. Then, with a small, almost reluctant exhale, she straightened, picked up her suitcase, and gave Wanda a nod of silent communication, a mixture of trust and reassurance. “We’ll see each other soon. Be good for Mommy while I’m gone.”
Wanda stepped forward, brushing her fingers against yours, a subtle yet grounding gesture. “I’ll take care of you, darling,” she promised, her voice warm and confident. “We’ll make it fun while she’s away.”
Natasha paused at the bottom of the stairs, glancing between the two of you with a look that carried both authority and affection. “I trust you,” she said simply, before closing the front door behind her. The soft click resonated through the house, leaving a sudden, palpable silence in her absence.
You sank back onto the couch, the knot in your chest tightening for a moment. Wanda knelt beside you, sliding a hand around your wrists and holding them gently. “See?” she said softly. “She trusts us. Now it’s just you and me for a little while. Nothing will change except we get a bit more time together.”
You nodded, the anxiety easing slightly under Wanda’s steadying touch. “I’m nervous,” you admitted. “I don’t want to mess anything up.”
Wanda tilted her head, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “Darling, there’s no way you could mess this up. You’re learning, growing, and being honest with us. That honesty is everything.” She gave your hands a light squeeze. “We’ll take it slow, step by step, just like always.”
The day stretched out before you, the house quiet but not empty. Wanda suggested breakfast, and the two of you moved to the kitchen, the familiar routine comforting in its normalcy. The clink of cutlery, the smell of toast and coffee, and Wanda’s occasional soft hum filled the space with life, grounding you.
After breakfast, Wanda draped a soft blanket over your shoulders as you sat together in the living room. “We have the whole day ahead,” she said softly. “We can watch movies, read, or just talk. Whatever you want, darling. This is your time too.”
You leaned into her side, the warmth of her presence calming the flutter of nerves still lingering from Natasha’s departure. Wanda’s hand rested lightly over yours, a steadying presence in the sudden quiet of the house.
Hours passed in quiet companionship. You laughed softly at Wanda’s teasing commentary during the movie, and she smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead when your eyes met hers. Every little gesture, every careful touch reminded you that you weren’t alone. Natasha might be gone, but Wanda’s presence was a steady anchor.
As evening approached, Wanda suggested a change of pace. “How about dinner out, just the two of us?” she asked, her voice warm and playful. “It’ll be nice to leave the house for a while. Just you and me.”
Your heart fluttered at the idea. “Okay,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’d like that.”
Wanda’s smile widened, and she leaned down to press a kiss against your temple. “Perfect. Let’s get you ready.”
The ritual of preparing for the evening, choosing your outfit, brushing your hair, and Wanda’s careful adjustments, was soothing in its familiarity. Her hands lingered just a moment longer as she smoothed your clothing and brushed away stray hairs, her touch grounding and intimate.
When you finally stepped outside into the cool evening air, Wanda took your hand in hers. The house behind you felt quieter now, the absence of Natasha’s presence keenly felt, but Wanda’s warmth kept the nervous flutter at bay. The walk through the neighborhood, the soft hum of distant traffic, and Wanda’s occasional light squeeze of your hand made the world feel safe and steady, despite the temporary void left by Natasha.
And for the first time since Natasha had left, you allowed yourself to relax completely, leaning into Wanda’s side as the evening unfolded, confident that even in absence, love surrounded you.
~/~/~/~/~/~/
The soft hum of the city drifted in through the restaurant’s open windows as Wanda led you to your table, her hand gently brushing yours. The small bistro had a quiet charm, warm lights hanging low over wooden tables and the faint scent of fresh herbs and baked bread mingling with the evening air. The restaurant wasn’t crowded, but it had enough people to feel lively, and you felt a little flutter of nerves walking in with Wanda, the absence of Natasha making you more aware of every sensation.
Wanda guided you to your seats, pulling out your chair for you with that familiar grace that had become a quiet ritual between you. Her fingers lingered lightly on your hand as you settled in, the simple gesture making your heart squeeze with comfort and a little thrill.
“You look nice tonight,” Wanda murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. Her eyes held a mixture of pride and something deeper, protective and possessive in a way that made your stomach tingle. “I’m glad it’s just us tonight. Relax, darling. I’ve got you.”
You smiled softly, feeling the warmth of her attention. “Thanks,” you whispered. “I’m glad too.”
The waitress arrived, a cheerful young woman with an easy smile. She greeted Wanda and you warmly, and you noticed her glance linger a little longer on you as she took your order. You were polite, answering with quiet enthusiasm, but completely oblivious to the slight flirtation in her tone.
Wanda’s fingers tightened subtly around yours, a protective anchor you hadn’t noticed at first. “Just us tonight, remember?” she murmured, leaning close enough that her breath brushed your ear. The words were soft, but there was an unmistakable edge of warning and ownership that made your cheeks warm.
You nodded, squeezing her hand back unconsciously. “Yeah,” you whispered.
As the waitress walked away, Wanda’s green eyes followed her, narrowing just slightly. She leaned closer, her lips brushing against your temple. “No one flirts with you but me, darling. Not tonight. Not ever.”
You shivered at her touch, a mix of warmth and subtle fear sparking through you. “I… I didn’t notice,” you said softly, glancing down at your hands.
“You wouldn’t,” Wanda said, her voice low and possessive, her fingers brushing up your arm to hold your hand against her own. “You’re mine, and I like keeping you aware of it.”
Dinner proceeded with Wanda guiding the conversation gently, teasing you lightly, making sure you felt included and secure. But each time the waitress returned, first to refill water, then to check on your appetizer, Wanda made subtle, protective moves. Her hand would brush against yours first, or she’d lean slightly to press her lips to your temple or whisper in your ear, small acts that kept her closeness undeniable.
“Everything okay here?” the waitress asked the first time she came back to check on you.
“Yes, thank you,” you replied, smiling politely. Wanda’s hand was already in yours, fingers lacing together in a way that left no room for ambiguity.
The waitress glanced at Wanda and you, a flicker of curiosity, or perhaps something more, passing across her features. Wanda’s green eyes met hers across the table, cool and unyielding, a silent warning that you belonged fully to her tonight. You felt a small thrill of security at her possessiveness, your chest tightening in a good, grounding way.
As the meal continued, Wanda maintained a careful balance, touching your hand whenever the waitress approached, leaning close to whisper playful comments, brushing your hair back or pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. Each gesture reinforced that the world outside this little bubble didn’t matter; you were hers, and she made sure no one could forget it.
At one point, the waitress lingered a bit longer than usual while delivering dessert. You smiled at her politely, completely oblivious to the subtle flirtation in her tone as she handed you your plate. Wanda’s fingers tightened around yours under the table, and when the waitress stepped back, Wanda pressed a quick, deliberate kiss to the back of your hand.
“You’re mine,” she murmured, just above a whisper. The words made your stomach flutter, grounding you and making your pulse spike in a way that was both thrilling and reassuring.
You laughed softly, the tension easing a bit. “I know,” you said.
Wanda’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second before the edge returned. “Good. I like hearing it,” she said, her thumb brushing lightly across the back of your hand. “Because I mean it. No one gets to flirt with you but me, darling.”
The remainder of the meal passed in similar rhythm: gentle touches, whispered reassurances, protective gestures, all under Wanda’s watchful, affectionate gaze. Every time the waitress returned, Wanda made sure to keep her presence between you and the outside world, pressing little kisses to your hair, intertwining fingers, or brushing a hand over your leg under the table in a quiet claim of attention.
By the time the plates were cleared and you were offered coffee, Wanda had leaned back slightly, her fingers still laced with yours, a content smile curving her lips. “See?” she murmured, her thumb brushing soothingly across your hand. “Just us tonight. And that’s all I want.”
You leaned slightly toward her, resting your head near her shoulder. “I like being with you,” you said softly.
Wanda pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “I like it too, darling. You’re safe. You’re mine. And I won’t let anyone make you feel otherwise.”
The waitress returned one last time to clear the table, and Wanda didn’t leave your side. Her hand stayed in yours, her gaze fixed softly on you, lips curved in a subtle, protective smile that made it clear: in this little world of theirs, you were hers entirely.
As you left the restaurant, Wanda slipped her arm around your shoulders, holding you close as you walked back toward the car. The evening air was cool, and the city lights sparkled around you, but all you could focus on was the steady warmth of Wanda’s presence, her hand gripping yours firmly, a constant reassurance.
“Thank you for tonight,” you said softly, leaning into her warmth.
Wanda pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “No, thank you, darling. For trusting me. For letting me show you just how much you belong to me.”
Her voice was low, intimate, a private promise meant only for you and you realized just how comforting and thrilling it was to be entirely, unequivocally hers.
~/~/~/~/~/~/
The car hummed quietly beneath you as Wanda slid into the driver’s seat, your hand slipping into hers instinctively. The warmth of her fingers enveloped yours, but tonight it felt tighter, more insistent, almost possessive. You glanced up at her, catching the faintest flicker of shadow in her green eyes when a group of pedestrians passed by outside, ordinary strangers, yet she seemed alert, protective, almost territorial.
“Everything okay?” you asked softly, unsure why the tightening in your chest mirrored the one in her grip.
Wanda’s gaze flicked back to you, intense, and for a heartbeat you were lost in the depths of her eyes. There was something there you hadn’t noticed before: desire, hunger, a simmering lust that made your stomach flutter in a new, thrilling way. “I’m fine,” she said, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her. Her thumb brushed along the back of your hand slowly, possessively. “I just, don’t like anyone looking at you like that.”
You followed her gaze, remembering the way the waitress had smiled at you at dinner, her tone playful, almost flirtatious. You hadn’t even noticed at first, but Wanda had. The intensity in her eyes made your pulse skip.
“Wanda,” you murmured, your voice soft, uncertain.
Her eyes softened briefly at your tone, then sharpened again, the fire behind them impossible to ignore. “I don’t like it when they do that,” she said, voice low, husky. Her thumb pressed harder against your hand. “You’re mine, darling. You understand that, right?”
You nodded, your throat dry. “I do.”
She leaned slightly closer, her face just inches from yours. The warmth of her breath, the scent of her perfume, and the lust shining in her eyes combined to make your pulse stutter. “I need you to know,” she murmured, brushing her lips ever so lightly along your jawline, “that I want you. All of you. No one else.”
Your chest tightened, a mixture of heat and nerves spiraling through you. “I’m yours,” you whispered, gripping her hand with both of yours.
Her lips curved into a predatory smile, a subtle edge of possessiveness that made your stomach flip. “Good,” she murmured. Then, just before the car rolled to a stop at a light, she leaned in, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to your temple, lingering longer than a casual gesture. Her hand tightened around yours again, knuckles whitening. “No one else,” she repeated, her voice thick with desire, her green eyes locked onto yours, and in them, you finally saw the full depth of her lust and longing.
It wasn’t just possessiveness. It was desire. Pure, hungry, undeniable lust. Your breath hitched at the realization, heart thudding painfully against your ribs. Even in the calm of the car, the everyday mundanity of driving through the city, the way she looked at you made it impossible to feel ordinary.
“You’re beautiful,” she murmured, her voice low, rough with emotion. “And mine. Only mine.”
The car light flicked green, but neither of you moved. You were caught in her gaze, in the magnetic pull of her desire. Her fingers squeezed yours once more, a silent claim, and you realized with a dizzying mix of fear and thrill that Wanda wasn’t just protective, she was hungry for you, lustful and longing in a way that made your own pulse spike in response.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” you whispered, voice trembling slightly.
Her smile was slow, deliberate, a predator’s satisfaction. “You haven’t because I’ve never needed to show you before. But tonight,” Her eyes darkened, shimmering with need, and her hand slid just slightly along yours, brushing against your inner palm possessively. “I want you. All of you. And I’m not apologizing for it.”
You swallowed hard, your body buzzing with awareness, the heat pooling low in your belly. In the quiet hum of the car, the city lights streaking past, you realized that Wanda’s jealousy, her possessiveness, and the lust shining in her eyes were not just expressions of love, they were declarations. You were hers, and she wanted to make sure you, and everyone else, knew it.
The next stoplight approached, and this time, you didn’t pull your hand away. You allowed her possessive grip to anchor you, to ground you, to thrill you. Her eyes never left yours, and in that gaze, you saw not just desire, but promise, of protection, of attention, and of the unrestrained passion that awaited when you got home.
And you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that tonight, the moment Wanda had been holding back for weeks had already begun.
~/~/~/~/~/~/
“Look at me. Only at me.” Wanda’s voice was a low, venomous purr, her fingers cupping your chin with an iron grip, forcing your gaze to hers. Her eyes, usually so warm, were dark pools of possessive fire. “That pretty little thing at the restaurant couldn’t give you this, could she? Couldn’t make you tremble like this.”
You tried to shake your head, but her hold was too tight. A desperate, whimpering “No, Mommy,” was all you could manage.
Her thumb stroked your jaw, a mockery of tenderness. “No, she couldn’t. Because you belong to me. To us. And you forgot that tonight, didn’t you?”
“My sweet, oblivious pet,” she cooed, her voice dropping into that domineering register that made your core clench. She trailed a single, sharp nail down your chest, over your stomach, making you shiver. “You let her look. You let her touch. You didn’t even see it, did you? Too busy thinking about your dessert.”
“I didn’t, I didn’t mean to, Mommy,” you gasped, arching into her touch.
“I know you didn’t,” she said, her tone shifting to something darker, sweeter. A sadistic smile played on her lips. “Which is why your punishment will be a pleasure. For me.”
"Color baby?" Wanda asks you, her eyes showing their normal comfort towards you.
"Green mommy," You respond.
She produced the first toy: a pair of sleek, silver nipple clamps connected by a delicate chain. She watched your face as she rolled one of your nipples between her thumb and forefinger, pinching and pulling until it was a hard, sensitive peak. You cried out, a sharp sound that morphed into a moan.
“So sensitive,” she murmured, before clicking the clamp into place.
The pressure was immediate and intense, a bright, biting sensation that walked the perfect line between pain and pleasure. The second clamp followed on your other nipple, the chain dangling between them, a constant, tantalizing weight. Every slight movement made the chain sway, sending little jolts through you.
Then came the vibrator. A sleek, black wand. She didn’t turn it on. Not yet. She just traced it over your skin, over your trembling stomach, down to the hem of your underwear. She hooked a finger into it and pulled, slowly, dragging the fabric down your legs and tossing it aside, leaving you completely bare and exposed to her hungry gaze.
“All mine,” she whispered, her eyes devouring you.
She settled between your legs, the cold plastic of the wand nudging against your clit. Your hips bucked instinctively, seeking pressure.
“Ah, ah,” she tsked. “I didn’t say you could move.”
You forced yourself still, a desperate whine escaping your throat. She smiled, a flash of white in the dim room, and finally flicked the switch.
The buzz was low at first, a gentle hum that made you gasp. She held it right there, just resting against you, letting the vibrations spread through your entire body, amplified by the aching pull of the clamps. Just as you began to rut against it, seeking more, she pulled it away.
You groaned in frustration.
“Beg for it,” she commanded, her voice husky.
“Please, Mommy, please. I need it.”
She gave it back to you, this time on a higher setting. The intense, focused vibrations zeroed in on your clit, and your back arched off the bed, a choked scream caught in your throat. It was too much and not enough all at once. The pleasure was a live wire, sparking through your veins, coiling your insides into a tight, desperate knot. The sharp ache from your nipples merged with the overwhelming pleasure between your legs, a confusing, exquisite torture.
“You’re going to ask for permission,” Wanda said, her own breath coming faster, her free hand stroking your thigh. “And I am going to say no. Until I am sure you remember who you belong to. Until the only name on your lips is mine.”
She moved the wand in slow, torturous circles, watching you unravel. You were so close, teetering on the edge, your entire world shrinking to the buzz of the toy and the fire in her eyes.
“Mommy, please can I, can I cum?” you begged, the words shattered and broken.
Her eyes glinted. “No.”
She pressed the wand down harder, and you shattered anyway, a wave of pleasure so intense it felt like pain crashing over you. You screamed, your body convulsing against the restraints, seeing white behind your eyelids.
But she didn’t stop.
The vibrator stayed pressed against your oversensitive flesh, the vibrations relentless. The pleasure twisted, morphing into a sharp, unbearable overstimulation. You writhed, trying to escape the sensation, sobbing as it relentlessly pulled aftershock after agonizing aftershock from you.
“Shhh, my love,” Wanda soothed, her voice a stark contrast to her cruel actions. She finally switched the vibrator off, the sudden silence ringing in your ears. Your body went limp, utterly spent, trembling with residual shocks.
She leaned over you, her lips brushing your ear. “Now. Thank your Mommy for reminding you.”
You took a ragged breath, your voice a raw whisper.
The words were torn from your throat, ragged and spent. “Th-thank you, Mommy.” You felt hollowed out, a trembling shell of sensation.
Wanda hummed, a low, pleased sound that vibrated through the mattress as she uncuffed your wrists and ankles. The blood rushing back to your limbs was a strange, prickling counterpoint to the deep, throbbing ache between your legs.
Blinking, you saw Wanda across the room, bathed in the soft lamp light. She was naked, her dark hair cascading down her back, her hips swaying slightly as she rummaged in a large mahogany chest at the foot of the bed, Natasha’s chest. A possessive thrill shot through you. She was claiming territory that wasn’t strictly hers.
She pulled out a long, black box and turned, her green eyes locking onto you. They were dark with intent, already possessive. Hungry.
She lifted the harness, the leather whispering promises of restraint and submission. “I want to be inside you. I want to feel you wrapped around me, begging for every inch.” She stepped into the harness, tightening the straps with a series of soft clicks, the sight of her securing the toy to her body making your mouth go dry. It was a declaration. An invasion. A claiming.
She climbed onto the bed, crawling over you with a predator’s grace. The tip of the strap-on brushed your inner thigh, cool and unyielding. You shuddered.
“Please, Mommy,” you whispered, the plea coming out unbidden.
She stilled, her eyes narrowing. “Please what?” she cooed, tracing a fingernail down your sternum. “Use your words, my darling. What do you want?”
You squirmed, your overstimulation making you hesitate. But the need was stronger. “I want you. I want, I want you to fuck me.”
She tutted, shaking her head. “Not good enough.”
“Now,” she said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper as she leaned down, the silicone pressing firmly against your stomach. “Ask me properly.”
You were panting, the dual sensations of pain and anticipation coiling tight in your belly. “Please, Mommy, please use your, your cock on me. Please. I need it.”
A dark triumph flashed in her eyes. “Since you asked so nicely.” She shifted, positioning herself between your legs. One hand pinned your hip to the mattress, the other guided the broad, smooth head of the toy, circling your entrance, coating itself in your wetness but applying no pressure to give you what you so desperately needed. The teasing was maddening. You whined, pushing your hips down, trying to force it inside.
She slapped your inner thigh, the sharp sting making you jolt. “None of that,” she chided. “You’ll take it when I give it to you. And not a moment before.”
She continued the torturous circling, watching your face contort with need. You were babbling, a stream of ‘please’ and ‘Mommy’ and ‘I need you’. Just when you thought you might scream from the frustration, she applied the smallest amount of pressure. The tip began to stretch you, a slow, inexorable burn. Your eyes rolled back.
“Mine,” Wanda growled, her own breath coming faster as she watched herself disappear into you. She pushed forward, a relentless, steady invasion that stole the air from your lungs. You were so full, stretched so perfectly around her, the silicone feeling impossibly real. She seated herself fully inside you, her hips flush against yours, and held still, letting you feel every overwhelming inch.
She began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that was entirely for her pleasure. Each thrust was a punctuation mark on her ownership. Mine. Mine. Mine. The clamps tugged with every movement, sending jolts of sharp pleasure-pain radiating through your chest. You were a mess of sensation, completely at her mercy.
“You feel so good wrapped around Mommy’s cock,” she moaned, her composure slipping, her own desire taking over. Her thrusts became harder, faster, driving the breath from you in ragged gasps. “This is what you needed, isn’t it? To be filled by me. To remember who you belong to.”
“Yes! Yes, Mommy!” you cried, hurtling toward the edge once more, your muscles clenching tight around the invading length.
“Don’t you dare,” she commanded, her voice cracking like a whip. She stopped moving entirely, leaving you achingly empty and right on the precipise. The sudden stillness was agonizing, your body trembling with the need for release. “You do not have my permission.” She pulled out completely, the sudden emptiness a physical agony, leaving you clenching around nothing. You whimpered, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes.
“Now, beg for it again,” Wanda purred, her voice dripping with a dangerous sweetness. Her gaze locked onto yours, unwavering and demanding. Her fingers traced lazy circles on your inner thigh, sending shivers up your spine. “I want to hear how much you need me inside you. How desperate you are for Mommy’s cock.”
You squirmed under her relentless gaze, your body betraying you with every trembling breath. “Please, Mommy,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “I need you. I need you inside me. Please, don’t make me wait any longer.”
Wanda’s lips curved into a wicked smile as she leaned down, her breath hot against your ear. “Louder, my darling,” she coaxed, her voice a silken thread of command. “Let the whole world hear how much you belong to me.”
“P-Please, Mommy!” you cried out, your voice breaking with desperation. “Please, I can’t take it anymore! I need your cock inside me! I need to feel you filling me, claiming me! Please, Mommy, please!”
Her eyes darkened with desire, a primal satisfaction gleaming in their depths. “Good girl,” she murmured, her voice a low, sultry promise. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” With that, she pushed back into you with a single, decisive thrust, reclaiming every inch of you with a possessive growl. The stretch was exquisite, almost overwhelming, and you gasped, your nails digging into the sheets as her rhythm began anew. “Mine,” she whispered against your skin, her voice a husky purr that sent shivers racing down your spine. Each thrust was deliberate, unrelenting, driving you to the edge once more. “Always mine.”
Her pace quickened, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, mingling with your choked cries and her shallow breaths. The nipple clamps tugged with every movement, sending sharp jolts of pleasure-pain that made your body arch instinctively. She leaned down, her lips brushing your ear as she spoke, her voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “Look at you, darling,” she cooed, her breath hot against your skin. “So desperate for Mommy’s cock. So willing to take everything I give you.” Her hips snapped forward with even more force, and you cried out, your muscles clenching around her as the pressure built to an unbearable intensity.
“P-Please, Mommy,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. “I can’t- I’m so close-”
She growled, her hand snaking down to grip your hip, her nails biting into your flesh. “Not yet,” she commanded, her tone brooking no argument. Her thrusts slowed, becoming torturously deliberate, each one dragging against your sensitive walls. She wanted you to feel every inch, every moment of her claiming. “You don’t get to come until I say so,” she reminded you, her voice low and firm. “And right now, I want to watch you squirm.”
You writhed beneath her, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes. The build-up was agonizing, your body trembling on the edge of release but denied the final push. She watched you with a predatory gleam in her eyes, savoring your desperation. “Such a good girl,” she whispered, her voice soft but laced with dominance. “Taking Mommy so well. But you can take more, can’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, she increased the angle of her thrusts, hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars. Your back arched off the bed, a silent scream caught in your throat as she pushed you closer to the brink.
“Now,” she finally rasped, her own breath coming in ragged gasps as she allowed herself to succumb to the pleasure. “Cum for me. Cum for Mommy.” The permission sent a jolt through you, and with a cry that echoed through the room, you shattered. Your orgasm crashed over you in waves, your body clamping down around her as she continued to move, drawing out every last shuddering pulse of pleasure.
When it was over, she collapsed atop you, her chest heaving as she pressed soft kisses to your neck and shoulders. “Mine,” she murmured again, her voice thick with satisfaction and something softer, something almost like love. You clung to her, boneless and spent, knowing that no matter how much she pushed or claimed, you were undeniably hers. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
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Taglist (Dm or comment to be added): @tobeawriter98 @d14n4ol
Summary: You have been missing for a whole week now. Wanda Maximoff is tearing the city apart to find you. Natasha is there too, but she’s hiding something…only something you, she and Steve Rogers know the full extent of. Until now.
18+ ONLY
🍯This is going to be a series. Dark themes & regression themes ahead. Proceed with care.
