Chapter 3: Wanda takes Natasha apart piece by piece, her tongue lapping at Natasha's clit while her fingers pump deep inside her, whispering filthy promises of how she'll fuck Melina and Yelena just as thoroughly.
The wind died just before dawn, leaving a silence so profound it felt like the house was holding its breath. Natasha woke to the smell of old wood and Wanda’s skin, the solid warmth of her back pressed against Natasha’s front. The promise of the night hung in the air, thicker than dust.
Wanda stirred, turning within the circle of Natasha’s arms. Her green eyes were dark, serious. She didn’t speak. She just looked at Natasha, her gaze tracing the lines of her face like a blind woman reading braille. Her thumb came up, stroking the arch of Natasha’s cheekbone.
“Tell me about her first,” Wanda said, her voice sleep-rough. “Melina. Not the files. The woman.”
Natasha swallowed. The light was grey, leaching color from the room. “She loves her pigs,” Natasha began, a faint, almost painful smile touching her lips. “She hums when she works in her lab. Off-key. She saved my life with a welding torch once. She… she tucked us in. Even though it was a mission. She made us hot milk with honey when we had nightmares.”
Wanda listened, her expression softening. “A mother.”
“A scientist who wanted to be one.” Natasha’s voice tightened. “The Red Room took that want and made it a weakness. Then a weapon.”
Wanda nodded slowly. She shifted, rolling Natasha onto her back, looming over her. The morning chill prickled Natasha’s skin where the blankets fell away. “I’m going to worship that weakness,” Wanda murmured, lowering her head to kiss the pulse point in Natasha’s throat. “I’m going to make her feel it, every second. Until it’s not a weakness anymore. It’s her strength.”
Her mouth moved lower, over Natasha’s collarbones, to her breasts. She took a nipple into her mouth, not sucking, just holding it in the warm, wet cavern, her tongue making lazy, devastating circles. Natasha’s back arched off the mattress with a sharp gasp.
“Gonna make her cry with it,” Wanda breathed against her skin, switching to the other breast. Her hand slid down Natasha’s stomach, fingers slipping through coarse curls. “Gonna make her beg me to stop making her feel so fucking much.”
Her fingers found Natasha’s clit, already stiff and eager. She didn’t rub it. She pressed the flat of two fingers against it, a steady, unforgiving pressure, and began to move them in a tiny, circular vibration. It was a sensation so focused, so intense, it bypassed pleasure and went straight to a stunning, electric need.
“Wanda—” Natasha choked out, her hands flying to Wanda’s hair.
“Shhh,” Wanda soothed, not stopping her relentless, minute motion. “This is practice. For her. I need to be perfect.”
She increased the pressure. A bolt of pure, white lightning shot up Natasha’s spine. Her hips jackknifed off the bed. Wanda held her down with her other arm across her stomach, a gentle but immovable bar of ownership.
“You’re already so wet for her,” Wanda whispered, her own arousal coloring her voice. “You’re thinking of her watching, aren’t you? Of me making her come while you feel every ripple of it through me.”
It was true. The image was there, searing. Melina, her stern composure shattered, her head thrown back. Wanda’s mouth between her legs. Natasha’s own cunt clenched around nothing, empty and aching.
“Please,” Natasha gasped. It wasn’t a word she used.
“Please what, my love?” Wanda’s fingers never ceased their wicked, vibrating circle. Natasha’s clit was a swollen, throbbing point of fire.
“Fuck me. Make me come for her. Make me… make me squirt for her. Show me what you’ll do.”
A dark, approving hum vibrated against Natasha’s breast. Wanda shifted. In one fluid motion, she brought her mouth down to where her fingers worked, replacing them with her tongue. At the same time, she pushed two fingers, then three, deep inside Natasha’s soaking cunt.
The invasion was glorious. Natasha screamed, the sound muffled by the damp pillow. Wanda fucked her with deep, piston-like strokes, her fingers curling, searching. Her tongue licked and fluttered over Natasha’s clit in counterpoint, a maestro orchestrating a breakdown.
“That’s it,” Wanda moaned, her voice filthy with desire. “Give it to me. Give it to her. Let her hear how good I make her little girl feel.”
The pressure built, a coil tightening in Natasha’s gut, different from anything before. It was deeper, more primal. Wanda’s fingers pumped, her tongue danced, and the world narrowed to that single, screaming point of connection. Natasha thrashed, her vision spotting, her breaths coming in ragged sobs.
Wanda felt the change, the internal clenching, the gathering flood. She redoubled her efforts, her nose buried in Natasha, drinking her in. “Come on, Nat,” she grunted, her own hips moving against the mattress. “Let it go. Soak me. Show mommy what a good girl you are.”
The coil snapped.
Natasha’s orgasm didn’t crest; it erupted. A torrent of release, hot and uncontrollable, gushed from her as Wanda’s fingers thrust hard and stayed. Wanda cried out against her, swallowing everything, her tongue working frantically to prolong the spasms that wracked Natasha’s body. It kept coming, wave after shocking wave, until Natasha was hollowed out, shaking, the old mattress beneath them drenched.
Wanda crawled up her body, her face gleaming, her lips swollen. She kissed Natasha deeply, letting her taste herself. Natasha whimpered into the kiss, oversensitive, utterly spent.
“That,” Wanda panted, resting their foreheads together, “is what I’ll do to her. Until she forgets her own name. Until the only thing she knows is my mouth on her and your eyes watching. A family.”
She held Natasha as the shakes subsided, stroking her hair. The room smelled of sex and salt and damp wool. Outside, a lone bird tried a hesitant note.
“We find them today,” Natasha said, her voice barely audible.
“Yes,” Wanda agreed, her hand settling possessively on Natasha’s hip. “We bring them home.”
The mission was no longer a whisper in the dark. It was a path laid bare in the morning light, wet and glistening and real. And Natasha, for the first time since she was a child in this very room, felt something like hope, sharp and desperate and terrifying. It felt like the echo of a coming scream, and the promise of the sigh that would follow.