The employee handbook didn’t cover the way Wanda looks at you when you’re on your knees scrubbing the floor, or the way Natasha’s fingers feel when she tangles them in your hair to tilt your head back. You were hired to be their domestic chatelaine, but the professional lines didn't just blur. They dissolved entirely the moment the married couple decided that the only thing missing from their perfect home was you.
details: nasty smut (poly), porn w/ some plot, hurt/comfort, employee/employer to complex? to partners/dating/married, switch/gentle strict dom!wanda, top/sharp quiet dom!natasha, bottom/sub!reader, personal cook/maid!reader, rich/well off couple!wandanat, oral/fingering/strap in v, (kinks such as... hair pulling, spit, dom/sub, impact play, praise, ownership, overstimulation)
The kitchen is steeped in the soft amber glow of golden hour, sunlight spilling lazily across the countertops and catching on the edges of polished glass. The open window lets in a gentle breeze, just enough to stir the curtains into a slow, rhythmic sway. It’s peaceful—quiet in a way that makes the clink of utensils and the low hum of the oven feel almost comforting.
You’d finished your usual list earlier than expected today. With time to spare, you decided to start dinner—something more involved than usual, a recipe that required patience and care. The kind of meal that fills a home not just with aroma, but with warmth.
It’s been about a year since you started working here, and you’ve settled into the rhythm of it all with ease. Wanda can be particular—precise in a way that keeps everything running just so—but never unkind. And Natasha balances her out effortlessly. Together, they’ve made this place feel less like a job and more like somewhere you belong. The small home they’ve provided nearby only adds to that sense of comfort.
You’re pulling the dish from the oven, the rich scent of slow-cooked herbs and roasted vegetables (or perhaps a carefully layered lasagna, bubbling at the edges) filling the air, when you hear the front door open.
Voices follow. Familiar, welcome. A small smile tugs at your lips as you set the dish down carefully.
“We’re back,” Natasha calls, her tone lighter than usual, travel always seems to wear on her.
Wanda, however, makes a beeline straight for the kitchen, drawn in by the scent before anything else. She pauses in the doorway, breathing it in, her expression softening.
“What smells so good…?”
You glance over your shoulder, slipping off the oven mitts. “It’s a slow-baked recipe—took most of the afternoon,” you say with a small, proud smile. “Figured I’d make something special. Welcome back.”
Natasha appears behind her, resting a hand lightly on Wanda’s arm, a knowing look in her eyes. “Tempting,” she says, “but we should probably get out of these airport clothes first.”
Wanda hesitates for just a second longer, clearly reluctant to leave the kitchen, before allowing herself to be guided away. You chuckle softly, turning back to the counter to finish plating.
“I’ll have everything ready when you’re done,” you call after them.
The dining room is already set. Candles waiting to be lit, plates placed just so.
Their footsteps return not long after, quieter now. Changed, settled, the fatigue of travel softened into something more relaxed. Wanda lingers near the doorway again, though this time she leans lightly against the frame, arms crossed, watching as you finish up the last touches.
Dinner passes easily. They ask about the house, about anything that might have come up in their absence. It’s brief, casual—more habit than concern—and you reassure them everything’s been smooth. No issues, no surprises.
Wanda hums in quiet approval, exchanging a glance with Natasha before looking back at you. “We appreciate you,” she says simply, but sincerely.
Natasha offers a small, warm smile. “You’ve done more than enough. Go ahead and call it a night.”
You nod, returning the smile. “Enjoy dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
They thank you again as you step away, settling in at the table just as you disappear back into the kitchen. The routine comes naturally now—plates rinsed, dishes loaded carefully into the dishwasher, counters wiped down until they gleam faintly under the soft overhead light. The house quiets again, save for the low murmur of their conversation drifting faintly from the living room.
By the time you’re done, the last of the sunlight has faded, leaving behind a gentle dusk. You grab your things, slipping out the door with a quiet ease, the cool evening air greeting you as you step outside. The short walk to your place feels familiar, almost grounding after a full day.
The ocean breeze greets you the moment you step outside, cool and laced with salt, drifting up from the waves crashing steadily against the rocks below the cliffside mansion; you take your time walking the familiar path to your small home tucked along the ledge, letting your gaze wander out over the endless stretch of darkening water as the last of the sunlight fades into soft blues and grays, and for a moment you simply pause, breathing it in, enjoying the quiet and the view that never quite gets old, before finally heading inside, closing the door behind you, and settling in for the night.
It seems as if something had shifted during their trip, you notice it before you can quite name it.
They’ve always been kind. From the awkward, careful beginnings when you first started working for them, to the easy rhythm you’ve settled into now, there’s always been warmth there. Gentleness. Familiarity that never crossed a line.
But something is different. You’re in the living room, cloth in hand, carefully wiping down the edge of the TV table, more out of habit than necessity.
Wanda is there too. She’s settled into one of the armchairs with a glass of wine, posture relaxed, but not absent. She isn’t doing anything obvious. Just watching. Or at least, it feels like watching.
At first, you try to ignore it. Focus on the surface in front of you. The grain of the wood. The steady motion of your hand.
But you feel it anyway.
“We don’t know too much about your life outside of here, do we?” Wanda asks, her voice smooth as velvet, casual on the surface in a way that doesn’t quite match the weight of her attention.
She tilts the glass toward herself and takes a slow sip of wine, watching you over the rim. Patient, unhurried, like she’s not expecting an answer so much as a reaction.
You pause.
“Um…” Your hand stills briefly against the cloth before you force it to keep moving. “I guess not, no.”
There’s a small, thoughtful hum from her. Soft, almost approving, though it’s hard to tell exactly why.
“I suppose that’s partly my fault,” she says after a beat, as if considering it for the first time in that moment. “We do tend to keep things… focused here.”
Wanda leans back slightly in the chair, glass resting loosely in her hand.
“You’ve been with us a while now,” she adds, softer. “It’s strange how little we know about you.”
A pause.
Then, lighter. Carefully so, like she’s stepping around something:
Wanda hums softly at that, the sound low and thoughtful as she turns the glass slightly in her hand. The last of the light shifts across the room while she watches you a moment longer, as if weighing something quietly in her mind.
“Is it alright if I ask you a couple of questions then?”
The request is gentle. Polite, even. Still firmly within the boundaries of employer and employee,but there’s something in the way she asks that makes it feel more personal than procedural.
You hesitate just briefly before nodding.
“Yeah… that’s fine.”
“Wonderful,” she says simply.
And just like that, the conversation continues.
At first, the questions are harmless enough, small things, things that could pass as curiosity after a year of shared space. Your routines. What you like to cook when you’re on your own. How you found your way into this work. Wanda listens to every answer with an unusual kind of attention, like she’s not just hearing you, but remembering you.
Time slips in quiet increments.
The sun lowers further, golden light fading into softer tones as your conversation carries, the house shifting gradually toward evening. Somewhere along the way, her wine glass empties, left resting on the arm of the chair as she forgets to refill it or even notice.
It was the most tame of what was to come. Of how quietly, almost imperceptibly, things would begin to shift.
A couple of days later, the house has settled back into its usual rhythm. The library is warm and dimly lit, the kind of space that feels even quieter after a long day—books lined in perfect order, the faint scent of paper and polished wood in the air.
Wanda and Natasha are there after work, speaking in low tones, their presence relaxed in that familiar way that only comes after years of sharing space. You pass through briefly, intending only to retrieve something you left behind.
You barely make it a few steps inside when Wanda’s attention shifts toward you.
“I showed Natasha some of your artwork,” she says gently, as if continuing a thought rather than introducing a new one. Her gaze flicks briefly to her wife, then back to you. “From what you shared with me last night… if that’s alright.”
“Oh,” you blink slightly, caught off guard but not uncomfortable. “That’s… quite alright.”
Natasha looks at you then.
“They were beautiful,” she says simply, no hesitation in her voice. A pause. “Did you paint them while we were gone last week?”
You nod, still a little unsure where this is going. “Yes. I had extra time… not as much to clean.”
A faint hint of amusement passes through Natasha’s expression at that, though it never fully forms into a smile.
“Right,” she replies, tone even, thoughtful. Then, after a beat: “Well… we were thinking we’d like to put your artwork in a showing next week.”
That lands differently.
You stop for a second, processing it. “What…? I— that’s very kind, I…”
Wanda watches your reaction carefully, something warm in her expression that isn’t quite pride, but close.
“It’s very beautiful,” she says softly. “It deserves to be seen.”
Natasha gives a small, confirming nod beside her.
Your surprise eases into something quieter—something touched, almost disbelieving. “I’d love to,” you say finally.
And for a moment, the conversation pauses there—not ending, but settling into something that feels a little more deliberate than before.
The museum is everything you expected it to be, and a little more overwhelming than you care to admit.
High ceilings, polished marble floors, and soft, controlled lighting that makes every piece of art feel curated to perfection. People move through the space in quiet clusters, dressed with the kind of ease that comes from never needing to think too much about where they are or why they belong there.
You stand near your work, hands loosely at your sides, trying not to look as out of place as you feel. The painting is hung beautifully—better than you’ve ever seen it displayed, but your attention keeps drifting to everything else instead of it.
A few guests pass by, offering polite nods or brief comments, but it all feels slightly distant, like you’re watching it happen rather than part of it. Then you see them.
The moment your eyes meet theirs, something in your shoulders loosens without permission. Wanda notices first, her expression softening as she approaches.
“There you are,” she says gently, as if you’d only been briefly misplaced rather than standing in the middle of a formal exhibition.
Natasha follows beside her, gaze briefly flicking to your work before returning to you. “How are you holding up?”
It’s a simple question, but it lands with more weight than it should here.
You manage a small breath of a laugh. “Alright,” you say honestly.
Wanda hums, understanding immediately.
Natasha’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer before she gives a slight nod. “You did well.”
There’s a pause. Not awkward, but fuller than before.
And then you notice it. Wanda steps slightly closer than she usually would in public. Not enough to be obvious to anyone else, but enough that you feel it. Natasha’s hand briefly touches your arm as she adjusts her position beside you, guiding you gently through the flow of passing guests as they speak.
It isn’t dramatic. Nothing about it is. But it’s different.
As the conversation continues, small comments about the turnout, a few quiet remarks about the piece. You become aware of it in fragments: Wanda’s attention resting on you a little longer than necessary, Natasha’s hand lingering just a second too long before letting go.
By the time they eventually guide you away from the painting to greet someone else, you realize the shift isn’t something you can point to clearly.
Their touches, once fleeting, have begun to carry intention.
Their glances, once brief and forgettable, now tend to linger just a little too long.
Even now, kneeling on the floor with a cloth in hand, wiping a section of tile that doesn’t really need attention, you feel it. The quiet weight of their presence behind you, the way you feel their gaze drift to areas they maybe shouldn't.
You keep your focus down, continuing as if nothing has changed, as if you haven’t been carrying this awareness with you for weeks. You’ve been ignoring it, even as it follows you into the night and sits restless in your chest when everything else is still.
A month passes like that. Supporting your art, inviting you to sit while they chat quietly in the library. Investing in learning more about you, and you about them. Blurring a line from before into something warmer, friendlier.
Then they leave again for the weekend.
The departure is familiar by now. Bags by the door, last checks, calm instructions spoken in that easy rhythm of theirs. But the goodbyes feel different. Slower. Softer.
Wanda pauses at the door longer than usual, stepping closer as her hand brushes your arm with a deliberate gentleness. “Take care of yourself,” she says quietly.
Natasha follows, her touch brief but steady as it settles on your shoulder a moment longer than necessary. “We’ll be back,” she adds, her voice lower than usual.
Then they’re gone, and the house settles into a silence that feels heavier than it should.
One weekend later and all your usual preparation for their return is already in motion by late afternoon. The house cleaned, the air subtly refreshed, a simple recipe planned for dinner that will be ready around the time they’re expected back. Even a small arrangement of flowers sits on the coffee table, something soft and thoughtful you added without really thinking about it.
But somewhere between checking the oven and straightening the living room for the third time, exhaustion catches up with you.
It’s been building for days—late nights, early mornings, the quiet tension you haven’t fully admitted to yourself. And when you finally sit on the couch for “just a moment,” it becomes something heavier. Something you don’t fight.
The next thing you register is warmth, and the feeling of being watched.
Your eyes open slowly, focus slipping into place. Natasha is beside you, sitting close enough that you feel her presence immediately, her hand gently resting against your cheek. Her fingers move with quiet care, brushing hair away from your face.
“Good evening,” she says, her voice low and calm, like she’s been speaking for a while already and only now expects you to hear it.
You jolt slightly as awareness snaps back into place, not just of where you are, but of how close she is. Natasha notices immediately.
“Hey, hey—whoa,” she says, her tone shifting as her hand stills against your skin. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah… yeah, I’m alright,” you manage, pushing yourself upright quickly, the sudden awareness making you hyper-conscious of everything at once. “I just— I must’ve fallen asleep.”
You sit up fully, adjusting your position on the couch, suddenly too aware of how you’re sitting, of your uniform, of the space between you. Natasha shifts slightly to give you room, though she doesn’t move far.
Wanda is there too, standing a few steps behind the couch with her arms loosely crossed. Her expression is harder to read, but her attention is fixed on you in that quiet, steady way you’ve started to recognize.
For a moment, no one speaks. The air feels different than it did when you fell asleep; it no longer feels like you are just waiting for her to come home.
Over the last month, everything has started to catch up. The tension has built steadily through every conversation and every touch, everything done with quiet intent.
Your chest rises and falls quickly, the sound of your breathing loud in the silence. Your eyes search her face, while her gaze remains steadier, watching you back. Her eyes dart to your lips, as yours dart to hers.
Before you can make a move or say another word, her lips meet yours. With a month of built-up pressure finally breaking, you lean into the kiss far quicker than you’d like to admit.
Your back hits the couch cushion again, and your hand reaches out to grip her shirt. With eyes shut and your face tilted, you settle back, moving with her.
It was a kiss, a long winded one.
Lingering kisses eventually deepened into long make-out sessions, and those sessions inevitably blurred into the arrangement you had now.
With Natasha at work, the house was quiet, leaving only you and Wanda. At her request, you were on the floor scrubbing the tiles in the foyer. Her focus was lower than usual, her gaze fixed intently on the backs of your thighs. She watched with a quiet hunger, wanting nothing more than to pull your skirt up just a few inches to see more of you.
You swallowed hard, a soft "oh..." escaping your lips when you felt the point of her heel press against your skin. She dragged it slowly up the back of your thigh, inching toward the hem of your work outfit and pushing the fabric of your skirt higher and higher.
Wanda hummed in low approval at the sight, her eyes tracing the curve of your hips and the lace of your underwear, the only thing obscuring the view she wanted most.
The air in the foyer felt thick as you slowly turned your head. You didn't meet her gaze directly; instead, your eyes traveled up her legs, to the line of her shoulder, and finally to the soft curve of her cheek. The silence stretched between you, charged and expectant, until she spoke with a quiet, firm command.
"Continue."
Taking a deep breath, you turn back to the tiled floor, forcing yourself to focus on the scrubbing. You try to work as if you don't feel her gaze on you, heavy with a sense of deep entertainment.
When you finally finish the spot Wanda had pointed out earlier, she reaches down, her fingers firm against your jaw. She tilts your head up until you're forced to face her, then leans down to capture your lips in a brief, searing kiss.
"Good job..." she murmurs against your skin, her voice laced with a quiet, lingering satisfaction.
This whole thing was torture.
The memory of their kisses and the heat of their hands seemed burned into your skin, dragging you deeper into a hazy, unfocused mindset. They would pin you against the wall, hands sliding over your curves, feeling the shape of your body until you were breathless. They’d press feather-light kisses up the sensitive line of your neck or grip your hips just to hear the sharp catch of your gasp. These were hot, quiet, random spikes of intimacy that promised everything before they were stopped.
It was driving you up the wall. You felt like you were losing your mind because it never went further.
You’d be cleaning a counter and feel a hand drag slowly up the back of your thigh. Your back would arch instinctively, a silent, desperate plea for them to keep going, but they would just pull away. Every time, they took everything back right before it could progress, leaving you shivering and stranded in the silence they left behind.
You had finished for the day, your body burning from a weeks worth of teasing. Your forehead pressed against your shower wall, sighing from the coolness on your hot skin. Your mind kept replaying the moments, the scenes from earlier. And your fingers unknowingly dipped in between your thighs to feel the soaked mess. You keen at the touch, finally getting something.
You rub your clit, thighs shaking. Leaning heavily against the cool surface, bottom lip dropped open as you whine and keen at the feeling. Your mind full of all the moments between you and Natasha, Wanda... the both of them. Imagining if you went just further, how they'd take care of you. They're kind, so incredibly so. You can only imagine how their touch would feel there, how their voices low would sound against your ear.
"G-gods," you cry softly, shuddering. "W-wanda... Natasha... please...!"
Thighs clenching together as your thighs drip with your arousal as you fall down from your climax. Unaware Wanda had come by to your little home to try and return your laptop that you had left in the library, her ears perked to hearing your moans from the small space inside the front door.
As you breath heavily, your mind feeling a dazed mess. You jerk awake at the knock to your door, heart falling into your stomach. Wrapping a towel around your body, you hear towards the front door. Cheeks flushed, embarrassment and shame filling your body at the possibility that she's heard you.
"Wanda... I-"
She shuts your hesitant explanation up, grabbing hold of you and pulling you into a kiss. She places your laptop on a surface that she passes by, her eyes opening briefly to place it there before her attention turns back to you.
"Listen to me, shh." She explains, tone too sweet. "We're going to put a name in place if you wish to stop at any time, alright? Tell me you're listening, lovie."
You whine, arms crossing around the back of her neck, nodding, "Yes..."
"Any word you'd like?"
"I... um, Pear?"
"Alright, you say pear if you wish to stop. Okay?"
"Okay.. I will."
She's not wasting time after to back you up until you're falling back onto your bed. Her lips run down your neck, fingers tugging the towel around your bare body off. She runs her hand down your chest, rubbing at your nipple to hear you moan.
"Please...!"
"Shh," she murmurs, sliding her hand down your side to touch you directly. Her eyes, dark and lidded, watching your head fall back as she swirls her fingers around your wet pussy.
You bite your bottom lip, "mm..!"
You were already hovering on the edge, your nervous system frayed from the back-to-back stimulation. Every time her thumb swiped over your clit, a jagged bolt of lightning shot straight to your core. Your breath came in ragged, broken sobs, your fingers digging into the bedding as you tried to find some purchase in the storm she was creating.
"Wanda, please... I can't—"
"You can," she countered softly, leaning down to catch your whimpers with her lips. She tasted like expensive wine and authority.
The door to your cottage creaked open again, neither of you locked it in your sex-crazed haze. The heavy, measured tread of boots on the wood floor told you exactly who it was before she even spoke.
"I thought I'd find the two of you here," Natasha’s voice drifted in from the bedroom doorway.Her eyes took in the sceen. Looking from the discarded towel, your flushed, shaking form, and Wanda’s hand buried between your thighs. Natasha walked to the edge of the bed, her shadow falling over you. Your teary eyes looking up to her, hands clutching at the sheets beside your head.
"Heard her touching herself in the shower, moaning our names," Wanda explains, angling her hands so Natasha can bring her hand alongside Wanda's.
The addition of Natasha’s finger pushing into you was the final breach. Her fingers stretching you in a way that made your breath hitch and stay trapped in your throat.
"Is that so?" Natasha murmured, her voice dropping to a gravelly low as she watched the way your body reacted to the dual invasion. She didn't look away from your eyes, holding your gaze even as she began to move in tandem with her wife. "Using us to find your little thrill while you're all alone?"
Wanda leaned over you, her hair draping like a silken curtain around your face, sealing the three of you into a private world of heat and friction. "It’s a breach of contract, really," Wanda whispered against your lips, her thumb never stopping its relentless, grinding circles on your clit. "Taking what belongs to us without asking."
The sensation was overwhelming. Too much, too fast, and yet exactly what you had been dying for during those long, lonely months of "professionalism." With Wanda’s thumb pushing you toward the sun and the combined weight of their fingers filling you, your internal muscles began to clench in desperate, rhythmic pulses.
"She’s close," Natasha noted, her eyes darkening. She hooked her thumb into the crease of your hip, pinning you down as you tried to buck upward. "Don't you dare close your eyes. Look at what you've done to yourself. Look at how we're taking care of you. Open your eyes."
You let out a broken, high-pitched keen, your fingers losing their grip on the sheets as your back arched off the mattress. The world narrowed down to the point where their hands met inside you.
"Please," you sobbed, the word a frantic prayer. "Please, I—I can't—"
Your climax hit with the force of a tidal wave, your internal walls squeezing around them in tight, helpless spasms. Your overstimulation turned into a white-hot blur. You were vaguely aware of the way Wanda’s hand stayed exactly where it was, holding you through the aftershocks, refusing to let you retreat from the intensity of what they were doing to you.
As the room slowly stopped spinning, you lay there shivering, completely exposed and utterly claimed in the quiet of your own room.
"Good girl," Natasha whispered, finally withdrawing her hand to stroke a damp strand of hair from your forehead. Her touch was suddenly, jarringly tender as she looked down at your spent form.
Wanda hummed, leaning down to press one last, lingering kiss to your heated temple. "Rest now, darling," she murmured, her voice returning to that smooth, employer-like calm that felt so much more dangerous now. "We expect you at the main house at dawn. Breakfast won't make itself."
Same from before...
Torture. This was torture.
The granite was cold against your palms, a sharp contrast to the heat of Natasha’s body pressed firmly against your back. You had barely started on the morning’s routine before her hands were on you, dragging the fabric of your uniform up until it bunched at your waist.
Your head fell back against her shoulder, a broken sound escaping you as she reached around to find you. Her movements were steady and deliberate, her fingers sliding over your skin with a familiarity that made your knees weak. She didn't say a word, her quiet focus more overwhelming than any command.
"The stove," you managed to whisper, your fingers white-knuckled as you gripped the edge of the counter.
"Ignore it," Natasha murmured against your ear, her thumb finding your clit and applying a slow, heavy pressure that made your breath hitch.
Across the island, Wanda leaned against the counter, her dark eyes fixed on the way you moved under Natasha’s hands. She didn't move to help or stop it; she simply watched, her presence adding a weight to the room that made the air feel thick. She reached out, her fingers trailing idly over the morning paper, but her attention remained entirely on you.
Every time you tried to regain your footing, Natasha shifted her weight, pinning you more firmly against the stone and increasing the pace of her fingers. The friction was relentless, grinding against you in all the ways she knew you couldn't handle.
Your back arched, a sharp gasp leaving you as the stimulation became too much to fight. The kitchen was quiet, save for the hum of the house and the ragged sound of your own breathing as they watched you come apart.
The study was quiet, the air thick with the scent of old paper and the soft clicking of Natasha’s keyboard. You stepped inside, your grip light on the handle of your duster as you caught her eye.
"Hi," you murmured, offering a soft, tentative smile. "Is it alright if I start on the bookshelves?"
Natasha leaned back slightly, her expression warming as she looked up from her screen. "Yes, of course. Thank you."
You moved to the far wall, the steady rhythm of your work filling the silence as you reached for the higher shelves. You could feel her gaze occasionally flicking away from her work to follow your movements.
"How is your latest painting coming along?" she asked, her voice casual but attentive.
You paused, your hand hovering near a leather-bound spine. "Oh... it’s fine. I just haven't had much time to get back to it lately."
Natasha’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "Then take the evening off," she suggested.
Your hand faltered, the duster stilled against the wood. "B-but... I still have the dinner service and the—"
The study was quiet, the only sound the soft friction of your cloth against the wood until Natasha spoke. Her suggestion caught you completely off guard, the professional habit of always being available momentarily clashing with the genuine excitement bubbling up in your chest.
"Truly, I mean it. Take the time."
"Really?" you asked, pausing with the duster still in hand.
"Really," she confirmed, a faint, knowing tilt to her lips.
You didn't need to be told twice. After a quick, grateful goodbye, you practically floated out of the main house. The walk back to your cottage was brisk, the salt air feeling particularly invigorating.
Once inside, the evening was a blur of focused energy. You set up your easel by the window, catching the last of the golden hour as it washed over the canvas. The brushes felt like an extension of your hand, the colors blending with a fluid ease you hadn't felt in weeks. The tension of the house, the complex stares from Wanda, and the weight of Natasha's attention seemed to channel themselves directly into the pigment.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving only deep purples and bruised oranges across the sky, you were covered in faint splatters of paint and feeling a sense of profound peace. You stepped back to survey the work, your chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.
The snap of a twig outside made you turn.
A silhouette stood on your small porch, framed by the darkening ocean behind them. The door wasn't locked, you rarely felt the need for it here. Wanda stepped inside, her movements as graceful as ever, her eyes immediately finding the canvas before they drifted to you.
"Natasha said you were inspired," Wanda said softly, stepping closer. She didn't look at the mess on your hands or the smudge of blue on your cheek; she looked at the painting with a quiet, intense reverence. "It seems she was right."
"I... I didn't hear you come up," you whispered, suddenly very aware of how small your home felt with her inside it.
Wanda didn't answer right away. She walked around the easel, her silk dress rustling faintly, until she was standing directly in front of you. The air between you hummed, charged with the same unspoken current that had been vibrating through the kitchen and the library for months.
"It’s beautiful," she murmured, reaching out. Her fingers didn't touch the painting; instead, they brushed against your jaw, her thumb ghosting over that smudge of blue paint on your skin.
"Thank you..."
Wanda’s thumb lingered on your jaw, the blue paint smearing slightly under the warmth of her skin. The silence in your home was heavy, broken only by the distant, rhythmic crash of the waves against the cliffside. Her gaze dropped to your lips, and before you could draw another breath, she leaned in.
The kiss was deep and inevitable, the culmination of a year of stolen glances and professional restraint finally snapping. You whimpered into her mouth, your hands coming up to clutch at the silk of her sleeves as she pressed forward, her body a firm, commanding weight that forced you backward. Your heels hit the base of the wall, and the cool glass of the window pressed against your spine as she pinned you there.
She pulled back just an inch, her breath hot against your skin. "I've wanted to do that since the day we hired you," she whispered, her voice low.
Without waiting for a response, her kisses began to migrate. She trailed them down the line of your throat, her tongue grazing your pulse point before she dropped to her knees. The transition was fluid, her hands sliding up the insides of your thighs to gather your dress, bunching the fabric at your waist.
You gasped, your head hitting the windowpane with a dull thud as she moved between your legs. The cool evening air from the slightly ajar window hit your bare skin, but the heat radiating from Wanda was all you could feel.
"Be good for me," she murmured, looking up at you with lidded, intense eyes. "Be very still."
She didn't give you a choice. Her tongue swiped along your clit, tasting the arousal you’d been carrying all day. You bucked instinctively, your fingers tangling in her hair, but she gripped your hips, her fingernails digging in just enough to anchor you.
"I said still," she repeated against your skin, punctuating the command with a sharp, sudden nip to your inner thigh.
You let out a strangled cry, your legs trembling as she settled in. She ate you out with a slow, agonizing thoroughness, her tongue swirling and pressing in all the ways that made your vision blur.
Every time you tried to shy away from the intensity, her grip tightened, holding you ruthlessly against the glass until you were nothing but a shivering mess of sensation under her quiet, focused care.
The house felt unusually cold that Tuesday, the coastal fog pressing thick and grey against the windows. You were in the dining room, your movements mechanical as you adjusted the floral centerpiece, but your heart wasn't in the work. You’d been feeling the shift. A strange, growing silence between the three of you that felt less like peace and more like a withdrawal.
As you stepped toward the foyer to retrieve a fallen leaf, you heard their voices. Low, serious, and stripped of the warmth that usually colored their private conversations. You froze behind the heavy oak door.
“It’s getting complicated, Natasha,” Wanda said, her tone measured, quieter than usual. “We didn’t exactly set rules for this, and now… we’re just letting it drift.”
There was a brief silence. You could almost hear Natasha exhale.
“I know,” she said, her voice softer, but edged with something firmer underneath. “But we can’t keep guessing how she feels and calling it enough. She hasn’t said anything. She just… goes along with it.”
Your chest tightened.
Another pause.
“And if that’s all it is for her,” Natasha continued, a little more distant now, “then we need to stop pretending it’s more. Either she actually wants to be part of this, or we step back and let things be what they were before... We should ton-"
You didn't stay to hear the rest; the floor seemed to tilt beneath your feet. You retreated to your small cottage on the ledge, the salt air stinging your eyes as you spent a sleepless night convinced that the "arrangement" had finally reached its expiration date. You weren't just losing a job; you were losing the only place you’d ever felt you belonged.
The next morning, you moved through the main house like a ghost. You kept your eyes down, your uniform pressed and perfect, returning to the invisible persona of the domestic chatelaine. You avoided the study. You stayed out of the kitchen. You were back to being the help.
You were on your knees in the hallway, scrubbing the baseboards with a desperate, shaky intensity, when two pairs of shoes appeared in your peripheral vision. You didn't look up, your fingers white-knuckled around the brush.
"Look at me," Wanda commanded. It wasn't the playful, dark command from before; it was soft, laced with a sudden, sharp concern.
"I’m almost finished with the hall, Ma’am," you whispered, your voice thick and brittle. "I’ll be out your way."
A hand settled on your shoulder, Natasha. She knelt on the floor beside you, her strength forcing you to stop the frantic scrubbing. "Why are you calling her that? And why have you been hiding in the shadows all morning?"
“I heard you,” you said, the words breaking out of you before you could stop them. Your voice shook, eyes stinging as you looked between them. “About the distance… about things getting complicated. I know I’m just—” you swallowed hard, “—I know I work for you, and things got… blurred, but I can’t just go back to how it was. I can’t pretend none of this happened.”
The hallway went still.
For a split second, neither of them reacted—like your words hadn’t landed the way you thought they would.
Then Wanda moved first.
She dropped down in front of you, not cold, not distant—something in her expression cracking open instead. Her hands came up, hesitant at first, before gently steadying you.
“Oh, sweetheart…” she murmured, her voice soft with sudden understanding. “That’s not what we meant. Not even close.”
Natasha stepped in beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her, the tension in her shoulders. “We weren’t talking about pushing you away,” she said, quieter now. “We were trying to figure out if we already crossed a line we shouldn’t have.”
You blinked, breath catching.
Wanda’s thumb brushed lightly under your eye, catching a tear before it could fall. “You haven’t said anything,” she added gently. “You’ve just… gone along with us. And we started thinking—what if you felt like you had to?”
Natasha exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck. “We didn’t want you stuck in something you couldn’t refuse. That’s what the ‘distance’ was about. Giving you room, if you needed it.”
The words hit differently now. Not sharp—just heavy in a completely different way.
“I don’t want room,” you said, the truth rushing out of you, uneven and fragile. “That’s the problem. The idea of going back—to just being your employee, pretending this didn’t happen—” your voice broke, “—that’s what scares me.”
They both stilled.
You forced yourself to keep going, even as your chest tightened. “I thought you were… done with me. Like this was just something that got out of hand and now you were fixing it.”
Wanda’s expression softened instantly, something almost pained flickering across her face.
“I don’t feel like ‘the help’ anymore,” you admitted, quieter now. “And I don’t want to. I want it to mean something. I want… all of it to mean something.”
The confession hung there, fragile and exposed.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Natasha stepped closer, her hand coming up—slow this time, deliberate—giving you time to pull away if you wanted.
You didn’t.
Her fingers curled gently at your jaw, grounding. “You should have told us,” she said, but there was no reprimand in it. Just something softer. Regret, maybe.
Wanda leaned in beside her, her hand finding yours and holding it tightly. “We thought we were protecting you,” she said quietly. “Not losing you. We should've said something too.... We're sorry, lovie."
The distance you’d been bracing for didn’t come. Instead, they stayed right there—close, careful, and waiting. Like this time, whatever happened next… would actually be your choice.
"Oh," Natasha moans, her head falling back into the pillows, her fingers tangling deep in Wanda’s hair as Wanda works between her thighs with a slow, devastating hunger.
The sound carries through the heavy oak doors of the primary suite, but you’re already inside, clutching your cleaning tray. It’s the standard schedule, the routine you’ve followed for a year, but the air in the room is different now—thick, charged, and smelling of salt and expensive perfume. Your cheeks flush a deep, hot crimson as you freeze mid-step, your eyes catching the sight of them on the expansive silk bed.
"O-oh, I... I’m so sorry. I’ll come back—"
Natasha’s eyes snap open, dark and lidded, "stay... if you'd like."
When you nod after a moment, she reaches out, her hand trembling slightly as she waves you further into the room.
"Sit," she commands, her voice a low, gravelly rumble. She gestures to the edge of the bed.
Wanda pauses, her lips slick as she starts to move toward you, drawn by your presence, but Natasha’s grip tightens. She tugs Wanda back to her core by her hair, a sharp, grounding pull. "You’re not finished," Natasha murmurs, her gaze never leaving yours.
You sit, your legs feeling like lead, your thighs squirming against the soft duvet as you watch them. You watch the rhythm of Wanda’s shoulders, the arch of Natasha’s back, and the way they move together until Natasha finally breaks, a long, shattered breath escaping her as she finds her release.
When she’s done, Wanda finally pulls away. She crawls across the silk toward you, her eyes glowing with a dark, affectionate possessiveness. She reaches out, tilting your chin up, and spits into your mouth—a raw, visceral claim that ensures you taste both of them before she crashes her lips against yours. You kiss her back, a broken whimper escaping you as you finally receive the attention you’ve been starving for.
As Wanda makes out with you, her tongue searching yours, you hear the quiet, rhythmic click of a harness. Natasha moves toward you, her movements steady and clinical. She doesn't say a word, but the intent in her eyes is absolute.
Your legs are guided open, wrapped tightly around Wanda’s waist. You take Wanda’s fingers into your mouth, sucking on them as Natasha moves behind you. The first thrust is slow, a heavy, filling stretch that makes your eyes roll back. You moan into Wanda’s palm, your body shaking at the sheer scale of the sensation.
Wanda shifts her body, her hands firm on your shoulders as she maneuvers you onto your elbows and knees. Your back arches instinctively, a sharp, jagged keen escaping your throat at the way your body is being opened and used. It’s a beautiful, overwhelming stretch.
Wanda moves directly in front of you, settling onto the mattress and parting her legs, her gaze fixed on your face.
"Good girl," she whispers, her voice a dark velvet caress.
She pulls you forward, making you eat her out with a desperate, frantic hunger, while behind you, Natasha takes you with a relentless, punishing pace. You are pinned between them—the damp, intoxicating heat of Wanda in front and the sharp, rhythmic force of Natasha behind.
Every thrust drives you further into Wanda’s core, the dual stimulation turning your world into a blurred symphony. The rhythm behind you shifts, becoming sharper and more deliberate. Natasha’s hand leaves your hip, and the air hits your heated skin for only a split second before the first crack of her palm meeting your flesh echoes through the room.
A sharp, shocked cry breaks from your throat, muffled only by the proximity of Wanda’s body. The sting is immediate—a bright, stinging heat that radiates across your cheek and down your thighs, grounding you in the intensity of the moment. Natasha doesn't let up; she finds a punishing cadence, alternating between the heavy, filling thrusts of the strap-on and the stinging weight of her hand against your backside.
In front of you, Wanda’s fingers suddenly entwine in your hair, tugging just enough to pull you away from her. She grips your jaw, her thumb and forefinger squeezing your chin with a firm, unyielding pressure that forces you to look up. Your eyes are watery, your vision blurred by the sheer overstimulation of being taken from both ends, but she waits until you meet her gaze.
"Look at me, darling," Wanda murmurs, her dark eyes searching your face, drinking in the flush of your cheeks and the way your lips are parted and trembling.
The sting behind you continues—crack, crack—and your back arches with every impact, your breath coming in ragged, desperate hitches. You are completely undone, a shivering mess of arousal and surrender pinned between the two women who own every inch of your world.
"Tell her," Wanda commands, her thumb dragging across your bottom lip, catching a stray drop of moisture. Her voice is a soft, velvet blade. "Thank Natasha for taking you so thoroughly. Let her hear how much you love it."
You let out a broken, keening sound as Natasha delivers one final, heavy swat that makes your entire body shudder. The friction, the heat, and the weight of their attention culminate in a crushing wave of affection and need.
"T-thank you," you sob out, your forehead dropping to rest against Wanda’s chest as the last of your composure shatters. "Thank you, Natasha... please! thank you... thank you."
The room felt small, the air heavy and still as the frantic energy of the last few minutes began to settle into something deeper and more permanent. You were slumped against Wanda, your body vibrating with the aftershocks of a pleasure so intense it felt like grief.
"Good girl," Natasha rumbled behind you. She didn't pull away; instead, she held you flush against her, her arms locking around your waist like iron bands. She pressed her face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin and the salt air. "Look at her, Wanda. She’s perfect when she’s broken down like this."
Wanda’s hand moved from your chin to cup your cheek, her thumb wiping away the tears that wouldn't stop falling. Her expression was luminous, a terrifyingly beautiful mix of pride and hunger.
"She is," Wanda whispered, her voice a soft, melodic hum. "And she did so well for us."
She leaned down, her lips ghosting over yours, and the mere contact sent a fresh spark through your sensitized nerves. She didn't let you rest. Her fingers drifted back down, finding the core of you that was already raw and weeping, and she began to move with a slow, agonizingly precise rhythm.
"One more, darling," Wanda coaxed, her eyes locked onto yours, forcing you to stay present in the sensation. "Just one more for us. Show us how much you belong here."
You let out a weak, desperate protest, but your body was no longer your own. Natasha’s hands squeezed your hips, grounding you, while Wanda’s touch drove you back over the edge. You came with a shattered, silent cry, your head falling back against Natasha’s shoulder as your muscles seized and finally went limp. You were completely ruined, your strength drained, leaving you a soft, pliable weight in their arms.
Wanda leaned in close, her lips brushing your ear. The words she spoke next were quiet, but they carried the weight of a life-changing vow.
"We don't want to just hire you anymore," she breathed. "We want the truth. We want total ownership of you—body, heart, and soul. How does that sound, lovie?"
The question hung in the air, thick and sweet. You didn't even have the breath to speak, but the answer was written in the way you slumped into them, seeking their heat. You nodded frantically, your chin brushing Wanda’s collarbone as you let out a small, pleading whimper.
“Yes,” you breathed. “I want this. I choose this, both of you.”
They didn’t rush. They just stayed. Together, you sank into the bed, their warmth on either side of you, no space left for doubt. Wanda’s arm curled around your waist. Natasha’s hand found yours, holding it gently.
Summary: Wanda returns from a mission with intense need for you, and she uses you whilst you sleep.
A/N: This was a request from a while back, but I can’t seem to find it in my ask box. Sorry for the wait. I hope you enjoy!
It was well past midnight when Wanda finally returned from her mission. Tired and achy, she trudged along the Compound’s corridors in search of you. Three days without you, and she was so pent up. She felt like a teenage boy, and gosh, all she wanted was to fuck you. To make you cum over and over, as if it would take away all her exhaustion from the mission she just came back from.
Swinging her duffel bag over her shoulder, she was practically gliding through the building, until she finally made a stop outside your room. Opening the door gently, and oh fuck, what a sight to see. There you lay with the covers off, and only in your panties. Wanda was not going to survive. What were you doing teasing her like that?
It’s like you knew just how much she needed you, just how much she was aching and throbbing for just a taste. Wanda made quick work of showering and ridding herself of any grime or blood, and wrapping herself up in a soft silk robe.
She should probably sleep, she told herself, but the sight of your hard nipples had her throbbing so intensely. Her brain was alight. She made her way to the bed, her body softly dipping onto the mattress.
“Mm, my soft girl,”she hummed as her fingers roamed around your abdomen, caressing the smooth skin. “So fucking gorgeous. And such a tease, for sleeping like this”. She gently skimmed her fingertips along your arms, watching little goosebumps rise up. Softly, she caressed a single finger along your chest, slowly circling your nipples. You squirmed in your sleep as she continued to tease you; you were always so sensitive to her touch. She was careful not to wake you just yet, but delighted in the cute little huffs you were beginning to make in your slumber.
Her hands lowered down to your legs, and she wasted no time in removing your panties, noticing a slight wet patch that formed in the middle. Such a needy girl. Spreading your thighs nice and wide for her, she slotted her head in the space between. The smell of your pussy instantly invaded her nose, and she surged her mouth forward towards her feast.
She started slowly; soft kitten licks to your folds had her groaning at the taste of you. It was incredibly difficult for her to not completely devour you. A shiver ran through your body, still not enough to wake you, but your hips moved forward in search of more. Her tongue dipped inside your tight hole briefly before dragging up your wetness to swirl around your clit. A small whimper left your mouth as your hips started rocking up a little harsher. She paused briefly to look up at your peaceful face. Still asleep.
She continued to tease you, her tongue gently massaging your clit, trying hard to keep you just on the brink of consciousness. Your eyebrows began to furrow as the pleasure built up in your core. She carefully lifted your legs onto her shoulders, desperately needing to get closer. She wanted to inhale you.
Her eyes staring at your face and all the little reactions it would make, she closed her lips around your swollen bud, sucking softly. The soft mewl you let out had her clenching with intense desire. The pretty sounds you made fuelled her need for you. She couldn’t hold back anymore, and she began to suck harder. She was eating you out lavishly, licking and sucking as if you were her final meal.
Awareness slowly started to creep up into you. Little jolts of your body as you felt the pleasurable sensation build between your thighs. It was getting harder to ignore. The feel of something soft and velvety gliding across your folds. A flush of warmth travelled through your body, and with a gasp you awoke.
“What- Wanda. Oh,” you moaned at the sight of your arousal smeared all over your girlfriend’s face. Her darkened green eyes bore into yours as she continued to suck harshly on your clit. “What’s happening?” You whined as you rolled your hips into her face without even noticing.
“Hush baby, let Mommy work hmm,” she quickly responded, her eyes never leaving yours. Her firm yet soothing tone had you feeling so fuzzy and needy. “Mommy needs this. Now be a good girl and take what I give you.” She inserted two fingers into your tight hole, stretching you out perfectly.
“Mommy,” you whimpered at the feel of her fingers inside you. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Just like we spoke about.” You struggled to get your words out, your mind entirely focused on the fingers pumping inside you.
“Oh, I can tell. I walked in on you laying on my bed wearing nothing but panties. And my favourite ones too. Such a naughty thing,” she spoke to you in a condescending manner, making you feel small and vulnerable in the most thrilling way.
Her fingers found your sweet spot as she curled them inside you with fervour. You gasped as she continued to hit you with pleasure, you were getting unbelievably close to the edge. She added her lips back on to your clit and watched as your face crumbled in ecstasy. She was sucking so harshly, drawing endless hot pleasure from your core.
Writhing and shaking, you began to babble incoherently. Moan after moan, your eyes began to roll back as she ravaged you with her mouth and fingers. “You taste fucking incredible darling girl,” she moaned into your pussy, a crazed look in her eyes as she watched your face contort.
“Please, please, please. Mommy…” you whined in a high pitched tone. “Need to cum. Fuck. Mommy please.”
Your moans grew louder and louder; she sucked the bundle of nerves into her mouth with her fingers moving inside you at a maddening pace. Poor Steve, she thought as your sounds became almost pornographic, the man residing just across from you both. “Cum for me baby. Let go for Mommy”
Your hands fisted into your bedsheets as your body began to arch up into her. Just with her words, the wave of release finally came. Your toes curled as white hot pleasure surged through your entire body. You came with a shuddering gasp and you cried her name as your body continued to jerk through the orgasm.
“Oh, look at you. What a beautiful girl,” Wanda purred at you. “You’re so perfect Milaya”. Your chest rose up and down as you tried to catch your breath.
“Thank you Mommy,” you whispered as you felt exhaustion wash over you. You were completely spent, your eyelids getting heavier with each second.
“Mmm, that’s a good girl. Go back to sleep now my angel. Mommy’s going for seconds,” she cooed at you with a devilish smirk. You felt her tongue enter you once more as you slowly drifted back to sleep.
Something falls in the bathroom, Wanda’s eyes flicking over to the door in mild concern. You appear, your cheeks lightly flushed as you hold a towel loosely around your body. Wanda can’t help but trail her eyes down your frame, raising her eyebrow in a silent command.
You drop the towel, biting your lip as you make your way over to her. “Sorry, I dropped my lotion.”
Green eyes lock on yours, Wanda’s pupils dilating as she takes in your nudity. Your nipples are already hard, your skin soft and smelling faintly of her vanilla-scented body wash. She loved it when you used her products.
It was one of her rules, actually. You were required to use any product Wanda instructed you to, which consisted mainly of her own -expensive- things. You didn’t mind, you loved being taken care of, in every way.
Leaning down, you gently kiss her, smiling as her hand makes its way to your waist, her fingers digging in and urging you closer. This is your favorite side of her, the one that craves you. You love her fingers pulling you in, her lips on your skin, her eyes solely on yours.
“I’ve laid out a dress for you,” she murmurs, her voice husky and low. It sends a pleasant warmth down your spine that pools in your gut. “Go put it on.”
Her tone is firm as she gently pushes you toward the bed. You catch her eyes lingering on your nude form, glancing over you through the mirror as she applies the last bits of her makeup. Grinning to yourself, you decide to put on a show for her, swaying your hips as you saunter over to the bed.
There it is. The dress she’d picked out for you. It was beautiful, dark red and lacy, a long slit in the side that practically reached your hips. It had a neckline that dipped dangerously low, enough to tease the sight of your chest but not too much to expose you indecently. Just the way Wanda liked it. Lying next to the dress was a pair of black heels, the bottom of them painted bright red, a sight you’d become accustomed to.
Biting your lip to hide your excitement, you slowly pull the dress over your head, moving your hips slowly to fully pull it over your body. You note the lack of panties or a bra on the bed, your cheeks flushing slightly at the thought of sitting through dinner without any undergarments. Luckily, the dress supported your chest well, your breasts sitting comfortably with the extra padded support.
“Perfect,” Wanda murmurs, having spun around to watch you.
Smiling, you bask in her attention as you slowly spin around, adjusting your hair slightly. Your zipper has been caught halfway up your back, the small piece of metal resting just below your shoulder blades.
Wanda gestures to you, a silent command.
You obey, snagging the heels from off the bed and padding toward her. You feel giggly, and a bit like you’re playing dress-up, but Wanda looks at you with utter adoration; her normally serious expression is nowhere to be found. Her eyes are wide and unguarded, her hands firm as she beckons you closer, but not stern and unforgiving as they usually are.
Biting your bottom lip, you decide that you quite like this side of her. It was almost… adorable.
As if she could read your thoughts, Wanda’s eyes snap up to yours from where they’d been lingering around your neckline. “Sit on my lap, darling.”
Blinking, you clear your throat as a strange shyness creeps over you.
“Now.”
Wanda’s tone turns slightly icy, her eyebrows furrowing slightly at your hesitance. She doesn’t like to be disobeyed.
“Yes, ma’am,” you murmur, noting the way her face smooths at your words. Quickly, you drop onto her lap, sitting sideways since your dress won’t allow you to straddle her as you usually did. The heels slip from your fingers, landing on the carpet with a soft thump as Wanda’s hand snakes around your waist.
Her green eyes peer into yours, studying your face. You notice the subtle makeup she’s put on, her eyelids darkened seductively with dark gold eyeshadow, her black eyeliner small and precise. Her lips are also dark, a matte red color coating them. You wonder if it would stain your skin, then promptly push that thought to the back of your mind, lest you leak through your expensive dress.
“I have some jewelry for you,” Wanda murmurs, her other hand coming up to trace the thin gold chain fastened permanently around your neck. She’d gifted it to you last year, her initials subtly engraved into the chain, a private sign of her ownership of you. Wanda wore a similar necklace, your initials also engraved into the silver metal glittering around her neck.
Smiling, you lean in until your lips are mere inches from hers, “I love it when you dress me, Wanda.”
“I know you do,” Wanda smirks, her hand dropping to grip your thigh possessively for a moment, before she reaches for some jewelry she’s laid out on the vanity in front of her. Her fingers send heat down your spine as she grazes them lightly across your skin, clasping a few necklaces around your neck. She adjusts them, laying the metal perfectly on your chest before she taps your hands in a silent command.
Obediently, you raise your hands, watching her slip various rings on them. Somehow, Wanda always manages to match your jewelry to your outfit perfectly. You’re in awe every time, and you no longer protest when she demands to dress you.
Green eyes flit over your ears, Wanda nodding slightly in approval as she takes in your various earrings. “Perfect,” she mutters, her hand coming back down to your thigh.
“Yes, you are.”
“Don’t deflect, darling. What do you say when I compliment you?” Wanda’s tone is light, but her eyes are intense, her fingers squeezing your thigh.
“Thank you, Wanda.”
Smirking, Wanda releases her hold on your thigh. “Good girl.” She moves to stand, helping you off her lap and adjusting your hair to fall perfectly over your shoulders. “Now put those heels on and meet me by the cars.”
Wanda lightly kisses you, careful not to ruin her lipstick -or yours- before she playfully squeezes your waist and walks out the door.
The heels slip on quickly, perfectly molded to your feet. You take a moment, looking at yourself in the mirror and willing your blush to go away. You’re unsuccessful.
Wanda is beautiful. She stands next to the passenger door of her favorite car, opening it and ushering you in. The exterior is gleaming, the dark red gloss standing out. The interior is even nicer, somehow, all black leather with red trim. It smells as fresh as the day she bought it.
Taking a moment, you admire Wanda’s outfit, her silver jewelry and sharply cut jacket. She’s several inches taller than you, her heels clacking softly on the ground as she shuts the door softly before rounding the car to the driver’s side.
The drive to the restaurant is relatively short. You steal glances at Wanda the entire time, loving the comforting weight of her hand on your thigh.
You’ve grown used to being pampered by her. She makes a lot of decisions for the two of you, and you love her control over you. You love providing for her as well, insisting on cooking meals whenever you can. Between your part-time job at a bookstore and your relationship, you were pretty okay with your life.
Wanda would have preferred you to be home all the time, especially when she often worked from her home office, but you’d insisted on keeping your job. You liked it, there was a bookstore cat named Freckles, and your manager was really nice. Plus, you loved being surrounded by books all day.
Shifting in your seat slightly, you bite your lip in excitement as you feel your credit card sitting snug between the fabric of your dress and your breasts. You’d been saving up for months, knowing that Wanda had expensive tastes. This restaurant was meant for upper-class patrons, so you’d prepared well in advance. You wanted to surprise her tonight; after all, it wasn’t often you got to return the favor of spoiling Wanda.
Wanda never lets you pay for anything. You'll be changing that tonight.
The restaurant is just as you remembered. Low lighting and soft voices that help you relax further into Wanda’s hand on the small of your back. It feels safer this way, more intimate.
“Right this way, Ma’am,” the waiter says, his voice quiet as he gestures for Wanda to follow. Her hand is splayed on your lower back, the warmth from her fingers propelling you forward as the waiter leads you to a table near the back.
The chair doesn’t make a sound and Wanda slides it out, gesturing for you to sit. Her hands briefly touch your shoulders before she pushes the chair in firmly, her stride elegant as she walks to the chair across from you.
“Two glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon, from the Robert Mondavi Winery Reserve,” she murmurs, the waiter nodding dutifully before striding away.
Those green eyes stare into yours, a soft smile playing on Wanda’s lips.
“You look beautiful tonight, darling.”
“Thank you, Wanda,” you whisper, blushing at the praise. You briefly touch the necklace resting between your collarbones. “I think you look amazing.”
Wanda smiles warmly at that, her hand sliding across the table to clasp yours. Her fingers are soft as you idly play with her rings.
The waiter returns, showing the bottle before Wanda nods at him. He pours the wine, standing still as Wanda takes a sip. His eyes are nervous, but Wanda simply nods again before quietly ordering food for the both of you.
You knew what she was going to order. You’d meticulously saved up in order to cover the bill, plus a generous tip. A flood of relief fills you when she doesn’t stray from her usual order, but you cover it up with a smile.
“How was work?”
Wanda begins speaking, her thumb running over the back of your hand as she does. You listen diligently, unsure of half the things she’s referring to but enjoying yourself nonetheless. The waiter returns some time later with steaming food, and you and Wanda make idle conversation while you eat.
It is one of the best meals you could have asked for. Perfectly cooked salmon with a side of quinoa salad and rice. There are complementary breadsticks, and you eagerly take two. The wine pairs nicely with the food, but you’re not a huge nerd about it like Wanda is. She knows all the best combinations.
Truly, it all tastes the same to you. But, you’d never tell her that.
“I’m going to use the restroom,” you say, wiping your mouth politely.
Wanda simply nods, sipping her wine. You’re a much faster eater than she is, and this is one of the times you’re grateful for the skill. Squeezing her hand briefly, you stand up and walk toward the restrooms.
Once you’ve rounded the corner, your heart begins to race. Glancing back, you see Wanda taking a small bite of her salad.
Perfect.
“Excuse me,” you say quietly, walking up to the waiter standing near the kitchen window. He looks up, surprised.
“How can I help you, ma’am?” He asks, politely averting his eyes when you dig into your dress for your credit card.
“I’d like to pay for my wife’s and my meal.”
He nods, gingerly taking your card. You try not to giggle, smoothing your face over when he nods and briskly walks into the backroom. Casually, you fix your hair, careful not to lean against the wall. Wanda had helped you with your posture, and you could still remember her lessons in the back of your mind.
“All set, ma’am.” The waiter returns, handing you your card back.
“Oh, thank you,” you murmur, placing it back into your dress and biting your lip to stifle your smile when he looks away again. You pull out two hundred-dollar bills, handing them to him. “Thank you.”
He smiles politely as he accepts the bills, nodding at you.
“I’d prefer you keep this from my wife until the end of the meal,” you say, watching his eyebrows raise slightly. “I’m surprising her.”
“Ah,” he smiles wider this time. “Always happy to be a part of a surprise, ma’am. My lips are sealed.”
With that, you walk back to your seat. You make sure not to walk too quickly, lest Wanda becomes suspicious. She always has a way of figuring out what you’ve been up to.
“There you are, darling,” she smiles at you and stands, pulling your chair out again. “I was beginning to worry.”
You flush, sitting down again and turning to look up at her. “Just decided to freshen up a bit, I wanted to look my absolute best for you.”
Leaning down, Wanda places a soft kiss against your cheek. “You always look wonderful, sweetheart.”
“Thank you, Wanda.”
Smiling at you, Wanda returns to her seat and grasps the stem of her wine glass. You mirror her action, bringing the glass to your lips and taking a deep sip. You’re going to need some liquid confidence to get through the night once Wanda discovers what you’ve done.
One thing you’d learned early on in your relationship was that Wanda liked to be the one in charge of things. You didn’t mind, especially in the bedroom, but you’d always felt just a tiny bit disappointed when you wanted to spoil her and she’d refuse. She’d just offer her own card, raising an eyebrow at you and firmly reminding you that she was there to take care of you.
Sometimes it felt like you weren’t contributing anything of worth to the relationship.
“Darling?” Wanda’s green eyes are piercing, locked on your face. “Are you alright? You look… morose.”
You shake away your thoughts. You’re sitting here with the beautiful woman that you married, on a nice date that you’ve just paid for. Get a grip.
“Yes,” you say, smiling reassuringly at her. “I just got lost in my thoughts, you know how that happens sometimes.”
Laughing slightly, you watch Wanda’s lips quirk up slightly, but something tells you that she won’t let the subject go that easily. You reach across the table, grabbing her hand and making sure she can see down the front of your dress.
“Baby, I’m fine. Really.”
Green eyes flit down, before they glance back up at you, her eyebrow raised. “Alright. Just stay present with me, okay?”
You nod eagerly, smiling brightly at her before sitting up again.
Under the table, you feel the top of Wanda’s heel brush against your leg, advancing slowly as it makes its way above your knees and further up your thigh. “You’ll pay for that stunt,” Wanda murmurs.
Your heart stops for a moment, your mind flashing back to your credit card, before you realize she’s talking about your adventurous moment when she got a nice full look at your chest.
“I understand,” you quip, adjusting in your seat to spread your legs further just slightly, watching the way Wanda’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. That’s right, two could play this game. You smiled victoriously.
“How do you feel about going to the speakeasy a bit further downtown?” Wanda asks, finishing the rest of her wine. You mirror her actions, feeling the pleasant buzz under your skin.
You nod, and Wanda smiles at you, grabbing her clutch.
“I’ll be right back.”
Watching her leave to find the waiter, you wait anxiously. You can just barely see her across the restaurant, her red hair glowing slightly in the warm lighting. She’s exchanging low words with the waiter, before he gestures over towards your table. Two sets of eyes turn towards you, one apologetic and the other unreadable.
You’re focused on the green pair, barely noticing the cash Wanda hands the waiter as a tip.
She advances slowly, moving through the restaurant as her gaze never leaves yours. “Darling…” she says when she reaches your seat, her hand on your shoulder. It’s firm, not painful, but her fingers dig in just enough to express how she’s feeling.
“Surprise,” you say, smiling up at her. You’re proud of yourself; your voice didn’t even waver. Standing, you bite your lip as you gaze at her, assessing her expression.
She reveals nothing, her hand snaking around your waist and guiding you toward the front door. What would normally be a comforting action sends pleasant shivers down your spine.
Wanda remains silent all the way to the car, opening the passenger door and ushering you in. Sliding into the driver's seat, she starts the car before letting out a breath.
“Explain.”
“I wanted to treat you for once,” you say stubbornly. You might as well have crossed your arms and pouted, but you didn’t.
Looking at you, Wanda sighs. “Darling, why do you always fight me on this topic?”
You don’t answer, looking out of your window as Wanda begins backing up the car, the low hum of the engine comforting. The city flashes before you as she drives, people milling about, and different lights hitting your eyes.
“Sweetheart,” Wanda says, something in her tone telling you to turn and look at her. “You know that I appreciate it when you want to pay for me, don’t you?”
You furrow your brow. “I… well, I always thought it just annoyed you.”
“It does annoy me,” Wanda shoots a look at you. “But, that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do.”
Then, she sighs. “In this relationship, you do so much for me. One of the only ways I feel that I can take care of you is by paying and making sure you don’t have to worry about anything financially. Do you understand?”
“I- but I don’t do that much for you?”
Wanda laughs then, the sound surprising you. “Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea, do you?”
Shaking your head, you watch her as you wait for an explanation.
“Lift up the hem of your dress.”
It’s a command, and you blink at the sudden turn of events. Still, you know better than to disobey Wanda. Slowly, you drag the hem up until the tops of your thighs are revealed.
“Spread your legs.”
“Wanda…”
She shoots you a look. You spread your legs.
“Touch yourself.”
At that, you suck in a breath. Trailing your fingers down, you collect some of your arousal on your fingertips, surprised at how wet you are. Then, you begin circling your clit, nice and slow, just the way Wanda likes it.
“Good girl. Keep doing that.”
Wanda smiles, glancing down at your fingers every so often as she makes her way out of the city. You want to ask about the speakeasy, but choose to remain silent. She seems to be proving a point somehow, and you wait for her to explain.
“We’re going home, where I’m going to make us some drinks and you’re going to sit on my lap while we make a new rule. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Smiling at that, Wanda reaches over, placing a hand on your thigh. It makes your skin buzz hotly, and you resist the urge to circle your clit faster.
“This is one of many things you do for me, darling. Your submission is everything to me, and you offer it so willingly. I’ve been able to freely express my dominant side with you, and you’ve never judged me for the things I desire in a sexual dynamic. You were made for me.”
You nod, realization creeping into your mind. Wanda isn’t finished.
“You have your job, which I allowed because I know how happy it makes you, and I want you to have a life outside of me. As much as I would like to keep you for myself, I know how much you adore that bookshop. At home, you cook for me, not because I’ve asked you to, but because you genuinely enjoy cooking. That is something you provide for me.”
Wanda quirks an eyebrow at you. “When I get home, what is the first thing you do?”
Blushing, you respond, your words slightly breathy. “I take your coat and purse, give you a kiss, and walk with you to your home office while you tell me about your day.”
Nodding, Wanda continues. “That is another thing you provide for me, sweetheart.”
She continues to list things, small, mundane things that you hadn’t considered to be a big deal. Evidently, they meant the world to Wanda. The way you helped her with laundry, when you’d rub her shoulders after a long meeting, make her a drink in the evening, and especially when you’d follow her orders.
“Like I said, you were made for me. You do so much for our relationship.”
“So do you,” you protest, stopping yourself from saying more when she shoots a sharp look your way.
“One of the main ways I feel that I can contribute and take care of you in this relationship is with my income. You know I make a lot, darling, I’ve never hidden that from you. I work long days so that I can come home and make your life comfortable.”
“Oh,” you say, finally understanding.
“Please, darling. Let me use my money on you. That’s why I work so hard.”
You nod, unable to speak as you realize why Wanda was so insistent on paying for everything.
“I see you finally understand,” Wanda says, glancing down again. “Go faster.”
Blinking, you circle your clit faster, biting your lip at the pleasure it brings. You take a deep, shuddering breath, sure that you’re leaking through your dress. The air in the car becomes warm, and the next time that Wanda looks at you, her pupils are blown.
“Keep going,” she murmurs, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. “If you cum before we get home, your punishment will be worse.”
You whine, nodding as you keep your pace. You try desperately to think of anything other than the woman seated beside you, her grip firm on your thigh as you feel your pleasure building.
The fingers on your thigh grip harshly as you slow your pace slightly, trying to stave off your incoming orgasm.
“What did I say?” Wanda hisses, her eyes glancing sharply at you.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry… what?”
You shudder, feeling little bolts of pleasure crashing through you. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Hmm,” Wanda pretends to think, watching as you increase your pace again. “I don’t think that’s a strong enough title, do you?”
“I’m sorry, Mistress.”
Wanda smiles, satisfied. “Good girl. Keep going. Please your Mistress.”
You let out a low moan at her words, feeling your pleasure increase tenfold as she calls herself that title. You try to stop it, your orgasm. But Wanda is talking, telling you that you’re doing so well for her as her fingers slowly inch up your thigh, her vanilla scent engulfing you as your muscles spasm, white-hot pleasure overtaking you.
You fingers stall, your orgasm coursing through you as your clit pulses. Wanda makes a noise, her fingers grabbing yours and moving them back to your raw clit. “Did I tell you to stop?”
“No, I’m sorry, Mistress.”
Continuing, you let your fingers wring every last drop of pleasure from you, aware of the fact that you’ve just made your punishment worse. You truly couldn’t help it. I mean, it’s not your fault that your wife was insanely hot and her words were able to bring you to orgasm, was it?
You’re working your way up to a second orgasm when Wanda pulls into the driveway of your shared home. As the garage shuts behind you, she turns the engine off, her hand grabbing yours and gently pulling it away from your swollen clit.
Wrapping her fingers around your wrist, Wanda brings your hand to her lips, maintaining eye contact with you as she sucks the arousal off of your fingers.
“I can smell your arousal,” she murmurs, releasing your fingers with a soft pop. “I’m going to get changed. By the time I come back, I want you nude and kneeling on the floor in front of the couch, with two drinks in your hands. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress.” You watch her exit the car and round the side to open your door.
Wanda disappears into the bedroom, and you quickly make your way to the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients to make Wanda’s favourite cocktail.
It isn’t long before you’re finished, garnishing each drink with a maraschino cherry. You walk carefully to the living room, setting the drinks on two coasters near the couch. Wanda didn’t like it when you forgot about the coasters. You didn’t blame her, all of the furniture in your home was expensive, much of it was hand-crafted.
Stripping out of your beautiful dress, you fold it neatly and place it on the chair nearby, your heels sitting next to it. You remove all of your jewelry, except for the permanent gold chain around your neck.
Grabbing the drinks, you kneel in front of the couch, facing the cushions. It’s a position that Wanda had trained into you, and you’re well aware of the wetness clinging to your center as you wait.
Footsteps sound out, heels clicking towards you. As much as you want to, you don’t dare turn from your position, knowing that Wanda liked the thrill of suspense.
“I hope you enjoyed that orgasm in the car,” Wanda says, stepping around you to sit on the couch. Your mouth waters as she comes into view. “It will be your only orgasm tonight.”
Your eyes snap up to hers, but you remain silent, her eyes hard and unforgiving. The lingerie set she’s wearing is gorgeous, all black with a lacy corset. There are accents of dark red throughout the whole piece, and you can feel yourself getting worked up as you take her in.
Wanda’s hand grabs one of the glasses, sipping from it as she makes a small noise of appreciation. Setting it to the side, she grabs the cherry and pops it in her mouth, before she leans forward to grab your jaw.
“Open.”
You can smell the cherry and sharp hints of alcohol on her tongue, and you obey. Wanda’s fingers reach into your glass, grabbing the cherry and bringing it to your parted lips. She rubs it over your top lip first, then your bottom lip. You remain still, watching her eyes as she slowly presses the cherry onto your tongue.
“Chew and swallow, dear.”
You obey, looking into her eyes as you do so.
Wanda smirks, satisfied with your obedience. She grabs your glass, tapping her knees in a silent command as she brings the glass to your lips. You rest your hands on the tops of your thighs, palms facing up as she tips the glass forward, the sweet drink flowing into your mouth.
She has you drink until the glass is empty, your stomach warm from the alcohol and lips buzzing from the way she’d wiped them with her fingers once she was done. Wanda sits back, watching your flushed face as she sips on her own drink.
“There is going to be a new rule implemented, darling.”
You nod, tilting your head slightly.
“When we are together, I will pay for everything. If you wish to make a purchase, you will talk to me beforehand. You know how I hate it when you disobey or trick me in public.” Wanda’s eyes soften. “Occasionally, you can buy some things when we are together, I won’t deny you that. But, let me take care of you, okay?”
You nod. The decision is easy now that you know the real reason why Wanda was so insistent on paying for everything. Besides, it was nice to be taken care of.
“Good girl.”
Wanda finishes her drink, setting it next to your glass. “You know that I have to punish you, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress.” You hang your head slightly, wondering what type of punishment Wanda has planned. Strong fingers grip your chin, wrenching your head up.
“You know why, don’t you?”
“Because I went behind your back, Mistress.”
Wanda’s eyes flash, a pleased smile adorning her face. “Exactly, sweetheart. You know that what you did was wrong, and you know how I hate it when you are dishonest with me.”
At that, Wanda stands, still gripping your face as you crane your neck to look up at her. “Who owns you?”
“You do, Mistress.”
Wanda’s fingers tighten on your jaw, forcing your mouth open. She spits, letting her saliva drip into your mouth, and you swallow obediently.
“Crawl,” she commands, before turning and walking slowly to the bedroom.
You obey, your eyes glued to the sway of her backside as her footsteps click down the hallway. The hallway is carpeted, something you’re grateful for as you crawl behind Wanda. You can feel your arousal running down your inner thighs as you crawl, and sharp arousal mixed with soft humiliation mixes deep inside you.
You reflect on your choices as you crawl, satisfaction that Wanda had finally explained why she liked to pay working its way through you, even as regret pools in your stomach. You truly hated going behind Wanda’s back, and although it was meant as a thoughtful surprise, you now understood why it meant so much to Wanda to take care of you financially.
Wanda stops, wordlessly pointing at the bed. You blink, having not realized that you’d made it to the bedroom already. You follow Wanda’s instructions, crawling onto the bed as she shuts the door behind you, a few warm lamps lighting the room.
“Sometimes I forget…” Wanda begins, sauntering back over to the bed, a glint in her eye. “I forget that good girls like you need discipline to keep them in line, isn’t that right?”
You nod.
“Use your words.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Wanda’s eyes hardened. “Yes, Mistress… what?”
“I-” your eyes dart around the room, unsure of what Wanda wants you to say. The woman reached behind you, grabbing two velcro cuffs and attaching them to your wrists while you fumble for an answer.
“What do good girls need, sweetheart?” Wanda finally says, testing the cuffs to make sure they’re secure but not too tight.
“Oh, um. Good girls need their Mistresses to discipline them to remind them of their place.” You turn to look at Wanda, hopeful that you’ve supplied the correct answer. Wanda smiles at you, tracing a finger down your face as she nods.
“Very good,” she murmurs, grabbing a piece of metal and attaching your wrists together on your lap. You know that you can’t escape, so you don’t even test the strength of the restraints; you just watch Wanda.
Tapping your lower back, Wanda urges you into position. “On your knees, ass up, darling. I want your arms straight up so your face is on the mattress.”
You obey, stretching your arms out and presenting your backside. Wanda’s hand lands on the back of your head, ensuring that you stay in place, before she strokes your hair and trails her fingers down your spine. Her lips caress your ear, her vanilla scent washing over you as she whispers, “Count for me.”
You barely have time to question it before a resounding crack echoes through the room. You register the pain a second later, a burning sensation multiplying the humiliation and arousal inside you.
“One, Mistress.”
Wanda is relentless, using her hand first, until you no longer squirm when she spanks you. She lets out a frustrated noise as your voice remains steady, stalking over to the closet and emerging with more toys.
“I want to see you break,” she hisses, grabbing the roots of your hair and twisting your head until your wide eyes meet hers. She relishes the wide look of anticipation and trepidation on your face, before she roughly shoves your face back into the mattress, one hand steadying your back while the other raises a paddle and brings it down sharply with a twist of her wrist.
“T- twenty-three, Mistress,” you moan, feeling tears form in your eyes as your head starts to become fuzzy. This was the headspace that you loved the most, and Wanda knew just how to get you there.
Wanda resumes, switching between the paddle and a soft cane, the low whistle in the air before it strikes you, causing your arousal to spike.
“God, I love how much of a masochist you are,” Wanda says, her voice slightly raspy. “You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you, darling?”
“Yes, Mistress,” you say, your voice slightly muffled from the way your face is pressed into the mattress.
Wanda delivers one final blow, the crack jolting your body forward as your fingers grip the comforter tightly, a muffled sob sounding out. Her cool fingers gently trail over your raw, red ass, her voice whispering in your ear, “Color?”
“Yellow, Mistress,” you moan. “I just need a moment.”
“Good girl,” she responds, rubbing your backside for a moment before walking back into the closet to retrieve more toys, letting you catch your breath.
She remains in the closet for a suspiciously long time, but you don’t dare raise your head. You can hear her rummaging around, her heels making a soft thud on the carpet as she returns, the weight of the bed shifting as she deposits whatever items she collected.
There are some more noises, near the foot of the bed, and you feel yourself craning to hear what she might be doing.
“Turn around, darling,” Wanda commands. “On your knees, facing the headboard.”
“Yes, Mistress,” you mumble, quickly following her order. You can feel her attaching cuffs of some sort to your ankles, and you realize that you’ve been restrained with a spreader bar. Flexing your ankles for a moment, you realize that you’re well and truly stuck. It sends a rush of arousal through you.
“You like this, don’t you,” Wanda murmurs, dragging a finger through your dripping slit, an appreciative moan telling you that she licked your juices from her finger.
You can’t do much but whimper, hearing her chuckle from behind you.
The feeling of something thick prodding at you makes your heart stutter for a moment, before you feel Wanda’s fingers spreading lube all over what you presume to be a dildo. She makes sure to spread some on you as well, her fingers scissoring inside you as she ensures you’re well lubricated.
There’s a click, and then you hear the soft hum of machinery. A thick dildo presses against you, and you moan as you feel it start to penetrate you.
“Hold still,” Wanda commands, and you obey, feeling her adjusting the machine. The dildo presses deep inside you, hitting that spot inside you that causes pleasure to bloom, and you groan into the mattress.
“Perfect.”
Wanda rounds the bed, the machine slowly thrusting her favorite dildo deep inside you, the sounds of your wet pussy being slowly fucked sending her own arousal soaring. She grips your hair again, pulling your head up to admire the glassy look in your eyes. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”
“I- mmmph,” you manage, your eyes gazing into hers, not a thought behind them.
Chuckling, Wanda presses a button on the remote, the dildo moving slightly faster. Your mouth opens, your cheeks coloring further as a deep flush emerges.
God, it feels amazing. Wanda’s cool hands on your cheeks as your body is set alight with pleasure. She’s moving, pulling off her lingerie as she manoeuvres herself to sit against the headboard.
You can smell her, so you drop your gaze down to her perfect pussy, licking your lips at the glistening arousal you find there.
“Go on,” Wanda’s voice cuts through the haze. She clicks the remote again, the dildo fucking you faster and deeper. “Make Mommy feel good.”
At that, you dive in, not needing to be told twice. Eating Wanda out was something you’d never tire of. She smelled divine, and tasted even better. You’d told her once that you thought she compared to the nectar of the Gods, and she’d been so pleased that she allowed you to eat her out during an entire workday from home. It had been one of the best days of your life.
“Oh, fuck,” Wanda breathes out, feeling your tongue expertly wrap around her clit, stimulating her in that perfect way of yours. Her hand makes its way to your hair, gripping tightly. It would be uncomfortable, but you loved the pain as she pulled on your roots slightly, pushing your face further into her.
Your hands are still uselessly cuffed together, but your fingers manage to find Wanda’s nipples. You pinch them in that way she likes so much, and you feel her clit pulse beneath your tongue.
Wanda has never been very vocal during sex, but you’ve learned how to read her all the same. You can feel her breath stutter beneath your fingers, and you continue to stimulate her nipples, rolling and pinching until her muscles twitch. She subconsciously thrusts harder into your mouth, and you eagerly accept.
When she comes, it’s quietly, with a low moan and her fingers gripping your hair like she never wants to let you go. You moan with her, your pleasure building as the dildo continues to fuck you slowly, sliding in and out of you until your brain can’t focus on anything else.
“Fuck,” Wanda whispers, pulling your head up to gaze at you. “I want to fill you up, darling.”
Your eyes widen, but you nod, the pleasure making your mind fuzzy. Wanda knows this. She knows how easy you are to manipulate and follow her every word when you’re desperate to cum.
Smirking, Wanda caresses your cheek for a brief moment before she slides out from under you, grabbing another toy from the nightstand.
It’s a beautiful buttplug, made of pure gold with a dark red gem at the end. It’s one of Wanda’s favorites, and you like it well enough. It’s not too big, just enough to stretch you out and make you feel full, and you love it when Wanda claims every part of you.
“Relax, baby,” Wanda murmurs, gently squeezing some lube onto your ass. You obey her, the pleasure from the dildo making your muscles weak. Wanda presses on the remote again, the dildo fucking you faster, pleasure erupting inside you.
Slowly, Wanda inserts the buttplug. You can feel the stretch, the slight burn as the thickest part of the plug makes it past your rim, the sensation of being full making you pant and moan.
“You like that, don’t you? You like it when I claim every one of your holes, hmm?” Wanda asks, twisting the buttplug so it’s covered in lube as she slowly inserts it.
“Yes, Mistress,” you moan, bucking your hips into her hand. This causes the dildo to fuck deeper inside you, and you practically melt into the mattress, your muscles going limp from pleasure.
Wanda chuckles, inserting the buttplug fully and relishing the way you whine at the fullness you feel. She admires you for a moment, the dark red gem glinting back at her as your arousal drips down your thighs while the machine fucks you relentlessly.
Grabbing a soft towel, Wanda slips it underneath you, grabbing your ass when she’s finishes and kneading your hot flesh. You moan, full twinges of pain only adding to your pleasure. You can feel an orgasm starting to emerge, your heart racing as pleasure builds within you.
“Do you want to cum?” Wanda asks, her voice sounding out next to your ear.
You moan in response, too weak to do much else.
“Aww,” Wanda coos, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “My pet is too dumb to respond correctly, isn’t she?”
Her words reverberate around your skull, the warm vanilla scent engulfing you as your mind grows hazier. You can’t offer much other than soft whimpers and moans, your head turning to tearfully look at your Mistress.
“Well,” Wanda begins, her hands caressing your sore backside harshly. “Since you can’t form a correct response, I suppose I’ll have to punish you.”
You would protest, but you can barely think of any words to say. Wanda’s hand comes down, gentler than her strikes before, but the impact on your already red ass makes you yelp, your mind breaking fully.
Wanda is gentle, but persistent. She spanks you in a rhythm you can’t decipher, unable to anticipate when she’ll strike next. It thrills you, and sends your mind deep into that vanilla headspace you’ve grown to love. Pain mixes with pleasure, the dildo fucking you slowly enough that you feel your orgasm growing, but never quite enough to tip you over the edge.
“P-please,” you manage, after you feel yourself edge again, Wanda monitoring your body’s reactions and slowing the dildo down whenever you grow too close to an orgasm.
“Use your words, darling. Full sentences."
“I-,” you moan loudly, the dildo speeding up.
“Pathetic,” Wanda murmurs, her hand grabbing your hair and yanking your head up. Green eyes meet glazed ones, and she smirks. “You can’t even beg properly anymore, you’re completely mine, aren't you?”
“Yes, Mistress,” you moan, unable to say anything else.
“Good girl,” Wanda releases your hair, letting your head press into the mattress weakly. She clicks the remote again, the dildo fucking you harder than before, the sound of your arousal making it’s way to your ears as you feel pleasure growing once again.
Your orgasm is close, your knuckles white as you grip the pillow, your muscles tense. You’re so close, and Wanda knows it.
“Tell me, darling,” Wanda begins, sitting next to you, stroking your back gently as the dildo fucks punishingly into you. “What lesson did you learn today?”
“I- um… to… to let you, mmphh fuck, to let you pay for me…”
Wanda smiles. “Exactly.” Then, she stands, reaching back to slowly grab the buttplug, pressing it even further into you. You moan, a broken, weak sound that makes Wanda pulse with need.
“You’re going to obey me.” Wanda pulls the buttplug slightly out, before slamming it back into you. “You will never question me or go behind my back again, do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” you yelp, moaning as you feel your orgasm creep closer.
“Oh, sweetheart, you know I just want to take care of you, right?” Wanda’s voice is sickly sweet. “That’s all I want. And you just need to learn your place.”
You nod frantically, your submissiveness clicking firmer into place, your role reestablished in your mind.
“Yes, Mistress,” you moan. “I know my place, I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll never disobey you again.”
“I doubt that,” Wanda murmurs to herself, before smiling at your wrecked form. “One more edge, baby, then we can be done for the night.”
You nod, moaning as Wanda clicks the remote higher, the dildo fucking you faster and rougher than it had previously. You’re almost overwhelmed with pleasure, Wanda’s hands on your face and ass, her presence everywhere. You love it.
“I- m gonna…”
Wanda clicks the remote, the dildo stopping immediately.
You moan in slight frustration, feeling your arousal leaking around the dildo as it drips down your thighs. Everything happens in a haze, Wanda removing the dildo from you and slowly taking your buttplug out. She unclips your restraints, leaving you boneless on the bed as you embrace the comfortable haze in your mind.
The shower is nice, warm, and smelling of vanilla as Wanda washes your body and hair, whispering sweet things into your ear while you slump against her. It’s not until you’re wrapped up underneath the covers that you finally begin to emerge from that comfortable headspace, your limbs entangled with your wife’s.
“I love you, darling. Thank you for your trust in me.”
“You always make good decisions for us,” you say, yawning slightly and burrowing further into her. “I love you, too.”
Wanda smiles, making a contented noise as you hear her breathing start to grow softer.
“Hey, Wands?”
“Hmm.”
“I’m paying for ice cream tomorrow.”
And with that, you ignore the soft, happy sigh your wife lets out, letting her vanilla scent engulf you completely.
it’s late in the compound. wanda comes home after a long day of exhausting missions. she’s frustrated, and in need of something to let out her energy and anger on. she does it with you, but with such tenderness.
ʚ・ tags and warnings — mommy!wanda x fem!reader :
mostly smut, slight fluff, stress relief, wanda slightly angry, soft wanda, dirty talk, overstimulation, light choking, wanda called mommy, reader called dove, angel, princess, some aftercare
ʚ・ author’s note — first fic on here. please enjoy, feedback appreciated. i’m quite interested in doing a lot more fluffy/angsty stuff… lmkk !!
your hips buck, twitching erratically. your fingers dig into your sheets in a desperate attempt to anchor. you press your knuckles to your lips, letting sound die before it could even slip past you. your legs tremble from exhaustion, from pure pleasure.
her head bobs between your thighs in a delicious rhythm. a forgotten movie murmured in the background, dialogue and static blurring the edges of everything else. swallowing anything—any whimper, any moan that might escape.
it was late. far past lights out at the compound.
she wasn’t supposed to be here.
not between your legs—not again.
“wanda,” you gasp as she catches one of your slick folds between her lips and sucks. her thumb presses against your clit, rubbing furious circles and only heightening your pleasure.
her rough fingers dug into your thighs, holding you in place. “shh, dove. i told you to stay quiet.” she mouths against your bare heat. “mommy’s had a very long day.” her voice is low, almost impatient. like she’s trying to suppress the urge to force you down and take you until you’re screaming.
because her movements aren’t gentle—not like they usually are. they’re fueled by some intense heat. you remember is her coming home: eyes focused and low. blood staining her knuckles, from her mission earlier. she didn’t say much about it, didn’t even let herself think much before she was pinning you to the wall.
“breathe, honey. relax for me. let me use this pretty pussy, hm? you taste… heavenly, baby. so sweet for me.” she coos, licking from the base of your most sensitive area to the nub.
“now, quiet. you don’t want a punishment.”
you clench and tighten around an unbearable absence, trying with everything you had to hold back even the smallest wince.
your jaw locks in an effort. tight. but it’s still not enough. she plunges her tongue inside of you: suddenly. it’s overwhelming, in the best way, and so unfair. a scream—louder than any other of the pathetic noises from before—tears through you.
when you look down, eyes wide, please already breaking into a whisper, you see it. her expression isn’t tender anymore. its anger. frustration that had built up throughout the day. and god, she would use you to forget it all.
she’s moving before your head even stops spinning.
her hand trails up your skin until it catches your throat. wrapping around it, so sweetly. her thumb brushes against your pulse. not tight enough to struggle; not ever. but just enough for you to be conscious of every breath you take.
“mommy—” you try. “no, baby. no ‘mommy.’ what did i tell you, hm?” she interrupts. her grip on your throat loosens enough for you to comfortably reply.
your eyes avoid hers, shoulders sinking from sheer embarrassment. she tilts up your chin and you respond, “… to be quiet.”
“that’s right. and you disobeyed.”
yet, the smallest curve still tugs at her lips. “look at that pretty face. flushes even at the smallest correction.” she chuckles, then sighs deeply.
“let me see those eyes baby. look at me.” she hums. and you do, immediately. as your eyes lock on hers, you feel the tips of her two fingers glide across your pussy. your already wet folds peel apart at the smallest movement and she smirks, slowly pressing into your warmth.
your face contorts into one of bliss as her fingers curl into your slit. you buck your hips at the feeling, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream.
“you’re going to keep those eyes on me as i fuck you. and you’re not going to look away until i say you’re allowed to.” she whispers.
two fingers plunge into your tightness. you gasp as she curls them inside of you. “mmh, princess… look at this beautiful pussy.” she sighs.
“you don’t know how badly i’ve been needing to see you ruined again.”
her lips latch onto your neck. her kisses are hot, open-mouthed, and all teeth. her arm suddenly jolts out, scarlet threads curling around her fingers, drawing something out. the drawer of the nightstand beside you flies open, and a strap floats to her hand.
a deep red dildo, thick, and bigger than what she usually used on you. your breath come out a little heavier at the thought of it stretching you out.
she slide the harness on, securing it around her waist. one hand slid under your thigh, holding it up and pinning it in place. the other braced herself beside your head.
you barely had time to think before she was pushing into you. your breath hitched, fingers holding onto the bedsheets beneath you. wanda moaned slowly, “that’s right, detka. clench around me.”
small whimpers escape you. your hands find her, wrapping around her neck. your nails dig into her spine, leaving delicate indents. “fuck—fuck, too much. god, you’re—stretching me…”
“too much?” she asks, already slowing down. you only yelp at that. “no—no. i need more. just, just don’t stop.” you exhale.
her hips start up again, rolling into you and letting you feel every bit of it. she grinds the base of it inside you. every little whisper, every thrust, and every breath brings you closer to your edge.
she notices. of course she does.
the way your breath hitches.
the way you hold on tighter, clenching.
the way you moan—higher pitched than before.
“give it to me. come on,” she moves faster. you feel her chasing her own release.
her arms wrap fully around your waist, firmly holding you. allowing you to go limp, to simply be held. she’s thrusting into you faster now, groaning in your ear. mumbling curses, half in english and half in sokovian. her accent so heavy she can hardly even understand herself.
“god. you’re so fucking tight,” she grunts. her head falls onto your shoulder, hips roughly fucking into your pussy.
you feel tears collect in the corner of your eyes. it isn’t uncomfortable—not even in the slightest. it’s all you could ever dream of. it’s overstimulation, in the best way you could’ve ever imagined.
her forehead presses against yours. red wisps flicker, and she reads you. every thought, every craving you have right now. watching, protecting, as always.
she knows just how much you want this.
it empowers her to moves faster, kissing your cheek in a way that still manages to make your stomach flutter.
“that’s my girl. so perfect for me. letting me use this sweet pussy,” she whispers. her hips grind.
your climax hits in waves, the first stronger than the rest. stars fog your vision, body twitching under her. you dig your nails into her back, and she only responds by holding you tighter, fucking you through your orgasm.
“that’s right… my pretty girl… doing so good for me.”
you pant heavily, sweat beading down your forehead. her movements are slower now, but somehow feel so much more intense. you’re so much more sensitive now.
she’s riding you through it, and prolonging your release.
she hits her own climax just like that.
knowing you’re taken care of.
seeing the way you whimper for her. under her.
her hips buck into you, her strap filling you. she moans in your ear, soft curses and praises.
“that’s my girl. my sweet little girl.” she pants, kissing the top of your head and slowly pulling out. you curl against her, comforted in her embrace.
the rest of the night is a blur.
her rough hands bringing a damp towel to your thighs, wiping away the stickiness and cleaning you off. handing you a glass of water, cuddling you when she was all done.
raking her fingers through your hair, whispering praises into your ear. telling you just how beautiful you looked, and how good you were.
“you did so good for me, baby. my perfect angel.” she whispers, pressing little pecks to your cheeks. your eyelids flutter shut, heavy from exhaustion. she smiles at that. “get some sleep, honey. i’ll be here in the morning.” she assures you.
Wanda watches you like you were made of the stars themselves, the way you finally felt at ease, in the pool, feel the water ripple over every crease of your skin, whilst Nat kept jumping in and out of the pool with sunscreen and a sunhat from 1984.
"Come on just wear it."
"Nat, stop, I'm fine, I-" before you could even swim away Nat had the hat tight around your ears, squeezing your head to the point of popping.
You gazed up to Wanda, who was sat on the side, watching the shenanigans of her wife. Your big eyes pleading whilst you stood in the middle of pool, water up to your chest, with a hat that was far too tight around the middle of your ears, and Nat's fingers rubbing all over you with the sunscreen.
'Please.' You mouthed to the red head, whose legs where stretched out, dipped into the water below.
You loved them both.
You adored how protective they both could be, but since your mental health and plummeted a few months back...well Natasha had gotten a bee in her bonnet, and was over protective now.
More than over protective. It was over baring.
"Nat come on, leave the poor girl alone, she said a relaxing day, not a make me look like a bobble head day."
Nat scrunched up her face, eyebrows knitting together as if Wanda had told her that her pet spider had been killed.
The sun was hot on your back, glimmering in the water as Wanda and Nat seemed to be staring each other down.
Wanda tilted her head slightly, eyes more emerald than usual, from the gleaming sun, her finger tips sparking with red magic. She sighed deeply, placing her bookmark back inside what she was reading, and set it to the side.
She let her self slide gently int the water, like a mermaid, full of magic and intrigue.
"Natasha," Wanda giggled, her fingers pulling at the hat, one, two, three, and she tugged it free from your head "the poor girl was going to have a marshmallow for a brain with how tight this is." her knuckles came to your cheek, caressing your skin, nerves inside your body sparking like fairy dust.
Wanda's eyes glimmered under the midday day sun, following the way you avoided her gaze, your smile reaching your whole face, the need for you against her was clear, as was your need for her.
"Be a good girl, and swim away, I need to have a word with Nat alone." Wanda kissed your wet lips slowly, tongue exploring your mouth, your breath hitched, squeaked was more like it.
You breathed her in, every strand of hair that tickled your cheek, the scent of vanilla lingering, the way her fingers cupped your cheeks and her lips moved against yours.
You thought you were watching her grow away from you—but she was growing toward forever.
warnings ✮⋆˙ established relationship, hurt/comfort, THEY COMMUNICATE, happy ending, dating (mentions of future marriage), fluff, overthinking/anxious reader, kissing, love sick fools, a break from smut, sappy romance
Distant. Wanda had been distant lately.
Not a cold distant, just somewhere else. Somewhere buried in spreadsheets, client calls, and the glow of her computer screen that stretched far past midnight. You knew how much her company meant to her, how hard she’d fought to build it from the ground up. But lately, it felt like the only time you saw her was in passing—her lips brushing your forehead as she whispered “I’ll be home late, love you.”
In spite of missing her, you showed up to her office one afternoon. Coffee in hand, your heart feeling at a loss, you didn't expect a comment that would break something in you.
"Things have been so smooth lately," someone, one of her employees commented nearby, casually typing away. "Ever since Ms. Maximoff started to focusing more on the business instead of... distractions."
With a sensitive heart and a mind that works way too much, the comment took the wind out of you. All attempts at seeing her that day was spend back at home. The rest of the day passed in a blur, half tears, half obsessive determination. You went home, poured yourself over every financial report, every growth chart, every meeting summary.
You had enough to build a file with the information you cultivated. You found what you were afraid you’d find. The numbers didn’t lie. Ever since Wanda started spending less time with you, her company’s profits had spiked.
So when Wanda decided to work from home that week, you saw your chance.
She was in her office when you entered—hair tied back, red sweater sleeves pushed up, eyes fixed on the screen. You didn’t say a word. Just set the folder down in front of her.
She glances briefly at the file only briefly, "What's this? Im kind of busy. Can it wait-?"
"Just read it."
She hesitated, then flipped open the folder. Pages and charts and highlights stared back at her. She skimmed the first few, brows furrowing, before glancing up.
“Okay… these are company reports. So?”
You stepped closer, circling around the desk to stand beside her. The smell of her perfume hit you—familiar, grounding, almost enough to undo you right there. You leaned in, finger dragging over the pages, flipping them as you explain everything to her.
After explaining, she removes her glasses, looking up at you. "Yes, I am aware of this, I have meetings just to go over this kind of information."
You swallowed hard, your hand resting on the corner of her desk.
"Everything's better," you said softly. "your numbers, your clients, your sales. You're doing well, Wanda. So whatever you've been doing lately, it's really working for you."
Your voice cracked on you. Wanda finally turned to you, expression softening as she caught the tremor in your hands, the way your thumb rubbed at the small pendant hanging around your neck, the one she'd given on your first anniversary.
"Sweetheart," she murmured, rising slowly. "Is something on your mind?"
You hate how the room blurs so quick.
“I just… I realized you’re doing better without me,” you whispered. “That everything got better when you stopped… being with me."
Your words broke halfway through. The tears you’d been holding back spilled freely now, your shoulders shaking as you tried to cover your face.
Wanda’s chair scraped back, and before you could move away, her hands were on yours—warm, grounding.
“Hey, hey,” she said softly, stepping closer. “Is that what this is all about?”
You nodded, eyes squeezed shut, unable to meet her gaze.
Wanda exhaled, slow and heavy. Then she pulled you against her chest, her chin resting atop your head. You could feel her heartbeat against your ear, steady and familiar.
“You think I’m working hard because I want to get away from you?” she whispered. “Oh, detka…”
Her tone cracked then, gentle but aching. She pulled back just enough to cup your cheek, brushing away the tears with her thumb.
“I should’ve told you sooner.”
Taking your hand, she led you to her desk. She opened the bottom drawer—the one she always kept locked. Inside were three small velvet boxes, neatly lined up.
You blinked. She picked one up, opening it slowly to reveal a delicate ring—platinum, simple, beautiful. Then she opened the next: a gold one with small red stones. The third, silver with a twisting band that looked handmade.
“I’ve been saving,” she said quietly. “Every late night, every client call, every weekend I didn’t spend with you—it’s all been for this. I’ve been trying to find the perfect ring for you. But I couldn’t decide. I bought one, then another, then another, second-guessing what you’d truly love. I was going to surprise you.”
Your lips trembled.
“You… you were planning to propose?”
Wanda smiled softly, eyes glassy.
“I am planning to propose."
She slipped one of the rings from its box and held it out—not to place on your finger just yet, but to show you, to share the moment. Her other hand rose to cup your face again, pulling you into her.
The kiss that followed wasn’t desperate or rushed—it was slow, trembling, real. The kind that tasted of apology and promise.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were smiling through the remnants of tears.
“You really thought I’d ever do better without you?” Wanda whispered against your temple. "The only reason why I've been cooped up in this god forsaken hell is because of you. You've motivated me, pushed me to work so hard to afford something forever with you. The last thing on my mind is leaving you, and I am so deeply sorry that it's ever reached a moment you've had to think that."
Your breath hitched, her words sinking in so fast it almost hurt. The tension that had been strangling your chest began to crumble, leaving you standing there with shaking hands and glassy eyes.
Her thumb brushed another tear from your cheek before she pressed a soft kiss to the spot it had been. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet her gaze just yet—you were too afraid you’d fall apart completely if you did.
“Wanda…” you breathed, voice barely there.
She hummed in response, arms tightening around your waist as if she could hold the guilt right out of you.
“I should’ve told you sooner,” she murmured. “About the late nights, the meetings, all of it. I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted it to be perfect.”
You finally looked up at her, eyes flicking between hers, searching for the truth you’d missed this whole time. She smiled faintly through the exhaustion, then reached past you toward the drawer she’d left open earlier.
From inside, she pulled out the small velvet boxes again, this time opening one to reveal a simple, elegant band—your style to the last detail.
“I kept changing my mind,” she said softly. “Every design felt wrong. Too plain, too much, too little… nothing felt like you. So I kept working. Kept saving. Until I could get it right.”
You stared at it, chest aching, heart twisting in every direction at once.
“You’ve been doing all of this… for us,” you said quietly, guilt heavy in your throat.
“For you,” she corrected, cupping your jaw. “For the life I want with you.”
That broke whatever composure you had left. You let out a small, uneven sob, and she pulled you against her again—warm, solid, and real. The kind of hug that said you’re safe now.
Her lips brushed the top of your head.
“You’re my reason, detka. Not my distraction.”
note ⋆. 𐙚 ̊ i hoped you enjoyed. Im in a sappy mood, im also on my period, and I also think there should be more hurt/comfort/fluff in the world.... im a little tired of sex sex sex rn. (ALSO yes wanda did find wgi said that comment, and she did have a talk w the employee. ended up firing them)
