Chapter 25: TheAmazon
The steam from the shower still clung to their skin as Wanda guided Natasha down onto the plush, burgundy rug in the center of the shower room. The marble was cool beneath the fabric, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from their bodies. Water dripped from Wanda’s scarlet-tipped hair onto Natasha’s chest as she positioned herself.
“Up,” Wanda commanded, her voice a low thrum of power, and she hooked her hands under Natasha’s knees, lifting her legs and spreading them wide. She settled between them, lowering her own body until she was crouched over Natasha, not quite touching. “You hold yourself open for me, my love spider. Show me how much you want this.”
Natasha’s breath hitched, her hands moving to grip behind her own knees, pulling her legs back further, exposing herself completely. The vulnerability was terrifying, and thrilling. Wanda’s eyes, glowing with a faint crimson light, drank in the sight.
“Good girl,” Wanda purred. Then she sank down.
It wasn’t a gentle descent. It was a claiming. Wanda lowered her hips, aligning her soaked, swollen pussy directly over Natasha’s. The first contact was electric, a slick, hot slide that made them both cry out. Wanda braced her hands on the rug on either side of Natasha’s head, her body forming a canopy above her.
“This is us,” Wanda growled, beginning to move. It was a slow, deep grind, a circular rotation of her hips that mashed their clits together through the slippery folds. “This is where we were always meant to be.”
Natasha could only gasp, her head falling back, eyes squeezing shut. The pressure was immense, perfect, a friction that burned straight through her core. Wanda set a relentless, rhythmic pace, each grind deliberate and deep.
“Fuck, Wanda… oh, god…”
“Look at me,” Wanda demanded. Natasha’s eyes fluttered open, meeting that intense gaze. Wanda’s face was flushed, her lips parted, every muscle in her arms and abdomen taut with strain and control. “You feel this? You feel how we fit? Like a fucking lock and key.”
She increased the pace, her hips pistoning now, a faster, harder grind that forced choked, ragged moans from Natasha’s throat. The sound of their wet skin slapping together echoed off the marble tiles, a filthy, beautiful rhythm.
“I’ve had… a thousand clients,” Natasha gasped, the words torn from her, her hips rising to meet every grind. “A thousand men… fucking me, using me… I faked every… every goddamn sound.”
Wanda’s movements became punishing, a furious, focused tribbing that had Natasha seeing stars. “And now?” Wanda bit out, sweat mixing with shower water on her brow.
“Now I can’t… I can’t fucking stop!” Natasha screamed, her body bowing off the rug. The coil in her belly was winding to a breaking point. “It’s you… it’s only you! They made me feel nothing! Cold, dead nothing! But you… fuck, Wanda, you burn me alive!”
A sob ripped through her, part pleasure, part catharsis. “I’m happy,” she babbled, the confession raw and unfiltered. “I’m so fucking happy their cocks go soft. I’m glad they can’t get hard anymore! I never want to see another one, never want to feel that… that emptiness again! This… you… this is real!”
Wanda’s control snapped. With a guttural roar, she drove down onto Natasha, grinding her clit against Natasha’s with a furious, final intensity. “Come for me, Natasha! Come on this pussy that was made for you!”
The command, the raw obscenity of it, shattered Natasha completely. Her orgasm exploded through her, a silent scream on her lips as her body convulsed, clamping wildly around nothing, her juices slicking Wanda’s relentless grind. The waves were endless, brutal in their intensity, pulling her under.
Feeling Natasha’s climax, Wanda followed. She stiffened above her, her own cry echoing through the room as she rode out her pleasure against Natasha’s trembling body, their shared heat a molten seal between them.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their heaving breaths and the distant drip of the shower. Wanda, ever the caretaker even in her dominance, softened her collapse, coming down to rest her weight on her elbows, their faces inches apart.
She kissed Natasha, deeply, slowly, tasting salt and steam. “That,” Wanda whispered against her lips, her magic, a warm, scarlet glow, gently soothing the bite mark on Natasha’s shoulder from before, “is the truth they tried to make you forget.”
Natasha, spent and trembling, wrapped her arms around Wanda’s neck, holding on as if to the only solid thing in the world. In the opulent silence of the brothel, for the first time, she felt truly, utterly claimed. And she wanted nothing else.