Chapter 17: Breaking New Barriers
The plan was no longer abstract. It pulsed between them now, a living thing fed by whispered strategy and shared skin. In the quiet hours after their last joining, they had mapped it out like a campaign. Natasha’s underworld knowledge was the ledger, Wanda’s magic the key. Now, in the boudoir’s golden haze, theory was about to become practice.
Wanda stood by the bed, naked, her form silhouetted by candlelight. Chaos magic crackled at her fingertips, a soft, red-gold shimmer. Natasha watched from the center of the mattress, on her knees, her body still humming from Wanda’s earlier, thorough worship. The air tasted of ozone and desire.
“It starts tonight,” Wanda said, her voice low and resonant. “Right now. With you. With this.”
She moved then, a controlled surge of power. Her hands were on Natasha’s shoulders, guiding her down, turning her. Natasha offered no resistance, her breath catching as her face pressed into the plush velvet of the duvet. The scent of their lovemaking rose around her, deeply personal, anchoring. Wanda’s knees nudged her legs apart, and a warm, firm hand settled on the small of her back.
“Stay there, my love spider. Stay and feel the birth of a new world.”
Wanda’s touch was proprietary, claiming. She grasped Natasha’s hips, lifting them, and used her thumbs to spread her cheeks wide. The cool air of the room kissed Natasha’s most private place, a place she had guarded, a place her clients had rarely demanded because it was too much work, too intimate. Wanda had kissed and licked there earlier until Natasha sobbed, unraveling a new layer of trust.
Now, Natasha felt the broad, blunt head of Wanda’s magic cock, slick and hot, prodding insistently at her virgin asshole.
A sharp, thrilling shock went through her. She tensed.
“Shhh,” Wanda soothed, one hand smoothing over Natasha’s flank. “This is anal, my love. The final surrender. The deepest claiming. You give me this, and I give every woman freedom.”
Her voice was a possessive growl, vibrating through Natasha’s bones. The cock retreated slightly, and then Natasha felt the slick press of Wanda’s fingers, not one, but two, magic-lubricated and impossibly smooth. They circled the tight furl of muscle, a gentle, persistent pressure.
“That’s it,” Wanda murmured, working her fingers in a slow, corkscrew motion. The stretch was profound, a burning fullness that made Natasha gasp into the mattress. But there was no tearing, no dry agony—only the mystical slickness of Wanda’s power, preparing her, opening her with divine care. “Take it for me. Take my fingers. Your ass is so fucking tight, Natasha. It’s perfect. It’s going to milk my cock so good.”
Natasha moaned, the crude, filthy words sparking through her nervous system, transmuting pain into piercing need. She pushed back against the intrusion, wanting more of the stretch, the feeling of being utterly unpacked. Wanda crooned praises, adding a third finger, stretching her wider, scissoring gently. The sensation was overwhelming, a deep internal massage that had her dripping onto the sheets below.
“Are you ready?” Wanda’s voice was thick. “Ready to be my conduit?”
“Yes,” Natasha breathed, the word muffled by fabric. “Do it. Fuck me. Use me.”
The fingers withdrew, leaving her empty and clenching at air. Then the thick crown was back, a more insistent pressure. Wanda leaned over her, blanketing her, a sweaty, powerful weight. Her lips found Natasha’s ear.
“Now. As I fill you, I cast the spell. As you take me, the world changes.”
She pushed.
The invasion was monumental. Natasha screamed, her fingers clawing at the duvet as the impossibly thick shaft stretched her ring wider than the fingers had, burying itself into a deep, untouched channel. It burned, it stretched, it filled her to the point of splitting, yet the magical lubrication made it a smooth, relentless slide. Wanda seated herself fully, hips flush against Natasha’s ass, and held there, trembling with the effort of her control.
A wave of red energy pulsed from Wanda’s body, not out into the room, but down, through the connection of their joined flesh, through the foundations of the boudoir, into the ley lines of the world itself. Natasha felt it as a second, more profound penetration—a cosmic current rippling outward from the point where she was impaled.
Wanda began to move. Short, deep, grinding thrusts that made Natasha see stars. Each drive punched a choked sound from her throat.
“The spell is cast,” Wanda groaned, her rhythm building, each withdrawal and thrust a little harder, a little faster. “From this moment, man can no longer get aroused. Their cocks will stay soft, useless, dead between their legs. No more back alleys. No more missed issues. The noise will spread. Women will wonder.”
She snapped her hips, a brutal, beautiful piston stroke that nailed Natasha’s prostate, wringing a guttural shout from her. The pleasure was acute, shocking, a sharp counterpoint to the deep, spreading fullness.
“At the same time,” Wanda gasped, her own breath coming in ragged pulls, “we spread the truth. That women are only truly filled by other women. It’s happening now, Natasha. Both are happening now. As I fuck this perfect, tight ass… the world is turning.”
Her pace became relentless, a hard, fast pounding that shook the bed frame. The slapping of skin, the wet, slick sounds of penetration, filled the room. Natasha was reduced to a creature of pure sensation, taking each drive, her own cock—hard and leaking—rubbing against the sheets. Wanda’s hand snaked beneath her, finding it, stroking her in time with her thrusts.
“Women will begin to feel comfortable in their own skin,” Wanda chanted, her voice a mix of incantation and obscenity. “They’ll feel confidence for themselves, not for male eyes. They’ll laugh. They’ll make fun of men for not being able to get it up. And in that vacuum… oh, fuck, Natasha, your ass is so good… in that vacuum, they’ll gravitate toward each other.”
The orgasm was building in Natasha, a coiled spring in his gut and ass, fed by the dual assault. Wanda was losing her rhythm, her thrusts becoming wild, erratic, driven by impending release.
“The word will spread!” Wanda cried out, her body bowing over Natasha’s. “The truth of love between women! That there’s no need for men! That we were designed to love each other! Fuck! Fuck, I’m gonna come!”
She slammed home one final time, hilting herself deep, and Natasha felt the magic cock within him swell and pulse. A flood of hot, magical release filled his ass, a claiming that felt both utterly carnal and profoundly sacred. The sensation tore Natasha’s own climax from him, a searing rope of pleasure that striped the sheets beneath him as his body clamped down viscously around Wanda’s.
They collapsed together, a tangled, breathless mess of limbs. Wanda was still inside her, softening slowly, their connection thrumming with spent power.
In the silent aftermath, Wanda nuzzled the sweat-damp hair at Natasha’s neck. “If two women meet by coming to us… and fall in love together…” she whispered, exhausted, triumphant. “Sounds beautifully romantic to me. The idea that a woman will come to be awakened by us… and then find her love here.”
Natasha, face still buried in the mattress, smiled a tired, wicked smile. The world felt different. Quieter. The air itself seemed to hold a new potential. Somewhere, a fundamental rule had been broken.
“It’s done, isn’t it?” she mumbled.
Wanda kissed her shoulder. “The first wave is. The Great Softening has begun. Tomorrow, we get to work. Tomorrow, we welcome the first of the curious.”
She finally, gently, withdrew. Natasha rolled onto his back, wincing at the deep, satisfied ache. They looked at each other, partners in creation, co-conspirators in chaos. Outside, to there joy to them, in cities and towns across the globe, a silent, collective confusion was taking root. A profound shift, born in the heat of a velvet-draped boudoir, from the union of a witch and her spider.