There's a void (you can fill)
Mama/Daddy Nat x sub Reader
Summary: Wanda is away for work and you wake up feeling needy. Natasha tries to teach you some patience — but she’s perhaps a little too understanding.
Featuring: mommy kink, daddy kink, praise kink, bratting, strap-warming (r receiving), fingering/cunnilingus, slight dumbification, slight humiliation, safeword usage, healthy communication.
Word Count: 8.1k
Author's Note: In honour of the first anniversary of my main fic, Collision Course, here is the extended version of my smut fic, previously published as "Too Long". I hope you enjoy!
You’re woken by the movement of the body beside you. Automatically you reach out with your hand, fingers finding the fabric of Natasha’s t-shirt.
“It’s okay, lapushka,” Natasha reassures you in a hushed voice. “I’m just going to the gym. You go back to sleep, and I’ll come up and wake you when I’m done.”
“Mama… stay,” you whine sadly, still keeping tight hold. You don’t mind being left when Wanda is here to snuggle into, but the idea of being left alone in the bed is intolerable.
“Okay, well… maybe you could join me? Would you like that, kroshka moya?”
You huff a little, not entirely impressed by her alternative option. But eventually you relent, nodding sleepily.
Natasha smiles down at you, and begins massaging your tight fingers on her shirt, convincing them to release. When they do, she scoops up your hand and pulls you gently out of the bed.
You shiver a little, standing in only your underwear and one of Wanda’s t-shirts, which still bears her scent. Natasha lets go of your hand and moves to the closet, and you you tail her, arms folded over your chest in an attempt to keep warm.
“Are you my little duckling today?” Natasha asks, laughing quietly as you catch up to her side. You hum a vague sound of slightly embarrassed assent. “That’s alright, milaya devushka. We can stay close today if you need.”
You smile then, and lean your head against her. Natasha wraps one arm around you as she finds clothes for you both. Then she spins you around, places her hand at the small of you back and guides you back into the room. Natasha dresses you first, helping you into a loose pair of joggers, a sports bra and a hooded zip-up top. She gets you to sit on the bed again to put your socks on, then she gets changed. You watch as she gets dressed, her muscles rippling with the movement. She puts on leggings, a sports bra and a black t-shirt, then balances on each leg to pull her socks on. She reaches over to you and cups your chin in her hand, softly closing your agape mouth. You blush as she smirks at you, realising you’ve been caught staring. Luckily, she doesn’t tease you explicitly for it.
“Come on, utenok,” she prompts you, holding her hand out. “Let’s head down to the gym.”
Natasha’s morning training session is made a lot less intensive by your presence, but she never looks like she minds. When it becomes clear you lack motivation to exercise but desperately want to stay near her, Natasha opts to do core exercises on the mats, occupying you with mini tasks. She asks you to hold her feet while she does sit-ups, and you gladly oblige, hardly realising that she doesn’t really need your help. She makes you giggle and blush when she starts giving you a little kiss every time she rises. Sometimes on the lips, sometimes on the nose or the chin. Her pecks are soft and a little ticklish, but even this small affection awakens a need inside of you. You squirm a little on your legs tucked beneath you; your heels digging into the flesh of your backside so close to the growing ache between your thighs.
The next time Natasha sits up she does a powerful, coordinated move to stand, scooping her hands under your armpits as she does so you are lifted into the air. She holds you dangling for a moment, until your ankles flex and she trusts you to stand on your own. Set down on your feet, you gaze up at her, pink and flustered.
Natasha smiles at you, and boops your nose gently with her finger.
“Time for a shower,” she tells you, grinning when you pout. “What’s this?” she asks, tilting her head quizzically as she gazes at your disgruntled expression. “I thought my little duck loved water?”
“Not a duck,” you huff, leaning forward and resting your forehead against her chest, so you can hide your frown.
“No? Not even if you get to shower with Mama?”
You lift your head at that… and see Natasha smirking.
“I thought so. Come on, moy malen’kiy utonok. Let’s get cleaned up and then we can have breakfast.”
It’s been a while since you showered together, and the memory simmers in your mind as Natasha gently washes your hair with the shampoo that smells of strawberries. Wanda bought it for you a few weeks ago, saying “only the sweetest things for my sweetest little girl”. Her voice echoes in your mind, as does the memory of the last time she fucked you in here, with your back pressed flush against her chest, and her forearms holding you still round the waist as she pumped her fingers into you.
“Close your eyes, baby,” Natasha instructs you, as she guides you under the shower head to wash the shampoo out of your hair.
Natasha had been watching, that time. Just beyond the glass partition, witnessing it all and waiting with a towel. She’d wrapped you up in it as Wanda grabbed her own, and then carefully dried and braided your hair while you floated in the sweet post-sex haze.
You feel a little floaty now, caught between your headspaces and all the different types of longing.
Natasha begins to wash your body, with smooth gentle strokes of the washcloth. You shudder a little when it brushes over your nipples, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s so focused on washing every inch of skin.
When she moves her hand between your legs, you begin to squirm. And this, she can’t miss.
“I know, baby,” she whispers. “You’re always so sensitive down there, hm? But just let Naty wash you now.”
You look up at her, your vision slightly blurred from the shower mist and the droplets which sit on your eyelashes. You can’t tell if she’s teasing you. And honestly, you’re too tired to investigate it. So you just let out a sigh, close your eyes, and let her move on to your legs.
Natasha makes blinis for breakfast — and you know it’s because she can tell that you’re sad, missing Wanda. Normally this is a weekend treat, not something that she’d do on a Wednesday morning. But that’s not the only thing that’s different about today. She’s working from home too, even though today’s a day she is usually in the office. Perhaps she’s worried about you feeling lonely, but she doesn’t say that. No: instead she’s gentle but matter of fact, her words hurtling you back into your grown-up headspace by setting up her expectations for the day as you eat. She has a lot of work to do, so she’ll be in her study, and she’d prefer not to be interrupted.
I might as well be alone, you think, your thoughts bitter and sad. Wanda would let me sit with her.
A wave of guilt washes over you as you stab into your blini. That wasn’t fair. Natasha is being kind. So kind, in fact. She’s given you the times when she’ll come out to see you, and to eat lunch. And she’s been nothing but lovely to you since Wanda left. Indulging you in your pouting, and letting you be little and clingy whenever the sadness takes hold.
But she also hasn’t touched you since Wanda left. Not properly, anyway. There’s been affectionate cuddles and the gentle shower this morning, but nothing which has addressed the need which grips you even tighter with every day which passes.
Wanda would have touched you by now. She could always tell when you wanted it, and would initiate without you needing to ask. But Natasha was cautious with you, when you were like this. She always wanted to know exactly where your head was at. And that was tricky, at a time like this, when your emotions were being pulled in so many different directions. You hadn’t quite processed it yourself, yet. All you knew was that you missed your Mommy, and it was becoming harder to behave every day.
You tried at first. You really did. You set up your laptop at the dining table, and tried to do some reading. But Mayakovsky distracted you with his meowing and the way he constantly rubbed against your legs, asking for strokes. And then when he stalked off after you acquiesced, you tried to read but couldn’t. Nothing was going in, and you were frustrated, and bored, and irritable.
“Naty?” you whine, knocking at the door a little too loud.
She opens it herself a couple of moments later, frowning as she tries to assess what’s wrong.
“What is it, lapushka?”
You huff at the way she still holds the door, like she doesn’t have time for you.
“I can’t concentrate,” you tell her, your voice petulant. “Can I work in here with you?”
Natasha sighs.
“I’m sorry, kroshka, but I can’t have you in here today. I’m reviewing sensitive documents, and I can’t have anyone else in the room.”
You lean your head back, close your eyes and sigh.
“Fine…” you reply, sounding anything but polite. “When will you be free again?”
Natasha raises an eyebrow, but she doesn’t comment on your tone. She merely reminds you of the time she can take a break, and gives you a gently pat on the shoulder.
“I’ll see you then, okay? Just try your best with your work.”
You nod unhappily, and head downstairs.
Nothing works. Nothing goes in. You fidget on the seat; you move to the kitchen island. You even move downstairs to the sofa.
Bad idea. Just above your laptop screen, you spot your Switch, sitting in the dock. What’s the harm, playing a little just now? Technically you’re not obliged to work at any particular hour of the day. And if you really can’t focus right now, what’s the point in forcing it?
You close your laptop, place it on the coffee table in front of you, and get up to turn on the Switch and arrange the controller.
Time passes quickly, now that you’re able to focus on something. You get to a new shrine on Breath of the Wild, and manage to clear it after a couple of attempts. Natasha would be proud! You think of bringing it up to show her… but then think better of it. Instead, you ride your horse to another shrine you’ve marked on your map. This one is harder, and after a few attempts, you become frustrated. But, looking at your watch, you can see that Natasha’s first promised break is only three minutes away. Perfect!
You slide the joy-cons back on your Switch and then lift it out of the dock, carrying it upstairs with slow steps. You only have to wait outside the door for a couple of minutes.
You manage one, and then knock.
Natasha seems a little happier when she opens the door this time — at least at first. Her gaze flickers down to the Switch in your hand, and you stupidly start talking, letting more words slip out than you intended.
“Can you help me with this shrine, Naty? I’ve tried so many times but I can’t clear it!”
Natasha sighs, pressing her lips together. You realise then that you’ve fucked up, that she has noticed. You half expect her to say that she won’t do it until this evening, and perhaps even take the console away from you until then. But instead she takes a deep breath, and merely gives you the slightest admonishment.
“Lapushka, you were supposed to be working.”
“I know,” you admit quietly. “I’m sorry, Naty.”
She watches you for a moment, then takes the Switch from your hand.
“Alright — I’ll give it a go while we get a snack, but then I want it away until lunchtime, okay?”
You nod quickly, surprised and elated by her rather relaxed response.
Natasha clears the level easily between sips of tea and handfuls of fruit and nuts. You bounce at her side on the sofa, cheering her on happily.
When it’s finished, she looks at her watch.
“I need to head back up,” she tells you, leaning over and giving you a kiss on the cheek, before standing and turning off the Switch. “Get some work done before lunch, okay? And then we can go for a walk or something, after we eat.”
You nod, and reach for your laptop, fully intending, in the moment, to obey.
Somehow though, that intention isn’t quite enough. At some point, your motivation wanes, and the controller ends up in your hands, and you’re playing again, and completely losing track of time…
“Heh-hem.”
A light, deliberate cough draws your attention away from the screen. Natasha stands a few feet away from the sofa, her arms folded, and her eyes narrowed. You shrink a little on the sofa.
“I thought I made it clear that you should leave it until lunchtime,” she says, not taking her eyes off you, even as you avoid her gaze. “Did I not?”
You don’t say anything. There’s nothing really to say.
“Right, I think I’ll be taking this upstairs, in that case,” she decides, walking towards the Switch and lifting it out of the dock. The TV goes blank, and you feel a flash of frustration.
“I wasn’t playing for long,” you whine. “And besides — I couldn’t concentrate. What difference does it make, if I can’t focus anyway?”
“I’m taking it up to my study,” Natasha repeats, very calmly. Her lack of response to your words unnerves you a little. Normally she’d jump on such brattiness straight away. But she’s just ignoring it. And it feels a little like she’s ignoring you.
“Controller, please,” she says, holding out her empty hand. Numbly, you hand it over. She sorts out the joy-cons, places the grip on the coffee table, then starts walking towards the stairs.
“I’ll meet you in the kitchen for lunch, okay?”
Lunch is a little awkward, because Natasha seems to have moved on, and you haven’t. The irritation and guilt still swim inside you, and yet she brushes your hair behind your ear as you set the table, and places her hand on your thigh as you eat, and kisses the back of your head when you wash the dishes. You feel floaty, and not in a good way. It feels like you’re in limbo, right now.
Natasha offers to go for a walk with you, but for some reason, you refuse. You don’t want to walk right now. You don’t really know what you want at all. But whatever it is, it’s something that’s missing. Something’s off-kilter, and you don’t think it’s just the void of Wanda’s absence, longing to be filled. There’s something else which isn’t quite sitting right with you. Something in your emotions, and perhaps the energy between you, which feels mixed up.
Natasha sits with you downstairs for a bit, and even gets you to show her what you’re supposed to be working on, as a gentle means of getting you started. It works for a bit, even beyond the time when she leaves you to return to her work. But then you’re distracted by your phone buzzing, and the message from Wanda throws you off completely.
I miss you, baby. I hope you’re being good for Daddy.
God, you miss her so much. But also, bubbling beneath that sadness, there’s another feeling. Another yearning for something that’s missing.
You miss your daddy, too.
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Natasha has simply been trying her best to hold it together.
Wanda has been away for three days now, and she won’t be home for another two. In her absence, your emotions have been wobbly, and your behaviour less than your best.
Thus far, she has been tolerant. Natasha understands that your petulance stems from the separation, and how much you’re missing your Mommy. So she’s been letting you off lightly when you’ve pouted and deliberately pushed her buttons, giving you gentle reminders rather than stern warnings. She even let you get away with not tidying up the living room last night, which is normally non-negotiable. And yet, despite all of her kindness and understanding and leniency, your misbehaviour has only continued. If not escalated.
Natasha told you this morning that she needed space to focus on her work, and she didn’t want to be disturbed while she was in her study. She even explained when you could have breaks together, for lunch and snacks and cuddles if needed. But what she thought was a simple, reasonable rule (set mainly to help you get some of your own work done in peace, rather than any selfish desire of her own) is being blatantly ignored. Repeatedly.
The fourth time you interrupt her without knocking, whining something unintelligible about being bored to death and needing your recently confiscated Switch right now, Natasha’s understanding of the situation flickers into a new light. Her previous resolve lost, a new tactic takes its place. One which she realises is far more appropriate for your needs, as she now sees them.
-----------------⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅-----------------
You feel a shiver run through your body as Natasha frowns at you, her demeanour very different to the rather softer affect she has adopted since dropping Wanda off at the airport. She seems more like herself now. Serious, firm. Reliable. The domme you know as Daddy. The domme you need right now.
“Go change into a skirt and a vest top. Now, please,” Natasha commands, her tone cutting into you at once, making your heart flutter and your core twinge.
“Yes, Daddy” you squeak out, then dash off — out her study, down the hall and up the stairs to your room. In the closet, you find a white cropped tank top and a layered white and pink floral skirt. It’s short, leaving little to the imagination. You’re fairly sure this is what Natasha wants.
Once you’re dressed, you pull up your socks and race down the stairs again, almost skidding as you turn the corner to her study. The door is closed over, making you hesitate. Do you knock?
Your heart pounds, a smidgeon of anxiety rising to the surface. It feels strange to call out the title through the door, so you settle for something softer.
“Naty?” You call out nervously, twiddling your fingers together and scrunching your toes up beneath you.
“You may come in, malyshka,” she responds, her voice husky and commanding. Your hand trembles as you reach for the handle and push the door open.
Natasha is sitting at her desk again, looking across at you with her fingers tapping the edge of the table. She has a stern sort of look on her face, one which makes you fold in on yourself, shoulders curling forwards, head ducking.
“Come here.”
You obey her instruction at once, approaching in a flurry, desperate to please her now that she’s in this state: commanding, and a little cold. You stop about a foot away from her, hovering at the side of her desk.
Natasha’s eyes roam your body from top to toe, smirking appreciatively. You can feel the cool air from the open balcony door meeting the already-damp patch of your underwear beneath the skirt.
“Now then, malyshka…” Natasha begins, her tone serious and a little scathing. “Why do you think I’ve called you here?”
You swallow thickly, words sticking in your throat.
“I’ve been bad,” you squeak out.
“Hmm…” she hums, considering your words. “Can you tell me more about that, baby?” Her voice is a little softer now. Perhaps she’s noticed your trembling fingers and taken pity.
“I - I’ve been disturbing you while you work,” you mumble. “I’m sorry.”
Natasha reaches out and takes your shaking hands into hers.
“And can you tell me why, please, little one?” She strokes your hands with her thumbs, and you feel like you’re melting. You desperately want her to hug you, to hold you. Anything more than this.
“Um…” you gnaw at your lip, struggling to maintain eye contact with her piercing green eyes. Natasha nods encouragingly at you, and you take a deep breath. “I n-need you, Daddy. I wanted…” you blush darkly, her questioning forcing you to consciously realise what you’ve been wanting, what you’ve been aiming to happen without really knowing.
“Go on, malyshka,” Natasha urges you, letting go of your left hand and cupping your chin, lifting it so you’re looking at her. You swallow, and feel hot, embarrassed tears well in your eyes.
“I wanted you to touch me,” you say, the words spilling out in tandem with a single tear.
“Oh, my pretty girl,” Natasha coos, wiping the tear away with her left hand then placing both hands around your waist, fingers brushing against the skin exposed between the ending of your top and the beginning of the skirt. “You know you don’t need to act out to get that, right? You can just use your words.”
You squirm on the spot and look down again, feeling your arousal pool at the condescending tone she uses. Natasha’s hands snake a bit lower, resting on your hips now, pressing in against the fabric of the skirt and stilling your slightly swaying movements.
“Hmm, do you need a reminder of Daddy’s rules, baby?” she asks, making you look up uncertainly. “Remember, I like you to use your words, malyshka. Big girls use their words to communicate, and only big girls get to play grown up games with Daddy. Are you a big girl, Y/N?”
You whine at this, feeling hot all over and struggling to contain the urge to rub your thighs together, the soaked fabric of your panties becoming distinctly uncomfortable against your throbbing centre.
“Are you too little right now to play?” Natasha checks, her tone wavering between teasing and concern. You look up at her, mind foggy and unsure how to answer. “Colour, baby,” she commands, and you feel relieved at the easy request.
“Green,” you whisper, at once. She smiles.
“Good girl for using your words,” she praises, and she leans forward in her chair, rising a little to kiss you passionately on the lips. You feel yourself falling into her, your weight taken entirely by her firm hold on your hips. When her tongue presses against your lips you grant her entry at once, and she’s lapping inside, her tongue pressing against yours, her teeth taking your lower lip in a bite that borders on painful. You wrap your hands around the back of her neck and moan into her mouth. In response, her hands dig in a little tighter to your hips, and she breathes out a little gasp of appreciation as she lets your lip go and separates.
“Let’s take your panties off, then you can sit on Daddy’s lap,” she tells you. You stare at her for a moment, blinking as the words sinks in. She waits for your smile of understanding before she reaches beneath your skirt, hooks her fingers into the elastic of your panties and slides them down your legs. They pool at your ankles and you step out of them, her hands returning to your hips and holding you steady as you wobble. Natasha glances down at the glistening fabric on the floor, smirks, then lifts you onto her, arranging your legs so your knees are pressed against the remaining edges of the chair, your calves folded under your thighs. Your skirt splays out, hiding your thighs and a bit of hers like a blanket. As you sink down, you feel something hidden beneath you, beneath the fabric of her trousers. Something hard, that presses against the sweet spot that craves friction.
Natasha sees your surprise and smirks.
“Feel that, baby?” she asks, her voice even lower than usual. Seductive, excited. You nod, biting your lip to suppress a whimper. Natasha raises her eyebrow and you remember her rules.
“Y-yes, Daddy,” you breathe.
She rewards your words with a controlling movement of her hands on your hips, guiding you to rock yourself back and forth over the buried strap. Your moans come out broken, your breath too shaky to maintain a single sound.
“Please Daddy,” you beg, tears bubbling up again even though you’re so happy. “I need you. Please.”
“Shhh… it’s okay baby,” Natasha hushes you gently, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips and quelling your babbled words. “Let Daddy help you.”
She lift you a little so you’re resting on your knees and hovering above her. Then she removes her hands from your hips, and reaches down beneath the drape of your skirt. You hear her unzip her trousers, which must already be ruined by your slick. You blush at the thought, struggling to stay steady on your knees.
Natasha’s hands return to your hips, and she looks you in the eyes, seeking consent.
“Please, Daddy — I want this,” you whisper, desperation making your voice waver but you’re so sure; you need her.
“Okay, baby,” she promises, kissing you again then bringing one hand down beneath your skirt. Brushing against your thighs, teasing you only briefly before taking her fingers to your folds and running them from your opening to your clit, collecting your arousal and letting out a deep breath.
“Oh, zolotse — you’re so wet,” she groans delightedly, and you whimper at her words, at her delicate touch. You need more. “Is this all for me?”
“Yes, Daddy,” you whisper, feeling the hand at your hip move back up to your waist, pressing into the flesh beneath your ribs and holding you tight. Your fingers flutter at the back of her neck, too nervous to take hold of her hair but expecting you’ll need too soon, to anchor yourself as she enters you. Please be soon.
Natasha’s finger renew their inspection of your folds, whispering back and forth, producing small convulsions as your hole begs to inhale something, twitching at the teasing glances of her fingertips.
“Daddy…” you whine, tears building up and spilling over silently. “Please — inside me, please.”
She silences your babbling with a kiss, and as she sucks at your lips a single finger finds your opening and enters, making you moan into her mouth. Natasha murmurs something as she kisses you, lips wobbling out the indiscernible sounds, but the appreciative groan that accompanies them makes you think she is enjoying the way your walls are fluttering around her digit.
“God, baby,” she murmurs when she releases you from the kiss, “your pussy is so tight; I need to stretch you more before I can fill you up, hm?”
You whimper at this, humiliation and arousal overpowering your ability to think. You pray she won’t ask for more words, because surely they won’t come now. Your brain is so empty, so full of fog.
Natasha removes her finger from you, but then re-enters with two before you can even whine at the loss. She slides in easily but you can feel yourself squeezing at her once she’s inside. You feel so close already, and it’s just her fingers, just the beginning of what she must have planned for you. Your head droops and you rest your forehead against her shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut and willing yourself not to come, not yet.
“Oh baby, is it too much already?” Natasha asks, crooning with condescension. You tremble against her as her hand leaves your waist and curls around your back, holding you in a gentle embrace as her other hand pumps two fingers in and out of you at a slow pace, masterfully avoiding your clit. You shake your head against her shoulder desperately, not wanting her to finish you here. You want to be good for her, to hold on until she lets you. And to be good, Natasha needs your words. You take a shuddering breath.
“Daddy,” you squeak out, her title strangled by your quivering arousal.
“You’re okay, baby, I’ve got you,” Natasha reassures you. She carefully removes her fingers from you, leaving you empty and twitching. The hand around your back returns to your waist, and you revel in the sharp pain of her fingernails digging into your skin, finding you amongst the fog and grounding you a little in the moment.
Then you feel it, the silicone head pressing against your hole, circling slightly as Natasha moves it over your slick to prepare you. You pant and scrunch your face up in anticipation, desperate for it, powerless to take control in Natasha’s firm grip. But she doesn’t make you wait too long. Guiding you by your waist onto the strap, which she must be holding steady with her other hand. You can’t see it because of the skirt, but it keeps going. On and on she eases you down onto it, your entrance stretching to accommodate its length and girth. Your mouth opens into an O of pleasure and a tiny hint of pain, which Natasha keeps a careful eye on, and uses to determine her speed. She slows at the slightest hint of a grimace and pulls you back up, so you bob up and down very slowly a few times, until you finally sink down and the skin of your inner thighs meets the fabric of her trousers.
“Good girl,” she praises you, peppering your face with kisses and cleaning away the tears. “Such a good girl, taking Daddy’s big cock so well. You looked so pretty, baby, sinking down on the biggest strap. Such a stretch for your tiny pussy, hm? I’m so proud of you.” You cry and whine against her, fingers scrabbling at the back of her shirt and threading into her hair as gently as you can, desperate for her to relieve the throbbing by allowing you to ride her. But her hands are both on your waist now, holding you down in her lap.
“Now, Daddy has some work to do, baby,” Natasha tells you calmly, her voice returning to her serious, daily tone. You blink at her, too full to think properly. Natasha gives you a kiss on the lips, then drags the chair closer to the desk and reaches forward with her right hand, taking hold of her computer mouse.
You stare at her, confused and unable to find the words to express your frustration. You just pout and blink your teary eyelashes, hoping she’ll explain. Finally, she takes pity on you.
“You didn’t think Daddy would reward you for interrupting her, did you, malyshka?” she asks, shaking her head slyly. Your lip wobbles and she hushes you, gently rubbing her left thumb against your tummy. “Hush now, baby — don’t worry. If you can sit still and keep Daddy’s cock warm for an hour then you’ll get your reward for being a good girl.”
An hour?
Natasha must see the panic in your face, because her smile disappears at once and her other hand moves back to you, cupping your cheek and wiping your tears away.
“Colour, baby?” she asks you.
You want to say green, but something is stopping you. Of course, you love Natasha taking control, you love her applying consequences. And you want her to stay in charge, to do what she wants, what she thinks is best. But you know that if you say green just now, it won’t be entirely honest. Your heart pounds, and your voice gets lost inside you.
“Yellow or red?” Natasha asks, finding your eyes again and trying to ground you with a neutral look. It helps, her taking out one of the options. It helps to know she’s expecting it.
“Yellow,” you whisper.
“Good girl,” Natasha tells you seriously, giving you a small smile. “I’m so proud of you for being honest.” She pauses, letting the praise sink in. “Can you tell me what’s uncomfortable, malyshka?”
“Too long,” you mumble, blushing. Natasha tilts her head, frowning with worry.
“The strap?”
You shake your head quickly.
“No, the um…” You bite your lip, and duck your head. “The time. I don’t think I can manage an hour.”
You feel embarrassed, that this is the reason you’re first putting a pause to proceedings like this. Your impatience, your inability to sit still. Even with a strap buried inside you, even with Natasha’s soothing embrace, you still know you won’t manage. You’ll get bored and antsy and you’ll get in trouble, no matter how much you want to be good.
“That’s okay, baby,” Natasha assures you, visibly relieved that she’s not hurting you. “You’re right, an hour doesn’t make sense, I got a little carried away. Do you want this to end? We can move to the bed, or switch straight to aftercare if you need?”
You shake your head again, bringing your hands to Natasha’s shoulders and fiddling with the collar of her shirt nervously.
“No, I - I want to continue, please.”
“Are you sure, malyshka?” Natasha checks, concern etched in the lines of her forehead. “We can always give it another go a different day, and discuss it properly first?”
“Please Naty,” you tell her, eyes wide and pleading. You do want this; you just needed it amended a little.
“Okay,” she says, nodding and massaging her thumbs at your waist. “Can you tell me then, my love, how long you want it to last?”
You wrinkle up your nose in disagreement. It’s no fun if you choose; you’re not good at decisions and besides it’s her being in control that makes these scenarios pleasurable.
“You choose,” you tell her petulantly, and she rolls her eyes, though her lips curl into a smile.
“You’re so stubborn,” she teases you, tickling her fingers into your sides very gently, and making you giggle, then moan as your wriggles make the strap press deliciously against your walls. Natasha chuckles at your inadvertent pleasure and stills you again in her grip.
“How about half an hour?” she asks you, serious again and studying your face for any sign of doubt or discomfort.
“Okay, Daddy,” you agree. And you smile a little to reassure her, which makes the skin of her forehead smooth out again.
“Good girl,” she praises you, kissing your nose gently and making you giggle again. “You’ve used your words so well; Mommy will be so impressed when I tell her.”
You blush and bury your face into her neck, embarrassed at the prospect of her relaying this situation to anyone. Even Wanda, who you know will be happy to hear that you used a safeword when you needed to.
Natasha brings a hand to the back of your head and strokes your hair, shushing you gently as you whine.
“That’s it baby. You just relax with Daddy’s strap inside you. I’ll set a timer and if you’re good and let me work, then I’ll reward you, I promise.” She kisses the crown of your head, and you breathe out, relaxing. But then, she can’t resist another little tease. “You must be feeling so sticky now hm? All stretched out by Daddy’s big cock?”
You whine and squirm against her neck, too ashamed to speak. Her words make you feel even more full, the pressure against your walls immense. She pats your head and luckily doesn’t try to pry any more words from you, as she fiddles with her phone and then holds the timer up so you can see it has begun counting down from thirty minutes.
Natasha’s hands leave you after a while, but you don’t dare wriggle on top of her, despite the overwhelming urge to squeeze your thighs or buck your hips against the full feeling. Even if you were bold enough to try, you’re not sure if you have the energy left. The buildup and teasing, the tears and the honesty, they’ve all drained you to the point of being completely floppy and pliant in her lap.
“Baby, we’re halfway through now,” Natasha tells you gently, lifting you from your haze after a while. “Are your legs okay? Do you want to change your position a little?”
You have to force yourself to check in with your body; all your senses are somewhat dulled by your stupor and the overwhelming sensation of being so full. Your knees are a bit achey, you realise.
“Sore, Naty,” you whisper.
“Your legs? Or something else?” she checks.
“Just legs,” you tell her. She nods, finds your chin and lifts your head so she can see your face.
“Okay; let’s get you off your knees and get your legs to wrap around my back instead. I need to lift you up a little though, baby. It might feel funny, with the strap. Is that okay?”
“Okay, Mama,” you whisper. It slips out without you consciously noticing. Natasha’s face softens even more, but she doesn’t draw attention to it, perhaps realising you don’t quite know what you said.
Natasha lifts you gently, and you feel yourself sliding up the strap as you rise. It does feel funny, and you whine at the feeling.
“I know, baby,” Natasha coos. “Let’s move your pretty legs now, get them comfy.” She supports your weight and guides your legs to unfold and curl around the back of her. As she gently eases you back down onto the strap, your ankles cross over each other, holding her body close. You let out a little “hummph” sound as you sink down to the bottom, your clit brushing against the base of the strap and making your hips buck a little automatically.
“Good girl, well done,” Natasha murmurs into your ear, massaging your waist on either side to calm you down. When your breathing slows again, she lets go of your waist and places her left hand on your back, scratching gently as she clicks her mouse in her other hand. You’re not sure if she’s really working, or if it’s just part of the scene. Either way, the idea that she can focus on work while you’re consumed with the feeling of her strap inside you makes your cunt twitch with humiliation. You’re entirely at her disposal, a melted mass for her hands to mould, but she can stay cool and superior, apparently unaffected by the way your arousal leaks out of your stretched hole and dampens the fabric of her trousers.
You almost fall asleep on her shoulder, so tired from the ordeal and placated by her nails scratching lightly into your back, keeping you just distracted enough from the way her strap seems to be bulging against your internal seams. But then you are awoken from the haze by the beep of her phone and the return of Natasha’s full attention, her right hand cupping the back of your head, her lips kissing yours with an energy you can’t return. You settle for moaning passively into her mouth, eyes fluttering closed and your tummy twisting as your arousal approaches the edge again.
“So good for me, baby, you’re perfect,” Natasha whispers, her lips hovering millimetres from your own. “I’m so proud of you, you stayed so still and let me work. You must feel really full hm? I bet you’re so close.”
“Yes, Daddy,” you mumble, relieved by her understanding. “So full, so close.”
Natasha unleashes a moan of her own at your whimpering agreement.
“Good girl, perfect girl,” she praises again, her own voice becoming a little more desperate. “Ride for me, baby.” And she guides you, lifting you up with her hands at your hips again, letting you sink down when you choose. You’re so tired that you hold on to her shoulders, needing something to press against, hardly able to hold yourself up and prevent your body from crashing down painfully on her strap.
“Please, Daddy,” you whine, tears flowing again as your legs tremble. Your body feels alight, tired but electric, sparks flying through your veins and making you twitch. “Please… gonna…”
Natasha tilts her pelvis slightly and brings you down a little firmer, pressing herself against you so your clit rubs over the bulging base of the strap.
“Cum for me, baby,” she instructs you, and your fingers fumble at the fabric of her collar, your ankles spasm against each other around her back, and you feel a gush of liquid squirt out of you, leaking out around the strap and soaking Natasha’s trousers and underwear. You gasp and babble her name as you cum, tears leaking out and getting kissed away by Natasha’s lips, as she rocks her hips against you and lets you bounce pathetically on top of her lap as you ride out your high. Eventually you slump down on top of her, breathless and exhausted, and Natasha stills her hips before you can whine from the overstimulation. She uses her thumbs to wipe the tears from your eyes and smiles at you in adoration.
“I love you, malyshka,” she tells you avidly, staring deep into your eyes as your eyelids droop.
“Love you, Naty,” you whisper hoarsely, your throat a little dry and your nose a little stuffy from the crying.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Natasha says gently, giving you a little kiss on your nose. You nod, and wrinkle your nose as she lifts you up with her hands in your armpits, the strap sliding out of you and making you shudder. “Sorry, baby,” Natasha whispers sympathetically. “I’ll be gentle; I know you’re sensitive right now.” You nod against her as she stands, still supporting your body weight in her arms as she turns you onto her hip. She moves her right hand to rest beneath your bottom, and you wrap your legs tighter round her body to help.
“It’s okay,” she reassures you. “I’ve got you.”
Natasha carries you through to the bedroom and then lays you down on the bed, giving you a kiss on the lips then trying to move away. It takes a moment before you realise what’s holding her back; when you do, you unwrap your arms from her neck, flushing at your misunderstanding. She smiles at you.
“I’ll be back in a moment, baby,” she promises you. And she gives you one last little kiss before disappearing into the en-suite. You stare at the ceiling, fighting the urge to close your eyes, knowing you’ll fall asleep if you do.
Natasha returns promptly, as promised, with a wet cloth and a glass of water. She’s taken her trousers off and removed the harness, so she’s just in her shirt and boxers.
She supports you to sit up first, then holds the cup as you sip at it, wetting your dry throat and quenching the thirst you hadn’t noticed. Then she seeks permission with her eyes before wiping your legs and centre clean once you nod. You squirm a bit at the feeling of the cloth against your clit, but Natasha is quick to clean you, and she peppers you with kisses on the thighs when she’s done, making you giggle and twitch at the ticklish, teasing feeling. Then she lies next to you, pulling you on top of her and wrapping her arms tightly around your back. You tug at her shirt and whine frustratedly.
“You want this off?” she asks you.
“Please,” you murmur, and she smiles.
“Okay, baby. I can do that for you.”
She sets you back down at her side again, then sits up in the bed and unbuttons her shirt, throwing it to the floor once it’s off. She’s left in her bra and her slightly mottled boxers, and you pout at her in disgruntlement. She rolls her eyes.
“Come on baby, that’s not how we communicate our needs,” she sighs. But she smiles then, showing you that she’s teasing. She takes off her underwear finally, throws it to the floor then crawls over you to peel your skirt off and lift the crop top off over your head. You cling to her then, sighing contentedly against her skin.
“Better, baby?” Natasha asks, though she must know the answer from the way you relax against her.
“Mmm,” you hum happily. You lie side by side a bit, Natasha’s left leg hooked over your body, curling round the back of your knees. It gives a comforting weight, letting you sink deeper into the mattress. You stroke her forearms as she holds your cheeks, watching your eyelids flutter.
“You can sleep, malyshka,” she tells you; but there’s something you want to do first. You nuzzle your head forward, burying in towards her chest. You glance up for permission then, when she smiles, you plant a series of kisses on her sternum, then the sides of her breasts. Natasha moans quietly, appreciatively. You lick her left nipple, swirling your tongue around in a circle, then flicking at it rhythmically.
“Yes, baby…” she groans. You kiss around it then, teasing her a little before you encase her nipple between your lips and suck gently. You can feel Natasha shuddering beneath you, and you suck a little harder, pressing your teeth teasingly against her soft skin.
“Malyshka…” Natasha’s voice is strangled. She scrabbles about, finding your hand then pushing it urgently down towards her thighs. You grin against her breast, and stroke the sensitive skin of her thighs with your fingers, deftly avoiding her centre as you suck her nipple a little harder.
“Please,” Natasha moans, “don’t tease me, baby. Be a good girl and make mama happy.”
Your cheeks feel ablaze at her words and your core tingles anew. Natasha’s never referred to herself as such during sex before; it’s only ever slipped from your lips, much to your embarrassment. You always thought she wasn’t a fan, by the way she stuck firmly to Naty whenever she referred to herself in third-person during scenes. But now she has used it, right when she sounds so desperate, and so close to her peak.
“Yes, mama,” you whisper, and you find her folds with your fingers and dip in between, pressing two fingers against her glistening hole and sliding in with ease.
“Oh…” gasps Natasha. “Yes, baby, that’s it. Pump in and out now. Good girl.” You follow her instructions eagerly, proud to be prompting such sweet sounds from her lips, the moans and the gasps as your fingers curl into the spongy spot that makes her twitch.
“Yes, oh god — yes,” Natasha cries out. “Another finger, baby, please.”
You add a third finger diligently and continue pumping in and out of her cunt. Your wrist is beginning to ache but you are determined to bring her all the way to her unravelling, so you ignore the pain and carry on fingering her, focussing on swirling your tongue around her nipple and alternating it with sucks and kisses, driving her wild.
Natasha’s moans and cries become more and more desperate and you feel her walls beginning to squeeze your digits. Quickly you wriggle downwards, planting kisses on her stomach on your way, then you bury your mouth atop her clit and suck sloppily as your fingers continue to fight against her growing resistance, pumping in and out and curling into her g-spot.
“Oh, oh, baby… yes…” Natasha whimpers, and she falls over the edge, her legs spasming and her thighs trapping your wrist and face harshly between strong muscles. You do your best to keep up your ministrations, even though it’s hard to breathe between the powerful grip of her orgasm. Eventually, her legs relax a little and she grabs for you, motioning for you to join her. You crawl up, waiting until her eyes meet yours before sticking the three fingers which were inside her into your mouth and sucking them clean, your eyelids fluttering at her musky scent and taste. Natasha moans at the sight.
“Oh fuck, malyshka — you’re so perfect.”
You grin happily as you remove your now clean fingers, then lie down on top of her, your breasts flush against each other. She finds your lips and kisses you deeply, swirling her tongue about your mouth to find her taste in you and curling her fingers into your hair.
You sigh peacefully as she lets you go, and she turns you over so you’re lying beside her on the bed. Natasha strokes your cheek and holds your hand.
“Sleep now, malyshka,” she tells you quietly. “I’ll still be here when you wake, I promise.”
You look into her green eyes, tuck your hand under your chin and close your eyelids, a blissful smile on your lips as you slip away.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading, and thank you to all my followers for being so, so lovely to me this last year! I hope to bring you lots more writing this year ♡
