Chapter 2: Waking to Her Tongue
The morning sun painted warm stripes across the rumpled sheets. Natasha stirred, a soft gasp escaping her as she felt Wanda’s mouth already between her thighs, her tongue tracing lazy, devastating circles. Her back arched, fingers plunging into Wanda’s dark hair, and she let the slow, worshipful rhythm pull a trembling climax from her sleep-soft body. They lay tangled afterwards, whispering about nothing, until Wanda kissed her shoulder and murmured, “We should ask her for seven.”
The knock on their door that afternoon was hesitant, a faint tap-tap-tap. You clutched your forgotten lotion bottle like a talisman, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. “Come in,” Wanda’s voice floated, smooth and unsurprised. You pushed the door open to find them curled on the sofa, Natasha tucked under Wanda’s arm, both looking impossibly comfortable and domestic. “I, um. Came to apologize. For last night,” you managed, the words tripping over themselves. “It was… I didn’t mean to…”
Natasha’s laugh was a soft, musical thing. “You think that’s the first time someone’s walked in on us?” She stretched, the hem of her tank top riding up. “Consider it a free show.”
“A preview, perhaps,” Wanda added, her green eyes holding yours with an unnerving focus. “We were just about to pick a film. Join us?”
Your mouth went dry. This was a terrible, wonderful idea. “Sure. Yeah. Okay.”
The large sectional in the media room swallowed you, putting a polite cushion of space between you and them. You chose some sprawling sci-fi epic, all roaring ships and laser fire. For a while, it was just movie sounds. Then Natasha shifted, tucking her feet underneath her and leaning more heavily into Wanda’s side. Wanda’s arm slid from the back of the couch to circle Natasha’s shoulders, her fingers casually stroking the exposed skin of Natasha’s upper arm.
You focused on a spaceship exploding. It wasn’t enough.
A soft, almost imperceptible sigh came from Natasha. You glanced over. Wanda’s hand had drifted lower, her fingertips tracing idle patterns along Natasha’s ribcage, just under the edge of her shirt. Natasha’s eyes were on the screen, but her lips were slightly parted. You swallowed, your own skin prickling with awareness. This was the plan, you realized. This exact, slow, torturous unraveling.
“This part is boring,” Natasha murmured, her voice a low hum. She turned her face into Wanda’s neck, nuzzling there. Wanda’s answering smile was small and private. Her wandering hand slid fully under Natasha’s top, palm flat against her stomach. Natasha inhaled sharply, a tiny, deliberate sound that carried over the movie’s din.
Your fingers clenched in the fabric of your sweatpants. You should leave. You absolutely should get up and mutter an excuse and flee. You didn’t move.
Wanda’s hand moved upwards, cupping Natasha’s breast through her lace bra. Natasha’s eyes finally flicked to you, a flash of green in the dim light, holding your gaze as Wanda’s thumb circled a hardening peak. A shiver ran through Natasha, so slight you might have imagined it, but you didn’t. You saw it. She wanted you to see it.
“Comfortable?” Wanda asked you, her voice a low purr that vibrated through the space between you. Her attention was on Natasha, on the responsive flesh under her hand, but the question was yours.
“Yeah,” you breathed, the word barely audible. It was a lie. You were electrified, every nerve ending screaming.
Emboldened, Wanda dipped her head, capturing Natasha’s mouth in a deep, unhurried kiss. It wasn’t frantic, it was proprietorial. Natasha melted into it, a soft whine escaping into Wanda’s mouth. The shift was subtle, but Natasha was now half in Wanda’s lap, one leg curled on the couch, turning her body towards her. The blanket that had been over them pooled at their waist. Wanda’s other hand, the one not currently busy under Natasha’s shirt, slid to Natasha’s thigh, squeezing the firm muscle there before traveling inward, towards the seam of her loose cotton shorts.
Natasha broke the kiss, breathing ragged, and let her head fall back against the cushion. Her eyes found yours again, heavy-lidded and dark. There was no smirk now, just raw, open want. An invitation. A challenge.
Wanda’s fingers slipped beneath the waistband of Natasha’s shorts. You heard the faint, damp sound of contact, and your own body throbbed in helpless sympathy. Natasha’s breath hitched, her hips lifting just a fraction to meet Wanda’s touch. “She’s still watching,” Wanda whispered against Natasha’s throat, her words meant for you as much as for her.
“I know,” Natasha gasped, her stare locking with yours, unwavering. “Don’t stop.”
You were pinned, not by hands, but by that gaze. The world narrowed to the rhythmic motion of Wanda’s hidden hand, to the flush spreading across Natasha’s chest, to the sharp, sweet scent of arousal beginning to cut through the stale popcorn air. You were a spectator, a participant, an accomplice. This was the live show she’d whispered about, and you had a front-row seat.
Your own pulse hammered in your ears, drowning out the movie’s climax. This was the point of no return. Getting up now would be a rejection, a denial of the shared tension thrumming in the room. Staying was consent. You leaned back into the cushions, your body language softening, yielding. You didn’t look away. Natasha’s lips curved into a slow, triumphant smile just as her eyes fluttered shut, and a low, ragged moan tore from her chest, the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. Wanda watched her face, then turned her luminous, knowing eyes on you.
“Your turn to choose,” Wanda said, her voice rough but composed, her hand still moving slowly beneath the fabric. “Do we pause the movie?”
The words hung in the air, a soft challenge.Your mouth was dry, but your blood was roaring. You looked at Natasha, still trembling from Wanda’s touch, her eyes holding a question you’d seen in your own dreams.You looked at Wanda, whose patient control was an open door.
“No,” you heard yourself say, your voice steadier than you felt. “Don’t pause it.”
You moved then, crossing the infinite space between the cushions. The fabric of your sweatpants brushed against Natasha’s bare leg as you settled beside her, close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin. Wanda watched, a satisfied curve to her mouth, her hand still resting possessively on Natasha’s thigh.The movie’s forgotten light played across our faces.
“Hi,” Natasha whispered, her smile shaky and real.“Hi,” you whispered back.
Your hand lifted, hovering for a heartbeat near her cheek. You saw her lean into the space before you even touched her, a subtle surrender. Your fingertips brushed her jaw, tracing the line down to her pulse point, which fluttered against your skin.She let out a soft sigh, her eyes closing.
Wanda’s free hand reached across Natasha, taking your other wrist.Her touch was warm, deliberate. She guided your hand to the back of Natasha’s neck, letting your fingers thread through the soft red hair at her nape. “She likes to be held there,” Wanda murmured, instruction laced with intimacy.You complied, applying gentle pressure. Natasha’s head tipped back, a low groan escaping her. It was intoxicating, this power granted to you, filtered through Wanda’s command.You were following her lead, joining her rhythm.
“Can you feel how wet she is?” Wanda asked, her voice a low rumble near Natasha’s ear. She wasn’t asking Natasha.
You swallowed, your gaze dropping to where Wanda’s hand still vanished beneath Natasha’s shorts. “I can imagine.”
“Don’t imagine,” Wanda said, and her green eyes held yours. “Check.”
The directive was clear, a permission slip wrapped in an order.Your heart hammered against your ribs. Natasha’s eyes opened, watching you, her breath coming in shallow pants. With Wanda’s hand still guiding yours at Natasha’s neck, you let your free hand travel down. Your knuckles brushed the soft cotton of her shorts, then dipped beneath the elastic waistband.The heat hit you first. Then the damp silk of her underwear, soaked through. Natasha jerked at the first contact of your fingers over the fabric, a sharp inhale cutting through her.You pressed your palm firmly against her, feeling the contours of her through the wet lace. She was throbbing.“See?” Wanda said, her voice thick with pride.
You did see.You felt.You shifted your hand, slipping beneath the final barrier of her underwear. The sensation was electric—hot, slick skin meeting your touch. Natasha cried out, her hips rocking up into your hand. You let your fingers slide through her folds, a slow, exploratory stroke that left you breathless.“Y/N,” Natasha gasped, your name a prayer on her lips. It undid you.You leaned in, finally closing the last distance between your mouth and hers. Her lips were soft and insistent, tasting of mint and Wanda and want. You kissed her deeply, your hand moving in time with the thrust of your tongue, learning her rhythm. Wanda watched, her hand now stroking Natasha’s side, a maestro observing her orchestra fall into harmony.
After a moment, Wanda’s lips found the slope of your shoulder. “Good,” she whispered against your skin, the praise searing.“Now, make her come.Just with your fingers. I want to watch.”
You broke the kiss, looking at Natasha’s dazed expression. You nodded, not to Wanda, but to Natasha, a silent promise. You focused on the feel of her, the evidence of her pleasure coating your fingers. You found a slow, relentless pressure that made her whimper, your thumb circling the aching peak above your delving strokes.
Natasha’s world narrowed to your hand, your gaze, Wanda’s presence at her back. Her pleas became a broken litany against your cheek. You felt the tight coil within her, winding and winding, your own body echoing the tension.
“Let go,” you whispered into her ear, your voice a stranger’s—low, confident, sure.“We’re here. I’ve got you.”
It was the “we” that did it. Her climax ripped through her, a silent, breathtaking seizure for a second before the sound followed, a raw, sharp cry that she buried in your neck. You held her through it, your fingers steady, until she collapsed boneless against you, shivering.
In the aftershock, Wanda’s lips found yours over Natasha’s shoulder. This kiss was different—claiming, deep, a transfer of power.You tasted Natasha on Wanda’s mouth. When she pulled back, she was smiling, her eyes bright.
When she pulled back, she was smiling, her eyes bright. “My turn,” Wanda murmured, the words vibrating with intent. Her gaze held yours as her hands went to the hem of her own shirt. Natasha, still breathing heavily against you, watched with dark, hungry eyes. You understood the silent cue.
Your fingers, still slick from Natasha, found the bottom of Natasha’s soft tank top. You lifted it, and she raised her arms in a slow, graceful arc, letting you pull it over her head and toss it aside. The lace of her bra followed, your hands fumbling only slightly with the clasp before it gave way. Natasha shivered, not from cold, as the air hit her skin.
Beside you, Wanda stood. She peeled off her own shirt, her movements economical and sure. Her hands went to the button of her jeans, popping it open, the zipper’s sound loud in the quiet room. She pushed them down her hips, letting them pool at her feet, and stepped free. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
Her cock sprung free, already half-hard, and she wrapped her fingers around it with a soft, familiar sigh. She gave herself a few gentle strokes, watching you watch her. “Your clothes are in the way,” Natasha whispered, her own hands coming up to the waistband of your sweatpants.
You helped her, lifting your hips as she tugged them down, along with your underwear. The cool air was a shock, then a thrill. Natasha’s palms smoothed over your thighs, a claiming touch. “Come here,” she said, pulling you down for another kiss, deep and languid. You went willingly, your body aligning with hers on the wide couch.
You guided her to lay back on the cushions, your mouth never leaving hers. The world narrowed to the taste of her, the soft sounds she made, the feel of her bare skin under your hands. Then you felt it—the blunt, warm pressure of Wanda pressing herself against your entrance from behind.
You gasped into Natasha’s mouth. Wanda’s hands settled on your hips, steadying, holding. “Easy,” Wanda whispered, her breath hot on your shoulder. She pushed forward, a slow, inexorable invasion that stretched you, filled you, stole the air from your lungs. You moaned, the sound swallowed by Natasha’s kiss.
Wanda began to move, a deep, rolling rhythm that was nothing like the frantic pace from the night before. This was a claiming, a communion. Each slow stroke dragged a new sound from your throat. You kissed Natasha with desperate intensity, your hands framing her face, your hips rocking back against Wanda’s deep drives.
You broke from Natasha’s lips, panting, and dragged your mouth down the elegant line of her throat. You sucked at the pulse point there, nipping and laving until a dark bloom formed under her skin—a mark. Natasha whimpered, her back arching, offering herself more to your mouth.
The building tension in your core demanded a shift. You moved up, your body sliding against Natasha’s, until you straddled her head. She understood instantly. Her hands came up to grasp your thighs, and she pulled you down onto her waiting mouth without hesitation.
The first flat stroke of her tongue made you cry out. Wanda’s rhythm faltered for a second, a choked groan escaping her as she watched. Then she leaned forward, spreading Natasha’s legs beneath you, and guided herself back into Natasha’s soaking heat with one slow, deep push.
Natasha moaned against you, the vibration traveling straight to your core. The sensation was overwhelming—the dual pleasure of Natasha’s devouring mouth and the sight of Wanda moving beneath you, her strong hands gripping Natasha’s hips, her own eyes locked on yours as she set a deep, punishing pace. You were the connection, the conduit, strung taut between them, feeling every shudder and sigh that passed through all three bodies.
The pleasure was a live circuit, arcing from Natasha’s mouth to Wanda’s relentless thrusts beneath you, and your own body was the trembling wire that carried it all. Your thighs shook where Natasha held them, her tongue a sure, wet rhythm that was pulling a desperate, keening sound from your throat with every pass. Wanda’s gaze was iron on yours, her hips pistoning, and you watched a bead of sweat trail from her temple down the elegant column of her neck.
“That’s it,” Wanda grunted, her voice strained with the effort of her pace. “Let her taste you.”
The command, or perhaps the sheer obscene reality of it, snapped the last thread of your control. Your back bowed, a silent scream tearing through you as the climax detonated, flooding Natasha’s mouth. She drank you down, her throat working, a low, satisfied hum vibrating against your sensitive flesh. The sensation prolonged the waves, wracking you until you collapsed forward, bracing your hands on the couch cushions above Natasha’s shoulders.
You were barely coherent, but you felt the exact moment Wanda’s rhythm shattered into something brutal and final. Her moan was raw, her fingers digging bruises into Natasha’s hips as she hammered home, pitching Natasha over the edge right after you. Natasha’s cry was muffled against your skin, her whole body seizing in a second, violent orgasm that clenched around Wanda.
For a heartbeat, there was only the sound of ragged breathing and the tinny soundtrack of the forgotten movie. Wanda pulled out slowly, her hands moving to stroke herself, glistening and spent. You watched her fingers move, her head thrown back, chasing the very last echoes of sensation.
Instinct, sharp and sudden, flared in your spent muscles. You reached out and caught Wanda’s wrist, stopping her. Her green eyes flew open, surprised, questioning.
“No,” you said, and your voice was a rough, unfamiliar thing that belonged to this new space between you. You looked down at Natasha, who was watching through heavy-lidded eyes, her lips still swollen. “Your turn. Slowly.”
You released Wanda’s wrist. A slow, wicked smile spread across Natasha’s face. She understood the assignment. With a fluid grace that belied her trembling limbs, she pushed you gently aside and got onto her hands and knees, presenting herself, the perfect arc of her back and ass on display. She turned her head, nuzzling first at the inside of Wanda’s thigh, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses there.
“Tease,” Wanda breathed, her hands lifting instinctively to fist in Natasha’s red hair.
“Ah-ah,” you interjected, your tone leaving no room for debate. “Hands on your hips.”
Wanda groaned, a sound of deep frustration mixed with molten pleasure, but she obeyed. She moved her hands to grip her own hips, her knuckles white. Natasha continued her worship, kissing lower, tracing the tight swell of Wanda’s balls with the tip of her tongue before finally, torturously, taking just the slick head into her mouth.
“Oh, fuck,” Wanda gasped, her hips twitching forward.
“Slow,” you reminded them both, your own heart pounding at the authority in your voice. You moved behind Natasha, your hands skimming the sweat-slick planes of her back. “Don’t let her come, Nat. Make her beg for it.”
Natasha nodded, a tiny, eager motion, and sucked with deliberate, languid pressure. Wanda shuddered, her thrusts becoming shallow, involuntary pulses. “God, Nat…”
You lowered your mouth to Natasha then, from behind. The first broad, flat stroke of your tongue made her jerk and moan loudly around Wanda. You’d learned her geography only minutes before, but now you mapped it with ruthless, devoted precision. You were good at this. The realization was a quiet shock in some distant part of your mind, buried under the immediate feedback of Natasha’s trembling and her choked, delighted sounds.
You brought her to another climax like that, with careful, unrelenting strokes, while she worked Wanda with that same infuriating, slow pace. Natasha’s third orgasm was a sobbing, full-bodied shudder that you drank from her, your hands holding her hips steady.
As she trembled through the aftershocks, you shifted. You moved to kneel beside them, your face level with Wanda. You looked up, meeting her wild, desperate eyes, and then leaned in, placing a soft, chaste kiss on the sweat-damp side of her straining cock.
That was the breach in her control. A guttural sound ripped from Wanda’s chest. Her hands flew out, one tangling fiercely in your hair, the other in Natasha’s, reclaiming her hold. The dynamic shifted, realigned in an instant. You weren’t in charge anymore.
“Enough,” Wanda growled, the word thick with need.
She guided you both, her grip firm. Natasha took her back deep, and you opened your mouth alongside, your tongue swirling over the head, tracing veins, tasting salt and skin and them. Wanda watched, her breathing coming in ragged gasps, her eyes burning as she watched your mouths devour her. Her thrusts into Natasha’s mouth became deeper, more erratic, her hand in your hair directing your attention lower, to the tight heat of her balls.
The low, continuous moan building in Wanda’s throat broke into a sharp cry. Her hips stuttered, and she came with a force that made her thighs tremble, her release pulsing into Natasha’s waiting mouth while you licked and kissed her through the very last of it.
Silence fell, dense and complete, broken only by the struggle for air. Wanda’s hands slowly loosened their death-grip in your hair, her fingers instead carding through it in a shaky, tender apology. She sank back onto the couch, pulling Natasha with her, who curled immediately into her side, spent and smiling. You stayed where you were for a moment, on your knees, the taste of them both vivid on your tongue, the reality of what just happened crashing into you like a delayed wave.
“Okay,” Wanda finally said, her voice hoarse and wonderfully wrecked. She reached out a hand, her fingers brushing your cheek. “So that happened.”
A breathless laugh escaped you, part relief, part disbelief. You took her hand, letting her pull you up onto the couch to collapse into the space on Natasha’s other side. The three of you fit together in a tangle of limbs on the ravaged cushions.
“The movie’s over,” Natasha mumbled into Wanda’s shoulder, not opening her eyes.
“No kidding,” you said, your own voice raw.
Wanda chuckled, a low, warm sound that vibrated through all of you. “Best third act I’ve ever seen.” She turned her head, her lips finding your forehead. “You’re full of surprises, support staff.”
You closed your eyes, the comfort of their warmth, the weight of Natasha’s leg thrown over yours, the unfamiliar peace settling in your bones. “You have no idea,” you murmured. Outside, the compound was quiet. The world had not ended. Something else, something far more terrifying and beautiful, had just begun.