Chapter 23: Wanda show BDSM aka
The silence after the daisy chain was a living thing, thick with the smell of their union and the echoes of shared tremors. They lay on the carpet, a heap of spent limbs, for what felt like an age. Slowly, senses returned. The cool air on sweat-slicked skin. The rough softness of the carpet against cheeks and bellies. The sound of six sets of lungs finding a slower, synchronized rhythm.
Wanda was the first to move. She untangled herself from Natasha’s embrace, her muscles protesting softly. She stood, her pale body glowing in the lamplight, a queen amid her court. She stretched, a long, feline extension, and padded to the bed. She perched on its edge, the mattress dipping under her slight weight.
Her eyes, heavy-lidded and satisfied, swept over the women on the floor. “Moms,” she said, her voice husky but clear. “Watch’s.”
The command, gentle but firm, pulled them from their stupor. Sofia, Melina, and Olivia pushed themselves up onto their elbows, then slowly sat. They watched, transfixed, as Wanda patted her lap. “Natasha. Lay your stomach on my knees.”
Without a second’s hesitation, Natasha rose. There was a sleek, predatory grace to her movements even now. She approached the bed, her dark hair tangled, her green eyes fixed on Wanda’s with utter devotion. She bent over, positioning herself so her torso lay across Wanda’s lap, her ass presented high and perfect, her cheek resting on the duvet beside Wanda’s thigh.
“Wait,” Olivia breathed, her voice a mix of concern and disbelief.
Melina’s eyes were wide. “She’s not going to…”
“You feel pleasure from that?” Sofia asked, her brow furrowed. The memory of her own climax was still a bright, shocking sun in her mind, but this… this seemed different. Punitive. Old.
Wanda’s hand came to rest lightly on the curve of Natasha’s buttock. The skin was warm, faintly pink from the earlier activities. “Every time I spank you,” Wanda said, her gaze never leaving Natasha’s profile, “you say ‘I deserve to be loved’ and the number. Understand?”
“Yes, Mommy,” Natasha murmured, the title slipping out like a sacred vow. Her body relaxed, a subtle surrender that spoke of deep, earned trust.
Wanda’s hand lifted. The mothers held their breath.
The first spank cracked through the quiet room. It wasn’t a tentative tap; it was a firm, solid impact of palm on flesh, a sound that made all three older women flinch.
The effect was clean and obvious.
Natasha let out a moan, a deep, guttural sound that seemed to originate in her core. Her whole body shook, a shudder of pure sensation that rolled through her. Her hips bucked involuntarily, pressing her cunt against the hard muscle of Wanda’s thigh. A fresh slickness gleamed there instantly.
Natasha’s voice, when it came, was dreamy, unfocused with bliss. “I deserve to be loved. One.”
“Oh, my God,” Melina whispered, her hand flying to her mouth.
Natasha loved to be spanked. It was written in the arch of her spine, in the way her fingers clutched at the bedspread not in pain, but in ecstatic anchor. The sharp sting was not an end, but a gateway. It lit up her nerves, humbled her powerful control, and in that surrender, she found a dizzying freedom.
Wanda’s hand rose and fell again. Smack.
The sound was sharper this time. Natasha’s cry was louder, a choked-off shout. Her ass cheek bloomed a brighter pink.
“I deserve to be loved. Two.” Her voice was thicker.
Smack. On the other cheek. Natasha jerked, grinding herself hard against Wanda’s leg. A dark spot of arousal soaked the duvet.
“Three.”
The mothers watched, frozen. This was a new scripture. Sofia felt a strange, aching clench low in her own belly. She saw not violence, but a fierce, focused liturgy of desire. Each smack was a punctuation mark in a sentence of devotion.
Smack. “Four.” Natasha’s ass was now a warm, rosy canvas.
Smack. “Five.” Her moan was long and trembling.
Juvia had crawled to the foot of the bed, her blue hair a waterfall over her shoulders, her eyes dark with arousal as she watched her lover transformed by Wanda’s hand. She reached out and lightly traced the reddening skin. Natasha gasped at the dual sensation.
Smack. Smack. Two quick, successive blows.
“Six. Seven.” Natasha was panting now. “I deserve… I deserve…”
“You do,” Wanda whispered, her own breath coming faster. She spanked her again, a deliberate, heavier blow.
“Eight! Fuck, Mommy, eight!” The curse was a prayer.
The rhythm was established. The crisp sound of impact, Natasha’s sharp gasp or wanton cry, the shudder that wracked her frame, then the ragged, worshipful count. The air grew electric again, charged with a different kind of energy—not the unifying circuit of the daisy chain, but a focused beam of power exchange that was equally intoxicating.
“Fifteen!” Natasha’s ass was a deep, uniform red. Sweat sheened her back. She was rutting against Wanda’s thigh constantly now, a steady, desperate rhythm. The wet sound of her cunt sliding on skin mingled with the spanks.
Wanda’s palm was stinging, a bright pain that fed her own growing wetness. She spanked harder, diagonally, catching the undercurve of Natasha’s ass near her trembling thighs.
“Sixteen! Oh, god, yes!”
“Look at her,” Sofia murmured, not to anyone in particular. Her own hand had crept between her legs, fingers idly circling her clit as she witnessed this savage benediction. “She’s… flying.”
Smack! “Seventeen!”
Natasha’s whole body convulsed. “I’m close, Mommy, I’m so close,” she sobbed, the words muffled by the duvet.
“Count,” Wanda commanded, her voice a strained wire of control.
Smack. “Eighteen!” Smack. “Nineteen!” Smack. “Twenty!”
With the twentieth, Wanda changed the game. Her hand came down not on the rounded flesh, but lower, where ass met thigh, a devastating, tingling blow that bordered on the sensitive perineum.
Natasha screamed. Her back arched impossibly, her body rigid for a second before collapsing into trembling relief. “Twenty!” she cried again, the number a sob.
“You have ten more,” Wanda said, her palm rubbing the fevered skin. “You will take them. And you will come on my thigh when I tell you to. Not before.”
Natasha nodded frantically, her face wet with tears and sweat. “Yes, Mommy. Please.”
The final ten were a masterpiece of torture. Wanda varied the strength, the location, the timing. A fierce double-tap on the same spot. A slow, building spank that seemed to last forever before the final, crisp connection. A volley of three quick, light slaps that made Natasha squeal.
“Twenty-five! I deserve to be loved!”
“Twenty-six!”
“Twenty-seven! Please, I need to come!”
“Twenty-eight! Fuck!”
“Twenty-nine! Mommy, please, let me…”
Wanda paused. Her own heart was a drum against her ribs. She looked at the ruined, beautiful ass across her lap, at Juvia’s rapt face, at the three mothers with their hands between their own legs or clutching each other’s arms. She leaned down, her lips brushing Natasha’s ear.
“This is the last one, my love. Then you can shatter. Ready?”
A desperate, eager nod.
Wanda’s final spank was not the hardest, but it was the most precise. She aimed for the very center, where the nerves were most alive, her fingers curling slightly to deliver a sharp, biting sting that seemed to go straight to Natasha’s core.
The sound was like a shot.
Natasha’s head snapped up. A soundless scream shaped her lips for a second before the voice broke through.
“THIRTY! I DESERVE TO BE LOVED!”
“Now,” Wanda breathed.
Permission given, Natasha fell apart. Her hips slammed forward, grinding her swollen clit against Wanda’s thigh with a furious, final intensity. Her cunt pulsed, and a hot gush of her release soaked Wanda’s skin and the bedspread beneath. She cried out, a raw, unbroken sound of absolute surrender, her body seizing and shaking through the waves of her climax.
Wanda held her through it, one hand splayed on her reddened back, the other gently stroking her hair. When the tremors subsided into weak shudders, she guided Natasha off her lap and onto the bed, where she curled into a boneless, weeping heap of satisfaction.
In the ringing silence, Sofia finally moved. She stood, her legs unsteady, and walked to the bed. She looked from Natasha’s tear-streaked, blissful face to Wanda’s serene, powerful one. She saw not an aberration, but a cornerstone.
“Teach me,” Sofia said, her voice low and certain. “Teach me all of it. The chain. The spank. The… the love.”
Wanda smiled, a true, deep smile that reached her eyes. She opened her arms. Not a command, but an invitation. Sofia knelt on the bed and folded herself into her daughter’s embrace, the first student in a world they were rewriting with their bodies, one searing, honest touch at a time.