Chapter 16: Wanda throbbing lesson
Wanda held her mother’s gaze for a long moment, feeling the tremor in Sofia’s hands, seeing the decades of barren desperation in her eyes. She gave Sofia’s fingers a final, reassuring squeeze, then stood. The shift from kneeling supplicant to towering guide was seamless.
“We’re not done,” Wanda said, her voice reclaiming its educational tone, though it was roughened by what had just transpired. She looked at Natasha, who was still curled against Juvia, breathing slowly back into her body. “Natasha, can you give me more?”
Natasha lifted her head. Her green eyes were glazed but fiercely bright. “For you? Always.” Her voice was wrecked, a hoarse scrape.
“Good girl.” Wanda offered a hand, pulling Natasha upright. She positioned her in the center of the bed, on her back, legs spread. Natasha’s cunt was a swollen, used spectacle, glistening and raw. Wanda then looked at Juvia. “Support her. Let her see them watching.”
Juvia moved behind Natasha, sitting and pulling Natasha’s head and shoulders into her lap. Her fingers began to card gently through Natasha’s dark hair.
Wanda turned to the foot of the bed where Sofia still knelt, with Melina and Olivia flanking her like stunned scribes. “You’ve seen receiving,” Wanda said. “You’ve seen taking.” She climbed onto the bed, straddling Natasha’s thighs but keeping her weight off her. “Now I’ll show you sharing. A confluence. Where pleasure isn’t given or received, but… merged.”
She lifted her hips, positioning herself carefully. Then, with a deliberate, slow roll of her pelvis, she lowered herself, pressing her own wet folds against Natasha’s.
Sofia choked.
It was an image of impossible intimacy. The meeting of two women, slick and open, slotting together in a way that seemed to defy anatomy. Wanda let out a sharp sigh as the contact sent a jolt through her, her own need evident in the flutter of her abdomen.
“We call it tribbing,” Wanda said, her voice tightening as she began to move, a gentle, grinding circle. “Some call it scissoring. It’s just… friction. Heat. Building a fire right where we join.”
She increased the pressure, lifting slightly and adjusting the angle. The moist sound of their sex meeting, slide after slide, filled the room. It was softer than the previous fucking, a wet, rhythmic susurrus.
“Oh, god,” Natasha breathed, her hands coming up to grip Wanda’s hips. Her back arched, pushing her cunt harder against Wanda’s.
Wanda found a rhythm, a rocking, grinding motion that made the muscles in her thighs stand out. Her eyes never left her mother’s. “This is why men were an accident,” she panted, each word pushed out with the effort of her movement. “They’re… detached. Separate. This… this is a circuit. Closing a loop.”
The scent in the room intensified, musk and lavender tangling. Wanda’s red hair stuck to her neck and shoulders. Sweat beaded on her collarbone. She was working now, fucking Natasha with the firm, rolling pressure of her entire pelvis, seeking the perfect alignment.
“Harder, Mommy,” Natasha whimpered, her head tossing in Juvia’s lap. “Please.”
Wanda complied, her movements becoming more urgent, less pedagogical, more feral. The wet sounds grew louder, more possessive. She shifted again, hooking her elbows under Natasha’s knees, leveraging herself to grind down with more force.
“See how she… fucks me back?” Wanda grunted, her composure fracturing. Natasha was indeed meeting every thrust with a lift of her own hips, a desperate, counter-rhythm that made their joined sex slap together audibly. “That’s… the fucking… difference. She’s not a hole. She’s an… echo.”
Wanda’s climax approached not as a storm, but as a rising tide, building from the constant, delicious friction. Her teaching ceased. Words evaporated into gasps and curses. “Fuck… Natasha… right there… don’t stop…”
“I can feel you,” Natasha cried out, her voice shattered and ecstatic. “I can feel you getting harder inside… your clit… oh fuck, fuck…”
Their moans merged, a discordant, beautiful duet. Wanda’s grinding became jagged, losing rhythm, driven by pure sensation. She was everywhere, muscles coiled, her world reduced to the blazing-hot synapse where their bodies met.
“Come with me,” Wanda demanded, a raw, desperate order.
Natasha screamed first, a high, thin sound as her body went rigid, her cunt pulsing against Wanda’s, gushing fresh heat between them. The feeling of Natasha soaking her, spasming against her, tore Wanda’s own orgasm from her guts.
“GODDAMN!” Wanda roared, her body seizing as she ground down in one final, crushing circle. Pleasure shattered through her, white-hot and convulsive, milking itself against Natasha’s simultaneous tremors. It seemed to go on forever, a feedback loop of sensation, each woman’s climax fueling the other’s.
It subsided into shuddering, messy collapse. Wanda slumped forward, catching herself on her hands above Natasha, their breasts brushing, sweat mixing. They were both panting, joined still, trembling with the last aftershocks.
For a full minute, the only sounds were their ragged breaths and the drip of cooling fluid onto the sheets below.
Wanda, with immense effort, pushed herself up and off. The separation was visceral, both of them gasping at the loss of contact. They were both a ruin of glistening flesh.
Wanda turned, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed, facing the three silent women. She was utterly spent, magnificently defiled. Her gaze, however, was clear.
“That,” she said, her voice utterly wrecked, “was sharing a truth. No one on this planet, in all of fucking history, has ever known that truth but us. Until now. You’ve seen it.”
Sofia was crying again, silent tears streaming down her face. But her hand was between her own legs, pressed hard against the fabric of her pants, a confession of need she couldn’t articulate.
Melina looked pale, her scientific mind evidently, finally, broken by the data. “The… reciprocity… the sustained neurological feedback…”
Olivia just shook her head, over and over, as if trying to dislodge the image burned onto her retinas.
Juvia kissed Natasha’s forehead and gently extricated herself. She came to Wanda’s side, offering a glass of water from the nightstand. Wanda drank deeply, never breaking eye contact with her mother.
The challenge hung in the air, thicker than the scent of sex. Witnessing was over. The tutorial had concluded.
The next move was Sofia’s. The longing in her eyes had crystallized into a decision so profound it vibrated in the silence. Her lips parted. The word was almost inaudible, but it rang through the room like a bell.
“Show… me.”