Chapter 10: The watcher
Yelena’s finger was still pressed against her own clit, damp through her panties, when Wanda shifted on the bed. The movement broke the spell. Yelena froze, a deer in the lamplight, her guilt a cold, metallic taste in her mouth. She was about to bolt, to disappear back into the shadowed hallway and pretend this never happened.
But then Wanda stood up.
It was a slow, deliberate unfolding. Wanda rose from her knees, her back to the door, her body a silhouette against the warm light. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a gesture that was both casual and obscenely intimate. Then her hands went to the hem of her simple cotton sleepshirt.
Yelena’s breath caught. All thought of leaving evaporated.
Wanda pulled the shirt up and over her head in one smooth motion, dropping it to the floor without a sound. The sight hit Yelena like a physical blow.
Wanda’s back was a landscape of lean muscle and soft curves. Her spine was a delicate indent leading down to the swell of her ass, which was beautifully rounded, the skin luminous in the low light. She stood there for a moment, breathing, her shoulders back. Then she turned, just slightly, as if to glance at Natasha.
It gave Yelena a profile view, and her heart hammered against her ribs.
Wanda possessed a strikingly beautiful, feminine, and athletic figure that exuded natural sensuality and effortless grace. She carried herself with a poise that made her appear both delicate and powerfully alluring. Her body, bathed in the warm glow, was a study in perfection that complemented her warm skin tone beautifully.
Her full, natural breasts—prominently rounded and generously proportioned—were now fully bare. They were heavy, swaying gently with her movement, creating a deep, inviting cleavage with soft, supple curves that rose and fell gently with her breathing. The elegant slope of her shoulders and the smooth, toned expanse of her upper chest and collarbone led the eye downward.
Her torso was lean and taut, with a flat, subtly defined abdomen that showed just a hint of feminine softness around the navel rather than harsh lines—perfectly smooth skin glowing under the lamplight, with a tiny, adorable belly button piercing the center like a delicate focal point. The gentle hourglass sweep from her ribcage down to her narrow waist emphasized her feminine proportions, flaring out into softly rounded hips that curved into strong, tantalizing thighs.
Yelena was in awe. This wasn’t the powerful, sometimes intimidating Avenger she knew. This was a goddess of flesh and desire, utterly confident in her own skin. A heat pooled low in Yelena’s belly, more intense than any guilt.
On the bed, Natasha made a weak, yearning sound. “Mommy…”
Wanda smiled, a slow, predatory curve of her lips. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her simple shorts and pushed them down her hips, letting them fall to her ankles. She stepped out of them, naked now except for a pair of dark, lace-trimmed panties. The scrap of fabric did nothing to hide the lush delta of her sex, the shadowed promise between her thighs.
“Look at you,” Wanda murmured, her voice a husky caress directed at Natasha. “All tied up and dripping for me.” She climbed onto the bed, kneeling over Natasha’s prone form. She didn’t touch her yet, just let Natasha look up at her, let Yelena look at her from the doorway.
Wanda’s hand came up to cup her own breast, her thumb brushing over the nipple, which hardened instantly. She sighed, a soft, pleasure-filled sound. “Do you want to taste me, my love? After I’ve tasted you?”
“Yes,” Natasha gasped, straining against the scarlet bonds. “Please, Mommy. Let me.”
Wanda shook her head slowly. “Not yet.” She lowered herself, straddling Natasha’s face, but not making contact. “You breathe me in first. You worship the air from my cunt.”
Natasha whimpered, her head tipping back, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled the intimate, musky scent of Wanda’s arousal. Her tongue darted out, trying to reach, but Wanda held herself just out of range.
From the doorway, Yelena’s own mouth watered. Her fingers pressed harder against herself through her clothes, a pathetic mimicry of the scene before her. She watched, utterly enslaved, as Wanda finally, slowly, sank down.
Wanda lowered her hips, settling her weight onto Natasha’s mouth. A low, guttural moan escaped Natasha, muffled by Wanda’s flesh. Wanda’s head fell back, her long hair cascading down her back as she ground herself against Natasha’s face.
“Use your tongue,” Wanda commanded, her voice thick. “Make me come. You’re my good girl, aren’t you? My good, hungry girl.”
The sounds were wet, frantic. Natasha’s head moved beneath Wanda, her neck muscles corded with effort as she devoured Wanda with a desperate, starving intensity. Wanda rode her face with a slow, rolling rhythm that was hypnotic to watch. One of her hands tangled in Natasha’s hair, pulling, guiding. The other crept down her own stomach, her fingers parting her own folds to circle her clit.
“Fuck, just like that,” Wanda groaned, her hips moving faster. “Right there. Yes.”
Yelena’s hand was inside her panties now, her fingers sliding through her own wetness, mimicking the frantic circles Wanda was making on herself. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, her eyes fixed on the obscene, beautiful sight: the powerful witch, back arched, magnificent body gleaming with sweat, using her lover’s mouth without mercy.
Wanda’s breathing hitched. Her movements became jerky, urgent. “I’m gonna come,” she announced, her voice cracking. “You’re going to drink every drop, you fucking beautiful slut.”
Natasha’s response was a muffled, fervent moan of assent.
Wanda’s orgasm took her with a violent shudder. She cried out, a raw, unfettered sound that was nothing like the controlled woman Yelena knew. Her body clenched, her thighs tightening around Natasha’s head. She ground down hard, holding Natasha there as the waves crashed through her.
When it passed, she went limp for a second, then lifted herself off Natasha’s mouth with a wet, soft sound. She looked ravished, blissful. She turned, crawling down Natasha’s body, leaving a glistening trail on her skin. The magical tendrils vanished in a wisp of crimson smoke, freeing Natasha’s wrists and ankles.
Natasha gasped for air, her lips swollen and shining. Before she could move, Wanda was between her legs again, kissing her deeply, sharing her own taste. Natasha’s arms, now free, wrapped around Wanda, pulling her close in a fierce, needy embrace.
Their coupling became a frantic, messy tangle of limbs. Wanda settled atop Natasha, their breasts pressed together, and kissed her way down Natasha’s neck. “My turn inside you,” she whispered, her voice dangerously low.
Natasha simply spread her legs wider, an open invitation.
Wanda’s hand slid between them. Yelena couldn’t see exactly what she was doing, but she could hear it: the slick, rhythmic sound of fingers plunging deep. Natasha arched off the bed with a sharp cry.
“How many?” Wanda demanded, her face buried in Natasha’s neck.
“I–I don’t know,” Natasha sobbed.
“I want six. Can you give Mommy six?”
“Yes! Anything!”
Wanda’s arm began to move with a piston-like rhythm. Her fingers were a blur, her wrist working with inhuman speed and precision. Natasha’s cries escalated, sharp and continuous, turning into a wail that shook the room. Her body convulsed, again and again, caught in a relentless, unending chain of orgasms. Wanda watched her face, a smile of profound, ecstatic possession on her lips, driving her lover over the edge every time she seemed to come down, her fingers never stopping, her words a constant stream of filthy, perfect praise. “That’s it, take it, my perfect whore, come on my hand, again, again…”
Yelena stumbled back. The sensory overload was too much. The sounds, the sight, the scent of sex and sweat and power that even from here overwhelmed her. Her own clumsy touch felt grotesque now, a hollow, lonely echo of the connection on that bed. A connection she was violently, desperately jealous of.
Guilt, sharp and cold, finally sliced through the heat. This was wrong. This was Natasha. Her sister. And Wanda… Wanda, who looked at Natasha like she was the only thing in any universe.
She had seen too much. She had taken something that wasn't hers to witness.
Silent as the ghost she was trained to be, Yelena turned. She crept back down the darkened hallway, her own arousal a cold, uncomfortable ache now. She slipped into the spare room, closed the door, and leaned against it, her heart pounding as if she’d run a mile.
In the silence of her own room, the echoes of Natasha’s pleas and Wanda’s commands seemed to reverberate in her skull. She had no idea her watching had been planned, a secret staged for her alone. She only knew she had trespassed on a sacred, private world, and the image of Wanda, magnificent and naked, claiming Natasha with such raw power, was now burned into her mind forever.