#blackhill

Natasha’s hand sits heavy on the small of your back. The night air wraps around you like a blanket made of ice, the heavy winds that November brings to the East Coast unforgiving this late at night. The street lights illuminate a path to follow, cracks in the sidewalk glaring at you beneath shadows cast by warm bodies and street signs. The inky darkness of a hexagon stifles Natasha’s shadow for a moment as you cross the street toward your place, the stop sign looming large over where her head should’ve appeared in the street.

You can’t help but replay the last few minutes in your head as silence envelopes you thickly. Natasha had dragged you out of the bathroom fucked-out and messy, her fingers still glimmering with slick as they held your waist possessively. She’d announced to the table that you were taking off, giving no reason for the abrupt departure or the promise to venmo Jimmy back for the portion of the bill you both left uncovered. She’d hadn’t looked at anyone specifically, not Jimmy, or Darcy, or Monica, but then her eyes drifted to Maria and they stayed there for seconds you almost wished you had counted. It might’ve been ten, but it had felt like thirty when you’d stood there silently, still feeling fireworks under your skin, only half aware of the scene unfolding before you.

You’re still not entirely clear. The cold makes it hard to find complete darkness and serenity in a state of mind only Natasha can drag you into, but the edges of your perception are still fuzzy enough; you’re still subdued by her efforts to pull you apart. She’s unmade you, and there hasn’t been a single attempt to put you back together again, so even with the cold that forces you conscious enough to make sure your grip is tight around her hands, fingers laced together and locked there by protruding knuckles, you feel empty, hollow, numb. Your body buzzes with electricity that could power the streets in a blackout, but it doesn’t register to you that your core is leaking into the already ruined panties and your breath is a pitchy whine when it escapes your lips.

Maria walks beside you, her hands in her pockets as she hums to no tune in particular. They haven’t said a word. Neither of them. Natasha guided your arms into your jacket at the end of the table, she accepted Maria’s invitation to ‘walk them halfway’, and there hadn’t been anything uttered since. There didn’t have to be. Nothing needs to be spoken when this isn’t the first time you’ve invited Maria into your bed. You know what happens after this. You also know that if you don’t want this, if you ever stop wanting this, it ends with one word. You want this though, your body feels empty, void of warmth that your mind is convinced only Natasha can give you, but you know enough to be confident in whispering green when Natasha’s fingers brace themselves on the door knob, Maria lingering by the porch steps as she waits for the final seal of approval to assert her dominance.

“What’s your color, baby?” Natasha asks you slowly, softly, the key already in the lock, already turned, but her fingers hover over the brass knob, waiting for your consent to give Maria even the smallest glimpse into your personal lives. Her hand isn’t on the center of your back anymore, but she still remains in contact as her bicep brushes your shoulder, keeping you close to her side like the warmth of her body is strong enough to temporarily conceal you from the breeze.

“Green, daddy.” You whisper, eyes hazy, swirling with stars. Natasha can see the depth of emptiness in your eyes, and years ago, it would’ve scared her to find you in a headspace so detached from reality, but now she knows how to bring you back to where you want. She knows how to bring you out of this, and how to push you down so deep you’re reduced to breathy whispers and failed explanations. The emptiness won’t last forever, but she doesn’t think you’ve earned the pleasure she can bestow just yet.

“Yeah? Green for Daddy and Sir?” Natasha throws you into the water below the pier, but the buoy keeps you afloat until you recognize that it’s either sink or swim. Your eyes dart toward Maria, searching her eagerly, and she returns the stare with kindness, softness that you know will fade the second you give consent for it to. Maria can be kind, but she knows you like when she isn’t. You’re a deceiving little thing. So sweet, so soft, so innocent when you want to be, but you like when they’re rough. When they do nothing but take what they want from you.

“Green for Daddy and Sir.” You mimic like a little parrot, and Natasha smiles endearingly at you. She loves when you’re like this, when you let yourself trust in her enough to let your walls down and just be the version of yourself that has no defenses or concerns. There’s no embarrassment here, no judgement. She can make your body burn, your cheeks flush, your belly twist and tingle, but it’s never negative, it’s never truly cruel. You’re safe. You know it, she knows it, Maria knows it. You’re safe with them.

“Good girl.” Natasha mutters, brushing her lips against your forehead, allowing your body to find comfort again. It was a tactical move to keep quiet on the walk home. It’s dark, late. Natasha and Maria are two of the most physically capable women you know, but they’re both still women, and they’re both aware of the statistics and the crazies. Natasha opens the door, the lamp you left on beside the couch lighting up a yellow path to follow. She pushes you inside, over the threshold, into the hallway where heat makes you burn from the outside in. The arousal dampening your panties becomes something you're too aware of, and your knuckles turn pink as you stand in the heat, assaulted by the change of temperature so abruptly. “Come here, my love. Come here, let Daddy help you.” Natasha guides you towards her when both she and Maria get inside fully, her hands beckoning you close with silly twitches of her fingers.

The veteran needs no invitation to begin undressing once the door is closed, but Natasha’s focus is you for the time being, watching you stand there so willingly her full priority over taking off her own coat and clothes. She doesn’t fault Maria, doesn’t even spare the woman a second glance as she hands her coat on the hook by the door, but she can’t put herself first when you’re so sweetly counting on her. “How rough do you want this?” She asks as she u zips your jacket, the gleaming silver zipper snagging on the fabric between your shirt and the zipper until she gives a harsher tug that breaks the tension.

Your whine when she slides it off your shoulders is high pitched and distant, the cold coming back too quickly after the flush of burning heat, your mind fighting so hard to stay where you are, but the sensations she’s forcing upon you too much to ignore. Natasha can see it, the fight for control happening in your head, how you’re trying so hard to remain her precious puppet, but failing with every second she keeps you exposed to silence and elements that nobody’s ever prepared for when they inevitably come around. “Shh, shh, none of that. Daddy doesn’t toleate little girls who whine and you know that, huh?” She quirks an eyebrow at you, her fingers handing the jacket off to Maria who already knows it belongs in the closet around the corner. “Now, I asked you a question, and I expect an answer. How rough do you want this tonight? We both have work tomorrow, and you can’t call out even if you wanted to. We need to remember that.”

“Don’t…I don’t want you to hold back.” It takes every last ounce of control you have to get the words off your lips, but that had been Natasha’s intention entirely. She knows how to work you, how to break you and make you whole again, but you’ve just given her full and explicit permission to do the first more than she already has.

“Take your pants off.” Natasha demands, stepping away from your body to watch you struggle with the button of your jeans. Your cheeks burn with humiliation as you fumble with the button standing beneath her gaze, unaware of where Maria is. “Come on, baby. Take your pants off, don’t make me wait anymore than I already have.”

”Daddy.” You whine, feet stomping as you struggle, giving up half-way through when the button finally pops, but the bow at the front of your panties gets caught in the zipper similar to your jacket.

“You’ve got a whiny little brat on your hands, Nat.” Maria’s voice makes you jump, a chill running down your spine as you recognize that she’s standing beside you, probably staring at your ass that slowly exposes itself as your jeans slip down your thighs but never any lower, the zipper that’s only half undone keeping you confined in the denim. “Thought you were fixing that problem.”

Natasha scoffs, shaking her head as she steps toward your body that burns with shame as Maria critiques you. You want to defend yourself, want to say you’re not a brat, that your Daddy doesn’t need to tame you anymore than she already does, but you can’t focus on anything outside of Natasha’s hands undressing you, working your jeans down your thighs and tapping your ankle to step out when it's time. She’s so soft, so careful, so— “Get your ass over to that couch. Now. We’ve waited long enough for you.”

You nod quickly, desperately, wanting her to see that you’re listening, making this easy on yourself and them, making up for all the bratting you’d done that morning when you’d felt so out of control and desperate for attention without knowing how to say it. Your belly burns with shame when you glance at the window you’d been spanked at previously, your pussy stinging with the assault of the memory and the subsequent denial that followed.

You stand at the couch, unsure of what to do or where they want you. You're half naked, your panties the only thing keeping you covered, but the bikini style thong does little to hide your ass or the stretch marks on your hips and upper thighs. Moonlight washes into the living room, not as bright as the sunlight you adore feeling from the couch, but bright enough to remind you of Maria and Natasha both still remaining fully dressed.

“Daddy already spanked that ass today, didn’t she?” Natasha hums, stepping into the room with Maria, just watching you without reaching out to touch you. Your head bobs, your teeth sinking into your lip as your cheeks burn. Natasha smiles coyly, her eyes flickering to Maria’s for a moment before they fall on you again. “Yeah, I did. Spanked that ass and that pussy. But, why don’t we let Maria have a turn. How does that sound?”

“Okay.” You whisper, shocked that you could even find your voice enough to say that, but Natasha only laughs, her head telling back as she shakes her head like something is funny that you’re not aware of.

“Daddy wasn’t asking.” Maria cuts in, her eyes dark and filled with lust as she inches toward you. “Over the couch. Now. Unlike your Daddy, I’m not kind when I have to repeat myself.”

You scramble to follow her directions, your head swimming, your consciousness drowning in a puddle of tar that refuses to let your movements come with thoughtless fluidity. You're jerky and shaky on your feet, trembling from desire and a feel that you think is nerves, but you're too far from the shorelines of your consciousness to really know or find a name for the butterflies in your belly. You’ve done this with Maria a handful of times, but she never fails to take your breath away when you get her like this, stripped back and overwhelmed with control she never gets to have this fully.

The bones of the couch dig into your pelvis when Maria shoves you over the arm when you’re in reach. Her hand slaps your ass harshly without warning or preparation, and you shriek, trying to cover the sting that you feel throughout your entire body. “Watch yourself. You cover your ass again and I show you how good I am at making a belt a pair of handcuffs.” She growls, leaning over your body until her breasts hit your back, keeping you down not like you’d move. You’re exactly where you want to be even if your body reacts to the cruelness of their actions in ways your mind doesn’t.

Her fingers trail between your legs, her body still pressing you down, keeping you still and beneath her body. You jump when fingertips graze your clit, feeling at the wetness between your legs that is all Natahsa’s fault. Your body shivers when she laughs mockingly, her palm smacking your core before she pulls her hand away entirely. “So fucking wet. Needy little thing can’t even keep her panties dry like a good little girl.” Your cheeks burn, your head turning to the left, your eyes burning heat that tries to scorch Natahsa. Maria’s never said that to you, never insinuated that she knows the depth of the Daddy kink you let Natasha have control over. Maybe she didn’t say anything, maybe it was never explicitly stated that you like when Natasha treats you like.. this, maybe Maria just figured it out all on her own, regardless, you search for structure in Natasha now that everything feels like it changed right beneath your feet.

“Color.” Maria asks, but its not really a question. THe tension in your spine has changed, and while she doesn’t think you’re entirely off put, she wants to make sure that this is still what you want.

“Green.” You whisper again, no hesitation or ounce of uncertainty, but its not enough for Maria who slaps your cunt again, her teeth digging into your shoulder blade.

“Green, who?” She growls, the reverberations of her voice shooting through your body as her breath fans across your neck. Your eyes close, you can’t keep them open anymore but its a miracle that you’ve lasted this long. Sometimes Natasha demands that you open them, and she stops every time they close, but not tonight. Nobody scolds you, but your eyes snap open like they will, and Natahsa cant help her smirk of smugness as she watches you struggle beneath Maria.

A hand wraps around your throat, fingers curved into the shape of a c as she squeezes until you really can’t keep your eyes open anymore, whining into the open air as she spanks your ass again, this time with all of her strength. Her hand falls of her throat after you yelp, your lungs gasping for breath that wasn’t really stifled before, but the psychological impression was enough to make you feel that way.

Maria eases your panties down your thighs wordlessly, appreciating the glimmer of wetness in the light before she taps your face with an open palm, the rings adorning her fingers catching a sting to spread despite the reactive lightness of her hit. It makes sense why it hurts so bad on your ass. You hadn’t remembered about her rings until now, too in the moment, too blinded by darkness, but as the seconds weigh on you, and your mind ever so slowly pieces together the puzzle, you remember that she always has them on, and you always feel the sting for days longer than Natasaha’s spankings.

“Open.” She demands, voice cold but inviting, alluring. It doesn’t take you any longer than a second to comply, whining, or maybe moaning, when fingers push the material past your lips, pressing down on your tongue hard enough to trigger your gag réflex before she pulls them out, leaving the soiled panties in your mouth to stifle your whines and cries. She hasn’t started spanking you yet, not really. She’s just having her fun with you now, playing with you how she wants without second guess about it. “Don’t want to hear that mouth of yours. Desperate little sluts that beg for anybody to use them don’t get to whine about being treated like they are, and you’re a slut, aren’t you? Just a little slut for Daddy and Sir to use.”

Your eyes close, and this time, they don’t reopen, a groan falling off of your lips that becomes a whine of protest when she really begins, laying a slap onto your ass with a whispered one you think is only said to prepare you for the onslaught of attacks to come. It’s a shower of hits, ten on your left cheek then five on your right, three in the center before she travels lower, to your sit spots and the softest parts of your thighs, and then ten on your right ass cheek, and twelve on your right. You’re sobbing, crying over the arm of the couch with your nails so far into the material you wonder if there'll be ten puncture wounds in sight when this all is done.

You can’t keep the panties in your mouth any longer when her hands spread your legs and aim for your cunt now, three, five, seven spanks being all it takes for your tongue to force the fabric out of your mouth and offer pleas for mercy instead. “Please! No more! No more!”

Maria’s not always one to listen to you, she takes what she wants, but she’d been done before you started begging anyway, aware of Natasha behind her with the strap-on. You’re not aware of that, you hadn’t even realized that the entire point of Maria bending you over was so that Natasha could slip upstairs and grab the strap she’d had an entire conversation with Maria about at dinner in front of your face. You hadn’t been listening, both of them knew that, but what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you.

Maria pulls you up with a fistfull of your hair, tugging on your roots just because when you’re fully on your feet. “Good job.” It’s all you're going to get from her right now, and it’s not really enough, but she doesn’t intend for it to be as she lets Natasha pull you away from her and into her chest, the strap buried between your legs.

“You’re going to eat Maria out while I fuck you, and you’re not going to cum until you’ve made her cum. Do you understand?” Natasha lays it out plain and clear, simple enough for your mind to wrap around it fully and comprehend what they’re both expecting of you. Your head bobs, up and down eagerly, your eyes shooting to Maria who’s already u doing her slacks and easing herself onto the couch, her legs spreading invitingly as she runs her hands along her body, feeling herself up if only to further rile you up. “Strip before you do it. I want you naked.”

You shiver as you step away from her, or, you shiver as she shoves you away from her, encouraging you to get to it with an expectant raise of her eyebrows. You strip out of your shirt, eager to lose the layers that provoke a sheen of sweat across your chest. Your bra is cute, but Natasha doesn’t care to tell you to leave it on, humming in satisfaction when your tits drop out, nipples peaked at full attention for Maria to ogle from the couch.

“Get to work.” Natasha slaps your ass, and you whine, but oblige. Maria’s warm as you settle on your knees between her legs, your ass raised in the air, high enough for Natasha to grab your hips and slot the strap between your thighs but she never pushes inside. Maria takes a handful of your hair and pulls your head down to her core, the fabric of her black panties pulled aside just enough to give you access to where she needs you and nothing more. She never gives you anything more than what she wants from you.

She’s wet as your tongue laps from her hole to her clit, short tuffs of hair that she keeps trimmed neatly tickling your nose as you press farther into her, whining into her clit when Natasha bumps the tip of the strap into yours. Maria’s hand pushes you closer, her hips grinding against your face however she feels.

You’re least expecting it when Natasha pushes it, and its too much all at once as she bottoms out in you and immediately pulls back out, slamming into you with the roughness you asked for, but don’t know how to take. You’re close already, clenching around the strap as she pounds you deep, but you know Maria’s body well enough to know she’s not even close to cumming, and you whine in disappointment when Natasha slows down, easing you away from the pleasure you were seconds away from falling into.

“Two fingers. Nothing more.” Maria pants, her back arching as your tongue swirls around her clit in tight fast circles. You listen, you don’t have to be told twice, and you’re rewarded not only with her walls fluttering against her fingers, but Natasha picking up her pass as she grinds the base of the strap into your clit. “Fuck!” She curses, the first audible one to pass her lips despite the groans and moans that happen every other second.

Natasha’s no better, her fingertips bruising your hips as she bounces you on the strap to meet her thrusts. Maria doesn’t give you a warning when she cums, but her fingers tangle tighter into your hair and her hips grind harder into your face, her thighs holding you still as she shakes with a climax you’re still only dreaming of.

“Wanted this so bad, didn’t you? Been asking for Maria to come over, been begging to be used like a little slut. Fuck, baby. You have it now, fuck. God. Cum with me. You have thirty seconds to cum with me.” She warns, her voice tight, deep. She’s already there, but she’s holding out for you. Her hand comes between your legs to rub your clit as Maria pushes you away, already beginning to collect her clothes and herself whilst Natasha unmakes you for a final time. It makes you feel dirty, cheap, watching her dress herself with no ounce of attention to the pleasure racking your body.

“Please! Daddy, please!” You beg, your fingers curling into the cushions that Maria’s body had been on only seconds ago.

“Come on, cum with me, pretty girl. Cum with Daddy.” She groans, finally letting go herself as she fucks you through your orgasm. She doesn’t linger in your cunt like you want, slowly pulling herself out of you the moment you stop spasming with pleasure, and eases you into a position that alleviates the stress on your knees. “You did so good, baby. But it’s time to say goodbye to Masha now.”

Your eyes blink slowly, your body still naked, convulsing. Natahsa smiles softly at you, and Maria’s eyes bare the same tenderness as she slips her coat over her shoulders. She inches back over to you when its on, kissing your forehead like she always does before she leaves. “You did such a good job. Let Daddy take care of you now.” She advices and you nod dutifully, allowing your body to meet into Natasha’s when she sits down on the couch with you, the strap left on the floor with the harness.

“Bye Masha.” You mumble, watching drearily as Maria sneaks out of the house into the darkness. Natasha hums when she’s gone, finally letting herself come down from the rough control fully.

”You did so good. So good. It’s all done now, baby girl. Can you tell me how you feel? Use those words and let me hear that pretty voice?” Natasha asks, resting her lips against the side of your temple, feeling the heat rolling off of your skin.

”Masha’s on my fingers.” You mumble, looking down at your glistening fingers with a frown.

Natasha laughs softly, shaking her head as she takes your wrist and wipes your fingers on the shirt she hasn’t changed out of yet. “Masha’s all gone now. Just you and me for the night.”

“Just you and me.”