Chapter 6: The First fingers
The cool air of the boudoir kissed Natasha’s exposed skin as Wanda’s hands, sure and unhurried, tugged the crimson lace down her hips. Natasha lifted herself, a silent, willing offering, and the soaked fabric slid past her thighs, her knees, her ankles, to be discarded on the floor with a soft whisper. Her bra followed, a simple clasp undone by Wanda’s clever fingers, baring her breasts to the warm, jasmine-scented air. She felt utterly revealed, not just her body, but the trembling newness within it.
“Lie back,” Wanda instructed, her voice a low thrum that vibrated in Natasha’s core.
Natasha obeyed, sinking into the plush duvet. The velvet canopy above swirled in her blurring vision. Wanda’s hands guided her knees apart, widening her stance with a firm, gentle pressure that brooked no argument. Natasha felt the humid air touch her most intimate flesh, the proof of her own desire a slick, cooling presence between her legs. She was spread open, vulnerable, and for the first time, the vulnerability felt like power.
Wanda knelt between her thighs, her eyes dark pools of intent. “This,” she said, holding up her hand, her fingers gleaming in the candlelight, “is a new thing. I call it fingering.”
The word was crude, direct. It bypassed Natasha’s mind and went straight to her cunt, which clenched around nothing, a hungry, empty pulse.
Then Wanda touched her. Not around, not near. On her. Two fingertips pressed against her swollen slit, slicking through her own wetness, gathering it. Natasha’s back arched off the bed, a shocked gasp tearing from her throat. The touch was electric, purposeful. It wasn’t a preamble. It was a destination.
“Just watch,” Wanda murmured, her gaze locked on her own hand as she circled Natasha’s entrance, smearing the thick fluid. “Watch what your body can do.”
With a slow, relentless pressure, Wanda pushed one finger inside.
Natasha saw stars. Her vision whited out at the edges. The sensation was beyond anything—a filling, a claiming, a perfect friction against inner walls that had never known anything but violation or emptiness. This was neither. This was discovery. Wanda’s finger slid deep, knuckle-deep, into the hot, clutching silk of her.
“Oh, fuck,” Natasha choked out, her hands fisting in the sheets.
Wanda began to move. A slow, withdrawing slide, then a push back in. Then a second finger joined the first, stretching her, blooming a sensation so intense Natasha screamed. It was a raw, ragged sound that echoed off the ornate mirrors.
In and out. In and out.
The rhythm was hypnotic, devastating. Wanda’s fingers curled inside her, pressing up against a spot that made Natasha’s entire universe contract to a single, screaming point of blinding pleasure. Every nerve-ending fired. Her hips bucked, fucking herself on Wanda’s hand, chasing the pressure.
“There it is,” Wanda growled, her composure a stark contrast to Natasha’s writhing abandon. Her fingers pumped faster, harder, the wet, obscene sound of Natasha’s cunt filling the room. “That’s your spot. That’s where you come.”
And Natasha did.
It wasn’t the lightning from the kiss. This was deeper, a rolling quake that started in her belly and detonated outwards. Her cunt clamped down on Wanda’s fingers in rapid, fluttering pulses, gripping them, milking them. A gush of wet heat, more of that strange female come, soaked Wanda’s hand and the sheets beneath her. Natasha cried out, a string of broken, meaningless sounds, her body bowing off the mattress as the waves racked her.
But Wanda didn’t stop.
The fingers kept moving, a relentless, piston-like motion that dragged Natasha from the precipice and threw her right back over it. A second orgasm, sharper than the first, ripped through her before she could even catch her breath. Her toes curled. Her calves cramped. She was sobbing, tears streaming into her hairline, her mind shattered into brilliant, incoherent fragments.
She’s just…fingering my pussy. And I’m coming. Again.
The thought broke through the sensory storm. Wanda had just invented a whole new way to pleasure women during sex. The sheer, devastating simplicity of it. Putting your fingers in. Curling them. Finding that spot. Focusing entirely on the flesh you were inside of.
Why didn’t men think of that?
The answer came to her between panting breaths, each thrust of Wanda’s hand driving it home. Simple. They were too focused on their own pleasure. On getting their dicks wet, on their own release. Women were too oppressed, too disconnected from their own bodies, too conditioned to believe sex was something done to them, to ever demand it. Men had made sex so one-sided, so transactional, that the fundamental mechanics of a woman’s pleasure had been lost for centuries.
And Natasha kept coming. A third crest built, slower this time, a deep, throbbing tide drawn forth by the unflagging rhythm of Wanda’s skilled fingers. Her body was no longer her own. It was an instrument Wanda played with masterful, devastating precision. Each curl of her fingers, each press against that screaming inner wall, wrenched another pulse of ecstasy from Natasha’s core. Her cunt was a dripping, spent mess, but it clutched at Wanda’s fingers like a greedy mouth, begging for more.
Finally, Wanda stilled. Her fingers remained buried deep inside Natasha, a solid, claiming presence. Natasha lay utterly wrecked, trembling from head to toe, covered in a sheen of sweat and her own release. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, in her temples, between her legs.
Wanda leaned over her, her face flushed, a sheen of sweat on her own brow. Her eyes were blazing with triumph and a fierce, possessive tenderness. She slowly withdrew her glistening fingers, bringing them to her own lips. She sucked them clean, her tongue lapping up Natasha’s taste, her gaze never leaving Natasha’s.
“So wet for me,” Wanda breathed, her voice hoarse. She lowered her head, her breath hot on Natasha’s trembling inner thigh. “So fucking delicious.” She placed a soft, open-mouthed kiss on the sensitive skin.
Then she looked up, her lips a hair’s breadth from Natasha’s throbbing, over-sensitized flesh. Her eyes glinted with a new, dark promise.
“You want me to start using my tongue, my mouth, my lips?”