Natasha Romanoff is working out in the gym and has a problem with Steve Rogers leaving his machines all sweaty when he's done with them. When she tells him to clean it up and he tells her to do it herself Natasha decides to prove a point by surprise squirting all over Steve. The two are so horny at this point that sex is inevitable so she has him strip and get on his hands and knees as she eats his ass/ rims him after awhile he asks her to squirt on him so she stands and starts touching herself as he starts twerking still on his hands and knees and she soon squirts all over his bubble butt then they do it Top Steve Rogers and Dom bottom Natasha Romanoff, Natasha squirts all over Steve multiple times like an unrealistic amount of times pretty much soaking him in squirt while she uses his big dick.
Can you somehow let me know if this is ok, 🙏I'm willing to discuss anything you need to including possible changes... I've had this request for a long time and I've sent it to so many writers but they all either turn it down, have laughed at me, or called me weird because this so just please don't make fun of me that's all I ask...
Okay! So! Here it is!! I hope I did well, I tried to include everything well enough while not making anything too shallow or short. If there are Grammar or spelling mistakes I apologize, shit happens.
Content warning: NSFW, Rimming, Porn physics, Excessive Squirting, Mild humiliation, Femdoming, Semi public sex, Messy O, Overly dramatized anatomy, sub male top, spontaneous sex, sweet, squirt used like a piss kink, degradation, rough sex, Over-stimulation, male orgasm denial, Multi orgasms, edging, wet sex, improper use of gym equipment.
Word Count: 2,100
People who requested to be tagged: @wrathfulkeyreservoir , @gay-marvel-evans-fan , @foggyweirdhedgehog , @tremendousslayerreader
Early morning workouts were one of the more popular forms of activity in the Avengers tower. Tony's various 'maid' bots were just done with their rounds which left everything spotless and ready for use. Those fancy roomba's started running at four sharp and never a second earlier, running again around noon before a final time at nineteen hundred. Unfortunately this meant the night owls were responsible for their own messes. This wouldn't be an issue, of course, if people were actually responsible and weren't babied by these nifty pieces of metal.
Natasha was one of the aforementioned night owls who always had the sense to clean up any mess she left. Never once had she left any trace of her being in the gym besides maybe her towel drying off on the weight wrack, but she was quite used to things being left here or there. Most people up at this hour were working out to try and sleep or to ward off a bad dream, they weren't exactly focused on being neat and tidy. Multiple times she had to clean sticky sweat off of a machine or had to put something back that she'd not left out. It was like living with a bunch of teenage boys at times but it happened inconsistently enough she hadn't said anything about it. At least that was until today.
Coming into the gym Natasha was already equipped with her regular work out gear of a black sports bra and matching black yoga pants. A towel hung over her shoulder while a water bottle rested in her hand as she looked over the gym trying to figure out where she was starting today. Immediately she spotted an abandoned water bottle and next to it was a clearly wet weight bench. Given the bottle was just a plastic disposable one it narrowed down the suspects but Nat didn't really care who it was, she was just annoyed there was another damn mess for her to clean.
Going to get another towel she bumped into the probable culprit. Steve Rogers, America's good boy, looking like he just got out of bed in nothing but a pair of boxers and sneakers. His back—well his everything—was coated in a glistening layer of sweat that gave silent confirmation he was to blame for the assassin's dismay.
Without hesitation she caught him by the elbow, grip firm but not heavy. Steve rarely needed heavy handed guidance or more than a firm talking to so Nat didn't see any reason to put more effort in.
"Clean up your mess Rogers. " Her voice was flat. No coddling or aggression. Just a simple request that she expected to be answered without a fight.
Pulling his elbow free Steve sighed heavily. It didn't take a genius to see he was in a bad mood but for Natasha a bad mood didn't excuse you from being a decent person. "You can handle it Nat, I'm not in the mood."He was a bit snippy, that bad mood spilling into his tone and making it clear to even the most oblivious what mood he was in. Natasha didn't care. She cared about people being accountable as well as not treating the one woman here like a maid.
With out a word she grabbed his bicep, the sticky sweat coating her hand as she made sure he'd not slip from her grip. She dragged him to the bench, sounds of protest falling on deaf ears. Slapping her towel into his chest she pointed at the bench, "Clean it." It'd take two seconds. He didn't even have to go get a towel as she was forfeiting her own.
Groaning Steve pushed the towel back at Natasha. "No, I'm going to bed." Natasha scowled. Sparring would be her preferred way to solve this but a look down gave her another idea.
Steve's boxers strained, nearly any sort of pants on him did as america's ass was not to be forgotten, but that's not what caught her attention. His cock was painfully alert, a sizable tent being the only thing that offered any sort of 'cover' for it. If he was too 'busy' to clean up his own mess then maybe he wouldn't be too busy to make a bigger one? She could give him a true mess to clean up and leave him worn out enough he had no choice but to do so unless he wanted to be found soaking wet and pants down in the gym by Clint.
Stepping forward Natasha made no hesitation in grabbing the cock just barely hidden before her. Steve tensed but said nothing as she examined it. Large and firm, perfect for her to use later. Now she had a point to make.
"Strip." she ordered and he did, not that it was exactly hard. As soon as the fabric hit the floor she kicked it off into some random corner of the gym to be forgotten as a future punishment. Warmth had already been pooling between her legs so stripping next was a no brainer. As her breasts spilled out she watched Steve's cock twitch, excited for what it was assumed to be receiving. But Natasha had other plans than to just give herself to his cock.
Taking off her bottoms she folded them neatly, leaving all her clothes placed on the weight wrack so they'd be as unsoiled as possible so she could just leave when she wished. Intercepting a hand that attempted to caress her she shoved a towel into it instead. "Clean it." she demanded, hands on her hips and legs parted just enough so Steve could see the 'bait' that was her core. This ruse was an effective one as he kneeled almost immediately, assuming the exact position she had wanted him in; bent over the weight bench ready to be pinned down.
Sliding her fingers across herself, taking up her own wetness, she watched as his hips moved. The fat of his ass moved with them, shaking in a springy wave as he scrubbed up his own sweat. Without warning Natasha leaned over and slid a wet finger across his hole. Steve shuttered, not stopping his task as she teased the tightened flesh. She'd praise him but he was not deserving of praise just yet. After his rudeness he would have to work for any sort of reward or rather he'd have to pay penance.
Sliding her tongue across the moistened flesh he shuttered again, a tiny moan caught in his throat. Using the combination of saliva and her own fluids Natasha probed the tense hole with skill. Each little movement earned another caught moan. A slight movement of hips and tensing of muscles made her teasing more aggressive. Allowing her tongue to briefly enter, pushing just enough in to get a reaction, Natasha ceased her abuse refusing to give more than just an inkling of pleasure before she had some of her own.
Standing back up she admired the sight before her. His annoyingly round ass gyrated with each furious scrub, the flesh of his thighs rippling with each motion. One would think him stone at times, especially with how his suit hugged each and every dip of muscle, but he was still just flesh. Mailable and abusable flesh that could be milked for one's own pleasure so easily.
Steve made an indication he was going to get up, the machine finally cleansed of sweat. Stepping on his tail bone, pressing her foot into the start of his ass Natasha barked an order, "You're not done Rogers, I see more. Do better." Pressing into him with her heel spurred him back to a action with an annoyed grown.
'Good' she thought. 'Just the perfect show to give him more work.'
Keeping her foot propped up on him as he worked she had ease finding stability despite his furious movements. Years of training had left her a master of balance. Normally this was for combat situations but the skills transfered well to keeping herself partially poised on an ass the size of a small planet. Steve's furious movements also jostled her just enough that she had to do less work, creating a perfect amount of pleasure as she brought a hand down to touch herself.
Jolts of pleasure teased both her body and mind as she watched the sight before her. Flesh bent to her will, every ripple of muscle a result of her orders. Who wouldn't find immense pleasure in this? Soon that knot was tightening in her stomach, a pressure building in her pussy that demanded release. Without warning just what she wished to happen did. A spluttering stream of clear fluid coated Steve. Liquid splattered the bench and ground, creating just the mess she'd hoped for this whole time. Chest rising and falling heavily she removed her foot from the solider, resting it on a distant spot of dry ground. This was not the end of it and while they both had super human endurance she'd still have to pace this if she was to fully get what she wanted.
Steve froze. He seemed to have a moment of thought before he went to work cleaning her juices off of the bench. Even if this was what her next command would have been she didn't praise him. His reward would come when she deemed him worthy and it'd not be some fickle praise. Release would be his due. If that wasn't good enough then he could keep his complaints to himself because after this Natasha was going to shower and then bed.
Once he was done cleaning the bench he hesitated as if expecting it to be ruined again. But Nat had other plans. His punishment was much more complex than just cleaning. Making a show of inspecting it she let him stand to the side, cock pitifully raised as it hungered, drips of precum beading at its tip. She had to admit that he'd done well, the bench perfectly dry if smelling of sex. It was impressive how hard he could work when he wanted something.
Sitting on the bench with her legs crossed she looked at him. "You cum when I say you do." she stated and he nodded. Then she parted her legs and invited him over.
Like a bee finding a flower his cock sunk into her but unlike the insect it was anything but small and gentle. Stretching her, Natasha felt his more than impressive penis to the furthest reaches of her hips up into her stomach. She could take, it otherwise she wouldn't have offered, but it was still worth noting just how much effort it took to contain it. All that pressure was perfect, pressing into the correct nerves and making it easy for her to find pleasure without additional effort on her part.
Each movement of his cock was like a shot of electricity that added more and more power to her pleasure. It wasn't long before she had another crashing orgasm that sent literal waves from her. Moans urged Steve on, his cock only being a tool for her and those sweet sounds being the currency she paid to use it. Pressure built again as he brutually fucked her, his massive cock pushing roaring stream after roaring stream of fluid out of her. A sizable puddle was forming beneath the two, one that only one would have to deal with.
While the pleasure was utterly intoxicating time was still passing. Hours passed just as climaxes did, light would break soon which meant this would have to end. Mulling it over for a moment Natash decided that now would not be the time he came. He'd have to finish fixing his mess which now included his own body, juices staining it so much he glistened more aggressively than he had when it was just sweat. With one last wave Natasha made him halt, locking him in place with her legs before shoving him out of her slowly. He frowned in disappointment but stood to the side. It took everything not to milk his cock more but Natasha had already made up her mind.
Elegantly getting up she stretched admiring the puddle on the floor. "You better be quick, Clint will be up soon." she stated as she headed for the showers, grabbing her still clean clothes on the way over. "Maybe if you're fast enough I'll still be awake for round two."
Trotting out she gave his cock a punishing squeeze, eager to see if he actually managed to finish the challenge.
Writemas event by @agirlandherquill - join in, if you like; it's an open invite! 😊
My chosen prompt: A throne room
Ivah's hand is cold where it holds her face, thumb pressed to her jaw, fingers curled under her chin, tilting her head back. Her grip isn't hard enough to bruise, just hard enough to keep her from looking away. To keep her attention, hold eye contact.
"Repeat what I just said back to me."
It's not a foolproof method.
When Lark just looks at her blankly, Ivah drops her face with a huff, one long fingernail catching slightly as she turns away.
"As we seem to have reached the end of your attention span this morning, you are dismissed."
Lark is out of the training room almost before Ivah has completed the sentence.
Breakfast was hours ago. She knows where she'll find her father at this time of day.
Fleetfooted, and with just a touch of subtlety magic, she makes her way to the throne room.
No one turns around when she walks in, and the only person who seems to notice her entrance is the one she wants to see her.
King Sorin Alires -- he makes eye contact with her briefly before returning his full attention to the person talking to him.
She finds a spot in the back and makes herself comfortable.
When Devdan dies, you wrench aer back into life with everything you have. Rage and fear and power combine somewhere deep inside you, swirling tighter and tighter, almost nausea-inducing.
There is no finesse to it, none of the energy diverts to healing any of aer wounds, or replenishing the blood lost. Everything goes into getting aer heart beating again, putting breath back in aer lungs, making sure ae will open aer eyes once more.
If it weren’t for Sanev . . . all of your effort might have been wasted.
You can’t stay on your feet, after, all of your energy went into the working. Sanev catches you, helps you sit down on the ground when your legs give out, and leaves you gasping for breath to work on stitching aer up.
You let him do it, curling into yourself there on the ground. You can feel wetness on your face, but you don’t feel like you’re crying. It feels like you’re catching your breath, like there wasn’t enough air around until all three of you were breathing it again.
You’re not sure how long it takes - it could be hours, it could be minutes, all of it is meaningless to you - but eventually you feel a hand on your back, between your shoulder blades. A familiar hand.
Not Sanev’s hand.
You want to whip around and throw yourself into aer arms, maybe cry into aer shoulder a little, but you know yourself.
You know the extent of your own abilities.
You can’t keep yourself from turning quickly, but you’re more careful about it than you would be any other time.
You stare at aer, at the new line of stitches along the side of aer head, across aer throat. You raise your hand, trace the former lightly with the tips of your fingers.
“They’re going to scar,” you say softly, and you don’t acknowledge the tearful rasp to your voice. “I’m sorry.”
Devdan shakes aer head, cups your face in aer hands, just as gentle as you’re trying to be. “No apologies. Not for this.” Ae leans aer head into your touch, wincing a little with it, but smiling. “I’m alive. You brought me back. I can live with a couple new scars.”
You disagree, generally - you’re old enough that you should have been able to direct more energy to healing at least some of the damage, if not all of it - but for once you don’t want to argue. Later, when the shock of sudden death-then-not has worn off, when just the sight of this person up and walking and talking doesn’t make you look on in wonder, you can make all the counterpoints you want.
For now, you let yourself dip your chin in something like a nod, angling your head to press your lips against the edge of aer palm.
My chosen prompts: a forest, the silence of nature/He whistled to the darkness, and for the first time in his life, the unknown whistled back/the stirring of darkness.
Thorn has never walked in a forest so silent.
It's unnerving, wrong.
Silence means predator, means danger.
He ducks into the hollow of a tree, hopes that the plant life growing around the roots will hide him a bit. Instinctively, he starts to hold his breath, but makes himself breathe quietly, so quietly, through his mouth instead.
Now that he's all but silent himself, he hears what he hadn't before: footsteps.
Something brushing through branches and across tree trunks. Something else swishing through the ground cover.
He almost starts holding his breath again when a dragon trods into his line of sight.
It's not as big as he'd always expected one to be. Its tail is about as long as its neck and body combined, and it's kind of ... leafy looking. Verdant green, with wings that look like they're meant to spread at least as wide as it is long.
It's pretty.
***
Jade doesn't remember how or why they all got separated.
All she knows is that she's alone, in a dark, cold, damp cave, and she has no idea where her friends are.
She whistles into the darkness, an exercise in keeping her breath steady and calm.
For the first time in her short life, the darkness whistles back.
She stops walking, hardly daring to breathe for a long minute. Then, she whistles. Two notes: high, then low.
Two notes back: low, then high.
She sounds four notes, this time: high-low, low-high.
Low-high, high-low.
Jade steps forward again, cautiously. "Hello?"
Something in the darkness stirs, and she can't make out anything except big, and spikes, as if the cave itself is moving.
She takes a deep breath, forces herself to plant her feet. Whatever this is may be bigger than her, but she will not let herself be cowed. It obviously has some level of higher thought processes, to communicate with her through whistling like that. It can take a second and decide not to eat her.
How ... Interesting.
She looks up -
And up -
A dragon, black as night and flecked with luminescent spots that look like stars.
My chosen prompts: "On your knees. You will bow to me, you will kiss my boot, or I shall find reason not to spare you." (okay I didn't really use this one, but it did inspire like. half of this fill. xD), a dinner, the burn of poison/He wished looks would kill. It would save him the effort of a slaughter, and he was not in the mood for dirtying his sleeves with blood, not when he had someone to see.
It's a quiet meal. Just the two of them, with Lark sequestered in her room with a migraine.
Tense.
He knows, but he doesn't know what he knows. He knows there's something different about Lark, might be able to sense her magic on the girl.
He doesn't know -- can't know -- what magic she cast.
Despite having trained him, having all but raised him, really, she's not sure what his reaction would look like if he did know.
She'd like him to be grateful, or at least recognize that the intent behind it is not malicious. That it's for the girl's own good.
Memory magic isn't difficult, per se, but it is complex.
They make eye contact over the meal. She takes a sip of her wine. He sets his fork down beside his plate.
Waiting. And not subtle about it.
"What's in my drink, Sorin?"
One side of his mouth raises in a small smirk. "Give it a moment. You'll see."
She does.
Her throat burns, the roof of her mouth. The tips of her fingers.
She should recognize this. She's probably used this on someone else before. But what ... ?
~*~
He almost wishes looks could kill. It would save a lot of time and effort. Would probably break whatever spell Ivah had cast on his kid, too.
He would much rather be with Lark right now, in the quiet darkness of her bedroom. Spending time with his newly returned daughter, before matters of state and country drew him away again.
Instead, he's here, confronting his advisor -- his teacher.
"I have the antidote. Just undo whatever you did to my kid, and find yourself a new place of employment."
Ivah stares at him. Her voice rasps when she speaks. "Such a tempting offer."
"The alternative is that I kill you here. Let the poison finish you off, or take one of these knives and cut your throat." He shrugs, as if the idea doesn't bother him. "The knife would be faster, but I don't want Lark to see me with blood on my shirt."
My chosen prompts: Everywhere she looked, there were reminders of what she had lost, every time she closed her eyes, she could feel the ghosts of the past haunting her./a nightmare/The emptiness in their eyes hurt, there was no recognition, no respect, nothing close to love. It was as though they saw a stranger., the hesitation of touch, the crushing of disappointment.
Whatever spell was cast, however it was broken ... its effects take some time to wear off.
At first, it's just dreams. Then nightmares.
Every time she closes her eyes; she can feel the ghosts of her past haunting her.
She goes to sleep, and then she's wandering the halls of her home with no real goal in mind.
Her home, but not. The hallways lead nowhere, the rooms are not rooms in the palace at all.
And everywhere she looks, there are reminders of what she's lost.
In one room, dozens of sketchbooks, filled to the brim with drawings and scribbled notes and silly doodles. In another, an abandoned pair of glasses, plants covering the windowsills, healthy and green.
Yet another, narrower than any room or closet that actually exists, bookshelves stuffed full to bursting with books, maps on the walls and scattered around the floor. And a fourth, with string lights shaped like stars and flowers hanging on the walls, a record player going softly in the corner.
There are no names to go with the rooms, no clear faces. Not at first.
Then, there are.
And, at first, she's so happy to see them. To see Kit's freckled face, Mac's warm brown eyes, Thorn's shaggy blond curls, and Jade's round cheeks. She rushes forward, crying out their names, reaching out to hug them.
She stumbles to a complete stop when the looks on their faces finally registers. When she remembers -- realizes -- what's happened.
The emptiness in their eyes hurts. There's no recognition, no respect, nothing close to the love that had been present just months ago. It's as if they're all looking at a stranger.
She feels the disappointment crushing something inside of her, can't quite keep herself from reaching out again. Just one hand, slowly, hesitantly. Just to touch an arm, a shoulder. "I - I'm sorry."
Her voice cracks.
The others step back, not quite as one, just out of step.
Writemas day 5!!! (I know it's late, shhhhhh xP I will get back on track with these at some point, maybe lol)
My chosen prompt: "...What have you done?"
It takes him far too long to realize that something is wrong.
But he has an entire country to run, and Lark has always been a bright, cheerful kid.
Paltry excuses in the face of his kid's wellbeing, but that's what he's got.
As long as it takes him to realize, though, he's not nearly so slow to confront the cause.
"What have you done to my daughter?"
Ivah pauses what she's doing to look up at him, one eyebrow arched. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
"Don't play your games with me, Ivah. What is wrong with Lark?"
She puts down her pen and folds her hands on top of whatever she'd been writing, tilting her head just slightly to the side. "There is no game here. Why do you think there's something wrong with her? She seems ... cheerful. Happier than she's been in a while."
And that's exactly the problem. She's just returned after having been abducted, taken from her home and brought to a foreign, potentially hostile land. The only thing that kept her from harsher treatment was her age.
Yet she doesn't seem to remember any of it. The abduction itself. How her time away from home was spent. How she got home. Anything at all.
Something here is terribly wrong, and he doesn't know how to fix any of it.
My chosen prompts: "Can we fix this?", an empty road, the dead of night/"Can you forgive me?", the cusp of dawn/the strength of a supporting hand
(Just to be clear: I am Aware I don't need to go back & do days I've missed (though I am gonna go & do days 5 & 6 at some point), but it drives me up the wall to have skipped/missing days & my intention has been to figure out one particular WIP at least partially through this challenge, so I'm going to, at least, do my best lol)
The road is long, and dark, and empty. Thankfully.
Lark stumbles, nearly taking herself and Kit to the ground before regaining her balance. "Sorry, are you okay?" Voice just a bit too loud.
Kit hushes her, not quite harshly. After a moment, she says: "I'm good. Let's keep going."
The others are a way ahead of them. No one particularly wants her leading them anywhere. Especially not in the dark.
She can't find it within herself to blame them.
She adjusts her hold around Kit's waist, takes a deep breath, and starts walking again.
"Do you think you guys will be able to forgive me? Can I ... can I fix it?" She doesn't try to look at Kit's face as she asks.
They walk in silence, focusing on their feet. What they can see of the road in the light of the partial moon.
Eventually: "I don't know what the others think, but ... I don't know that you need to fix anything. You kept secrets for a long time, but ... everything that just happened wasn't on you."
Lark blinks. Almost stumbles again, caught between the instinct to pause and the knowledge that she can't. "I lied to all of you. I don't know what I told them." I still want to go home.
The arm Kit has over her shoulders flails a bit before it manages to shift, pat her shoulder, kind of. "You're thirteen, and they're the ones that raised you. She ... what did she do, actually? What kind of magic was that?"
"I don't ... I can guess, but ..." She hesitates. "It's not anything I'm really familiar with."
Vague. Shoddy. Shady. Not entirely dishonest, but far from truthful.
They should stop. Leave her behind. Go back to Floya without her. Tell Raz and Flynn that something went terribly wrong.
Tell them the truth.
"We'll just have to research, then." Kit sounds far too cheerful for someone who has to be in so much pain. "I know we're not as big on magic as Dascua is, but there've gotta be some resources. Mind magic, yeah?"
Lark sighs. "Yeah. Mind magic."
They walk until the horizon starts to turn pink, then move to find a place to rest.
