Chapter 3: Possessive Devotion
The command hung in the air, a vibration between them. Natasha’s emerald eyes, glazed with want, fixed on Wanda’s. A switch flipped. The worshipful curiosity was still there, but now it was channeled through the ruthless efficiency of the Widow. She was going to obey, and she was going to do it perfectly.
Her hands came up, one wrapping firmly around the base of Wanda’s cock, the other cupping the heavy weight of her balls with a possessive gentleness that made Wanda’s knees tremble. Natasha didn’t wait to be guided. She leaned forward and took Wanda back into her mouth, deeper this time, her throat relaxing open in a practiced, willing gape.
Wanda’s gasp was a ragged thing. Her fingers twisted tighter in Natasha’s hair, not to force, but to feel the connection as Natasha began to move. It was a slow, devastating rhythm. Natasha would sink down, taking her in until her nose was buried in the coarse red curls at Wanda’s base, holding there until her eyes watered, then drawing back with a slick, hollowing pull of her cheeks.
The sounds were filthy. The wet slap of Natasha’s lips meeting skin, the choked, guttural moans she let loose around the thick intrusion, the sharp, desperate breaths Wanda couldn’t control. Wanda’s hips began to rock, a tiny, involuntary pulse at first, then a more deliberate rhythm, meeting Natasha’s descent.
“That’s it,” Wanda growled, her voice dripping with dark approval. “Take it all, babygirl. Every fucking inch.”
She pushed forward, just a little, testing. Natasha’s response was a full-body shudder of acquiescence. Her throat fluttered wildly around the head, and she moaned, the vibration traveling straight up Wanda’s spine. Encouraged, Wanda began to set the pace, her movements becoming more possessive, more rhythmic. She fucked into the wet, searing heat of Natasha’s mouth, each thrust a claim. She watched herself disappear between those perfect, smudged lips, watched the tears of effort gather at the corners of Natasha’s eyes, and felt a surge of power so profound it bordered on violence.
This was surrender. This was trust etched in saliva and strained breath.
Wanda’s other hand came down, thumb stroking the apple of Natasha’s cheek, feeling the obscene stretch. “Look at you,” she breathed, her hips pumping slow and deep. “My perfect girl. Taking Mommy so well. How do I taste?”
Natasha’s eyes, heavy-lidded and dark, rolled up to meet hers. Wanda eased back, letting her slip free with a slick pop. Natasha gasped for air, a string of saliva connecting her lower lip to Wanda’s glistening crown. Her voice was wrecked, raw with use and emotion.
“The men in the Red Room,” she panted, the words tumbling out, confession and praise intertwined. “They made me want to gag from taking them in my mouth. Just the smell…” She shook her head, nuzzling the inside of Wanda’s thigh, her breath hot. “But this is Mommy’s cock. The love of my life.” She looked up, her gaze blazing with a ferocious truth. “You’re so big. The biggest I’ve ever had. And I want to choke on it. I want to fucking drown in it.”
The raw honesty of it, the blasphemy against her past painted in devotion to their present, struck Wanda like a physical blow. Her heart hammered against her ribs. It wasn’t just acceptance; it was reverence.
“How much better I am,” Wanda stated, the question morphing into a dark, triumphant declaration. She wasn’t asking. She was owning the truth Natasha had just given her.
“Yes,” Natasha whispered, the word a vow. “Infinitely.”
Then she dove back down, hungry, desperate, as if she could consume the very essence of Wanda through this act. She took her deeper, her throat working, her hands clutching at Wanda’s hips now, pulling her in. The pace became frantic, a symphony of grunts and wet noises and the creak of the bed. Wanda’s control began to fray, her thrusts becoming sharper, less measured.
“Gonna come,” Wanda warned, her voice tight as a wire. “Gonna fill that pretty mouth.”
Natasha responded with a frantic, eager nod, her eyes slamming shut in anticipation. She took her, over and over, until Wanda’s world dissolved into a white-hot point of sensation. With a guttural cry that was part snarl, part sob, Wanda held Natasha’s head firmly in place and pumped her release deep into her throat.
Natasha swallowed convulsively, diligently, a low, continuous moan of pleasure vibrating against Wanda’s oversensitive flesh as she took every last pulse. When Wanda finally softened, spent and trembling, Natasha gently released her, cleaning her with slow, tender licks that were a world apart from the fervent worship of moments before.
She crawled up Wanda’s body, collapsing beside her, their breaths mingling in the heavy air. She kissed Wanda’s shoulder, her cheek, her lips, tasting herself on Natasha’s tongue.
“My Mommy,” Natasha murmured, the title now a intimate secret, a badge of honor.
Wanda wrapped her arms around her, the last of her fear dissolving in the aftershocks. The vulnerability was shared now, a weapon they’d forged together. She knew, with a certainty that settled in her bones, that this was only the beginning.