Saff

You anxiously paced the hallway, hyping yourself up for whatever you were about to do. Of course, you didn’t know what, exactly, that was going to be yet. But you knew it had to be something really naughty.

Since you’d received your first ever spanking from Wanda two weeks ago, you’d been doing everything you could think of to misbehave. You just couldn’t get it out of your head: the humiliation of laying naked over her lap. Her rough hands pinning you down while she beat your bottom until it was red and blistered. Those rough hands turning back to the gentle ones you know and love as she rubbed your back and put soothing lotion on your raw skin. And best of all, the pain didn’t end there. For the next three days you couldn’t even sit down without thinking about that night. It was heavenly. 

The spanking that night was intended to be a punishment, but you found that you enjoyed it more than you ever thought possible. You missed the ache of having to sit on a cushion while you worked. You missed the sting of hot water hitting raw skin when you took a shower. You missed the constant awareness: the caution you took with every move. You were determined to get it back, no matter the cost.

The problem was, you weren't exactly sure how. Your attempts to act out the past couple of days had been minor annoyances at worst. You'd tried not washing the dishes when Wanda asked you to, but she just calmly asked a second time. You felt too bad to deny her again. You tried stealing something when you both went to the grocery store, but, when she saw you pick it up, Wanda just asked if you wanted it and bought it for you. You thought about doing a repeat of what had gotten you punished the first time: lying to Wanda about your class getting cancelled so you didn't have to go, but you liked school and keeping up your grades really was important.

No, if you wanted to get punished again, you were going to have to up the ante.

You took a deep breath and clenched your hands into fists, steeling yourself. Hesitantly, you raised your fist to knock on the door of Wanda's home office where she'd been working all morning. It would be naughtier if you just barged in, but you really didn't want to run the risk of actually interrupting something important. You softly knocked on the door.

"Come in!" she chimed happily.

You opened the door and pushed into the doorway, but the moment your eyes met hers, you froze like a deer in headlights.

"Is there someth-" she started before you cut her off.

"You're a… a bitch," you stammered nervously, tensing every muscle in your body and standing up perfectly straight.

Wanda froze too now, and the two of you stared at each other for a long moment. You didn't look as mean as you had wanted to, just scared. Wanda didn't look as mad as you had wanted her to either. She was just shocked, mouth still open.

You hadn't realized you were holding your breathe until your body forced you to exhale. Unfrozen, the reality of what you'd just done settled in on you, and your bottom lip started to quiver like you were about to cry. You wanted to run away, but you didn't make it three steps down the hall before she stopped you. "Hold it."

You turned back around, looking at her with wide eyes. She looked different now than she had a moment ago: still not angry, but definitely stern.

"Come here." She curled her fingers and pushed her chair back from her desk, facing you with her entire body.

You sheepishly shuffled to her desk, eyes flitting nervously around the room.

"Do you want to repeat what you just said to me?" She asked, adopting the severe voice you heard from her so rarely. You couldn't help the rush of arousal that flared in your belly.

"N-no," you squeaked. It wasn't a defiant 'no', but you really didn't want to have to say it again.

"Look at me," she commanded.

You looked at her with those same wide eyes, swimming with an intoxicating mix of fear and arousal.

"Say it again."

This time, it wasn't a question. Her tone left no room for argument. You swallowed. "You're a… a…"

She raised her brows impatiently. "Go on. You said it just fine the first time."

You were trembling now, shifting your weight back and forth between your feet. "A… a b-b-bi…." The look in her eyes broke you immediately. You choked out a sob, tears pouring down your cheeks. "I can't do it, mama!"

Her stern demeanor dropped and she opened her arms, welcoming you into her lap. You accepted the invitation gratefully, wrapping your arms around her neck as you cried harder. "I'm sorry, mama. I'm so sorry."

"Shshsh," she hushed, rubbing your back. "Deep breaths, baby. Just breathe. It's okay. I've got you. Mama's got you."

"Are you… mad… at me?" You cried, gasping for air in between words.

"No, darling. I'm not mad at you," she soothed. "I just wanna talk about what happened."

"Are you… are you not gonna wanna be my mama… anymore?"

"Angel, of course I still want to be your mama," she reassured. "Just like I said. We're gonna talk about it, and then it's gonna be all better."

"Do… do you still… love… me?"

"I do, baby. I love you very much," She kissed your head. "Now, do you want some alone time to calm down or do you wanna stay with mama?"

"Stay… with… mama…" you stammered.

"Okay," she said, adjusting you position on her lap so you were sitting astride her thighs. "You can sit right here in mama's lap while I work. Then we can talk whenever you ready." She kissed your head and scooted her chair forward so she could continue working while you calmed down. She was sure to take breaks to kiss your temple, rub your back, or whisper reassurances every minute or so.

After about 15 minutes, your tears had finally subsided, and you leaned back so you could look at her. "Okay. I'm ready to talk now."

She stopped working giving you her full attention. With a gentle smile, she wiped the hair from your tear stained cheeks. "Good. Now, can you tell me what that was about?"

You look down, feeling embarrassed and a little foolish. "I… I wanted you to be mad at me."

She nodded. "Uh huh. And why did you wanna make mama mad at you?"

You were starting to get the impression that she already knew the answer, but she needed you to admit it. "I wanted another spanking," you admitted quietly.

"Mmm," she hummed thoughtfully, "and calling mama a bitch was easier than just asking for one?"

You fiddled nervously with your fingers. "Well… I thought… I… I was embarrassed."

She pulled you close and rocked you gently. "Aww, asking for what you want is hard, isn't it baby?"

You nodded. "You aren’t supposed to like spankings. Spankings are for when you're in trouble."

"And who told you that?"

You shrugged. "I dunno. Nobody, I guess."

"Well," she started, kissing your temple, "I can assure you are very much allowed to enjoy being spanked. After all, I very much enjoy spanking you."

"Really?” You tilted your head, confused and curious. “Why?”

"Mhm," she nodded. "I love watching your cute little butt get all red and bruised. And I love those sweet little noises you make when you get all sniffly and teary. And I love feeling you dripping onto my leg while I have you over my lap. And I love waking up next to you with your little butt in the air because it hurt when you laid on your back. And, most of all," she kissed your nose, "I love making you happy."

"I should also say," she continued, "there's nothing in the world that's sexier than a girl who knows what she wants and asks for it. And, if you get all embarrassed and blushy about it, all the more fun for me." Her lips twitched, slowly morphing into a sly smirk.

You furrowed your brows. "Hey! That's not nice!"

Wanda made a pretend pouty face, playfully mocking your expression. "Oh," she pouted in an exaggerated voice. "Do you not like it when mama makes fun of you for getting all embarrassed?"

You whined pitifully, and then you felt a hand creeping up your leg.

"Should I check just to make sure you aren’t enjoying it?" She teased.

"No." You pouted firmly, clumsily climbing off of her lap. "I'm gonna come in here and ask for a spanking, and I'm not gonna be embarrassed at all."

"You are?" Wanda half-chuckled.

"Yeah!" You walked out of the office, gently closing the door behind you.

Wanda giggled to herself. "You go do that, honey."

A minute later, you softly knocked on the door again.

"Come in!" She sang again, trying to keep herself from laughing at this little show of yours.

"Mama," you said, trying to sound confident as you push back towards her desk again. "I want a spanking."

"You do?" She asked teasingly. "Maybe if you ask nicely, I can help you with that."

You sighed, realizing you already messed it up by not asking a question. You try to recompose yourself and asked "May I please have a spanking, mama? Please?"

Wanda smiled wide. "Your ears are so red, baby."

Your hands flew to cover your ears. "You're so mean!" You whined, shuffling back out of the room.

Wanda laughed to herself, then shouted after you in the hall. "Go in our room and wait for me! I want to see you kneeling naked on the bed!"

You paused for a moment, then you smiled. You'd done it, though not in the way you had expected. Maybe this way was going to be even better. Even Wanda's teasing couldn't keep you from being a little bit proud of yourself. You shouted back into the office before hustling into the bedroom.

“Keep still,” Wanda hisses in your ear.

You’re trying, but your hands are just so twitchy, finding Wanda’s hair. You were trying not to tug, but when she drives her cock into you again, you just can’t help it. When you pull at her hair yet again, Wanda’s head moves away from your neck, a frown tugging at her red lips.

“I’m– I can’t help it,” you say breathlessly, but you can’t stop your smile. “My hands are all– they get a little restless.” 

Wanda’s brows raise incredulously, her hips stilling. You want to whine at the loss of movement, but you keep your hips still, not wanting to spur her into punishing you. As much as you liked being bent over her lap, your bottom was a little sore from the last time. She pulls out of you slowly, the thick silicone slipping out with ease, and you groan.

“Restless,” Wanda says flatly. Her lips twitch with amusement. “That’s one way to put it. You’re a little damn jackrabbit.”

You flush shyly. As if to prove her point, your hands move to her hips and squeeze greedily, and Wanda gasps in faux mortification. Her hand catches your wrist, stilling your wriggling fingers. “If you keep being so handsy like that, bunny, I’m gonna have to restrain you.”

You squirm with delight. “Restrain me with what?” you say, low and teasing, and Wanda looks at you sternly. It only serves to make you grin wider.

“Don’t you start gettin’ smart with me now, pet,” she says, but she knows just as well as you do that you’re only goading her on. You’d experimented with this kind of play before, having your hands held above your head or tied back with one of her silk scarves, and you loved it. Especially in this position, you think, with Wanda laying on top of you, the bed rocking, the sheets sweaty against your skin—

You blink out of your thoughts. Wanda is rummaging in her nightstand for something, objects clattering in the drawer, but you can only watch her face from this angle.

“Now where’d I put it…” she murmurs absently, brows knit together in thought. You crane your neck, your eyes following her movements, the long length of her arm, but then she stops abruptly. She’s looking at something you can’t quite see.

You sit up, legs a little sore. You follow her gaze.

Her rosary rests besides the lamp, pearly white beads curled loose against the wood.

Wanda goes still. You open your mouth to speak.

“No,” she says immediately, her voice firm. She slowly tears her gaze away to look at you. “No.” You smile impishly at her. Her hand is still on the nightstand.

“You said you wanted me to keep still,” you respond, the thought fluttering in your stomach like a wild bird. 

Wanda’s gaze hardens. “Baby, that is a rosary.”

“I know what it is.”

Her expression is unreadable when she looks back at the nightstand, at the long string of white beads and golden crucifix at the end. Her fingers curl around the rosary, muscle memory. She picks it up carefully, the way she always does, and the crucifix dangles between her fingers, glinting in the low lamplight.

This isn’t the first time you’ve seen it, of course. You’ve seen it tangled around her fingers on lazy Sunday mornings while her lips move silently through prayer. Seeing it now though, both of you unclothed and sweaty with sin, makes your stomach warm. 

Her voice is roughened with something when she speaks again. “You don’t understand,” she rasps. Her accent always lilts like this when she’s lost in thought. 

You sit closer on shaky knees until your legs press against hers. The crucifix swings gently like a pendulum. Sin tightens your throat deliciously. “I think I do,” you mumble in response. Wanda laughs mirthlessly, shaking her head.

“No, baby, you don’t.” Her thumb rubs over one of the beads compulsively, her lips pressed together tightly. “This ain’t a toy. My mama gave this to me on my sweet sixteenth.” Your brain whirs with numbers, but you’ve never been good at calculating. All you can tell is that Wanda has had it for a long time, maybe even before you were born, and something about that makes heat curl in your stomach like a serpent.

For a moment you think she’ll put it away, shut it in the drawer where she doesn’t have to look at it.

“Hands,” she says instead, stern. Your breath catches in your throat immediately. Wordlessly, you lift your wrists up to her. She stares at them a second too long, her lips parting with a long, almost pained sigh. “My sweet girl.”

The rosary beads click softly as she loops it around your wrists, careful despite the slight tremor in her hands. The crucifix is cool against the inside of your wrist, right against your burning skin where your pulse is thrumming like a live wire. A soft breath escapes your lips at the sensation, the sound almost immediately swallowed by the hum of cicadas outside the window, but Wanda hears. Of course she hears.

“Lord have mercy,” she mutters under her breath.

You try a smile, wanting to soothe her worries. “It’s a bit late for that.”

Wanda shoots you a look so sharp you hold back a shiver. “Don’t mock the Lord,” she says with steel in her voice. Your throat tightens as you nod quickly.

Wanda stares at you for a moment longer before her expression finally gives way. Her lips curl up a little, a mean little smile you know too well, and her hands slide down your sides, warm and possessive and a little rough from housework. She squeezes your hips harshly, a possessive glint in her eye, and you barely have time to gasp before she shoves you back down onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress harder now that you couldn’t use your hands to brace yourself.

You lift your arms above your head, hands flexing and grasping at nothing, not with the rosary tied around your wrists like this. The bed creaks loudly when she leans forward, a hand spreading over your stomach to still you. The air in the room is humid, made even more so by your heaving pants, and a thin sheen of sweat coats Wanda’s collarbone where her summer tan ends.

“Needy little thing,” Wanda smiles. The hand on your stomach moves to your hip, and now she’s adjusting herself, thighs brushing yours when she settles between your legs. Your fingers twitch helplessly. “Needed me to tie you up like a foal.”

Your heart races. The warm silicone presses between your legs again, and your thighs widen instinctually. “Please,” is the only word you can manage – it feels like your tongue is tied too. Wanda lets out a low, syrupy hum. Her fingers dig in greedily, snapping your hips close to hers, and her cock slides into you suddenly, every inch slipping inside until you’re flush against her.

“F-Fuck!” you gasp, momentarily forgetting your bindings, but when you try to reach out, the beads dig into your skin, the crucifix hurting against your wrist. Tears prickle in your eyes at the sudden entrance, and then Wanda’s moving again, finding her rhythm like she’d never stopped at all.

“That’s it, sugar,” Wanda groans, dropping her head down to your shoulder as she steels herself. Her rhythm is slow, brutal, and her hips drive against you like she wants to split you in half. Your cunt squeezes, clenches around her length, and the old bed creaks steadily under her careful thrusts. The room feels impossibly hot now, heavy summer air cloying and sticking to you both, and you whimper every time her cock disappears inside you.

One of her hands stays locked at your hip, keeping you steady enough to fuck you into the mattress, but the other slides up your bound arms slowly, fingers brushing over the rosary pressing into your wrists. Wanda moans against your damp skin and her pace deepens, enough for the headboard to start knocking the wall. Whimpers slip from your mouth, fueling the heat in your stomach, as her cock hits a spot that makes your hands flex your restraints desperately.

She’s mumbling something against your neck, you realize — broken little phrases that are almost lost to your louder pants and gasps. “Lord,” you hear, and the word burns against your skin, “takin’ me so good, baby, your little pussy feels so good, fuck– forgive me, Lord,” and a string of soft little moans, so unlike anything you’ve heard from her. Her fingers curl against the rosary, barely brushing your wrists, and your cunt tightens around her strap, a moan torn from your chest.

“I-I’m, ah, please,” the words tumble from your mouth, and Wanda pants against your skin, her hips stuttering just slightly. The sudden rhythm change has your hips lifting off the mattress, heat thrumming wildly in your abdomen, and you feel yourself squeeze around the thick silicone. “Please, I-I’m so– so close–”

Wanda’s hips don’t slow. “Cum for me, baby,” she mumbles against your ear, words spilling out all at once. “Cum, baby, cum for me, oh God, cum for me.” Her thrusts are almost clumsy now, betraying her own arousal, but it’s enough, more than enough, because your body tenses, electricity bursting in your abdomen. You gasp helplessly, feeling every ridge and bump a millionfold, your cunt fucked so sensitive it’s almost overstimulating.

When you come down from your high, chest heaving, Wanda finally, mercifully, slides the strap out of you, lifting her head from your neck. She’s still for a moment, just breathing deeply, waiting for you to settle, and then her weight shifts. The mattress sighs as she moves back, no longer pressed against you, but her hand is still resting on your hip, thumb brushing circles on your skin.

Her hair is stuck to her forehead with sweat, cheeks pink with both exertion and embarrassment, and her chest heaves with heavy breaths. She looks at you, still laying spread out on her mattress, trying to catch your own breath with greedy pants for air.

And when you blink up at her, lips wobbling into a tired smile, something in her chest clenches tightly.

You really hadn’t meant for this to happen.

Lusting after the town’s sweetheart Mrs Maximoff was wrong. Mrs Maximoff, the sweetest belle of the town, a warm shoulder to cry on, a flask of soup when word got around that someone was sick, a voice like a lark in the church choir, a smile on her lips for anyone who might see.

But, Lord, you couldn’t help it. In your heart of hearts, in the privacy of your bed late at night, when the blankets swamped you and your pillow was damp between your teeth, you knew what you felt for Mrs Maximoff was wrong, was unholy. 

Matthew 5:28, you think absently that Sunday when the service ends and the congregation starts to file out, already preparing to hum and mingle outside with some lemonade, of course contributed by one Mrs Maximoff.

That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath already committed adultery with her already in their heart.

And Mrs Maximoff was married, as if you didn’t feel guilty enough.

You follow your feet out of the pew, hoping desperately none of your neighbors would tug at your sleeve to pause your walk, to saddle you with an errand that would keep you for longer than possible. Ever since you realized your crush on Mrs Maximoff, you started leaving after services as fast as possible, not wanting your infatuation to interfere with her neighborly or Christian duties in the church.

But apparently it didn’t matter what you wanted, because a voice called out your name anyway, and her lilting accent sounded like honey.

“Sweetie?” was all it took, and you were spinning on your heel, almost dizzy from how fast you turned.

Mrs Maximoff looked as stunning as she did in the choir earlier, short blonde hair framing her face in soft waves, and her petal pink lips were parted around her last syllable. It made a primal part of your brain start clawing to be let out, and you pushed it down quickly with little success. You felt the strange urge to heel, to bow a little and heed whatever request would come out of her mouth.

“Yes, Mrs Maximoff?” you replied dutifully, licking your dry lips and swallowing in a poor attempt to wet your throat. Her eyes seemed to twinkle, and she crossed the room with ease, as though the crowd parted for her. 

When she stood close, you could smell cinnamon coming off her, maybe a little apple or pear too, you couldn’t quite discern, and the domesticity of it made your heart squeeze a little.

“Gosh, how many times have I told you to stop callin’ me that?” she reprimands, hand to her chest in mock horror. “Makes me feel so old, like I could be your mama.” Your heart squeezed again for some stupid reason, but Mrs Maximoff didn’t seem to notice and continued. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you something.” Then she smiled, almost bashfully, and added, “If it’s not too much of a bother, that is.”

You shake your head before she could even finish her sentence. “No, n-no, Mrs Maximoff, it’s never a bother. Please.” 

Mrs Maximoff hummed in response, her hand moving to grasp at your arm gently, and you tried not to visibly tense under her touch. Her fingernails were painted a red so deep it was almost purple, and they pressed gently but absently against your skin, trailing as she stroked your arm praisingly.

“Oh silly, you don’t even know what I’m askin’ yet. But it’s cute that you’re so eager.” Your stomach did a little flip at the teasing curve of her lips, but she pressed on. “Y’see, Vision and my Billy and Tommy, they’re out on a little ‘boy’s trip’, so to speak,” Mrs Maximoff started, her hand still continuing its soothing ministrations on your arm, “and I was gettin’ a little jealous and maybe a little bored, too, so I was wonderin’ if my favorite neighbor couldn’t come over and I’d fix us a nice dinner and we’d have our own girls’ night, how about that?”

How could you refuse? The hopeful twinkle in her eye was sweet enough, but you noticed the nervous twist of her mouth, as though she was second-guessing herself, and it spurred you to respond. 

“There’s nothing I’d like more,” you blurt out, and perhaps you were wearing your heart on your sleeve, yes, but it was worth it for the bright light of Mrs Maximoff’s smile, all hopeful and pretty, and you instinctively smiled back.

That was just one of the things everyone loved about her, you supposed. Her ability to make anyone feel welcome, whether it was in the neighborhood with a plate of brownies, or in the church by sharing her hymnal.

You felt a strange sensation then, almost like heavy guilt in your stomach. You hoped you weren’t perverting her kindness into something uglier, dirtier, making her uncomfortable in any way.

Lord. It was hard enough wrestling with these feelings outside of seeing her, but now it had reared its ugly head and pressed against the front of your mind, especially so when Mrs Maximoff squeezed your bicep and pulled away.

“I was hopin’ you’d say yes,” she whispered with a smile, as though this was some little secret that she didn’t want anyone else to overhear . “Come over at six, and don’t you dare eat before you come, y’hear me?”

And you nodded, because what else could you do? Mrs Maximoff was asking you to dinner, and any excuse to spend time with her was a good one in your eyes, so you swallowed down any lingering guilt and smiled. 

“Yes, Mrs Maximoff,” and then her eyes did that secret little twinkle again that you were starting to learn meant that she was pleased with something.

Pleased with you, perhaps, and your heart swooped dangerously.

“That’s my girl,” she said, voice light and teasing.

She pulled away, and suddenly you were aware of just how close she had been standing, on the edge of impropriety, but there was something about her Southern charm and skinship between women that you were sure she was just being friendly, teasing in her own Mrs Maximoff way. She was moving to leave, to join the rest of the crowd that had filed out of the church, but she turned her head one last time to flash a smile in your direction. 

“Six o’clock. Don’t be late, y’understand?” 

And you nodded again, feeling like a bobblehead. Mrs Maximoff laughed gently before slipping into the crowd, light and easy conversation falling from her lips like nothing had happened at all.

Lord, you were so fucked.

You stood at Mrs Maximoff’s front door, not yet knocking with your free hand. In your other hand you were grasping a small, polite bouquet of marigolds, as sunny as Mrs Maximoff’s hay-colored hair. You’d forgone a plate of cookies or a pitcher of iced tea, lest you get a stern scolding about spoiling your appetite. No, no, the flowers were surely fine, and hopefully she’d appreciate your selection.

The door swung open before you’d even knocked, and you stumbled backwards a little in surprise. Mrs Maximoff was dressed in something dangerously low-cut, something you’d never seen her wear at church or whenever she came calling to your house for a quart of cream. 

Your eyes were caught by something gold glinting in the deep valley of her cleavage, and your cheeks heated at the realization that it was a little gold crucifix. You’d only seen the chain before, and with the blouse she was wearing it was no wonder you’d finally seen the pendant attached to it, nestled snugly between her breasts. You swallowed.

Fuck. You were definitely staring. You tore your eyes away and looked up at Mrs Maximoff’s face. Her lips were quirked into a not-quite-smile, not quite-smirk that you couldn’t read, and her teeth caught on her lower lip when you finally made eye contact with her.

“I noticed you were just standin’ on the porch all shy,” she teased, and you squirmed, unsure of what excuse you could give, but then she gasped and reached for the little bouquet you’d forgotten you were holding. “Oh, sweetness, is this for me?” You nodded quickly then, holding them out to her, and she took them, pressing them close to her chest. You were thankful you could no longer see the cross.

“Oh, aren’t you just the sweetest thing, these are beautiful,” she cooed, breathing in the sweet scent, and then she sighed. “What do I look like, keepin’ you out here like a bad mutt? Come in, sweetpea.”

You followed her inside, head turning in the direction of the kitchen towards the scent of something savory simmering in a crockpot. “Smells good,” you said, taking a seat at the dining table as Mrs Maximoff busied herself in the kitchen, crockery clattering. 

Her house was cosy, flowery throw pillows on the couch, a cute plaid tablecloth on the dining table. You couldn’t help the grin on your face as you heard her hum a little hymn as she plated dinner for you both.

“So, sweetie,” Mrs Maximoff began, the smile audible in her voice. “I can’t say I’m not a little curious why you said yes.” She brought over two wine glasses, holding them from the stems, and a long bottle in the other, uncorked with a fancy white label. Placing one glass in front of you and the other on her own placemat, she uncorked the wine with a little pop.

The wine flowed steadily and generously into your glass, and you risked a glance up at her. Mrs Maximoff’s eyes met yours. Her mouth twitched up into a smile. “I’m not forcin’ you to stay home with an old lady like me, am I?”

You couldn’t shake your head fast enough. “I want to be here, Mrs Maximoff, I like spending time with you,” you said, a little too earnest. “And– and you aren’t old, either, you shouldn’t say that. You’re– you’re young and beautiful.” The last few words came out in a stammer, but it was equally as true as everything else you’d told her, and her smile slipped into something like a smirk.

Itching for something to do with your hands, awkwardness bubbling in your stomach, you reached for the glass of red wine and sipped quietly, letting the warmth bloom in your chest. 

Mrs Maximoff looked a little pleased and a little something else as she watched you sip. “That’s my favorite wine,” she murmured, and your cheeks heated a little at her admission, then at her slow smile, like she knew something you didn’t. She turned back into the kitchen, a soft tune on her lips, and you blinked owlishly, wondering what sort of loaded conversation you’d somehow avoided.

Dinner was good, great even. You’d enquired about dessert only half-playfully, and Mrs Maximoff had given you one of her secret smiles that made your tongue feel heavy in your mouth.

Or maybe that was the wine. You’d had a lot of wine over the last hour, actually, and you were sure you could feel it pooling in your head and sloshing around whenever you laughed too hard at something Mrs Maximoff said. She’d asked you to put on a movie while she washed the dishes, despite your protests and scrambling from your seat.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest little thing?” she’d cooed at your enthusiasm, but waved you away like a child. “You just find us a nice movie and I’ll be over in a minute, understand?” 

You nodded a little petulantly, resisting the strange urge to pout, and found your way to her couch, lifting your legs up and settling between the cushions like a loose penny. After scrolling through channels, you landed on something easy and vaguely familiar, some mediocre romance movie that you thought would at least make for some entertaining conversation.

Mrs Maximoff came up from behind you, holding a now-full glass of wine and the bottle. She leaned over the back of the couch, and you flushed, any words dying in your throat at the terribly sinful view of her chest when she bent over and filled your empty glass for the umpteenth time that evening.

She didn’t even seem aware of the effect she had on you, that was the worst part, and you forced out a cough when you looked away. “Thank you,” was all you mumbled, and Mrs Maximoff hummed sweetly in response. 

She rounded the couch and sat directly behind you, pressed against your back, with her legs on either side of you. Lord, her cotton shorts left nearly nothing to the imagination; the soft expanse of her thighs seemed to stretch on for miles, and, fuck, were you staring again? 

You looked back at the television and tried not to sit too stiffly in her lap. “What’d you put on, honey? Nothin’ scary I hope,” the low rumble of her voice came from behind you, and you tried not to squeak as a hand found your waist. “Gosh, hon, I don’t bite, you can scoot a little closer. Last thing I want is for you to be sittin’ all stiff like that.”

You complied, nodding quietly when your mind was anything but. “It’s a…” you started, but the words died in your throat as you tried not to think of how her chest felt pressed against your back. “Some rom-com.” Mrs Maximoff made a sound of acknowledgement, and you felt it rumble against you, almost through you. She pulled you in a little closer, and you let yourself be pulled. 

Surely you were just reading into this too much. Perhaps it was the wine.

The movie was dull, terribly so. You and Mrs Maximoff laughed at most of it, practically in your own private world. You’d finished your wine twice over, and the thick haze of it had drowned out any of the guilt or hesitance from earlier on in the church, instead burning hot in your belly like a pit of fuel. 

At some point, her hand had snaked up your thigh, circling absently while you ranted about something silly that happened in the movie, some ridiculous, unrealistic plot device that would never happen in real life. She nodded soothingly, her hand still circling your skin, just barely brushing the hem of your skirt, but you thought nothing of it, not when the wine dulled your inhibitions.

“So you don’t have a boyfriend or anythin’?” Mrs Maximoff purred gently against your ear. Her breath smelled faintly of dark fruit, and the wine had stained her lips something wonderful. You shook your head, feeling like your brain was full of molasses, and watched the television distantly.

“No boyfriend,” you responded quietly, licking your lower lip.

“How about a girlfriend then?”

You almost choked. Mrs Maximoff smiled, rubbing your thigh soothingly. “What’s wrong, sweetness? You’re a modern woman, aren’tcha?” She leaned forward, hair tickling the slope of your shoulder, and her breath was hot, too hot against your ear. 

You almost pressed against her on instinct. Every nerve in your body, dulled with wine that lingered on your tongue, ached to press against her. Your body was a stick of dynamite, and the wandering hand on your thigh was the lit match.

“N…no girlfriend either,” you mumbled despite your sluggish tongue. 

Your head was swimming in fog, and Mrs Maximoff noticed. Oh, she noticed everything.

“Well, I have to say, I’m mighty pleased,” she murmured right into your ear, and you weren’t sure you could entirely blame the alcohol for the flooding heat in your underwear. “I don’t know if anyone could treat you as well as I could, honey.” 

The hand at your thigh squeezed, and your mouth went dry. What was happening? One moment you’d been laughing and joking about some stupid movie, and the next you felt like you’d walked into a trap you hadn’t known was there. You opened your mouth to speak, but the soft shushing from Mrs Maximoff soothed you to silence. “Now don’t you worry, sweetpea. Mama’s not gonna bite.”

Something in you throbbed. The nickname swirled around in your head like bubbles down a drainpipe.

You forced yourself to exhale, and Mrs Maximoff cooed at your obedience when your limbs went slack as you laid against her. “That’s a good girl,” she murmured against your ear, and your whole body tingled in a way you hadn’t felt before. “You just sit back and watch your silly movie and let Mama do her job.”

You nodded absently. How could you not when her hand was sliding further and further up your skirt like you belonged to her? Nails brushed against your inner thigh, hard enough to make you jerk at her touch, your leg kicking out instinctively like a fawn.

“Mrs Ma– Wanda-”

“Don’t you call me that,” her voice came in your ear, hard as steel. “When I’m touchin’ you, you call me Mama, y’understand me?” You nodded desperately, and there it was again, the term of authority that made your stomach swirl with something like excitement and shame rolled into one. “Use your words. God gave you a pretty little mouth for a reason.”

Your cunt clenched around nothing. “Y-yes, Mama,” you panted, forcing the word out past the mental barrier of wrongness. Wanda smiled against your hair, and slowly, achingly, moved her hand to cup you through your underwear. The sudden touch against the flimsy damp cotton had your hips jerking against nothing, thighs clamping on instinct. “Oh, fuck–”

“Look at you, squirmin’ like a little virgin,” Wanda whispered low against your shoulder, and your cheeks heated up furiously. “I can feel how wet you are through your little panties. Did you think you could hide this from Mama?”

A long finger slowly dragged against your clothed folds. It felt like there was no fabric at all, the way it was slick against you. A keening whine escaped from your throat, and you would’ve been embarrassed if you didn’t hear Wanda purr with delight behind you.

“Oh, you like that, don’tcha? Dirty little thing.” Her hand finally relented its teasing, and with a manicured fingernail, your panties were pulled down your thighs and your cunt was exposed, arousal rapidly cooling in the tepid air.

Your throat bobbed with the effort of swallowing down your nerves, but Wanda’s fingers suddenly made contact with your cunt again, and a gasp was wrenched from your throat.

“G-God,” was the only word your brain could grasp onto. Two fingers parted you open like a soft wax seal on an invitation you hadn’t known you’d sent, and the soft breeze of a nearby cracked window did little to soothe the persistent burn of arousal. “Please…Mama…”

You felt her trace your labia, patient, as if she was mapping out uncharted territory, or perhaps trying to memorise every inch, and the runaway thought made your head spin. “When you call me that, sweetie, I just can’t help myself,” Wanda said low in your ear. “Makes me wanna fuck you ‘til your little pussy hurts.” A fingertip circled at your entrance, coated in the arousal that you felt like was soaking the coach at this point, and your hips jerked up, straining for contact.

“M… Mama,” you groaned. Wanda made a little cooing sound again, and then suddenly you were stretching around her as she pushed into you, up, up, all the way to her knuckle. “Oh,” is the only thing you could moan, because God, it felt so different than your own touch in the privacy of your bed. Wanda murmured praises against your hair, lips finding your ear to nip at your lobe, and you whimpered at the feel of teeth.

“That’s it, sweetpea,” she drawled, voice thick with uncontained arousal, and she pulled out slowly, just enough for you to really feel the absence, before bottoming out again, angling her wrist just right to fill you at an angle that made your limbs prickle. “Takin’ me so good, aren’tcha? Makin’ all those pretty sounds.” 

All you could do was moan in lieu of agreement, brain struggling to grasp human language when she curled her finger and hit a spot that you couldn’t reach alone in bed. 

“Fuck,” you gasped.

“You like that, sugar?” And then a second finger teased its way in even deeper, probing and circling at your front wall, pressing experimentally at the spongy spot that made your teeth dig into your lip. She rolled her wrist, pulling out a little even when you involuntarily clenched around her, and started fucking you in earnest now, fingers curled just enough to leave you gasping. 

Heat throbbed deep in your stomach, that pit of fuel igniting and flickering at your ribs. Your hips moved involuntarily, a thigh sliding even further open, and you bucked against her hand.

Wanda laughed, deep and rich like the wine you’d had earlier, and the sound alone made your clit throb. “There she is,” she murmured, fingers tightening at your hip to keep your body from chasing her touch. “Mama’s got you all worked up now.”

Her thumb made its way to your hood where your clit was swollen and just barely peeking out from. With every thrust, it bumped against your clit roughly, and you tried not to sob in desperation, biting your lower lip to keep from begging. The sticky sound of your cunt made you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping Wanda would stop her teasing.

Embarrassment crept up your throat deliciously. You could feel your release start to crest with the rough thrusting of her fingers, and you let out a pitiful whine.

“Look at me.”

Her command snapped through you instantly. You turned your head just enough to meet her eyes over your shoulder, and the smug little smile on Wanda’s face had your thighs clenching. Her curls framed her face all delicate and soft, but there was nothing soft in her expression now, nothing like the Mrs Maximoff you knew from church.

“That’s my good girl,” she drawled, and the praise made your head spin. Her thumb started brushing over your clit properly, and you whimpered. “Already fallin’ apart for me and I haven’t touched you proper yet.”

Your stomach twisted at the praise. The embarrassment and want in your stomach tangled together so tightly that you couldn’t begin to distinguish them anymore.  Her fingers kept dipping into you, curling, pressing into your front wall again, and your head spun. “Dumb little thing,” she cooed, and the way her voice honeyed the words made you moan again. “All you know is how to take Mama’s fingers, huh?”

Her thumb kept drawing little hard circles over your clit, and suddenly the tension in your stomach felt unbearable, wound so tight you could hardly think. “Mama,” you gasped, and Wanda must have felt the way you tightened around her fingers because she laughed knowingly against your ear.

“That’s it,” she murmured. “Good girl, let it out.”

The praise hit you harder than anything else. Heat thrummed and pushed through you all at once, enough to make your vision blur, and you buried a broken moan against her shoulder as you finally tipped over the edge. Wanda held you through it, her other hand still firm on your hip, easing you down slowly, and her voice was warm against your skin while your body clenched and convulsed until the feeling slowly passed.

When your body finally began to wake up, you realized your face was still pressed against her shoulder, hot with exhaustion and wet with tears you hadn’t noticed you shed. You pulled away, suddenly embarrassed, but Wanda only smiled. Lifting a hand from your hip, she brushed damp curls back from your face while you panted slowly, trying to catch your breath. “Sweet thing.”

Her fingers stirred gently inside you. You squirmed in her arms when she slowly pulled them out. “Mama…” you slurred, and Wanda’s smile widened. Her fingers reappeared in front of your face, wet with your own arousal. You flushed deeply. “Mama, stop…”

“Look at the mess you made,” Wanda teased gently, and humiliation burned in your stomach. She tapped her fingers against your lips, and it took a moment for you to realize what she wanted you to do. Tentatively, you stuck your tongue out and licked her fingers clean. The salty tang of yourself made you wince, but Wanda seemed enraptured by your obedience.

When she pulled her fingers out, you turned your face away immediately with an embarrassed groan, but she only laughed, warm and pleased with herself. “Aw, don’t get shy on me now.” A little teasing tickle on your nape. “Not after all those pretty sounds you were makin’ for me.”

You squirmed a little, and she laughed again. Your whole body still felt heavy and oversensitive, but Wanda pulled you closer against her chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. The sudden gentleness made your chest ache more than any teasing. She smoothed a hand down your back until your breathing steadied and your pulse no longer jittered like a bolt of lightning. 

“Feelin’ better?” she breathed against your neck, and you gave a weak nod against her.  “Mm. That’s my girl,” she hummed in response, like your answer satisfied something in her that she’d never bothered to explore. Her hand stayed on your back, tracing absent patterns that didn’t ask anything more of you.

The room felt heavier, like the world outside had stopped pressing against the windows. Just Wanda, and her warmth, and the steady rise and fall of her chest against you as she held you in place. Your eyes slipped shut without meaning to, exhaustion settling in, no longer tangled with anything sharp or frantic like earlier, and you subconsciously pressed closer to her. “Love you, mama,” you mumbled without thinking.

The restaurant was dim and quietly buzzing with people. Meanwhile you were on your second basket of bread and trying to convince yourself more than the waitress that your date was coming. He was some guy in your psych class with a football scholarship and a boatload of jock friends. You were starting to feel stupid for saying yes.

Minutes after you came to the conclusion he wasn’t coming, you noticed a pair of eyes on you. They belonged to one of the most beautiful women you’d ever seen. She was eyeing you like you were dinner on her plate. You tried not to make eye contact because that would be flat out awkward.

“Waiting for a date?” She called out after a moment. You looked up, surprised she was talking to you from so far away.

You looked around ashamedly before saying, “He stood me up.” The woman pouted a little.

“I’m sorry. How about you come join me?” Your eyes got buck in surprise. She chuckled. “No, really, it’s fine. Unless you want to keep conversing from here.”

You shook your head. “No. I’ll come.” You clumsily got your purse and crossed over to her table, sitting down across from her. “Hi.” You breathed out. She smiled behind her glass of wine before taking a sip.

“Hello, dear. What’s your name?” The woman asked, eyeing you unashamedly. You were a bit shy under her gaze. You told her your name. “That’s a beautiful name. I’m Wanda.” She draped her hand across the table, you shook it, taking into account how warm and moisturized her hand was.

“Great to meet you. And thank you! For letting me join you. I was ready to hit the road after the third basket of bread.” Wanda cooed sympathetically.

“Oh you poor girl. Order something. My treat.” She slid her menu to you, you opened your mouth, ready to say it was fine, but she stuck her hand up. “Order what you want. Please.” She insisted.

“Okay, if you say so, Wanda.” You tested out her name on your lips.

You and Wanda ordered your meals, and began to talk as you waited. “So what college do you attend?”

“Uh NYU. It’s a pretty okay school. We get bad reps though.” You chuckled as you thought of all the false stereotypes people said about your peers. Wanda couldn’t help but laugh herself.

“Yes, I’ve heard you befriend sewer rats and cartwheel around the subway.” Now that made you laugh harder.

“I’ve done the second one before, but I was drunk, in my defense!” You admitted, taking another sip of your wine.

During and after your meal, you and Wanda talked so much, by the time you looked up, the restaurant was about to close. She paid and you were ready to part until she asked.

“I know we’re total strangers, but would you maybe want to come back to my place? It’s just two blocks away.” And your answer was even crazier.

“Yes.” I mean what could go wrong? You could fight just fine and you had pepper spray on you.

Going outside, you notice a black car already parked outside waiting. “Oh, you called an uber?” You asked, getting into the car. Wanda chuckled and shook her head.

“This is my personal driver, dear.” It was so cold outside the warm air took you by surprise. You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, wow. Well uh, what do you do for work?” You couldn’t help but ask. You noticed her hand was on top of yours— when did that happen?

“Family business. Pays very well.” You nodded. That was vague, but she didn’t owe you that. In no time, you were rolling up to a very gorgeous apartment building. “I have the penthouse.”

“Must pay very well, then.” You chuckled. Her driver let you two out and the doorman got the door for you. She led you to the elevator. While it was going up, you decided to pry a bit more. “Are you like the head of the company?”

She nodded, her eyes flitting everywhere but your eyes. She had no shame and you were trying to ignore it. “Yes. I’m the head. I took over after my father’s death.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The elevator opened to the huge, gorgeous pent house. Your eyes went wide as you ushered yourself inside and as did Wanda.

“Don’t be sorry, just look at how old I am. My father had a full life. But enough about me,” she sat beside you on her brown couch. “Tell me about you? What’s your major at NYU?” She placed her hand on your thigh, you could feel heat creeping up your neck.

“Uhm.. business. It’s always interested me.” You told her with a nod. She kept a smile on her beautiful face as she subtly slid closer to you.

“Well, then. You’d be a great intern for me. Then again, a beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be working.” You chuckled, she was outright flirting with you. Maybe you should flirt back.

“Oh so that’s why you were staring at me. I thought I had something on my shirt.” Wanda laughed a little harder.

“You’re a bold one, hm? Can you dance?” You quirked an eyebrow.

“I can dance, why?” She stood up, walking over to a record player and pulling one of the records off a shelf that had many records on it. Watching her, you realized how risky you were— this could easily be the beginning of some crime documentary that Netflix takes on for a money grab. Then again, Wanda seems pretty sweet. Like a sugar mommy almost…

“Come dance with me, darling.” She stood in the space between her couch and kitchen with her hand outstretched. You got up and walked towards her, placing your hands on her waist awkwardly as she did the same but more confident. You two fell into a slow sway. “You truly are beautiful.” She admired. You smiled sheepishly.

“You are too.” You said shyly.

“I’m honestly grateful your date ditched. I would’ve been coming home alone if he hadn’t.” Wanda admitted.

“You probably would’ve still caught my eye.” You said honestly. Wanda smirked. “Seriously! You’re really pretty and really good at smooth talking. I sort of want your number.” You were getting bolder by the second thanks to that second glass of wine.

“I think I’ll be giving it to you. But what would you do with my number?” She asked, her hands trailing a little lower than what’s appropriate.

“I’d call you. Get to know you a little better I guess.” You shrugged. She hummed.

“So you think we could become something more?” You could feel your face heating up.

“Uhm.. maybe. I’d be stupid not to try.” She giggled.

“Well, then. I’m looking forward to your efforts, sweetheart.” She moved a piece of hair out of your face. You got so awkward, you just hid in the crook of her neck.

slow erotic music continued to play from the speaker, and with a side-to-side shake of your hips, your ass bounces, pulling a groan from wanda as she watches you move in front of her. in the mirror you face, you see her watch you like a hawk; her eyes trained on you, hypnotised and enchanted by the swell of your ass, and the smooth movement of your hips.

you knew you were good at what you do, despite brushing off agatha’s compliments of “this one… she’s the best of the best.” but the way wanda’s eyes burn into you was something you’d never seen before. the woman was enamoured by your talent of dancing, and like you were the only person to exist right now.

she was respectful in all the right ways, yet still eye-fucked you regardless. you relished it; you really enjoyed the attention coming from the redhead.

It made you feel good.

you turn around to face the older woman, “so, miss maximoff,” you husk out, and as she looks up at you, she smiles a surprisingly sheepish grin at the name. the effect makes a smirk twitch at the corner of your lips, and you lean downwards slightly, your bra-clad breasts sitting close to her face. “what will i be drinking with my meal?”

wanda’s silent for a moment, her eyes focused on your cleavage. you linger for a moment, letting her appreciate the sight before moving your torso higher until your stomach faces her, and you let your body roll fluidly to the music.

“wine.” wanda replies lowly as she continues to stare.

“hmhm,” you hum agreeingly. “what kind?” it was certainly entertaining to see her mind struggle to focus.

“white, and there is lemonade to top it up with… if you’d like.”

“an attentive mommy, i see,” you purr in response, your left hand resting on her shoulder.

you felt a tingling sensation beneath the confines of your underwear when wanda moaned softly, and her hands that still rested on the edge of the seat gripped harshly, the faux leather stretching at her fingertips.

“such a good girl,” the redhead husks out, her hot breath hitting the skin of your stomach as you continue to move. “so talented.”

a spike of heat rises to your already flushed cheeks, and before you could utter a reply, the timer on your phone sounds in the booth, cutting your music off. you immediately raise your head, your motions coming to a stop as you reach to turn off the timer.

once you did, you paused the music that tried to continue after its interruption and leaned down to face wanda, “worth the extra time?” you asked, though from wandas heaving chest and parted lips, you knew your answer already.

“absolutely, i can’t believe that was only ten minutes.” the redhead uttered.

the words made you smile proudly. “time certainly flies when you are having fun.” you quipped.

you took a step back, your heels digging into the carpet below as you created space between you, even as you resented the loss of her warm body close to you. you bent at the hips and lowered your head until your lips were against the shell of wanda’s left ear, “i’ll see you shortly,” you whispered before leaving a soft, brief kiss on her cheek.

wanda’s eyelids faltered, closing momentarily at the action. she looked captivated by you, and when hooded eyes gazed up at you, the yearning for the woman to take you to her home again amplified.

“see you shortly, darling.” the older woman responded, her grip on the seat loosening as she shifted in the seat and rose from it, her hands now moving to smooth out the lengthy skirt that she looked oh so gorgeous in.

with a grin, you head out of the booth, through to the main floor, and into the changing room to get dressed and cash out. your mind was filled with nothing but wanda, and for once in your time working here, you didn’t focus on how much you had earned.

ᗢ

the sound of chardonnay glugged as wanda poured single portions into two large wine glasses. “this,” she spoke, now clipping a silver bottle stopper on the neck of the bottle. “will pair very nicely with dinner.”

god you really were being wined and dined by the woman, and as you sat in your seat at a prepared table in her open living room, you watched her intently, your hands slightly clammy at the desire for her that settled deep in your stomach.

“where did you learn all of this?” you asked with a breathy laugh. from the smell radiating from her kitchen to the knowledge she spewed about cooking, you were certainly impressed. “if you don’t mind me asking.”

wanda smiled at you and then, with the bottle in hand, she strode over to her seat, residing there. “my mother,” she spoke, her gaze focusing on the bottle as she placed it on the table. “despite my father running the business, i can say she taught me everything i know.”

it didn’t take a scientist to read from wanda’s low tone that this was a sore subject for her. but you wouldn’t prod, so instead you shifted in your seat, crossing your jean-clad legs before responding. “mothers and their teachings… though mine didn’t show me how to dance.”

wanda’s neural face raised to look at yours, her lips widening in a smile as she laughed. “i should hope not,” she snorted softly, and the sound made you grin and your stomach to leap. “that’s just all you, darling. born to be a dancer.”

“flattery will get you everywhere,” you blushed, along with a spike of nervousness that you weren’t used to feeling. “so,” you started, holding her gaze, “does the miss maximoff have moves of her own?”

wanda raised her eyebrows and thought for a moment, “i’m not the smooth dancer you are, but i would have a few tricks up my sleeve if i were in your industry.”

your curiosity piqued at that, and not only did the thought of wanda wearing lingerie make your head spin, but the thought of her doing anything like swaying her hips, bending over, or grinding on your lap made your clit throb against the tightness of your pants.

you hummed in delight, “i bet you would,” you mused. “you’re the type to excel at anything.”

“oh?” wanda shoots you a surprised look, “you seem very certain about that.”

you were absolutely certain. the redhead oozed power and ability, and with it, you imagine she commands attention wherever she goes.

the thought almost made you shiver. her demeanour was overwhelmingly sexy, and god if it wasn’t for the smell of the delicious food she had spent time making for you, you’d be on your knees and ridding her of the skirt she wore.

“i am.” you replied simply, your mind straying as you held eye contact with the woman opposite you. “now about this meal,” you say, trying to will your filthy thoughts away and focus on the matter at hand. “should i do anything to help?”

wanda grinned at the question and rose from her seat. “no,” she replied with a shake of her head, thick ginger hair swaying as she did. “you just stay there and look pretty.”

ᗢ

after you had both finished eating, you and wanda spoke over the rest of the chardonnay, and with the time that passed, you felt the wine spread a gentle flush of heat throughout your body as you grew tipsy.

“i’m curious,” wanda voices after a brief moment of silence. “lady harkness, as she calls herself, is she your… how do i put this?”

“if the word you’re trying not to say is pimp,” you reply with a laugh before taking another sip from your glass. “then no, agatha is not. she’s more like… the mother of the house.”

wanda quirks an eyebrow at that. “so there’s nothing,” she gestures with a hand, “sexual?”

“oh god no,” you say as you place your glass on the table, “agatha has many rules in the club. two being, dancers don’t fraternise with the guests, and she doesn’t fraternise with the dancers.”

the redhead hummed, her gaze faltering to her lap briefly, and when you regained eye contact with her, you knew what she was thinking.

“what would she say if she found out you were here right now?” wanda asked, her voice unexpectedly timid. a tone you hadn’t heard since the first day you met her. nervous, restricted, and doubtful to ask for a dance.

you thought for a moment. considering the longevity of your relationship with agatha, you weren’t entirely certain. “i guess one of two things: i won’t be able to work there anymore, or she’ll just scold me, say this is asinine, and...”

“and?” wanda murmured, her eyebrows furrowed.

“forbid it.”

“mother of the house, indeed,” wanda retorted as she stood from her chair, and to your surprise, walked over to you, her heels clicking against the floor as she took those few steps.

you eye the woman as she stands before you, and then, with a bend of her hips, she sits sideways on your lap, her arms resting loosely on your shoulders. before you knew it, your right hand instinctively snaked around her back to land on her hip, and your other hand rested on her outer thigh.

wow. is all you can think of. she was a sight to see, regardless, but having her in your lap like this made your hands flex against the expensive material of her skirt. she looked divine, and you needed to voice it. “you are heartachingly beautiful, you know?”

the pale skin of wanda’s cheeks flushed a shade of pink, and she bashfully turned away, hiding what you knew was a beaming smile. when she turned to face you again, wanda remained poised, even if her blushing complexion gave it away. “you’re such a sweet girl, y/n.”

you raised the hand that rested on her outer thigh and placed it against the warmth of her cheek, and your head moved forward slightly.

her breath ghosted your lips; the smell of citrus hit your senses, and with that, you couldn’t hold it back anymore.

wanda hummed when you kissed her, and your hand moved from her hip to the small of her back. you felt her hands shift on your shoulders to thread through your hair, and your heart rate spiked as she deepened the kiss.

you moaned into her mouth when her tongue swirled against yours. the sensation was something that had been on your mind since you’d both parted to work, and as you hungrily kissed each other, your mind reeled; the club’s policy and agatha’s potential fury at this situation washing away, and all that remained was the woman on your lap.

when wanda pulled away, you panted for needed breath. and watching as she did the same, you focused on her swollen, kissed lips that shone with your saliva. “come with me,” she breathed out, her thighs flexing against yours as she stood up.

one of your hands fell to rest by your side, and your other was grasped by one of wanda’s. you instantly rose from your seat and let yourself be led by her as she walked you both to her bedroom.

upon entering the dark space, wanda closed her door after you. the click of it made you face her, and as she turned to you again, you almost staggered slightly as she surged forward and reconnected your lips, her arms linking around your head and back to your hair. this time, she grasped softly at your strands, and you moaned at the desperation as she pressed herself flush against your body and deepened the kiss again. wanda was hungry for you, and it made your stomach do backflips.

“the bed,” she panted out between kisses.

you slowly shuffled backwards, not wanting her lips to leave yours, and blindly aimed for her bed. your hands moved to wanda’s hips, and at the sense of her shape, you grasped at her curvature, then snaked your hands to the swell of her ass.

another grasp made wanda moan, and as the blissful sound filled your ears, you felt wanda’s bed hit the back of your knees.

wanda pulled away, “lie down, baby,” she reached for the bedside lamp close to her, and after flicking it on, the dim light radiated as far as it could in the room, and you were greeted with wanda gazing at you, a smile on her face as she breathed heavily.

standing upright, wanda began to unbutton her cinched blazer, and it didn’t take long before she revealed a black bra. she draped the piece of clothing to her right, letting it gently rest on the floor, and when you moved to lie down, your elbows propping you up, wanda’s hands moved to her skirt.

the zipper of it sounded in the room, and when she pulled it over her hips, she let it fall into a pool around her heels, and full, pale thighs were now on display.

you bit your lip softly at the sight before you, “mommy…” you purred, and the word pulled her attention from the item around her.

“fuck,” wanda uttered with a groan, and as she stepped out of the ring of her skirt, she moved towards you, her knees dipping into the mattress as she shifted to straddle your waist.

“keep the heels on, please.” you beg, remembering how she liked manners. “you look so hot like that.”

wanda smiled and hands threaded through her hair and away from her face as she began a slow grind on your lap. your mouth fell open at the feeling, and your hands moved to her hips again, gripping the soft flesh in your palms. you guided her against your jeans, and although you wished you were rid of them, wanda panted at the friction. “that feels good, y/n.”

you continued to listen and watch in awe as wanda humped and grinded against you, and you felt an ache between your thighs and wetness coating your underwear. “you’re so sexy, mommy. shit…” you gasp, her pace increasing as well as her volume in moans.

you let your head hit the mattress as you raised your hands to her breasts, your hands palming them once through her bra before unclasping it and letting it fall from her shoulders and arms and into your hands.

tossing it to your left, your hands returned to her now bare chest. you hummed at the feeling, and when wanda’s hard nipples pressed against your palm, you bit your lip and let your index fingers and thumbs pinch them. the redhead moaned and continued to hump and chase the friction that was teetering her closer and closer, “fuck, y/n..” her eyes bore into you, and as you pinched and twisted her nipples more, her knees tightened around your hips. “i’m gonna-”

your jaw slackened as your heart pounded loudly in your ears, watching in awe as wanda began to twitch above you. “cum for me mommy,” you coaxed, and with another hard pinch to her nipples, wanda began to rut against you, mouth agape with her hands flying down to your shoulders, pressing you into the mattress.

you gazed at the sight of her cumming, feeling nothing but desire and a strong sensation of pride at the way in which she did. on your lap. desperately grinding against you. hungry for your touch.

“wow,” wanda gasped out, her chest heaving against your hands as her eyes briefly fluttered closed. “that was…”

“the hottest thing i have witnessed in a long time,” you finish her sentence for her, completely enamoured by the sight before you. your thumbs graze softly over her hard nipples before moving to rest your hands on her thighs.

“i’ll say,” wanda huffed out, and with an attempt to shift her weight, you feel her thighs vibrate and twitch. “but i think the view between your legs will be even better.”

“oh please, mommy,” you whine, your eyebrows furrowing as you bite your bottom lip. the thought of it was too exciting, and you felt overwhelmingly turned on. you ached, throbbed and lay trapped in the mess you had made in your underwear. “i want your tongue on me.”

without speaking further, wanda shuffled down your body, ignoring the wet patch she had left on your jeans, and moved to unbutton them and rid you of the confines. from the edge of the bed, her eyes raked over your legs as you re-situated yourself, them now bent at the knees.

“you look so good spread out for me, baby,” wanda husked out, positioning herself on propped elbows between your legs, “so good.”

one of her hands raised the hem of your shirt, and her mouth immediately went to the skin of your stomach. she left open-mouthed kisses on the space she created, her tongue swirling in a way that caused your eyes to roll backwards. you relished in the sensation as she worked her way down your stomach until she reached your underwear.

two fingers suddenly touched your aching cunt over the fabric of your underwear, and you gasped, your back arching slightly. “mommy…”

you almost spoke and begged her not to tease you, but wanda fortunatley beat you to the punch, because then you felt those two fingers push your underwear to the side, and her hot breath hit your bare pussy.

“you are so wet, y/n,” wanda mused, staring in amazement whilst she slid two fingers between your folds, feeling the wetness coat her fingertips, “such a good girl for me.”

wanda replaced her two slender fingers with her warm tongue, and you gasped at the sensation. the redhead hummed at the taste of you, and her hands moved to grip your waist, her tongue swirling up and down from your pulsing hole to your clit that throbbed just as hard. “you are so good at that mommy.” you praise.

wanda moans into you, the sound of it vibrating against your clit, and déjà vu flashes in your mind as your hands grip her silk sheets.

your hips tried to grind against her mouth as you felt that familiar knot forming low in your stomach, but the older woman held you in place and continued to lap and suck at your clit.

“just like that.” you gasp out, your right hand moving from the sheets to ginger locks, and your nails scratch lightly against her scalp. “just like that.”

wanda listened to your chant, and her tongue’s pace against your swollen clit stayed the same, eager to make you cum as hard as she did.

the build-up of tension from the lap dance to now had you closer than you could have anticipated, and as she continued her talented work, you felt your walls contract around nothing, and your toes curled.

“I’m-” your eyebrows furrowed, and your mouth hung open as you choked out a moan, “mommy!” your body tensed as your orgasm crashed into you, and the inside of your thighs began to squeeze wanda’s shoulders. she held you down as you convulsed, her tongue still busy on your clit, focusing on your pants and moans.

when your body came down from the high, and all that remained was a buzz of pure bliss, your body relaxed in her hold, and the redhead’s tongue grew lazy against you, then ceasing before you became overstimulated.

“you are-” you gasp out, a hand falling to your forehead, the back of it greeted with sweat that coated your hairline. “that mouth of yours…” you prop yourself up on shaky elbows and gaze down at wanda, and with ginger ruffled hair and your cum glazing her lips, you groan at the sight. “so, so good.”

wanda giggled, placing wet kisses on the inside of your thighs, “that was amazing, y/n,” she hums against the skin. “will you be staying over again?”

for your first time, you were mostly gently touching and pawing at each other. testing what feels good for the other. a lot of, "is this okay?" and "am i squeezing it too hard?" and "does it hurt?". . . from an outside perspective, the scene of you two learning together would be such a sweet sight.

you were mostly going by instinct and from the videos you've watched when you were lonely and alone. when you used to wish you have a pretty girl in your bed with you at the moment. when you used to present yourself to no one, with your face pressed on the mattress, ass in the air, fucking yourself with your tiny fingers. . begging to no one, a repetition of, "please please please oh please!" never satisfied.

when you came face to face with her pussy, you found out she gets so fucking messy. "actually, i've never been this wet before. . . i'm sorry," she's covering her face with a pillow. so embarrassed.

you also discovered that you were louder this time. so much louder. you weren't this vocal with your past relationships. you whine a lot, you whimper, couldn't form proper coherent sentences. just strings of curses and moans. how could you? you barely touched your cunts together and you feel like you're going to come from the sensation of pressing yourself against her alone.

you were both absolutely insatiable. . . you've been going at it for hours. couldn't even go to the shower without the other following along. couldn't cook dinner without anyone dipping their hands under the other's panties.

emma opened up to you that she'd like to try strapping next time. and who better to consult on the matter than the attractive resident, trinity santos? whom you've been closely working with. you didn't miss the way she's been looking at you and emma. maybe you could ask her to join you. . . you hope she agrees ♡

“you don’t ever shut up, do you?” he groans, clearly trying to sound pissed off. he’s gritting his teeth as he bites back on a groan, his hands holding onto you tighter as you grind onto him harder. “christ on a fuckin’ cross, kid. you tryin’ to break me?”

“you’re a supe,” and even with his hand over your mouth, saliva seeping through his clamped fingers and down your chin, you still find a way to bicker with him. though, with the way his cock is pressed up against your walls, you might have to give into this petty fight. “and i thou– thought that dildos didn’t talk.”

“eh, i’ll always find a way, sweetheart,” his blunt nails dig into the fat of your ass, but because he’s soldier boy, you already know your skin will be black and blue after this. through your hazy vision, you can see how his knuckles are white against his blood-stained skin. “it’s– fuck–”

you smirk against his hand, the taste of gunpowder heavy on your teeth and tongue, as you grind your hips back and forth across his lap. it’s tiresome, having to do all the work as ben sits there and talks, but you don’t care; as long as you get pleasure, that’s all that matters. the way his cock manages to bury itself in your wet cunt, the way you squeeze around him and make him curse you for the way you’re treating him.

well. if he hadn’t claimed he was “tired”– which is, quite frankly, ridiculous considering he’s a fucking supe– you wouldn’t have to be riding him like your life depended on it.

“shit–” ben hisses, harshly pulling his hand away from your mouth and studying the fresh bite marks you’ve left. despite his control, there’s a subtle tremor in his hand, as he brings his eyes up to meet yours– wide, simultaneously horrified and irate that you did that. it’s terrifying how pissed-off he looks. “can’t fuckin’ help yourself, can you, kid?”

you pause momentarily, fear shooting up your spine. “it– um–” you can’t find your words– not as you start riding him again, desperate to feel every inch of his fat cock that bullies your insides. you’re too overstimulated to take his wrath now. and besides, the noises that you create are sure enough to alleviate some– a bit, really– of his anger. “‘s just really good.. dad.”

you’ve been fucked by him enough times now to know how to soften him up. to take away some of that bitter misery that blooms throughout his body like a wildfire. so, it doesn’t surprise you that, though his eyes are still narrow, he seems pleased enough with what you’ve said to not lash out.

“huh, that so?” ben asks you, his voice rough and ragged. you nod feverishly, giving him your best smile before placing your hand over his mouth. his cock pulses violently inside you when you do, and you can feel more cum seep into your already stuffed cunt. you can’t help but to let out a wanton laugh-moan as he fights against your hand, his voice muffled. “you– fucking– sweetheart–”

but you ignore him. you continue to ride him like he’s your own dildo– just bigger, better, than the actual toy buried in your drawer that could never beat him– your nerves on fire every time he holds onto you a bit tighter, or his wet teeth catch on the softness of your hand, or he cums. you’ve braced yourself with one hand on his broad shoulder, fighting the natural urge to let him take over and have his way with you.

“just gotta– gotta let me do my thing,” you whine at ben, sobbing a bit when he returns the favour and bites your hand– it’s more painful than when you did it, punishment more than pleasure. “daddy,” slips from your mouth as you drop down on him a bit harder, more eager, than before, your abdomen seizing up as you’re close to orgasm again. you whimper as you feel his tongue against your palm, soothing the bite mark.

you pull your hips up just enough for the leaking tip of his cock to be at the edge of your cunt, almost entirely out of you. “always so mean to me,” you gasp, your breathing all over the place as you tease him. “it’s like you don’t love me, dad.” 

he’s holding onto your waist so tightly that you may as well crush your bones, the fiery disdain in his eyes his supporting argument, but he doesn’t. instead, he slams you back onto him.

it’s like the life has been stolen from your body. your cunt clamps around him as you feel all of him, a scream escaping your swollen mouth. you can’t stop yourself as you cum, your hand slipping from his mouth and resting on his other shoulder. you’re shaking, your vision blurred with tears of overstimulation and euphoria-laced fear. and when you meet his gaze– one that can only suggest how much you’re in for after this little performance of yours– you can feel him cum in you once more, his load seeping out of your stretched, sore cunt.