Chapter 21: Yelena healing
The air in the living room was still thick, charged with the salt-sweet scent of their bodies and the lingering echo of gasped promises. Wanda’s thighs were slick where they pressed against Yelena’s, a wet, hot seal as she moved, a slow, grinding scissor that drew a ragged moan from the woman beneath her.
“Be honest,” Wanda murmured, her voice a low hum against Yelena’s ear. Her hips rolled, a relentless, perfect rhythm that had Yelena’s back arching off the couch. “What was your first real orgasm? Not a mechanical release. A real one. I bet those nasty Red Room fucks didn’t make you feel anything but used.”
Yelena’s breath hitched. Her eyes, glazed, sought Natasha’s across the room. Natasha was on her knees on the rug, her own fingers buried deep inside herself, pumping in time with Wanda’s movements. Her stare was fierce, encouraging.
“They couldn’t,” Yelena gasped, the words torn from her. “It was… a procedure. A… weakness to be controlled.”
Wanda’s hand slid between their grinding bodies, her thumb finding Yelena’s clit with unerring accuracy. She pressed, circled, a maddening pressure. “But mommy’s sweet, loving cunt is giving you what you need, isn’t it? Giving you back what they stole. Making you feel alive right here.” Her hips stuttered, grinding harder, her own pleasure a secondary current to the power of giving this.
A broken cry ripped from Yelena’s throat. “Yes! God, yes, it’s… it’s everything. They were nothing. Clumsy. Hurting. Just… taking.”
From the floor, Natasha’s voice cut through, sharp with need. “They made me feel nothing. I was a dead fish to them. The actors were strong, sort of, but they couldn’t even make me moan.” Her fingers worked faster, the wet sound obscene and beautiful. “Heal us, Mommy. Yelena, tell her. Tell mommy how much better she is.”
Yelena was trembling, her hips bucking to meet Wanda’s grind. The confession was a floodgate. “They were pathetic! All of them. The General… he would grunt and finish and it was just… wet and cold. He couldn’t even find a clit if you drew him a fucking map!” The memory, once a stain, was now fuel, burned up in the furnace of her present pleasure. “And you… you’re fucking… a goddess. Your pussy is so fucking hot, I can feel you milking me and we’re not even… fuck!”
Wanda slowed, just for a heartbeat, her green eyes blazing with possessive heat. “Say it again.”
“You’re a goddess,” Yelena sobbed, her composure shattered. “You’re claiming me. I’m yours. This pleasure is yours. They never… they never got this. They never got me.”
That was what Wanda needed to hear. Her movement changed, becoming deeper, more intentional. She shifted her angle, draping one of Yelena’s legs over her shoulder, opening her wider. The new position let her grind her swollen clit directly against Yelena’s, a brutal, perfect friction.
“Come for mommy,” Wanda commanded, her own breath coming in short, hot pants. “Come all over my cunt and show me what I own.”
It was too much. The physical pressure, the psychological catharsis, the raw, filthy praise from Natasha who was now chanting “good girl, such a good girl for mommy” between her own moans—it detonated Yelena from the inside out. Her orgasm wasn’t a wave; it was a seizure of pure, white-hot reclamation. Her cunt clenched around nothing, fluttering wildly as she screamed, a raw, unfiltered sound that shook the wine in the bottle on the table. Her hips pistoned against Wanda’s, soaking them both.
Wanda rode it out, grinding through Yelena’s contractions until the woman collapsed, boneless and shuddering. Only then did Wanda still, her own need a painful, throbbing ache. She looked over at Natasha, whose face was a mask of desperate arousal.
“My turn, my perfect girl,” Wanda said, her voice smoky with lust.
She disentangled herself from Yelena’s limp form and moved to the floor. She didn’t lie down. She knelt over Natasha’s face, guiding herself onto that waiting mouth. Natasha’s tongue was there in an instant, worshipping, devouring, lapping at the combined wetness of Wanda and Yelena with a starving intensity.
“Taste her,” Wanda groaned, her head falling back. “Taste what mommy made her do. Taste how good she was for us.”
Natasha moaned, the vibration shooting straight up Wanda’s spine. Her hands gripped Wanda’s ass, pulling her deeper. Wanda began to move, a slow, undulating ride on Natasha’s tongue and lips. She looked down, watching her lover’s face, the devotion there, the absolute surrender.
“You needed this, didn’t you?” Wanda panted. “Needed to see me take her. Needed to hear her break.”
Natasha could only nod, her eyes wide and pleading.
“My good, sweet girl,” Wanda whispered, her pace quickening. “My Natasha. You give me everything.” Her fingers threaded into Natasha’s red hair, not forcing, just holding. “Now make mommy come. Right in your pretty mouth.”
It was a synergy built on years of trust and dark, shared understanding. Natasha knew every fold, every sensitive spot. Her tongue flicked and pressed, her lips sucked, and when she hummed again, Wanda shattered. Her orgasm was a silent, breathtaking crash for a second before a guttural cry was ripped from her throat. She ground down, holding Natasha’s face tight against her as she pulsed, flooding her lover’s mouth.
When she finally slid off, she collapsed onto the rug beside Natasha, pulling the older woman into her arms. They breathed together, sweat-slick and spent. Yelena watched them from the couch, her eyes soft, a strange, unguarded peace on her features.
After a long moment, Wanda propped herself up on an elbow, looking at Yelena. “You okay?”
Yelena let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through her tousled hair. “I think… I think I am. That was fucking intense.”
“It was real,” Natasha said quietly, her head on Wanda’s shoulder. “That’s the difference.”
Wanda’s gaze drifted to the window, where the afternoon sun was beginning to golden. The ghosts in the room felt quieter now, not gone, but muted by something louder. She kissed Natasha’s forehead, then looked back at Yelena with a small, tired smile.
“Stay for dinner,” Wanda said, and it wasn’t a question. It was an invitation to something beyond the bed, the couch, the sweat-soaked rug. It was an anchor, thrown into the quiet, sunlit aftermath.
Nat” you’re so cute sis. It’s only been 40 minutes i mommy love sessions go a bare minimum six hours.
Yelena’s laugh died in her throat, the sound replaced by a hollow, disbelieving gasp. “Six hours?” She pushed herself up on trembling elbows, her body still thrumming from the recent collapse. “You are joking. That is a joke, sestra. Nobody fucks for six hours.”
Natasha wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, a lazy, sated smile playing on her lips. She crawled from Wanda’s side to the couch, settling next to Yelena. “Mommy doesn’t joke about that.” Her fingers trailed over Yelena’s damp thigh. “The first hour is just warming up. The second hour is for breaking down walls. The third… that’s when the real talking starts.”
Wanda stood, a languid stretch rippling through her curves. The fading light caught the sweat on her skin, painting her in gold and shadow. She walked to the window, her movements fluid with ownership. “You think what just happened was intense?” She didn’t turn around, her voice a low vibration in the quiet room. “That was a conversation. A welcome. A six-hour session is a novel. It’s an excavation.” Finally, she looked over her shoulder, her green eyes holding Yelena captive. “It’s where you scream things you didn’t even know you remembered.”
A strange heat, different from the aftershocks of orgasm, coiled in Yelena’s gut. It was part dread, part terrifying allure. “I don’t have six hours of things to scream.”
“You do,” Wanda said simply. She walked back, her nakedness not vulnerable but armoured. She stood before Yelena, cupping her chin. “You have decades. We just scratched the surface of the Red Room. What about the things you did after? The men, the women, the targets you fucked to get close? The empty rooms after?” Her thumb stroked Yelena’s lower lip. “Mommy sucks all those ghosts right out of your cunt. Leaves you hollow and clean and then… fills you back up with only us.”
The crude poetry of it hit Yelena like a physical blow. Her breath caught. She thought of a safe-house in Odessa, the target’s hands, the bottle of vodka, the numb emptiness that had lasted for days. A shiver ran through her.
“See?” Natasha whispered, her hand now resting on Yelena’s belly. “She already knows. She’s thinking about one.”
Wanda’s gaze was inexorable. “Do you want to try? A real session. Not just a quick fuck to take the edge off. A proper unraveling.”
Yelena’s mouth was dry. Her instinct was to deflect, to make a sarcastic remark about Avengers benefits. But the words wouldn’t form. All she could see was the devastating sincerity in Wanda’s eyes, the absolute certainty. She found herself nodding, a small, almost imperceptible dip of her chin.
“Good girl,” Wanda breathed, and the praise ignited something deep in Yelena’s core.
Wanda turned to Natasha. “Get the cuffs. The silk ones. And the oil. The warm one.” Her orders were soft, absolute. Natasha moved without a sound, padding from the room with a purposeful grace.
Alone with Wanda, the air changed again. It became charged, deliberate. Wanda guided Yelena to her feet, then turned her, pressing her face-first against the cool wall by the window. “Stay.” The command was gentle but allowed no disobedience. Wanda’s hands smoothed over Yelena’s shoulders, down her spine, over the swell of her ass. “You are so tight here,” she murmured, kneading the muscle. “All your tension lives in your back. We’ll start there.”
Natasha returned, the items in her hands. Wanda took the bottle, pouring a stream of warm, fragrant oil between Yelena’s shoulder blades. It rivered down her spine. Wanda’s hands followed, slow, firm strokes that melted the knots before Yelena even knew they existed. She groaned, her forehead resting against the wall.
“Shh, just feel,” Wanda said. Her thumbs dug into the dimples at the base of Yelena’s spine, then slid lower, parting her cheeks. The touch was clinical at first, then intimate. A slick, oiled finger traced the tight furl of her asshole, a whisper of pressure that made Yelena jump.
“Relax. This isn’t for taking. Not yet. It’s for reminding you every part of you belongs to me tonight.” Wanda’s finger circled, a maddening, constant promise. Her other hand slid around Yelena’s hip, fingers finding her clit, still swollen and sensitive. She touched her there with the same slow, rhythmic pressure.
Yelena was split in two—the luxurious surrender of the massage, and the sharp, bright focus on the two points of contact. Her mind, so often a frantic cyclotron of plans and threats, went quiet. There was only the heat of the oil, the scent of jasmine, and Wanda’s commanding touch.
“On the bed. On your back,” Wanda ordered softly, helping her turn.
Yelena lay down, the silk sheets cool beneath her. Natasha was there, securing her wrists with the soft cuffs to the ornate bedposts. The restraint was not harsh; it was an offering, a release from choice. Natasha kissed her inner arm before moving to kneel at the foot of the bed, watching.
Wanda climbed over her, straddling her thighs but not yet touching her centre. She leaned down, her long hair creating a curtain around their faces. “The first hour is for touch,” she explained, her breath warm. “Just my hands on you. Everywhere. I’ll learn every scar, every flutter.” She began then, her palms sliding over Yelena’s ribs, the undersides of her breasts, the soft skin of her inner arms. It was worshipful and exhaustive.
Time lost meaning. Wanda’s hands were everywhere, mapping, claiming. She spent minutes just tracing the line of Yelena’s jaw, her collarbones. When her fingers finally returned to Yelena’s cunt, it was with the knowledge of a scholar. She didn’t just finger her; she explored her. The pad of her middle finger rubbed a specific spot inside that made Yelena see stars. “There,” Wanda cooed. “That’s yours. That’s the spot they never found.”
Yelena whimpered, her hips lifting. Wanda withdrew her hand, smiling. “Not yet.”
The second hour Wanda called “the ruin.” She used her mouth. She started with Yelena’s toes, sucking each one until Yelena squirmed, laughing and gasping. She laved the backs of her knees, bit the inside of her thigh, kissed a trail up her torso until she finally, finally took a nipple into her mouth. Her tongue was relentless, flicking, sucking, pinching lightly with her teeth until Yelena was writhing, tugging at the silken cuffs.
“Please,” Yelena begged, her voice ragged.
“Please what?” Wanda lifted her head, her lips glistening.
“My cunt. Please, your mouth on my cunt.”
Wanda shook her head, a dark smile on her lips. “You don’t ask for what you need. You take it. Or you learn to want what I give you.” She lowered her head again, but bypassed Yelena’s weeping centre, instead spreading her cheeks and laying a hot, broad stroke of her tongue over her asshole.
Yelena cried out, a shocked, strangled sound. The sensation was filthy, invasive, and incredibly arousing. Wanda ate her ass with a dedicated vulgarity, her tongue probing, flattening, working her open in a way that was utterly degrading and yet, somehow, felt like a cleansing. Tears pricked Yelena’s eyes.
“They never… never did this,” she choked out, her mind flashing to sterile rooms, impersonal touches.
“I know,” Wanda murmured against her skin, not stopping. “This is mine. This shame is mine now. I’m drinking it.”
When Wanda finally slid her mouth down onto Yelena’s clit, it was with a furious, concentrated hunger. She sucked with a pressure that bordered on pain, her fingers sliding back inside, curling, finding that spot again. Yelena’s second orgasm wasn’t a breaking wave; it was a violent eruption, a geyser of sensation that tore through her with a guttural scream. Her body convulsed, straining against the silken bonds.
Wanda rode it out, swallowing every pulse, until Yelena was a sobbing, spent wreck. She crawled back up her body, wiping her mouth. “Two hours,” she stated, her own breathing slightly accelerated. “You see? We’re just beginning.”
Yelena could only stare, her vision blurry. She felt flayed open, raw, more vulnerable than she had ever been on any mission. And she wanted more. The hunger in Wanda’s eyes was mirrored now in her own.
From the foot of the bed, Natasha let out a soft, needy sigh. She had her hand between her own legs, stroking slowly, her eyes fixed on the scene before her. “She’s so beautiful like this, Mommy,” Natasha whispered. “So broken open for you.”
Wanda smiled, a tender, terrifying thing. She leaned down and kissed Yelena’s tear-streaked cheek. “The third hour,” she whispered, her voice like dark velvet, “is for talking. And you have so much left to say.” Her hand traced the line of Yelena’s throat, a possessive claim. The night, vast and deep, stretched before them, and Yelena, bound and laid bare, felt the first real tremors of what six hours truly meant. It was a door swinging open on a room full of shadows, and Wanda was leading her inside.