One More
Summary: Y/N decides to test Natasha's patience at an Avengers party, deliberately disobeying her and earning a covert "strike two" from across the room. When a final act of defiance seals her fate.
Warnings: MDIN, Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, BDSM, D/s Dynamics, Brat Taming, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Strap-on Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Aftercare, Alcohol Consumption. Word Count: 1455 Echo's Note: This is a short one while I finish up some WIPs. Also, I'm in a --- mood. This is for the lovely brats that sometimes just need to be reminded of their place, and for the hot doms that punish with love.
The music thrummed through the Avengers Tower, a bass-heavy pulse that vibrated in Y/N's chest. She was a striking figure against the backdrop of the party, clad in a simple black silk dress that clung to her curves and shimmered under the ambient light. The fabric was a liquid shadow, moving with her as she leaned against the kitchen counter, swirling the melting ice in her glass, engaged in an animated conversation with Wanda. Across the room, she could see Natasha, a flash of red hair, deep in discussion with Clint. The assassin looked relaxed, her guard down. A smirk played on Y/N's lips. Perfect.
"I'm gonna grab another drink," Y/N announced to Wanda, pushing off the counter.
Wanda's eyes widened slightly, a knowing look on her face. "Y/N, you know Natasha cut you off, right? She said three was your limit tonight."
Y/N waved a dismissive hand. "Natasha's not the boss of me," she muttered, just loud enough for Wanda to hear. "She's not my mother."
She didn't see the subtle shift in Natasha's posture across the room. She didn't see the assassin's eyes lock onto her, the easy smile vanishing, replaced by a cool, predatory stillness. She did, however, see Natasha lift her hand to her neck, her fingers idly tracing the line of her collar. It was a gesture Y/N knew all too well. Two fingers on her pulse point. Strike two.
A thrill shot through Y/N, a dangerous mix of fear and anticipation. She met Natasha's gaze from across the room, held it for a heartbeat, and then deliberately smirked before turning back to the bar. "Rum and coke, please," she told the bartender, her voice a challenge.
The drink appeared in front of her almost instantly. Y/N had just wrapped her fingers around the cool glass when a familiar presence settled behind her. The heat of her body seeped into Y/N's back before she even touched her.
"Having fun?" Natasha's voice was a low murmur, right against Y/N's ear, a velvet threat that sent shivers down her spine.
Y/N turned her head, a defiant look on her face. "Just enjoying the party, Nat."
Natasha's eyes, usually a warm green, were dark and sharp. "I see that." She didn't raise her voice, didn't cause a scene. She simply stood there, a silent, imposing force. "Finish your goodbyes."
Her tone left no room for argument. The playful defiance drained out of Y/N, replaced by a nervous energy. She quickly mumbled an apology to Wanda, who gave her a sympathetic look before Natasha's hand landed firmly on the small of her back, guiding her away from the party and toward the private elevator.
The ride up was silent, thick with unspoken tension. Her hand never left Y/N's back, a proprietary brand that promised consequences. When the doors opened to her floor, she guided Y/N into her room, the door clicking shut behind her with a sound of finality.
She didn't turn on the main light, only the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting long shadows across the room. Natasha stood in front of Y/N, her expression unreadable.
"Strip," she commanded, her voice soft but absolute.
Y/N hesitated for a fraction of a second, and Natasha's eyes narrowed. "Now."
Y/N's fingers fumbled with the zipper of her dress, the fabric whispering to the floor. She stood before the redhead in her lingerie, suddenly feeling very small under her intense gaze.
"On the bed. On your back."
Y/N complied, settling against the pillows. Natasha followed, moving with a predator's grace. She knelt beside her, her fingers tracing the line of Y/N's jaw. "What's your safe word, detka?" she asked, her voice dropping to that intimate, dangerous register.
"Red," Y/N whispered, her heart pounding against her ribs.
"Good girl." Natasha's thumb brushed over her lower lip. "Now, let's talk about tonight. You were told you were cut off."
"I wasn't that drunk," Y/N argued, a flicker of the brat returning.
Natasha smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, I know. That's the problem. It wasn't about the alcohol. It was about you forgetting your place."
Her hand slid down Y/N's body, her fingers ghosting over the swell of her breasts, down her stomach, to the edge of her panties. She didn't touch her where she desperately wanted to be touched, instead tracing the elastic along her hip.
"You thought I wasn't paying attention," Natasha murmured, leaning down to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to Y/N's shoulder. "You thought you could be a little brat and get away with it."
Her fingers finally slipped beneath the fabric, teasing through Y/N's folds. She was already wet, a fact that made Natasha chuckle low in her throat. "Always so responsive. So eager."
She began a slow, maddening rhythm. Her thumb circled Y/N's clit with just enough pressure to make her arch her back, but not nearly enough to push her over the edge. Her fingers teased her entrance, dipping in slightly before withdrawing. It was exquisite torture.
"Natasha, please," Y/N breathed, her hips rising to meet her hand.
"Please what?" Natasha nipped at her earlobe. "Please stop? Or please more?"
"More," Y/N begged.
"Ah, but brats don't get to decide when they get more." Natasha shifted, lowering herself between Y/N's thighs. She hooked her fingers into her panties and pulled them down, tossing them aside. Then her mouth was on her, her tongue replacing her thumb.
She was relentless. She licked and sucked, bringing Y/N to the very brink of orgasm, her hands fisting in the sheets, her body coiling tight with tension. Just as she was about to fall, Natasha pulled back.
A frustrated cry escaped Y/N's lips. "Natasha!"
"Shh," she soothed, her breath hot against Y/N's sensitive flesh. "You don't get to come yet. You have to earn it."
She repeated the process again and again, with her hands, with her mouth. Each time she brought Y/N higher, made her more desperate, until she was a writhing, whimpering mess beneath her. Tears of frustration pricked at Y/N's eyes. "Please," she sobbed. "I'll be good. I promise."
Natasha finally relented, rising from the bed. Y/N watched through hazy eyes as she shed her own clothes, her body a study in lean muscle and dangerous curves. She opened the drawer by her bed and took out her favorite strap, securing it around her hips. The sight of it made Y/N's mouth go dry.
She settled back over Y/N, the head of the silicone cock nudging against her entrance. She looked down at her, her expression softening slightly at the wrecked state she was in.
"Are you going to remember who's in charge next time?" she asked, her voice a low growl.
Y/N nodded frantically. "Yes. You. Always you."
"Good answer." With one smooth, powerful thrust, Natasha was inside her.
Y/N cried out at the sudden, welcome stretch. Natasha set a punishing pace, her hips snapping against hers, driving into her with an intensity that stole her breath. Her hand tangled in Y/N's hair, tilting her head back so she could claim her mouth in a dominating kiss. It was all teeth and tongue, a battle Y/N happily surrendered.
The coil of pleasure that had been tightening for what felt like an eternity finally snapped. Y/N's orgasm crashed over her in a blinding wave, her body arching off the bed as she screamed Natasha's name. Natasha rode her through it, her movements slowing as Y/N came down from her high, leaving her a boneless, trembling heap.
She carefully withdrew and disposed of the strap, then returned to the bed, pulling the covers over both of them. She gathered Y/N into her arms, her head resting on her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart.
The hard edges of her persona melted away, replaced by the woman Y/N loved. She pressed a soft kiss to Y/N's forehead, her fingers stroking her hair gently.
"You okay?" she murmured against her skin.
Y/N hummed in contentment, snuggling closer. "Perfect."
"You were such a brat tonight," Natasha said, but there was no anger in her voice, only a fond exasperation.
"But I'm your brat," Y/N mumbled sleepily.
Natasha tightened her arms around her, a soft smile in her voice. "Yes, you are. My beautiful, frustrating brat." She kissed the top of her head. "Go to sleep, detka. I've got you."
And wrapped in her warmth, Y/N did, feeling completely and utterly loved.