Chapter 4: Filthy Confessions
Wanda’s grip was iron, her own need a pounding second heartbeat between her legs. She watched, mesmerized, as Natasha’s fingers worked in and out of herself, glistening and obscene in the low light. The wet sounds were deafening. Natasha’s head was pulled back, her throat exposed, her eyes glazed with a surrender so complete it stole Wanda’s breath.
“Say it,” Wanda growled, her voice thick. She didn’t move, letting the torment of stillness do its work.
Natasha’s hips bucked against her own hand. “They… they used tools,” she gasped, her breath hitching. “Cold. Metal. For training. For punishment. Not… not for this.”
“For what?” Wanda pressed, her thumb stroking Natasha’s cheekbone.
“For feeling,” Natasha whimpered. Her fingers curled inside herself, and her back arched. “Only you… only you make me feel like I’m burning from the inside out.”
A sharp, possessive thrill shot through Wanda. She leaned down, her lips brushing the shell of Natasha’s ear. “Tell Mommy everything. Were they small? Were they weak?” She let the questions hang, venomous and sweet. “Were they small compared to Mommy’s cock?”
A shuddering sob escaped Natasha, but her eyes held Wanda’s, unwavering in their honesty. “Yes. God, yes. They were nothing. Thin little things they’d make us use on each other. Like knitting needles. Cold. It was just… procedure.” Her fingers plunged deeper, frantically now. “But you… you’re so thick. You stretch me open and I can feel every fucking vein. You’re alive. You’re hot. It’s like you’re branding me from the inside.”
The raw confession, filthy and reverent all at once, shattered the last of Wanda’s restraint. With a snarl that was all possessiveness, she released Natasha’s hair and grabbed her hips, flipping her onto her stomach with practiced ease. Natasha gasped into the sheets, her ass raised in immediate, perfect submission.
Wanda knelt behind her, her own length jutting out, heavy and flushed. She ran the slick head through Natasha’s soaked folds, coating herself, and Natasha cried out, pushing back desperately.
“Please,” Natasha begged, the word muffled by the mattress. “Mommy, please. I need it. I need you to fuck me so deep I forget my own name.”
“You have a name,” Wanda said, her voice dangerously low. She positioned herself, the broad head pressing insistently at Natasha’s entrance. “It’s mine.”
She didn’t tease. She didn’t slow. With one powerful, rolling thrust of her hips, she buried herself to the hilt.
The scream Natasha let out was pure, unadulterated relief. It echoed off the safehouse walls, a sound of homecoming and devastation. Wanda held there, seated fully inside the devastating, clenching heat, her own vision swimming. She bent over Natasha’s back, her teeth finding the juncture of neck and shoulder as she began to move.
Her thrusts were punishing, deep, and perfectly aimed. Each one dragged a broken sound from Natasha’s throat—a moan, a curse, a sob. Wanda fucked her with a single-minded intensity, her hands gripping Natasha’s waist hard enough to leave bruises, a claim she would see tomorrow in the mirror.
“Is this what you needed, my girl?” Wanda grunted, the pace relentless. “This fat cock splitting you open? Making a mess of you?”
“Yes! Fuck, yes!” Natasha chanted, her words dissolving into incoherent sounds as Wanda’s pace quickened, the slapping of skin against skin a rapid, frantic drumbeat. “Only yours… never… never anyone else…”
Wanda felt the tight coil in her own belly winding beyond bearing. Natasha’s internal muscles were fluttering around her, a frantic, rhythmic pulse. She slid a hand around, her fingers finding Natasha’s clit, swollen and throbbing. She circled it once, twice, with brutal efficiency.
Natasha shattered. Her body seized, a silent scream locked in her throat before it broke into a raw, ragged cry. Her cunt clamped down on Wanda in vise-like pulses, milking her, pulling her over the edge.
Wanda followed, her own climax roaring up her spine like a shockwave. She drove in one last, searing time, grinding deep as she emptied herself inside Natasha with a guttural shout, her body collapsing forward in a sweaty, trembling heap.
For a long time, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing syncing slowly in the dark room. Wanda, still inside her, softened gradually. She pressed a kiss to the sweat-damp skin between Natasha’s shoulder blades, the taste of salt and her lingering.
Slowly, carefully, she pulled out. Natasha flinched, a full-body shiver, and rolled onto her back. Her eyes were wrecked, her mascara smudged, but she reached for Wanda immediately, pulling her down into a kiss that was more breath than anything else.
Wanda settled beside her, gathering her close. The fear, her secret, lay between them like a dormant beast. It hadn’t mattered tonight. Tonight, she was just Wanda, and she had given Natasha everything.
Natasha nuzzled into her neck, her voice hoarse. “Stay.”
“Always,” Wanda whispered into her hair, the lie tasting like ash and honey on her tongue. She held her tighter, listening to Natasha’s breathing even out into sleep, the weight of what she was hiding a cold stone in her chest where moments before there had been only fire.