#stepdad!nat

Your stepdad is insatiable.

Your quick little trysts had started as just that: quick, casual little things when your mother wasn’t home. Natasha’s taken you in the hallway, on the couch, pressed against the kitchen cabinets, she had the libido of a damn stallion and you would hate it if it didn’t make you a little weak in the knees.

But at some point, Natasha had started seeking you out more frequently.

“I’m sorry, kiddo, your mom kicked me out of our room,” she murmurs apologetically against your neck after slipping into your bed one warm summer night. “Not my fault, baby, I’m sorry.”

Your bedroom is dim, your childhood nightlight struggling to light up the room. You hum gently as Natasha’s arms wrap around your waist, her front pressed against your back, and for a moment you think she’s getting ready to shut her eyes and fall asleep, but then a wandering hand brushes the hem of your soft sleep shirt, fingertips cool against your abdomen, and you gasp softly.

“Dad,” you whisper, and Natasha hums lazily. “Dad, you can’t. Mom’s next door.”

“She’s not gonna hear,” your stepdad says, though it does little to soothe your worries. The same wandering hand starts to inch upwards, and when she finally grasps at your chest, you can’t help but arch your back against her. Your ass presses against her front — with the thin material of both of your pyjamas, you can feel her hips stir against you as she stiffens under your touch. She hisses softly. “Fuck, baby, it’s like you want this more than me.”

“You have to be quick,” you mumble, but now Natasha’s up, pushing you onto your back until you’re looking up at her with wide eyes. 

Your chest rises and falls steadily with every breath, and you glance at the door. It’s unlocked. If you were too loud, there was every chance of being discovered, and that couldn’t happen at any cost.

Natasha lifts your legs up and you wordlessly acquiesce, lifting your hips for her to shimmy your pants off. “Pretty baby,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your calf. “My pretty little girl.” Next are your panties, a frilly white pair that Natasha had mentioned offhandedly once about finding cute and girly, so you’d bought three more hoping she’d be able to take them off.

You squirm with warmth. “Take it off,” you demand, voice wavering. Natasha huffs.

“Should get up and leave just for that,” she says, though without any real anger, and then your panties slide down your thighs too easily. “I’m your fucking dad, I make the rules, okay?”

The firmness of her voice makes you throb. “Y-yes, Daddy,” you reply, and you see Natasha’s brow soften. She leaves another kiss on your calf, and then she’s spreading your legs apart with her work-rough hands.

“Look at that pretty pussy,” Natasha says, almost to herself, and a hand absently trails to your cunt, gently petting with two wide fingers and spreading your folds. A loud exhale leaves her nose when her fingers come back sticky with arousal. “Already wet. Why’re you wet, baby?”

You whimper softly. Natasha’s pulling her pants down, and God, you can’t even look at her cock with the way your cheeks are burning.

Natasha settles on top of you, bracing herself with a hand, the other on your waist. From this close you can see her lips twitch into a smirk, something the low light was hiding. “You wanted Daddy to come to your little bed and fuck you, huh?” but judging by her smile, she already knows the answer. Her hand on your waist squeezes roughly, making you cry out. 

Instantly her hand flies to your mouth, clamping tightly, and both of your eyes are wide. “Shh! You want your mom coming in?” Her hips press against yours. You moan softly at the feeling of her nudging at your cunt, leaking pre-cum all over. “Stay quiet.”

And then your stepdad is slipping into you so easily with how wet you are, making you stretch around her, and you’re gasping behind her palm, tears prickling in your eyes. Natasha kisses your forehead softly as she pushes herself in, inch by inch, and then she’s completely in you, soothing an ache deep inside you that you hadn’t even realized you had.

“Good girl,” she says in a hushed whisper against your temple, leaving another kiss. “Took me so well, baby, good girl.” The praise makes your thighs shake a little.

She pulls out just enough, and then she’s fucking you roughly, her other hand still on your waist and groping hard. Your bed creaks with every movement, and you see the furrow of Natasha’s brow as she tries to balance the need to be quiet with the need to be as deep in you as possible. 

Your cunt clenches around her with each deep thrust as she drives her hips forward relentlessly, and the bed starts creaking louder, headboard hitting the shitty thin wall behind you, but it's your moans that are too loud, even muffled behind her palm. You’re sure you’re drooling as your stepdad pulls her hand away to grab at your face.

“You wanna fucking wake her up?” Natasha hisses, though not unkindly, but her hips aren’t stopping and the heat in your stomach is getting stronger. Her mouth moves to your neck, nipping against sensitive skin as she slams into you harder, like she wants to fuck all the moans out of you.

“D-Daddy…” you whine high in your throat, then bite your lip to stop a loud moan in your throat, but it’s almost impossible with the way her cock is hitting the perfect spot inside you, the spot that makes your hips lift off the bed involuntarily.

“Shut up,” Natasha says, and then her fingers are prying your mouth open, your jaw hanging as she presses two fingers against your wet tongue for you to suck. She’s still fucking you, a little faster now with desperation, but you know how to do this, how to use your mouth, Natasha taught you, so you suck on her fingers with little whimpers trapped behind them.

The hand at your waist slides to your hip, steadying your bucking with a firm grip as she picks up the pace. Her fingers stifle your desperate moans as your tongue swirls around them. Her cock keeps hitting the spot that makes your limbs tighten and your stomach flutter, and now you definitely know you’re drooling down your chin. 

You can tell she’s close from the way her eyes screw shut, her brows knitting. The heat in your abdomen is coming to a head, too, but her hips impossibly speed up, fucking you raw and gasping, and suddenly your orgasm hits you full force, washing over you from head to toe.

Your eyes widen. You moan as loudly as you possibly can with Natasha’s fingers still in your mouth. You’re squeezing around her cock and Natasha lets out a whimper, her lower lip trembling before she lets out one, two soft gasps, and she’s cumming inside you, your legs shaking with the sensation. 

She lays on top of you for a moment, gasping for air greedily, before she slowly slides her fingers out of your mouth, saliva cooling in the warm bedroom air.

“Fuck,” Natasha says, her lips twitching into a real grin now. Her cock is still warm, throbbing gently inside you, and the sensation makes you tingle a little. You’re smiling a little too now, even with your lips wet with spit, but Natasha leans down to kiss your mouth clean anyway. When she rests her head on your shoulder, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, you almost want to wrap your legs and flip her over, but you’re falling asleep yourself.

“Was I too loud?” you ask in a sleepy mumble, now much, much quieter. Natasha hums against your skin, and you can almost hear her smile.

You knew it was a risky idea. Your stepdad said she’d be going to the store to pick up a couple of things and that she’d be back soon. You should’ve known then that it was a dumb thing to do.

But you don’t care. The all-consuming heat in your lower belly is too much to ignore. Every shift of your legs spreads wetness down your thighs, your cunt aching with the need to be touched, so you’ve thrown caution to the wind. She wouldn’t be home that soon, surely. Enough time for you to touch yourself until the tension in your tummy uncoils.

You lift your hips off the bed helplessly as your fingers work yourself, your cunt aching and weeping for your touch. You try circling your swollen clit, hiding a gasp with a bite of your lip, but the angle’s just not right, it’s never right.

Huffing with frustration, you spread your legs a little wider. Your fingers slowly circle your entrance, gathering arousal until they’re slick enough to slip inside. A groan rumbles from your chest without you realizing, and distantly you hope you aren’t being too loud. Your fingers try to curl against the spot you like, but this time you really are loud when a moan slips from your mouth. You slowly build up a rhythm, hips lifting off the bed with every curl of your fingers, until you can just about feel your release starting to crest–

“Am I interrupting something?”

Cold runs through your veins. You scramble upright, desperate to cover yourself with your sheets, and look up to find your stepdad standing in the gap of the door, arms crossed across her chest and failing to suppress a grin on her face. 

When did the door open? You swear you’d made sure to close it before you started.

You squirm under your sheets, mortified. You’ve always liked Natasha, even back when she was just one of your mother’s ‘friends’. She’s the ideal stepfather, you think. Easygoing, but kind and protective enough that she easily slot into the role of father in your house.

Not to mention handsome. You aren’t blind, after all. With her short hair, the ripple of muscle under her skin whenever she was reaching into a cabinet too high, the raspiness of her voice before she’d had her morning coffee, it was a small miracle that you hadn’t accidentally revealed how you felt about her.

“N-Nothing happened,” you stammer, and Natasha raises her brows. She steps into the room, quietly closing the door behind her with her foot, and you’re suddenly aware of how small your bedroom is, because she's already standing at the foot of your bed.

You wriggle uncomfortably. Your cheeks are hot enough to burn. “Kiddo, I’m not blind,” she says, a note of teasing in her voice. You want to melt into the floor and die. “I’m not telling you what you can and can’t do in your own home, but at least keep the door shut, yeah?”

“You’re the worst,” you huff, but a smile twitches on your lips and then Natasha’s smirking too. You kick one of your stuffed animals at her, which she catches with one hand and places back down on your bed.

“Hey, I got that one for you. Don’t kick him around like that,” she tuts, but there’s no admonishment in her voice. She gestures to your bed, and after making sure the sheets are covering you properly, you nod, and she takes a seat.

Her hands are on her knees. Natasha looks at you after a long moment. “You always do that whenever the house is empty?” she finally asks. Her brows are raised like she’s being genuine about it, but the question makes your lungs constrict. You’re already regretting letting her sit down.

“You’re so weird,” you say, because it is weird, she’s your mother’s husband. She’s known you for most of your life. You still remember the way she cleaned the scrapes on your knees when you were a little girl, when she helped pick your dress for junior prom, and now it’s all culminated in her walking in on you touching yourself. Wonderful.

“Hey, I’m not shaming,” Natasha replies, a little grin on her lips. She pushes the hair back from her eyes, and, fuck, did she always look that handsome or is your brain still foggy with arousal? “It’s normal for a kid your age. Healthy, probably.”

“I’m an adult,” you frown at her, though you feel less like one right now, with the way you’re pouting so petulantly. “And it’s– ugh, it’s just weird, okay? I don’t need my stepdad coming in and giving me a pep talk about sex.”

“It’s not sex, though,” Natasha replies smoothly. She shifts onto the bed, crossing her legs. It feels strangely like you’re a little girl again, sharing secrets at a sleepover. “Touching yourself is different to sex.” Then she leans back again, her grin turning teasing. “Not that you’d know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you’re demanding, though now you’re grinning too.

“I mean,” Natasha says, then pauses. She’s got an expression on her face that looks like she’s mulling something over, something you can’t decipher. “No, never mind.”

“What?” you demand, a little hotly now. Your stepdad’s never kept secrets from you, as far as you know, and the thought makes something twist in your chest. She’s supposed to be open with you, she’s your stepfather, after all. What kind of secrets could a parent have from their daughter?

Natasha pushes back the hair from her eyes again. Her demeanor isn’t nervous, no, she’s never nervous, but it’s like she’s contemplating. “You’re doing it all wrong,” she finally says with a sigh.

“Doing what wrong?” The feeling in your chest tightens, though not uncomfortably.

Nataasha looks at you like you’re playing some kind of joke on her. “What– what do you mean, ‘doing what wrong?’” she scoffs. She shifts a little bit more so she’s closer to you. Her voice drops into something just an octave below a murmur. “I mean you’re touching yourself wrong.”

The tightening in your chest catches your breath. Your mouth goes impossibly dry, and you almost forget you’re naked from the waist down underneath your sheets. For a moment all you can do is blink, swallowing in an attempt to wet your throat while your brain gropes for words to form a sentence. Eventually, your brain settles on, “I-I am?”

Now it’s Natasha’s turn to look embarrassed, her brows furrowing in thought. “I mean, you… it’s not bad, but from that angle you’re not going to be able to touch your clit right.” Then she chuckles a little, shaking her head, already opting out. “You’re not gonna get it, kid, forget it.”

“No,” you reply almost instantly. Your stomach feels like it’s doing flips. “No, I…” The words falter in your throat. If you don’t do something now, you’ll never get the chance again. 

“Show me,” is what you force from your mouth, and you instantly stiffen at the way Natasha’s brows raise, her bouncing knee going completely still.

For a long, horrible moment the room is still, and you think you’ve ruined everything. You’ve ruined your relationship with your stepfather, and she was going to get up and leave and wait until your mother came home so she could tell her.

That isn’t what happens.

“Baby,” Natasha finally breathes, and, fuck, she’s not called you that since you were little. She’s staring at you with that indecipherable expression again, her lips twitching like she’s trying to say something but can’t quite choose the right words. Finally, after a pause, her lips press into a serious line. “I need to know if you’re fucking with me right now.”

She’s giving you a chance to take it back, you realize, and the thought makes your heart swoop stupidly. Even now, presented with some impossible situation, Natasha was considering your feelings above all. The knot in your chest tightens. “Not fucking with you,” you say, more breath than words. “I… I’m an adult, I know what I’m asking for.”

“I don’t think you do, baby,” and the pet name makes you clench around nothing. Her chest is rising and falling with every low breath. “You’re not thinking right.” And you watch, your stomach lurching, as she moves to stand, to turn and leave, but you can’t let that happen. If she slipped from your grasp now, she’d never look at you the same again.

Your hand desperately grasps at her wrist, pulling her back. You’re grasping for words but coming back empty, your brain like a leaky faucet, but Natasha’s looking at you with something like confusion in her eyes, and you can’t stand it.

You pull her hand closer. It rests on your cheek, her thumb at the corner of your lip. You blink up at her.

“Dad, please,” you whimper.

You’ve never called her Dad before. First it was Aunty Nat, back when you first met her as just your mother’s friend, then Natasha, and now Nat, only Nat — she never pushed you into calling her something else, even when she became your stepfather.

Natasha’s eyes flicker with something. Her lips part with soft, deep breaths, steadying herself, and then her thumb brushes your lips, slow, like she’s trying to memorise every ridge. “I need you to– you have to say yes,” her voice comes out a little shakily, nothing like how unflappable she usually is, always in command of every situation. “I need to know it’s your choice.”

“It is,” you mumble. Your heart feels like it’ll burst out of your chest. “Please, I’ve never–”

She doesn’t let you finish. Natasha practically lunges at you, pulling your sheets away until she could press right up against your naked body, already hot like a live wire. Her face finds your neck, nosing against your skin as she holds you delicately, both hands on your waist. 

“You’re a tease, you know that?” she mumbles against your neck, and one of her hands comes up behind your back to find the clasp of your bra. Her lips ghost your skin, and then your bra is sliding down your shoulders like it melted off. “Let me look at your pretty tits, baby.”

You mewl softly when her hands cup your breasts gently, almost reverently. She’s looking up at you, gauging your reaction to her soft gropes and squeezes. “It feels better when you play with them,” Natasha murmurs, a thumb circling over your nipple until it pebbles just enough to take hold of. She pinches gently, watching it turn rosy, and you whimper in lieu of agreement. She smiles softly. “Like this. Play with them for me, baby. It’ll feel good.”

Natasha moves your hands to where hers had just been, watching you shyly squeeze at your own chest. She nods slowly when you roll your nipple between your fingers, and when a moan slips from your mouth, Natasha hums. “Feels good?” she asks quietly. You nod wordlessly, heat tickling your lower belly, and she grins. “Sit back for me, angel, let me show you something.”

You scoot backwards, your thighs still pressed together with some sliver of shyness, and Natasha leans back on her knees, settling between your legs.

Her hands find your thighs, warm and calloused from whatever it was she did at work, and squeeze at the soft fat. “Jesus,” she says, punctuating it with another pinch. Your legs instinctively spread apart, a moan cresting in your throat just from the sheer roughness of her touch.

“Nat, please–”

“I’m your dad, baby, don’t call me that,” Natasha murmurs, and then her hands are pushing your legs apart, thumbs pressing into your skin hard enough to bruise, and her teeth find your inner thigh. She bites at your flesh like a hound, and your hips instinctively jut upwards.

“N– Daddy, please!” you whine like a child, the new word clumsy in your mouth, and Natasha groans against your skin.

“Fuck, it sounds so good when you say it,” her breath comes hot against your thigh. “Gonna teach my big girl how to touch herself.” Her tongue next, licking the teeth marks on your thigh that thrum painfully. “Daddy’s gonna make you feel good.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing. You can feel her breath against your cunt, so close to where you need it yet so far, and again your hips lift off your bed desperately. “Daddy, please, I can’t…”

“Need it bad, baby?” she asks, voice soft, and you nod dizzily. Her hand creeps closer to your thigh until you feel her fingers brush against your labia, slow and achingly soft, a parent’s touch. And then her lips are wrapped around your clit, your stepdad’s first time kissing you, and the tickle of heat in your stomach flares wildly.

“Oh god,” reflexively slips from your mouth, and Natasha grins. Her tongue licks a stripe from your quivering entrance to your clit, circling it slowly, and your legs are almost jelly. “D-Daddy, it’s– oh god.” Her other hand is still on your leg, and you blink blearily as she slips it over her shoulder.

“You got a vibrator?” she asks you, punctuating her question with a suck of your clit, and you shake your head with a whine. “That’s okay. Next time I’ll just bring your mom’s.”

Next time?

“Pay attention,” Natasha says, her voice a deep rumble, and your syrupy thoughts snap back to her. She shows you two fingers on her left hand, her middle and ring finger. Her wedding band, gold and guilty, glints in the light. “These two. You were using the wrong fingers earlier. Pay attention, baby.”

You watch, enraptured, as she slowly pushes them in past the initial tightness. You gasp at the thickness, the way your cunt widens around them immediately, legs trembling, but Natasha kisses your clit gently through it all.

You tremble when you feel the cool metal of her ring against your entrance. Your abdomen feels fluttery now, not used to this new touch, but then her fingers curl and you’re trembling for a whole different reason. “Fuck!” you’re almost shouting, and Natasha has the audacity to laugh quietly.

“It’s good, right?” Her fingers curl again, so deft and precise with its angle, and you nod giddily.

“Please, Daddy, more,” you’re moaning, and Natasha finally shows some mercy. She takes your clit between her lips and starts fucking you with an unfaltering rhythm. She’s got her wrist bent at an angle you could never achieve by yourself, pressing hard against that sweet spot every time she drives her fingers entirely into you. Your head is foggy with pleasure and your tongue dumb in your mouth, the only sounds from your lips being whimpers and gasps.

Natasha looks up at you, her eyes piercing, and your cunt clenches around her fingers when you meet her gaze. Her tongue circles your clit again and again, and something like a knot tightens in your abdomen, so much stronger than usual. Your hips are following the rhythm of her thrusts even though you’re trying to be good and keep still, but Natasha hums softly against your wet cunt and suddenly you can’t even think of trying to hold back.

The knot in your abdomen twists itself tighter. The hot, wet heat of Natasha’s tongue on your clit makes your brain feel like TV static. Any thoughts of guilt, wrongness, disappear like wisps of smoke as you feel something stirring in you, a jolt of electricity.

“Daddy,” you whimper, and Natasha moans at the sound, mouth still on your clit, and the vibration wrenches a gasp from your chest. Your cunt flutters wildly around her, heat tightening even more, and you realize you’re close, like a lit match held too close to a firework. “N-No, Daddy, I’m gonna… please, Daddy, it’s–”

But your words are wasted, because Natasha already notices the way your walls twitch, the way your pulse thrums against her fingers, and her thrusts speed up relentlessly. Her lips curve into a smile even while she lavishes your clit with teasing licks that make you feel like you might burst.

Your cunt flutters harder and you squirm, hips lifting off the bed wildly. The stimulation almost hurts but you’re too eager, too desperate to chase your release from earlier, and you feel it all come to a head.

“T-Too much, Daddy, I’m– fuck– I’m cumming, Daddy–”

Natasha doesn’t slow.

Your release bursts through you, thrumming through your entire lower body until your toes are curling, heel of your foot digging into Natasha’s back, leg still draped over her shoulder. Your mouth is open to scream but nothing comes out, and then the heat subsides, leaving you in little waves that make you squeeze around Natasha’s fingers weakly.

You pant, little gasps for air, and then your body goes completely slack, boneless like jelly.

Natasha’s fingers slide out after you finally catch your breath, and she lifts her head up, letting your leg slip off her shoulder. Her hair is a mess, stray hairs stuck to her forehead with sweat, all mussed with effort, and with her clean hand she pushes it out of her eyes. The sight, so mundane even after this, makes you laugh.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, though her lips are twitching into a smile too.

“You need a haircut,” you mumble tiredly, looking up at her with half-lidded eyes, and she smiles.

“Yeah?” Her voice is so handsome, you think tiredly as your eyelids ache with exhaustion. She leans back to grab your sheets from where they’d been kicked onto the floor and pulls them over your legs. “Wanna cut it for me, baby?”

Usually your mother cuts her hair. Natasha always sits on the edge of the bathtub as her hair gets cut, always the same boyish length.