#wanda mcu

“Baby?” Wanda calls, “Are you ready?”

Something falls in the bathroom, Wanda’s eyes flicking over to the door in mild concern. You appear, your cheeks lightly flushed as you hold a towel loosely around your body. Wanda can’t help but trail her eyes down your frame, raising her eyebrow in a silent command. 

You drop the towel, biting your lip as you make your way over to her. “Sorry, I dropped my lotion.”

Green eyes lock on yours, Wanda’s pupils dilating as she takes in your nudity. Your nipples are already hard, your skin soft and smelling faintly of her vanilla-scented body wash. She loved it when you used her products. 

It was one of her rules, actually. You were required to use any product Wanda instructed you to, which consisted mainly of her own -expensive- things. You didn’t mind, you loved being taken care of, in every way. 

Leaning down, you gently kiss her, smiling as her hand makes its way to your waist, her fingers digging in and urging you closer. This is your favorite side of her, the one that craves you. You love her fingers pulling you in, her lips on your skin, her eyes solely on yours. 

“I’ve laid out a dress for you,” she murmurs, her voice husky and low. It sends a pleasant warmth down your spine that pools in your gut. “Go put it on.”

Her tone is firm as she gently pushes you toward the bed. You catch her eyes lingering on your nude form, glancing over you through the mirror as she applies the last bits of her makeup. Grinning to yourself, you decide to put on a show for her, swaying your hips as you saunter over to the bed. 

There it is. The dress she’d picked out for you. It was beautiful, dark red and lacy, a long slit in the side that practically reached your hips. It had a neckline that dipped dangerously low, enough to tease the sight of your chest but not too much to expose you indecently. Just the way Wanda liked it. Lying next to the dress was a pair of black heels, the bottom of them painted bright red, a sight you’d become accustomed to. 

Biting your lip to hide your excitement, you slowly pull the dress over your head, moving your hips slowly to fully pull it over your body. You note the lack of panties or a bra on the bed, your cheeks flushing slightly at the thought of sitting through dinner without any undergarments. Luckily, the dress supported your chest well, your breasts sitting comfortably with the extra padded support. 

“Perfect,” Wanda murmurs, having spun around to watch you. 

Smiling, you bask in her attention as you slowly spin around, adjusting your hair slightly. Your zipper has been caught halfway up your back, the small piece of metal resting just below your shoulder blades. 

Wanda gestures to you, a silent command. 

You obey, snagging the heels from off the bed and padding toward her. You feel giggly, and a bit like you’re playing dress-up, but Wanda looks at you with utter adoration; her normally serious expression is nowhere to be found. Her eyes are wide and unguarded, her hands firm as she beckons you closer, but not stern and unforgiving as they usually are. 

Biting your bottom lip, you decide that you quite like this side of her. It was almost… adorable. 

As if she could read your thoughts, Wanda’s eyes snap up to yours from where they’d been lingering around your neckline. “Sit on my lap, darling.”

Blinking, you clear your throat as a strange shyness creeps over you. 

“Now.” 

Wanda’s tone turns slightly icy, her eyebrows furrowing slightly at your hesitance. She doesn’t like to be disobeyed. 

“Yes, ma’am,” you murmur, noting the way her face smooths at your words. Quickly, you drop onto her lap, sitting sideways since your dress won’t allow you to straddle her as you usually did. The heels slip from your fingers, landing on the carpet with a soft thump as Wanda’s hand snakes around your waist. 

Her green eyes peer into yours, studying your face. You notice the subtle makeup she’s put on, her eyelids darkened seductively with dark gold eyeshadow, her black eyeliner small and precise. Her lips are also dark, a matte red color coating them. You wonder if it would stain your skin, then promptly push that thought to the back of your mind, lest you leak through your expensive dress. 

“I have some jewelry for you,” Wanda murmurs, her other hand coming up to trace the thin gold chain fastened permanently around your neck. She’d gifted it to you last year, her initials subtly engraved into the chain, a private sign of her ownership of you. Wanda wore a similar necklace, your initials also engraved into the silver metal glittering around her neck.

Smiling, you lean in until your lips are mere inches from hers, “I love it when you dress me, Wanda.”

“I know you do,” Wanda smirks, her hand dropping to grip your thigh possessively for a moment, before she reaches for some jewelry she’s laid out on the vanity in front of her. Her fingers send heat down your spine as she grazes them lightly across your skin, clasping a few necklaces around your neck. She adjusts them, laying the metal perfectly on your chest before she taps your hands in a silent command. 

Obediently, you raise your hands, watching her slip various rings on them. Somehow, Wanda always manages to match your jewelry to your outfit perfectly. You’re in awe every time, and you no longer protest when she demands to dress you. 

Green eyes flit over your ears, Wanda nodding slightly in approval as she takes in your various earrings. “Perfect,” she mutters, her hand coming back down to your thigh. 

“Yes, you are.”

“Don’t deflect, darling. What do you say when I compliment you?” Wanda’s tone is light, but her eyes are intense, her fingers squeezing your thigh. 

“Thank you, Wanda.”

Smirking, Wanda releases her hold on your thigh. “Good girl.” She moves to stand, helping you off her lap and adjusting your hair to fall perfectly over your shoulders. “Now put those heels on and meet me by the cars.”

Wanda lightly kisses you, careful not to ruin her lipstick -or yours- before she playfully squeezes your waist and walks out the door. 

The heels slip on quickly, perfectly molded to your feet. You take a moment, looking at yourself in the mirror and willing your blush to go away. You’re unsuccessful. 

Wanda is beautiful. She stands next to the passenger door of her favorite car, opening it and ushering you in. The exterior is gleaming, the dark red gloss standing out. The interior is even nicer, somehow, all black leather with red trim. It smells as fresh as the day she bought it. 

Taking a moment, you admire Wanda’s outfit, her silver jewelry and sharply cut jacket. She’s several inches taller than you, her heels clacking softly on the ground as she shuts the door softly before rounding the car to the driver’s side. 

The drive to the restaurant is relatively short. You steal glances at Wanda the entire time, loving the comforting weight of her hand on your thigh. 

You’ve grown used to being pampered by her. She makes a lot of decisions for the two of you, and you love her control over you. You love providing for her as well, insisting on cooking meals whenever you can. Between your part-time job at a bookstore and your relationship, you were pretty okay with your life. 

Wanda would have preferred you to be home all the time, especially when she often worked from her home office, but you’d insisted on keeping your job. You liked it, there was a bookstore cat named Freckles, and your manager was really nice. Plus, you loved being surrounded by books all day. 

Shifting in your seat slightly, you bite your lip in excitement as you feel your credit card sitting snug between the fabric of your dress and your breasts. You’d been saving up for months, knowing that Wanda had expensive tastes. This restaurant was meant for upper-class patrons, so you’d prepared well in advance. You wanted to surprise her tonight; after all, it wasn’t often you got to return the favor of spoiling Wanda. 

Wanda never lets you pay for anything. You'll be changing that tonight. 

The restaurant is just as you remembered. Low lighting and soft voices that help you relax further into Wanda’s hand on the small of your back. It feels safer this way, more intimate. 

“Right this way, Ma’am,” the waiter says, his voice quiet as he gestures for Wanda to follow. Her hand is splayed on your lower back, the warmth from her fingers propelling you forward as the waiter leads you to a table near the back. 

The chair doesn’t make a sound and Wanda slides it out, gesturing for you to sit. Her hands briefly touch your shoulders before she pushes the chair in firmly, her stride elegant as she walks to the chair across from you. 

“Two glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon, from the Robert Mondavi Winery Reserve,” she murmurs, the waiter nodding dutifully before striding away. 

Those green eyes stare into yours, a soft smile playing on Wanda’s lips. 

“You look beautiful tonight, darling.”

“Thank you, Wanda,” you whisper, blushing at the praise. You briefly touch the necklace resting between your collarbones. “I think you look amazing.”

Wanda smiles warmly at that, her hand sliding across the table to clasp yours. Her fingers are soft as you idly play with her rings. 

The waiter returns, showing the bottle before Wanda nods at him. He pours the wine, standing still as Wanda takes a sip. His eyes are nervous, but Wanda simply nods again before quietly ordering food for the both of you. 

You knew what she was going to order. You’d meticulously saved up in order to cover the bill, plus a generous tip. A flood of relief fills you when she doesn’t stray from her usual order, but you cover it up with a smile. 

“How was work?”

Wanda begins speaking, her thumb running over the back of your hand as she does. You listen diligently, unsure of half the things she’s referring to but enjoying yourself nonetheless. The waiter returns some time later with steaming food, and you and Wanda make idle conversation while you eat. 

It is one of the best meals you could have asked for. Perfectly cooked salmon with a side of quinoa salad and rice. There are complementary breadsticks, and you eagerly take two. The wine pairs nicely with the food, but you’re not a huge nerd about it like Wanda is. She knows all the best combinations. 

Truly, it all tastes the same to you. But, you’d never tell her that.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” you say, wiping your mouth politely. 

Wanda simply nods, sipping her wine. You’re a much faster eater than she is, and this is one of the times you’re grateful for the skill. Squeezing her hand briefly, you stand up and walk toward the restrooms. 

Once you’ve rounded the corner, your heart begins to race. Glancing back, you see Wanda taking a small bite of her salad. 

Perfect.

“Excuse me,” you say quietly, walking up to the waiter standing near the kitchen window. He looks up, surprised. 

“How can I help you, ma’am?” He asks, politely averting his eyes when you dig into your dress for your credit card. 

“I’d like to pay for my wife’s and my meal.”

He nods, gingerly taking your card. You try not to giggle, smoothing your face over when he nods and briskly walks into the backroom. Casually, you fix your hair, careful not to lean against the wall. Wanda had helped you with your posture, and you could still remember her lessons in the back of your mind. 

“All set, ma’am.” The waiter returns, handing you your card back. 

“Oh, thank you,” you murmur, placing it back into your dress and biting your lip to stifle your smile when he looks away again. You pull out two hundred-dollar bills, handing them to him. “Thank you.”

He smiles politely as he accepts the bills, nodding at you.

“I’d prefer you keep this from my wife until the end of the meal,” you say, watching his eyebrows raise slightly. “I’m surprising her.”

“Ah,” he smiles wider this time. “Always happy to be a part of a surprise, ma’am. My lips are sealed.”

With that, you walk back to your seat. You make sure not to walk too quickly, lest Wanda becomes suspicious. She always has a way of figuring out what you’ve been up to.

“There you are, darling,” she smiles at you and stands, pulling your chair out again. “I was beginning to worry.” 

You flush, sitting down again and turning to look up at her. “Just decided to freshen up a bit, I wanted to look my absolute best for you.”

Leaning down, Wanda places a soft kiss against your cheek. “You always look wonderful, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Wanda.”

Smiling at you, Wanda returns to her seat and grasps the stem of her wine glass. You mirror her action, bringing the glass to your lips and taking a deep sip. You’re going to need some liquid confidence to get through the night once Wanda discovers what you’ve done. 

One thing you’d learned early on in your relationship was that Wanda liked to be the one in charge of things. You didn’t mind, especially in the bedroom, but you’d always felt just a tiny bit disappointed when you wanted to spoil her and she’d refuse. She’d just offer her own card, raising an eyebrow at you and firmly reminding you that she was there to take care of you. 

Sometimes it felt like you weren’t contributing anything of worth to the relationship. 

“Darling?” Wanda’s green eyes are piercing, locked on your face. “Are you alright? You look… morose.”

You shake away your thoughts. You’re sitting here with the beautiful woman that you married, on a nice date that you’ve just paid for. Get a grip.

“Yes,” you say, smiling reassuringly at her. “I just got lost in my thoughts, you know how that happens sometimes.”

Laughing slightly, you watch Wanda’s lips quirk up slightly, but something tells you that she won’t let the subject go that easily. You reach across the table, grabbing her hand and making sure she can see down the front of your dress. 

“Baby, I’m fine. Really.”

Green eyes flit down, before they glance back up at you, her eyebrow raised. “Alright. Just stay present with me, okay?”

You nod eagerly, smiling brightly at her before sitting up again. 

Under the table, you feel the top of Wanda’s heel brush against your leg, advancing slowly as it makes its way above your knees and further up your thigh. “You’ll pay for that stunt,” Wanda murmurs. 

Your heart stops for a moment, your mind flashing back to your credit card, before you realize she’s talking about your adventurous moment when she got a nice full look at your chest.  

“I understand,” you quip, adjusting in your seat to spread your legs further just slightly, watching the way Wanda’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. That’s right, two could play this game. You smiled victoriously. 

“How do you feel about going to the speakeasy a bit further downtown?” Wanda asks, finishing the rest of her wine. You mirror her actions, feeling the pleasant buzz under your skin. 

You nod, and Wanda smiles at you, grabbing her clutch. 

“I’ll be right back.”

Watching her leave to find the waiter, you wait anxiously. You can just barely see her across the restaurant, her red hair glowing slightly in the warm lighting. She’s exchanging low words with the waiter, before he gestures over towards your table. Two sets of eyes turn towards you, one apologetic and the other unreadable. 

You’re focused on the green pair, barely noticing the cash Wanda hands the waiter as a tip. 

She advances slowly, moving through the restaurant as her gaze never leaves yours. “Darling…” she says when she reaches your seat, her hand on your shoulder. It’s firm, not painful, but her fingers dig in just enough to express how she’s feeling. 

“Surprise,” you say, smiling up at her. You’re proud of yourself; your voice didn’t even waver. Standing, you bite your lip as you gaze at her, assessing her expression. 

She reveals nothing, her hand snaking around your waist and guiding you toward the front door. What would normally be a comforting action sends pleasant shivers down your spine. 

Wanda remains silent all the way to the car, opening the passenger door and ushering you in. Sliding into the driver's seat, she starts the car before letting out a breath. 

“Explain.”

“I wanted to treat you for once,” you say stubbornly. You might as well have crossed your arms and pouted, but you didn’t. 

Looking at you, Wanda sighs. “Darling, why do you always fight me on this topic?”

You don’t answer, looking out of your window as Wanda begins backing up the car, the low hum of the engine comforting. The city flashes before you as she drives, people milling about, and different lights hitting your eyes. 

“Sweetheart,” Wanda says, something in her tone telling you to turn and look at her. “You know that I appreciate it when you want to pay for me, don’t you?” 

You furrow your brow. “I… well, I always thought it just annoyed you.”

“It does annoy me,” Wanda shoots a look at you. “But, that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do.”

Then, she sighs. “In this relationship, you do so much for me. One of the only ways I feel that I can take care of you is by paying and making sure you don’t have to worry about anything financially. Do you understand?”

“I- but I don’t do that much for you?” 

Wanda laughs then, the sound surprising you. “Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea, do you?”

Shaking your head, you watch her as you wait for an explanation. 

“Lift up the hem of your dress.”

It’s a command, and you blink at the sudden turn of events. Still, you know better than to disobey Wanda. Slowly, you drag the hem up until the tops of your thighs are revealed. 

“Spread your legs.”

“Wanda…”

She shoots you a look. You spread your legs. 

“Touch yourself.” 

At that, you suck in a breath. Trailing your fingers down, you collect some of your arousal on your fingertips, surprised at how wet you are. Then, you begin circling your clit, nice and slow, just the way Wanda likes it. 

“Good girl. Keep doing that.” 

Wanda smiles, glancing down at your fingers every so often as she makes her way out of the city. You want to ask about the speakeasy, but choose to remain silent. She seems to be proving a point somehow, and you wait for her to explain.

“We’re going home, where I’m going to make us some drinks and you’re going to sit on my lap while we make a new rule. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Smiling at that, Wanda reaches over, placing a hand on your thigh. It makes your skin buzz hotly, and you resist the urge to circle your clit faster. 

“This is one of many things you do for me, darling. Your submission is everything to me, and you offer it so willingly. I’ve been able to freely express my dominant side with you, and you’ve never judged me for the things I desire in a sexual dynamic. You were made for me.”

You nod, realization creeping into your mind. Wanda isn’t finished. 

“You have your job, which I allowed because I know how happy it makes you, and I want you to have a life outside of me. As much as I would like to keep you for myself, I know how much you adore that bookshop. At home, you cook for me, not because I’ve asked you to, but because you genuinely enjoy cooking. That is something you provide for me.”

Wanda quirks an eyebrow at you. “When I get home, what is the first thing you do?”

Blushing, you respond, your words slightly breathy. “I take your coat and purse, give you a kiss, and walk with you to your home office while you tell me about your day.”

Nodding, Wanda continues. “That is another thing you provide for me, sweetheart.”

She continues to list things, small, mundane things that you hadn’t considered to be a big deal. Evidently, they meant the world to Wanda. The way you helped her with laundry, when you’d rub her shoulders after a long meeting, make her a drink in the evening, and especially when you’d follow her orders.

“Like I said, you were made for me. You do so much for our relationship.”

“So do you,” you protest, stopping yourself from saying more when she shoots a sharp look your way. 

“One of the main ways I feel that I can contribute and take care of you in this relationship is with my income. You know I make a lot, darling, I’ve never hidden that from you. I work long days so that I can come home and make your life comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say, finally understanding. 

“Please, darling. Let me use my money on you. That’s why I work so hard.”

You nod, unable to speak as you realize why Wanda was so insistent on paying for everything. 

“I see you finally understand,” Wanda says, glancing down again. “Go faster.”

Blinking, you circle your clit faster, biting your lip at the pleasure it brings. You take a deep, shuddering breath, sure that you’re leaking through your dress. The air in the car becomes warm, and the next time that Wanda looks at you, her pupils are blown. 

“Keep going,” she murmurs, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. “If you cum before we get home, your punishment will be worse.”

You whine, nodding as you keep your pace. You try desperately to think of anything other than the woman seated beside you, her grip firm on your thigh as you feel your pleasure building. 

The fingers on your thigh grip harshly as you slow your pace slightly, trying to stave off your incoming orgasm. 

“What did I say?” Wanda hisses, her eyes glancing sharply at you. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry… what?”

You shudder, feeling little bolts of pleasure crashing through you. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Hmm,” Wanda pretends to think, watching as you increase your pace again. “I don’t think that’s a strong enough title, do you?”

“I’m sorry, Mistress.”

Wanda smiles, satisfied. “Good girl. Keep going. Please your Mistress.”

You let out a low moan at her words, feeling your pleasure increase tenfold as she calls herself that title. You try to stop it, your orgasm. But Wanda is talking, telling you that you’re doing so well for her as her fingers slowly inch up your thigh, her vanilla scent engulfing you as your muscles spasm, white-hot pleasure overtaking you. 

You fingers stall, your orgasm coursing through you as your clit pulses. Wanda makes a noise, her fingers grabbing yours and moving them back to your raw clit. “Did I tell you to stop?”

“No, I’m sorry, Mistress.”

Continuing, you let your fingers wring every last drop of pleasure from you, aware of the fact that you’ve just made your punishment worse. You truly couldn’t help it. I mean, it’s not your fault that your wife was insanely hot and her words were able to bring you to orgasm, was it?

You’re working your way up to a second orgasm when Wanda pulls into the driveway of your shared home. As the garage shuts behind you, she turns the engine off, her hand grabbing yours and gently pulling it away from your swollen clit. 

Wrapping her fingers around your wrist, Wanda brings your hand to her lips, maintaining eye contact with you as she sucks the arousal off of your fingers. 

“I can smell your arousal,” she murmurs, releasing your fingers with a soft pop. “I’m going to get changed. By the time I come back, I want you nude and kneeling on the floor in front of the couch, with two drinks in your hands. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Mistress.” You watch her exit the car and round the side to open your door. 

Wanda disappears into the bedroom, and you quickly make your way to the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients to make Wanda’s favourite cocktail. 

It isn’t long before you’re finished, garnishing each drink with a maraschino cherry. You walk carefully to the living room, setting the drinks on two coasters near the couch. Wanda didn’t like it when you forgot about the coasters. You didn’t blame her, all of the furniture in your home was expensive, much of it was hand-crafted. 

Stripping out of your beautiful dress, you fold it neatly and place it on the chair nearby, your heels sitting next to it. You remove all of your jewelry, except for the permanent gold chain around your neck. 

Grabbing the drinks, you kneel in front of the couch, facing the cushions. It’s a position that Wanda had trained into you, and you’re well aware of the wetness clinging to your center as you wait. 

Footsteps sound out, heels clicking towards you. As much as you want to, you don’t dare turn from your position, knowing that Wanda liked the thrill of suspense. 

“I hope you enjoyed that orgasm in the car,” Wanda says, stepping around you to sit on the couch. Your mouth waters as she comes into view. “It will be your only orgasm tonight.”

Your eyes snap up to hers, but you remain silent, her eyes hard and unforgiving. The lingerie set she’s wearing is gorgeous, all black with a lacy corset. There are accents of dark red throughout the whole piece, and you can feel yourself getting worked up as you take her in. 

Wanda’s hand grabs one of the glasses, sipping from it as she makes a small noise of appreciation. Setting it to the side, she grabs the cherry and pops it in her mouth, before she leans forward to grab your jaw. 

“Open.”

You can smell the cherry and sharp hints of alcohol on her tongue, and you obey. Wanda’s fingers reach into your glass, grabbing the cherry and bringing it to your parted lips. She rubs it over your top lip first, then your bottom lip. You remain still, watching her eyes as she slowly presses the cherry onto your tongue. 

“Chew and swallow, dear.”

You obey, looking into her eyes as you do so. 

Wanda smirks, satisfied with your obedience. She grabs your glass, tapping her knees in a silent command as she brings the glass to your lips. You rest your hands on the tops of your thighs, palms facing up as she tips the glass forward, the sweet drink flowing into your mouth. 

She has you drink until the glass is empty, your stomach warm from the alcohol and lips buzzing from the way she’d wiped them with her fingers once she was done. Wanda sits back, watching your flushed face as she sips on her own drink.

“There is going to be a new rule implemented, darling.” 

You nod, tilting your head slightly. 

“When we are together, I will pay for everything. If you wish to make a purchase, you will talk to me beforehand. You know how I hate it when you disobey or trick me in public.” Wanda’s eyes soften. “Occasionally, you can buy some things when we are together, I won’t deny you that. But, let me take care of you, okay?”

You nod. The decision is easy now that you know the real reason why Wanda was so insistent on paying for everything. Besides, it was nice to be taken care of. 

“Good girl.”

Wanda finishes her drink, setting it next to your glass. “You know that I have to punish you, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress.” You hang your head slightly, wondering what type of punishment Wanda has planned. Strong fingers grip your chin, wrenching your head up. 

“You know why, don’t you?”

“Because I went behind your back, Mistress.”

Wanda’s eyes flash, a pleased smile adorning her face. “Exactly, sweetheart. You know that what you did was wrong, and you know how I hate it when you are dishonest with me.”

At that, Wanda stands, still gripping your face as you crane your neck to look up at her. “Who owns you?”

“You do, Mistress.”

Wanda’s fingers tighten on your jaw, forcing your mouth open. She spits, letting her saliva drip into your mouth, and you swallow obediently. 

“Crawl,” she commands, before turning and walking slowly to the bedroom. 

You obey, your eyes glued to the sway of her backside as her footsteps click down the hallway. The hallway is carpeted, something you’re grateful for as you crawl behind Wanda. You can feel your arousal running down your inner thighs as you crawl, and sharp arousal mixed with soft humiliation mixes deep inside you. 

You reflect on your choices as you crawl, satisfaction that Wanda had finally explained why she liked to pay working its way through you, even as regret pools in your stomach. You truly hated going behind Wanda’s back, and although it was meant as a thoughtful surprise, you now understood why it meant so much to Wanda to take care of you financially. 

Wanda stops, wordlessly pointing at the bed. You blink, having not realized that you’d made it to the bedroom already. You follow Wanda’s instructions, crawling onto the bed as she shuts the door behind you, a few warm lamps lighting the room. 

“Sometimes I forget…” Wanda begins, sauntering back over to the bed, a glint in her eye. “I forget that good girls like you need discipline to keep them in line, isn’t that right?”

You nod. 

“Use your words.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Wanda’s eyes hardened. “Yes, Mistress… what?”

“I-” your eyes dart around the room, unsure of what Wanda wants you to say. The woman reached behind you, grabbing two velcro cuffs and attaching them to your wrists while you fumble for an answer. 

“What do good girls need, sweetheart?” Wanda finally says, testing the cuffs to make sure they’re secure but not too tight. 

“Oh, um. Good girls need their Mistresses to discipline them to remind them of their place.” You turn to look at Wanda, hopeful that you’ve supplied the correct answer. Wanda smiles at you, tracing a finger down your face as she nods. 

“Very good,” she murmurs, grabbing a piece of metal and attaching your wrists together on your lap. You know that you can’t escape, so you don’t even test the strength of the restraints; you just watch Wanda. 

Tapping your lower back, Wanda urges you into position. “On your knees, ass up, darling. I want your arms straight up so your face is on the mattress.”

You obey, stretching your arms out and presenting your backside. Wanda’s hand lands on the back of your head, ensuring that you stay in place, before she strokes your hair and trails her fingers down your spine. Her lips caress your ear, her vanilla scent washing over you as she whispers, “Count for me.”

You barely have time to question it before a resounding crack echoes through the room. You register the pain a second later, a burning sensation multiplying the humiliation and arousal inside you. 

“One, Mistress.”

Wanda is relentless, using her hand first, until you no longer squirm when she spanks you. She lets out a frustrated noise as your voice remains steady, stalking over to the closet and emerging with more toys. 

“I want to see you break,” she hisses, grabbing the roots of your hair and twisting your head until your wide eyes meet hers. She relishes the wide look of anticipation and trepidation on your face, before she roughly shoves your face back into the mattress, one hand steadying your back while the other raises a paddle and brings it down sharply with a twist of her wrist. 

“T- twenty-three, Mistress,” you moan, feeling tears form in your eyes as your head starts to become fuzzy. This was the headspace that you loved the most, and Wanda knew just how to get you there. 

Wanda resumes, switching between the paddle and a soft cane, the low whistle in the air before it strikes you, causing your arousal to spike. 

“God, I love how much of a masochist you are,” Wanda says, her voice slightly raspy. “You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you, darling?”

“Yes, Mistress,” you say, your voice slightly muffled from the way your face is pressed into the mattress. 

Wanda delivers one final blow, the crack jolting your body forward as your fingers grip the comforter tightly, a muffled sob sounding out. Her cool fingers gently trail over your raw, red ass, her voice whispering in your ear, “Color?”

“Yellow, Mistress,” you moan. “I just need a moment.”

“Good girl,” she responds, rubbing your backside for a moment before walking back into the closet to retrieve more toys, letting you catch your breath. 

She remains in the closet for a suspiciously long time, but you don’t dare raise your head. You can hear her rummaging around, her heels making a soft thud on the carpet as she returns, the weight of the bed shifting as she deposits whatever items she collected. 

There are some more noises, near the foot of the bed, and you feel yourself craning to hear what she might be doing. 

“Turn around, darling,” Wanda commands. “On your knees, facing the headboard.”

“Yes, Mistress,” you mumble, quickly following her order. You can feel her attaching cuffs of some sort to your ankles, and you realize that you’ve been restrained with a spreader bar. Flexing your ankles for a moment, you realize that you’re well and truly stuck. It sends a rush of arousal through you.

“You like this, don’t you,” Wanda murmurs, dragging a finger through your dripping slit, an appreciative moan telling you that she licked your juices from her finger. 

You can’t do much but whimper, hearing her chuckle from behind you. 

The feeling of something thick prodding at you makes your heart stutter for a moment, before you feel Wanda’s fingers spreading lube all over what you presume to be a dildo. She makes sure to spread some on you as well, her fingers scissoring inside you as she ensures you’re well lubricated. 

There’s a click, and then you hear the soft hum of machinery. A thick dildo presses against you, and you moan as you feel it start to penetrate you. 

“Hold still,” Wanda commands, and you obey, feeling her adjusting the machine. The dildo presses deep inside you, hitting that spot inside you that causes pleasure to bloom, and you groan into the mattress. 

“Perfect.”

Wanda rounds the bed, the machine slowly thrusting her favorite dildo deep inside you, the sounds of your wet pussy being slowly fucked sending her own arousal soaring. She grips your hair again, pulling your head up to admire the glassy look in your eyes. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

“I- mmmph,” you manage, your eyes gazing into hers, not a thought behind them. 

Chuckling, Wanda presses a button on the remote, the dildo moving slightly faster. Your mouth opens, your cheeks coloring further as a deep flush emerges. 

God, it feels amazing. Wanda’s cool hands on your cheeks as your body is set alight with pleasure. She’s moving, pulling off her lingerie as she manoeuvres herself to sit against the headboard. 

You can smell her, so you drop your gaze down to her perfect pussy, licking your lips at the glistening arousal you find there. 

“Go on,” Wanda’s voice cuts through the haze. She clicks the remote again, the dildo fucking you faster and deeper. “Make Mommy feel good.”

At that, you dive in, not needing to be told twice. Eating Wanda out was something you’d never tire of. She smelled divine, and tasted even better. You’d told her once that you thought she compared to the nectar of the Gods, and she’d been so pleased that she allowed you to eat her out during an entire workday from home. It had been one of the best days of your life. 

“Oh, fuck,” Wanda breathes out, feeling your tongue expertly wrap around her clit, stimulating her in that perfect way of yours. Her hand makes its way to your hair, gripping tightly. It would be uncomfortable, but you loved the pain as she pulled on your roots slightly, pushing your face further into her. 

Your hands are still uselessly cuffed together, but your fingers manage to find Wanda’s nipples. You pinch them in that way she likes so much, and you feel her clit pulse beneath your tongue. 

Wanda has never been very vocal during sex, but you’ve learned how to read her all the same. You can feel her breath stutter beneath your fingers, and you continue to stimulate her nipples, rolling and pinching until her muscles twitch. She subconsciously thrusts harder into your mouth, and you eagerly accept. 

When she comes, it’s quietly, with a low moan and her fingers gripping your hair like she never wants to let you go. You moan with her, your pleasure building as the dildo continues to fuck you slowly, sliding in and out of you until your brain can’t focus on anything else.

“Fuck,” Wanda whispers, pulling your head up to gaze at you. “I want to fill you up, darling.”

Your eyes widen, but you nod, the pleasure making your mind fuzzy. Wanda knows this. She knows how easy you are to manipulate and follow her every word when you’re desperate to cum. 

Smirking, Wanda caresses your cheek for a brief moment before she slides out from under you, grabbing another toy from the nightstand. 

It’s a beautiful buttplug, made of pure gold with a dark red gem at the end. It’s one of Wanda’s favorites, and you like it well enough. It’s not too big, just enough to stretch you out and make you feel full, and you love it when Wanda claims every part of you. 

“Relax, baby,” Wanda murmurs, gently squeezing some lube onto your ass. You obey her, the pleasure from the dildo making your muscles weak. Wanda presses on the remote again, the dildo fucking you faster, pleasure erupting inside you. 

Slowly, Wanda inserts the buttplug. You can feel the stretch, the slight burn as the thickest part of the plug makes it past your rim, the sensation of being full making you pant and moan. 

“You like that, don’t you? You like it when I claim every one of your holes, hmm?” Wanda asks, twisting the buttplug so it’s covered in lube as she slowly inserts it. 

“Yes, Mistress,” you moan, bucking your hips into her hand. This causes the dildo to fuck deeper inside you, and you practically melt into the mattress, your muscles going limp from pleasure. 

Wanda chuckles, inserting the buttplug fully and relishing the way you whine at the fullness you feel. She admires you for a moment, the dark red gem glinting back at her as your arousal drips down your thighs while the machine fucks you relentlessly. 

Grabbing a soft towel, Wanda slips it underneath you, grabbing your ass when she’s finishes and kneading your hot flesh. You moan, full twinges of pain only adding to your pleasure. You can feel an orgasm starting to emerge, your heart racing as pleasure builds within you. 

“Do you want to cum?” Wanda asks, her voice sounding out next to your ear. 

You moan in response, too weak to do much else. 

“Aww,” Wanda coos, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “My pet is too dumb to respond correctly, isn’t she?”

Her words reverberate around your skull, the warm vanilla scent engulfing you as your mind grows hazier. You can’t offer much other than soft whimpers and moans, your head turning to tearfully look at your Mistress. 

“Well,” Wanda begins, her hands caressing your sore backside harshly. “Since you can’t form a correct response, I suppose I’ll have to punish you.”

You would protest, but you can barely think of any words to say. Wanda’s hand comes down, gentler than her strikes before, but the impact on your already red ass makes you yelp, your mind breaking fully. 

Wanda is gentle, but persistent. She spanks you in a rhythm you can’t decipher, unable to anticipate when she’ll strike next. It thrills you, and sends your mind deep into that vanilla headspace you’ve grown to love. Pain mixes with pleasure, the dildo fucking you slowly enough that you feel your orgasm growing, but never quite enough to tip you over the edge.  

“P-please,” you manage, after you feel yourself edge again, Wanda monitoring your body’s reactions and slowing the dildo down whenever you grow too close to an orgasm. 

“Use your words, darling. Full sentences."

“I-,” you moan loudly, the dildo speeding up. 

“Pathetic,” Wanda murmurs, her hand grabbing your hair and yanking your head up. Green eyes meet glazed ones, and she smirks. “You can’t even beg properly anymore, you’re completely mine, aren't you?”

“Yes, Mistress,” you moan, unable to say anything else. 

“Good girl,” Wanda releases your hair, letting your head press into the mattress weakly. She clicks the remote again, the dildo fucking you harder than before, the sound of your arousal making it’s way to your ears as you feel pleasure growing once again.

Your orgasm is close, your knuckles white as you grip the pillow, your muscles tense. You’re so close, and Wanda knows it. 

“Tell me, darling,” Wanda begins, sitting next to you, stroking your back gently as the dildo fucks punishingly into you. “What lesson did you learn today?”

“I- um… to… to let you, mmphh fuck, to let you pay for me…”

Wanda smiles. “Exactly.” Then, she stands, reaching back to slowly grab the buttplug, pressing it even further into you. You moan, a broken, weak sound that makes Wanda pulse with need. 

“You’re going to obey me.” Wanda pulls the buttplug slightly out, before slamming it back into you. “You will never question me or go behind my back again, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” you yelp, moaning as you feel your orgasm creep closer. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you know I just want to take care of you, right?” Wanda’s voice is sickly sweet. “That’s all I want. And you just need to learn your place.”

You nod frantically, your submissiveness clicking firmer into place, your role reestablished in your mind.

“Yes, Mistress,” you moan. “I know my place, I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll never disobey you again.”

“I doubt that,” Wanda murmurs to herself, before smiling at your wrecked form. “One more edge, baby, then we can be done for the night.”

You nod, moaning as Wanda clicks the remote higher, the dildo fucking you faster and rougher than it had previously. You’re almost overwhelmed with pleasure, Wanda’s hands on your face and ass, her presence everywhere. You love it. 

“I- m gonna…”

Wanda clicks the remote, the dildo stopping immediately. 

You moan in slight frustration, feeling your arousal leaking around the dildo as it drips down your thighs. Everything happens in a haze, Wanda removing the dildo from you and slowly taking your buttplug out. She unclips your restraints, leaving you boneless on the bed as you embrace the comfortable haze in your mind. 

The shower is nice, warm, and smelling of vanilla as Wanda washes your body and hair, whispering sweet things into your ear while you slump against her. It’s not until you’re wrapped up underneath the covers that you finally begin to emerge from that comfortable headspace, your limbs entangled with your wife’s.  

“I love you, darling. Thank you for your trust in me.”

“You always make good decisions for us,” you say, yawning slightly and burrowing further into her. “I love you, too.”

Wanda smiles, making a contented noise as you hear her breathing start to grow softer. 

“Hey, Wands?”

“Hmm.”

“I’m paying for ice cream tomorrow.”

And with that, you ignore the soft, happy sigh your wife lets out, letting her vanilla scent engulf you completely. 

Your life truly couldn’t be more perfect.

—-

Dm or comment to be added/removed!

You're standing in the middle of what looks like a sparkling mid-century bathroom, all pastel tile and chrome fixtures. The walls are painted mint green, the tub behind you the color of robin's egg candy. There’s a lace trimmed shower curtain, a stack of fluffy white towels, and a small display table covered in makeup you’ve never purchased but instinctively know how to use.

Your reflection is caught in a wall-mounted mirror edged in glittering gold trim. Your hair is curled into perfect Victory rolls, pinned with soft pink barrettes. A neat silk bow is tied at the base of your throat, matching your powder blue housecoat and pearl earrings. You look like a catalog model. A mannequin. A promise.

You blink once. You don’t remember getting dressed.

“When you want lips worth kissing…” Your voice comes out airy and sweet, the kind of tone designed to soothe egos and sell dreams. 

You hold up a lipstick, sleek and gold with a crimson label. It shines like a weapon dressed as jewelry.

“Wear Scarlet Kiss.”

Canned laughter echoes in the air like a commandment from above.

You feel yourself lean into it, your posture tipping just enough to push your breasts forward under the robe, back foot arched to show the soft heel of your slipper.

The script continues, whether you want it to or not.

“It’s kiss-proof… husband-proof… and confidence-approved!”

You turn toward the mirror and smile again, this time directly into your reflection. The mirror doesn’t reflect the camera behind you, or the boom mic operator, or the director. Just you. You and that shimmering smear of red.

The smile in the mirror twitches, but only for a second.

You uncap the lipstick and begin to apply it in soft, slow strokes, sensual, practiced, like you’ve been trained. You hear the ad copy in your own voice, like a ghost line

“Let your lips say I’m yours, without saying a word.”

The lipstick glides on cool and waxy. It smells faintly of mint and something else, iron? Metal? You can’t tell.

The camera pans closer.

You tilt your chin automatically, hands folding at your waist. The ring on your left hand flashes, you don’t remember getting married, but the diamond winks like it does.

“With one swipe of Scarlet Kiss… you’ll go from housewife—”

You strike a soft, pouting pose.

“…to heartbreaker.”

Another kiss blown to the lens. Another fake giggle. Another round of laughter that doesn’t sound like it came from anywhere real.

You’re aware of the heat of the lights. The ache of your smile. The scent of hair spray curling in the air like smoke. But you keep performing. Keep glowing.

Because that’s what good girls do.

“Scarlet Kiss. For when you want to leave a mark…”

You pause. You look into the camera. You don’t blink.

“…without leaving the room.”

Cut.

The silence slams down like a tomb door.

The lights dim. The music stops. The air thickens. The soundstage freezes mid-scene like a dream caught in glass.

You exhale, your first real breath in what feels like hours. Maybe days.

You’re no longer smiling. Not really. But your lips are still curved, like muscle memory won’t let go.

Your hands lower to your sides, heavy now.

Your reflection in the mirror lingers for a moment longer than it should.

You’re the only thing moving.

Everyone else remains still. The cameraman’s eyes are wide, staring, unblinking. The boom mic girl’s arms are locked above her head. She smiles too hard, her cheeks frozen in a rictus that’s not joy, not anymore.

They all look perfect. But plastic.

Your gaze shifts to the details… the way the pearls around your neck dig in too tightly. The seam of your robe riding up your thigh, though you didn’t move. The way your heels seem bolted to the studio floor.

Something is wrong.

But it’s wrapped in pink tissue paper and sprayed with rosewater. So you don’t fight it. Not yet.

Your mouth tastes like copper. Your teeth ache. You reach up to touch your lips, but your fingers hesitate mid air.

Something's watching.

Click. Click. Click.

Heels. Sharp. Slow. Measured, like a heartbeat drawn out for pleasure.

The sound cuts through the silence like a red slash on cream wallpaper.

You freeze, not from fear, not exactly. It’s something closer to submission. Recognition. Like you’ve been trained.

And then she appears.

Wanda.

Not from backstage. Not from the wings. From somewhere deeper.

Like she stepped through a different show entirely.

She’s dressed like the producer of a dream. Scarlet skirt suit, heels like razors, nail polish clinging to every perfect finger. A clipboard tucked under her arm, a fountain pen dipped in metaphor. She moves with the certainty of a woman who owns everything she sees.

And she sees you.

Your knees soften at her gaze. You want to stand taller, you can’t. You want to ask her something, you don’t.

She stops in front of you and smiles, all teeth and velvet.

“There she is,” Wanda says, voice like warm cherry syrup. “My little runaway.”

You flinch. The term echoes. It means something. You don’t know what.

She reaches forward, her fingers cool against your chin, tilting your face up.

“You don’t remember, do you?”

You shake your head. not because you’re denying. Because you don’t know what else to do.

She leans in. “You used to fight me.”

The words don’t compute. But your chest tightens. She laughs softly, indulgent. Not mocking. Almost fond.

“You were the only one who didn’t bend. I thought about breaking you.”

“But this?” She gestures around the perfect pastel room. “This is better.”

Her voice dips low.

“Now you’ll break yourself. And thank me when you do.”

The lights above you flicker.

The set begins to shift, the walls dissolving into static and reforming into a kitchen. Your robe darkens from blue to crimson. Your shoes change. The ring on your hand grows bigger.

Your lipstick reapplies itself with a kiss of red mist.

You sway. And Wanda?

She claps once, and the music restarts like it never stopped.

“Places, darling.”

She tilts her head. Smiles that quiet, perfect smile.

“It’s time for your next commercial.”

Wanda leads you off set like she’s walking her prize.

One hand on the small of your back. One finger curled around the edge of your silk belt. She doesn’t tug, not yet. You follow her anyway.

The soundstage dissolves behind you, scenery melting into static and dark. No crew. No cameras. Just shadows, glassy red light, and the soft click of her heels echoing into nowhere.

“You walked out once,” she says softly, without looking back. “Tried to leave me. Can you believe that?”

Your pulse skips.

You don't remember it, but your body does. A phantom sting on your wrist. Cold pavement. The smell of ozone. 

Running.

You glance down at your feet. They're moving. You don’t remember choosing to walk.

She opens a door. Not a real one, it’s a prop, just a painted wooden frame on wheels. But when she pushes it open, the world shifts.

The other side is velvet.

Not red, black. Deep, endless, soft as fog.

The floor is carpeted like an old theater. The lighting is low. Just one long dressing mirror, ringed in bulbs that pulse gently, like a heartbeat.

And in the middle, a single vanity chair. Gilded. Waiting.

She gestures. You hesitate.

Her fingers trace a lazy circle in the air, and you feel it, warmth wrapping around your ankles. A pull. Gentle. Insistent.

You sit.

She stands behind you in the mirror. One hand slides through your hair. The other brushes your neck.

Your breath stutters. You’re still in costume, your reflection shows you that, but the seams have shifted. Your housewife robe is open at the chest. Your stockings are torn. Your lipstick is untouched, but your lips feel used.

You don’t speak. Not yet. You don’t know how.

“Look at you,” she whispers. “You’re already halfway gone, and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

She trails one hand down your collarbone. Not touching skin, but hovering just close enough for the magic to buzz across the surface. Your muscles jump.

You clench your thighs. “Still trying to resist?” she murmurs. “Even now? After everything?”

She smiles like a woman watching a tide roll in. “You don’t remember what you said to me, do you?”

You shake your head. Slowly. Dazed.

“You looked me in the eye,” she says, “and told me to get out of your head.”

“So I built a world where you could live in mine.”

The mirror flickers. The bulbs dim. Your reflection shivers.

Her hands rise, and red light glows at her fingertips. Warm at first, like candlelight. Then hotter. Heavy.

You feel it wind around your wrists, not rope. Not metal. Something softer. Like thread made of heat and desire.

Your arms lift without your permission. Hovering in the air. Palms up, body open.

“You fight so beautifully,” she says. “But you obey even better.”

She walks around you now, circling like you're on display. Like you’re hers.

“You tried to be strong,” she says. “And I adored that.”

“But I love you like this.”

Her hand rests on your thigh.

You exhale a shaky breath. Your knees part, just slightly. The air shivers between your skin and hers. Her touch hasn’t landed. Not yet.

But your body already aches.

She leans in. Her breath grazes your cheek.

“Do you want to say something, sweetheart?”

You try. A choked sound. That’s all.

She taps your lips with one finger. The magic pulses.

“Muted again? Oh no. Not yet.”

Her fingers brush down your chest. Your body arches forward, restrained by nothing but will, and the strings she's tightening with every word.

“Let me give you your voice back,” she purrs. “But this time, I want to hear you beg.”

The air stills.

Wanda’s fingers slide beneath your jaw, lifting your chin just enough to make your throat feel exposed. Your arms are still suspended mid-air, wrists bound by glowing red bands of her power, humming softly like enchanted silk. Your shoulders ache, just faintly. But it’s the ache between your thighs that’s louder. Deeper.

“Come on, sweetheart,” she whispers, eyes fixed on your mouth. “You can do it. Just a little begging for me.”

Her thumb brushes over your bottom lip. A surge of her magic pulses through it, hot and electric, and suddenly your mouth is yours again.

And all you can do is breathe… “Please.”

She tilts her head, amused. Her smile curves slow and wicked.

“Oh, honey. That’s such a good start.”

Her hand drops from your face. Her fingers trail down your chest, your stomach, grazing lightly, never quite enough, until they hover between your legs. You’re already soaked. You know it. She knows it.

But she doesn’t touch you yet.

Instead, her power winds tighter around your wrists, spreading like vines, down your arms, around your waist, curling beneath your thighs. You feel yourself lifted slightly from the chair, legs opening at her command. Your body arches forward, presented.

Offered.

Her magic holds you wide, helpless, on display.

And Wanda?

Wanda drops to her knees.

She looks up at you like you’re the altar and she’s come to worship.

“You’re so pretty like this,” she breathes, hands sliding up your thighs, slow and reverent. “Open. Aching. Needing.”

You can’t speak. Not again. Her magic has taken your words and turned them to gasps.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to touch you like this?” she asks. “To hear you moan for me instead of screaming no?”

Her teeth scrape gently along your inner thigh, not hard. Just enough to make your hips jump. Her red magic tightens in response, holding you still, restraining every twitch, every tremble, every desperate thrust of your hips that your body tries to make.

“Nuh-uh, sweet girl,” she coos. “You don’t move unless I say so.”

You whimper.

She kisses your inner thigh, then higher. Then higher. Then….

Her tongue presses to your clit.

You convulse, but the magic holds you firm.

The heat is unbearable, wet, skilled, soft and slow at first, and the magic doesn’t just hold you. It pulses with you. Every flick of Wanda’s tongue sends red-glowing pleasure across your nerves, enhancing everything, doubling the sensation.

Your body starts to shake.

“Oh, fuck,” Wanda murmurs into you, voice thick and low. “You taste better than I imagined.”

She doesn’t stop. She doesn’t rush. She licks and sucks and hums softly into you, like your body is her favorite song.

Your moans are muffled behind clenched teeth. Your fingers twitch uselessly against the restraints.

“That’s it,” she whispers. “That’s my girl. Moan for me. Come on, let me hear you.”

The pressure builds, deep and hot and unbearable.

You’re so close

“No.” She pulls away.

Your scream catches in your throat, not pain. Denial. The ache surges. Your legs tremble violently in the magical grip.

She looks up, mouth wet, pupils blown wide with hunger.

“Did I say you could come?” she asks sweetly. “You don’t get to come until I say.”

You whimper. Sob. Nod frantically.

“Good girl,” she purrs. “You’re learning.”

She stands.

And suddenly the magic shifts, spins you gently in the air and sets you kneeling on the floor, back arched, arms still bound behind you. The position is humiliating. Beautiful. Offered.

Wanda watches. She drinks it in.

“Look at you. All that fire, and now you're kneeling just like I dreamed.”

“Do you feel how good you’re being?”

You nod. A tear slips down your cheek, from frustration or arousal, you’re not sure.

She brushes it away with her thumb.

“You used to fight so hard. Now look at you. Dripping for me. Whimpering because I didn’t let you come.”

“And you love it, don’t you?”

Your voice cracks.

“Yes—Wanda—yes, I love it—please, please—”

She hums.

“I know you do, baby. I made this whole world for you. Just so I could have you like this.”

Her fingers press between your legs again, this time inside.

You scream.

She pumps slowly, curling her fingers, magic sparking along your spine in tandem. The air pulses red. The mirror shimmers. You swear you hear the echo of applause.

She fucks you slow at first, murmuring praise between every thrust.

“So good for me.”

“So tight, baby, taking me so well.”

“You were made for this. For me.”

Your orgasm builds again, fast, blinding. You cry out. You can’t stop it.

“Wanda, please—”

“Not yet.”

She pulls out again.

You sob, gasping, desperate. Every nerve in your body begs for release. You grind helplessly into the empty air, but the magic keeps you still.

“Please let me come—Wanda—please—”

She leans in close.

“I will,” she whispers, hot against your ear. “But not until I do.”

She sinks to her knees behind you, presses her body against yours, and wraps her arms around you from behind. You’re both kneeling, shaking, her mouth at your neck. Her fingers between your legs again.

Her lips graze the back of your ear as she whispers, “Now you’ll come with me.*”

And then? Her clothes melt off.

Not torn, not unbuttoned, simply dissolved by magic. 

The tailored suit she wore moments ago flickers into embers, burning away from her skin without heat. A silk bra vanishes in a shimmer. Her gloves turn to smoke. Her heels clatter softly to the floor behind you.

She’s naked now, warm, golden, flushed with power.

You feel her chest press to your back, full and bare, nipples dragging against your skin as she wraps her arms tighter around you. Her thighs press against the backs of yours. Her breath hits your neck in short, heated bursts.

And then, you feel it,,, Something new. Something thick, pulsing, and hot pressed between your thighs, not a toy. Not fingers.

Her.

Her magic has shaped itself into something real, not illusion. Flesh. An extension of her desire. A slick, glowing red cock, alive with energy, radiating heat.

She groans low when it touches your soaked cunt, and her hips twitch forward, just enough to let it glide against your folds.

“Fuck…” she murmurs, her voice cracking. “You’re dripping.”

She rocks her hips forward, just a little, letting the tip slide over your clit, and your body jerks like it’s been hit with lightning. Your arms are still bound behind you in glowing red, your knees spread wide by threads of invisible power. You’re held there, open, aching, ready.

Wanda grits her teeth, lets out a low hiss through them.

“You're gonna take every inch of me, baby,” she rasps. “I made this just for you.”

You try to answer, but the only thing that escapes your throat is a moan. You're too far gone. Too empty. Too full of need.

And then she pushes inside.

You scream.

It’s too much. Too thick. Too hot. The magic hums around the length, vibrating through your walls like it’s keyed to your nerves. You clench automatically, your body trying to keep her in, to milk her, to never let her leave.

Behind you, Wanda groans, loud, primal, real.

“Ohh—fuck—baby—yes—fuck, you’re so tight, so fucking good—”

Her hands clamp down on your hips. Her thrusts begin slow, dragging every inch of her cock through you, letting you feel the shape of it, the way it pulses with her heartbeat and glows with power.

Her breath is ragged. Every thrust draws a deeper moan from her chest.

“You hear that, sweetheart?” she pants. “That’s me, fucking you. My magic. My body. You made me this hard, you made me need this—”

She drives into you again, harder this time.

Your head falls forward. You’re drooling, trembling, bound, soaked. Your clit is caught in her magic still, being rubbed in time with every movement.

You're on the edge again. You're beyond the edge.

“Oh, god—Wanda—please, I’m gonna—”

“No, you’re not. Not yet.”

She groans into your shoulder. Her pace quickens. She’s panting, grunting, sweating. Her cock twitches deep inside you with every thrust, glowing brighter.

Her eyes roll back. You catch it in the mirror, glowing red, then fluttering shut.

“Fucking—mine. You’re mine. You’re mine, you’re mine—”

Her voice breaks. Her body locks. Her cock throbs violently inside you.

She comes with a cry, raw and beautiful, her whole frame trembling against your back as she spills into you. The magic ripples outward like a shockwave, sparking red lightning through the restraints, into your core.

And she doesn’t stop fucking you.

“Come now,” she snarls, biting at your neck. “Fucking come for me, baby. Now.”

The dam breaks.

You come so hard your vision whites out. Your voice is gone. Your body convulses against her cock, against her magic, against the force of her praise and pleasure and power.

You scream her name, again and again, hoarse, cracked, reverent.

“Wanda—fuck—Wanda—yes—”

You feel your cunt contract around her, pulsing, milking her. She moans again, softer this time, worn out, blissed out.

You collapse forward in her arms, gasping, boneless, utterly wrecked.

Her cock vanishes slowly, melting back into red mist as your body trembles with the aftershocks. She holds you close, forehead resting against your neck, both of you panting.

“That’s it,” she breathes. “Good fucking girl.”

She kisses your shoulder.

“Told you I’d make you melt for me.”

And god, you did.

You’re nothing but heat and ache and Wanda.

The world is still.

Magic crackles softly in the corners of the room like a forgotten flame, slowly fading to embers. The air is thick with sweat, breath, and the scent of Wanda’s power still clinging to your skin.

You’re on the floor, no longer bound, no longer floating. You’re just… here.

Your body hums in the echo of orgasm, skin flushed and trembling. Your thighs are still sticky with her. Your heart is trying to find its rhythm again.

You blink, dazed.

And then you feel her behind you, still bare, still warm, still quiet.

You don’t turn.

Not yet.

Because there’s something in the silence between you that holds, not with magic, but with need.

She exhales shakily.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” she whispers. “Not like that. Not that hard. Not—”

Her voice breaks. Just a little.

You feel her fingers ghost along your back, feather-light, like she’s afraid to touch you too firmly now that she’s already taken everything.

“You looked so perfect,” she says. “You always look perfect. I just—”

“I can’t lose you again.”

Your breath catches.

That’s the crack. That’s the truth behind the power.

You turn your head, slow, unsteady, and look over your shoulder at her.

And what you see wrecks you.

Wanda, on her knees. Hair mussed and clinging to damp skin. Cheeks flushed. Lips swollen. Chest rising and falling like she just ran through a storm. Her thighs slick, trembling, parted like she’s waiting for judgment.

But her eyes, god, her eyes.

Red at the edges. Not glowing. Not threatening. Just glassy.

She looks at you like she’s starving.

Not for power. Not for control. For you.

Your name leaves her lips in a whisper, barely spoken, reverent.

You turn fully now, crawling toward her, slow and aching. You kneel in front of her and reach up, shaking fingers threading through her auburn hair, pulling her toward you like there’s nothing else to hold on to in this world.

Your mouths crash together. It’s not careful. It’s desperate.

Lips colliding. Teeth clashing. Hot breaths caught between moans. Her hands on your waist. Your nails digging into her scalp. Your chest pressing against hers, skin sticking, hips trembling.

You gasp into her mouth.

She groans into yours.

“Fuck—” she pants. “You make me feel—”

Her words vanish against your lips again as you kiss her harder, as if kissing her deeper could burn the madness out of both of you.

She lays you back slowly onto the carpet, her body following yours down, hovering over you, elbows braced beside your head, hair falling around your face like a curtain.

You look up at her. She looks ruined.

Eyes wild. Lips parted. Breasts heaving above yours. One hand stroking your cheek like it can’t believe you’re still here.

You reach up and kiss her again, slower this time, but no less intense. Tongue sliding against hers, hips arching upward with instinct and heat.

“I want you again,” you whisper. That breaks her completely.

Wanda lets out a groan that vibrates down to your core. She kisses you like she’s apologizing, like she’s worshiping, like she’s burning.

Her hand slides between your legs, you’re still soaked.

“Still so wet for me,” she murmurs against your mouth. “You’re always wet for me now, aren’t you?”

You nod, whimpering.

“Say it,” she breathes.

“Yes—yes, Wanda—I’m wet for you—I need you—”

She shudders.

Her thighs squeeze together.

You slide your hands down her back, pulling her hips into yours, grinding. Her breath catches, and her lips part in a moan so raw it nearly brings you over the edge again.

She reaches down.

You feel the magic form between her legs again, but this time it’s slower. Warmer. It molds into her with a flicker of red, a thick, smooth shape that throbs gently, pulsing with her desire.

But she doesn’t rush.

She lines up against you, the head of her cock sliding between your folds, slicking it, and waits.

Her forehead rests against yours. Her breath hits your lips. Her eyes flutter open.

“Do you want me like this?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I want your cock, Wanda—please—fuck me again—”

She pushes in.

You both cry out.

It’s slow. Intimate. Her hips pressing down against yours, her cock filling you inch by inch. You arch up, hands in her hair again, mouth open.

“You’re perfect,” she whispers. “You’re perfect, baby—taking me so well—fuck—”

You moan loudly, right into her ear.

She shakes.

“God—when you moan like that—fuck—do it again—”

You do.

You whimper her name against her skin, and she ruts forward, harder, unable to hold herself back anymore. Her rhythm breaks, messy, frantic, full of desperate need.

Her cock slams into you, harder, deeper, faster.

Your cries fill the room.

“Yes—fuck—Wanda—right there—please don’t stop—”

“I’m not stopping,” she gasps. “Not until you come again. Not until you scream for me.”

You do.

You scream.

She moans with you, hand sliding under your thigh, pulling your leg over her hip to drive even deeper.

“There she is,” she growls. “My sweet little perfect thing—mine—all fucking mine—”

Your body spirals. The pleasure is molten. Your hands dig into her back. Your vision blurs.

“Come for me.”

You break. You come hard, hips jerking up into her, eyes rolling back, mouth open in a silent cry.

Wanda isn’t far behind. “F-fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—oh god, baby—yes—”

Her moan breaks on a sob as she thrusts deep and comes inside you again, shaking, panting, her whole body trembling over yours.

Silence again. But not empty.

She collapses onto you, arms pulling you close, burying her face in your neck as you both ride out the aftershocks.

“I love you,” she whispers. And you don’t even question it.

You just hold her tighter and whisper back 

Elizabeth hovers above you on the soft bed, her brunette hair cascading like a gentle curtain around your faces as she leans in. Her lips meet yours in a deep, lingering kiss, warm and unhurried, her tongue slipping past your parted lips to explore your mouth with tender insistence.

One hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, while the other roams your body, tracing the curve of your waist, sliding up to cup your breast through your shirt, squeezing softly as she presses her body against yours.

You melt into the kiss, your hands clutching at her shoulders, pulling her closer. She breaks away just enough to murmur against your lips, "That's it, my sweet little girl, open up for me like the slut you are."

Her words wrap around you like velvet, praising your eagerness even as they tease your desperation, sending a shiver down your spine.

Her hand drifts lower, slipping under the hem of your shirt to caress the bare skin of your stomach, then higher to push the fabric up and expose your chest. She palms your breast directly now, thumb circling your nipple until it hardens under her touch.

The kiss deepens again, her breath mingling with yours in soft, intimate sighs. "You're doing so well, letting Mommy feel every inch of you," she whispers, her voice a soothing guide through the building heat.

Soon, her exploring hand ventures further south, tugging at the waistband of your pants. With gentle tugs, she works them down your hips, along with your underwear, stripping you bare from the waist down while her mouth never strays far from yours. The cool air of the room kisses your exposed skin, but her warmth quickly follows as her fingers trail along your inner thigh, inching toward your core.

Elizabeth's fingertips brush against your pussy, and she hums approvingly into the kiss, feeling the slick wetness gathered there. She pulls back slightly, her dark eyes locking onto yours with a mix of adoration and hunger.

"God, you're soaking for me already, aren't you? Such a perfect, desperate mess just for Mommy." She strokes you lightly at first, parting your folds to feel how drenched you are, her touch feather-soft yet deliberate, circling your entrance without rushing.

You gasp, arching up toward her hand. "Mommy," you breathe out, the word slipping from your lips like a plea.

She smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, before capturing your lips again briefly. "Shh, I've got you, baby. Just relax and let me take care of my greedy little girl."

Her fingers continue to tease, spreading your wetness around your clit with slow, intimate circles that make your hips buck eagerly. She's patient, talking you through every sensation, her voice low and reassuring. "Feel that? That's how much you want this, how your body's begging for me. You're so good for me, being this wet, this ready—my darling angel."

With a soft nod from you, she slides one finger inside, then two, curling them just right as she begins to fuck you slowly. Her thumb rests against your clit, rubbing in tandem with the gentle thrusts of her fingers. The rhythm is unhurried, each push and pull drawing out your pleasure in waves, her body still draped over yours protectively.

he kisses along your jaw, your neck, whispering praises laced with that edge of degradation that makes your pulse race. "That's my sweet slut, taking my fingers so deep. You're incredible, darling, clenching around me like you can't get enough—such a needy whore for Mommy's touch.'

You whimper, your hands gripping the sheets as she builds the pace just enough to keep it intimate, her free hand stroking your hair, grounding you in the tenderness of it all. 

"Breathe with me, love. Let it build nice and slow. You're safe here, doing so well for mommy." Her fingers plunge deeper, scissoring slightly to stretch you, hitting that spot inside that makes stars burst behind your eyelids, all while her words weave a spell of affirmation and desire.

Elizabeth's fingers move with a steady, loving rhythm inside you, curling and thrusting in a way that sends ripples of pleasure through your core. Her thumb presses firmer against your clit, circling with just the right pressure to heighten every sensation. 

She watches your face intently, her brunette locks falling forward as she leans in close, her breath warm on your skin. "Look at you, my precious girl, taking it all so beautifully. You're such a perfect slut for me, aren't you? Clenching like that."

You nod, your voice a soft whine. "Yes, Mommy... please..."

She coos softly, her free hand trailing up to wipe a bead of sweat from your brow. 'That's right, let go. I've got you, my sweet, filthy thing. Feel how your pussy grips my fingers, hm? That's how much you need this, baby, how you're mine to unravel."

Her pace quickens just a touch, fingers plunging deeper, scissoring to stretch you wider, all while her words guide you higher. The intimacy of her gaze, the way her body shields yours, makes the build-up feel like a shared secret, tender and consuming.

Your hips rise to meet her hand, breaths coming in short gasps as the tension coils tighter. "Mommy, I'm... I'm close," you murmur, fingers digging into her arms.

"Good girl, my baby. Cum for me now—show Mommy how desperately you fall apart her." Her voice is a gentle command, laced with that intoxicating mix of adoration and edge, and it tips you over.

Your body tenses, then shudders as the orgasm crashes through you, waves of heat pulsing around her fingers. She doesn't stop, working you through it with slow, soothing strokes, drawing out every tremor until you're limp and panting beneath her.

Elizabeth withdraws her fingers gently, bringing them to her lips to taste you with a satisfied hum. "Mmm, that's my beautiful girl." She kisses you deeply, letting you share the flavor on her tongue, her hands roaming your sides in reassuring caresses.

Without breaking contact, she begins to trail kisses downward, soft and deliberate, starting from your lips, then your chin, your throat. Her mouth lingers on your collarbone, sucking lightly to leave faint marks of affection.

"Relax, baby. Mommy's going to make you feel even better," she whispers against your skin, her hands pushing your shirt up and over your head, fully stripping you now. Her lips follow the path her hands take, kissing across your chest, taking one nipple into her mouth to swirl her tongue around it, then the other, nipping just enough to make you arch.

She moves lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your ribs, your stomach, her tongue dipping into your navel briefly. Your skin tingles under her attention, every touch reverent yet hungry.

"You're perfect like this, laid out for me—my gorgeous girl, all flushed and ready for mommy." Her words vibrate against your hip as she nuzzles there, hands spreading your thighs wider, exposing you completely.

Elizabeth settles between your legs, her breath ghosting over your still-sensitive pussy. She looks up at you, eyes dark with desire. "Tell Mommy you want her mouth on you."

"Oh, please, Mommy... I need it," you breathe, your hands fisting the sheets in anticipation.

She smiles, rewarding you with a slow lick from your entrance to your clit, savoring your taste. "Such a good, needy girl. My sweet girl deserves this."

Her tongue delves in, flat and broad at first, lapping up the remnants of your release before focusing on your clit with precise flicks. One hand holds your thigh steady, the other slips two fingers back inside you, curling to hit that spot again as her mouth works relentlessly.

The dual sensation builds quickly, your body still humming from before. She hums against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. "Does this feel good for you, my darling love? Your pussy's weeping for me already. You're doing amazing, taking my tongue like the perfect little fucktoy you are for mommy." Her praise stings sweetly, urging you on as she sucks your clit gently, then harder, fingers thrusting in time.

You cry out, hips grinding against her face. "Mommy! Oh god..."

"Yes, just like that. Cum on my tongue, my girl—let me taste you again." The orgasm hits fast and fierce, your walls fluttering around her fingers as pleasure explodes, leaving you shaking. She laps it all up, not letting up, easing you through the aftershocks before ramping up again.

Elizabeth shifts, her tongue plunging deeper now, fucking into you with wet, intimate strokes while her thumb rubs your clit. "One more for mommy, baby. You can take it—my filthy girl, cumming again so soon, hm?" Her free hand reaches up to pinch your nipple, adding another layer of sensation. The build is relentless, her mouth tireless, and soon you're teetering on the edge once more.

"Mommy, I can't... it's too much," you gasp, but your body betrays you, chasing the high.

"You can, and you will. Be my good girl, my perfect girl—cum hard for Mommy." Her words push you over, the third climax of the night ripping through you, stronger than the first, your thighs clamping around her head as you sob her name. She rides it out, tongue soothing until you're spent, then gentles her touches to a soft kissing of your inner thighs.

As the waves finally subside, Elizabeth lifts her head, her lips glistening as she crawls back up your body with a tender smile. She brushes damp strands of hair from your face, her touch feather-light now, grounding you. "Hey, my love... there you are. Come back to me, sweet girl. You're safe, you're here with me." Her voice is soft, a soothing murmur as she cups your cheek, thumb stroking gently.

"Breathe with me— in and out, just like that. You've been so brave, so incredible. Mommy's so proud of her little one." She presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, then your eyelids, coaxing you down from the haze with words like a lifeline. "Feel my arms around you? I'm here, baby. You're held, you're cherished—my perfect, precious girl."

Once your breaths even out and your eyes focus on hers, she shifts to gather you close, pulling a soft blanket over both of you. Elizabeth tucks you against her chest, her heartbeat a steady rhythm under your ear as she runs her fingers through your hair in slow, comforting strokes.

"You did so well, baby. How are you feeling? Tell Mommy everything." She listens intently if you speak, or simply holds you if words don't come, her other hand tracing lazy circles on your back.

She reaches for a nearby glass of water, helping you sip it slowly, then wipes your face with a cool cloth from the nightstand, cleaning away the sweat and tears of release with utmost care. "There we go, all fresh. You're glowing, you know? Like my own little star." Kisses pepper your temple, your shoulder, light and affectionate, as she adjusts the pillows behind you both for maximum comfort.

Elizabeth hums a quiet tune, something familiar and calming, while she massages your shoulders, working out any lingering tension. "Rest now, darling. We've got all the time in the world. You're mine to care for, always." Her embrace is warm, enveloping, a promise of safety as she whispers endearments, letting the quiet intimacy wrap around you like a cocoon, easing you into a peaceful afterglow.

-------------

About who would see it. About whether your situationship would pause when it came across her feed. Whether she’d zoom in close enough to notice how comfortable the touch looked. Whether she’d care at all.

You told yourself you didn’t care. Still, an hour later, you were lying awake in the dark with your phone inches from your face, checking her socials again.

So no, it wasn’t wrong what you were doing. At least, you told yourself that often enough for it to almost sound true.

The new woman wasn’t even your fling. Barely even that, honestly. A few dates turning into nights together, lingering touches, texts that came in past midnight. She was easy to want. Funny enough to make you forget yourself for a while. Pretty enough to distract you completely when she had you under her.

You didn’t not like her.

She made you laugh over drinks until your stomach hurt. Made you see stars every time you ended up tangled together in her sheets. Made you feel desired in a way that felt effortless instead of complicated.

But every time afterward, eventually, you’d open your eyes and see her face beside you. And your heart would drop anyway. Not because you regretted sleeping with her. Not because you wanted your ex back, exactly.

It was just the awful realization that no matter how good someone else was, they still weren’t her.

Every time she kissed you, every touch against your skin, you waited for something to happen. Some spark. Some feeling strong enough to drown everything else out.

But there was nothing until your mind wandered to Wanda.

Only then did the heat come rushing in. Suddenly her hands burned against your skin, every kiss became something you chased desperately, your breath catching as you pulled her closer. But it wasn’t her you were reacting to. Never really her.

It was Wanda. Wanda’s mouth you imagined against yours. Wanda’s fingers deep inside you. Wanda’s voice slipping into the spaces between breaths. And the worst part was how easily your body responded once you let yourself picture her instead.

After each time, you’d lie there breathless beside your fling, her arm thrown lazily across your stomach while the emotions settled in slow and heavy. You were screwed.

The party was already loud by the time you got there. Music shaking the walls of your friend’s cramped off-campus house, cheap alcohol spilling across countertops, bodies packed shoulder-to-shoulder beneath dim colored lights. Skirts worn that would’ve gotten others sent out of lecture halls in seconds, tops hanging off shoulders like they were daring somebody to say something. You weren’t exactly dressed modestly either.

Your eyes met Wanda’s from across the room for the first time in months, and it hit you all at once how badly photos had failed to capture her. You’d stared at those eyes through screens often enough to memorize them, scrolling through old posts late at night like some pathetic ritual. But seeing them now, really seeing them, felt completely different.

It made you hold on tighter to your sanity.

You told yourself you could handle it. That seeing her wouldn’t undo you the way it used to. That months of distance, of silence, of pretending you were fine, had finally built something solid in you. But it didn’t feel solid when she finally approached you.

Wanda didn’t rush it. She never did. Just appeared at your side like she’d always belonged there, like months hadn’t passed in between. The conversation started easy enough, careful. Small updates. Polite smiles. The kind of normal people use when they’re trying not to acknowledge what’s still unresolved.

And then it shifted.

Your back pressed against the wall, the noise of the party reduced to a distant, muffled pulse. Light from the living room barely reached here, leaving everything dim, almost suspended. Trying to make its way up the staircase. Wanda was close, her body pressed against yours.

Your focus narrowed to the space between breaths, to the way she exhaled softly against your mouth before pulling you back in again. Every thought you’d been holding onto loosened at the edges, slipping away one by one until there was nothing left except the pressure of her against you and the sound of your own breathing trying to keep up.

You could feel the heat radiating from her, her body barely an inch away from yours. Her hand found its way to your hip, her fingers digging into the soft flesh, pulling you even closer. You could feel her breath, hot and ragged, against your neck, her lips brushing against your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"You've been avoiding me," she whispered, her voice low, her tone accusing. You could feel the truth of her words, the months of distance, the silence that had grown between you. You had been avoiding her, trying to forget the intensity of your last encounter, trying to move on.

But now, with her body pressed against yours, her lips on your skin, her fingers digging into your hip, you realized that you hadn't moved on. You hadn't forgotten. You had just been delaying the inevitable.

"I've been busy... we've... been on break," you lied, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Wanda chuckled, a low, sultry sound that sent a jolt of desire through you. She knew you were lying, she could see right through you, she always could.

"Busy with what?" she asked, her voice mocking, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "With your new fling? The one you were clinging to earlier?"

You could feel your face flushing at the mention of your new partner, your body betraying you, your desire for Wanda growing with each word she spoke. She knew she had you, she knew she had the upper hand, and she was enjoying it.

"And we're on break, not on two different sides of a chasm."

"Wanda," you whispered, a plea, a warning, a surrender. You didn't know what you were asking for, what you were giving in to. All you knew was that you needed her, you needed her touch, her kiss, her body on top of yours.

"What do you want, baby?" she asked, her voice low, her eyes locked with yours. "Tell me what you want."

You hesitated, your body aching with need, your mind filled with images of her, of you, of the two of you together. You wanted her, you wanted her touch, her kiss, her body on top of yours.

"I want you to kiss me," you said, your voice steady, your eyes challenging.

She kissed you, her lips soft, her tongue demanding, her body pressing against yours. She was intense, she was passionate, she was everything you needed. She was giving you what you wanted, but she was also taking, taking control, taking your breath away, taking your heart. She guided you back into some room, shutting the door behind the two of you.

You could feel your body responding, your heart pounding, your breath coming in short gasps. You could feel your desire growing, your need for her increasing with each passing moment. You wanted more, you wanted everything.

You deepened the kiss, your tongue tangling with hers, your hands exploring her body, your fingers digging into her flesh. She moaned, her body pressing against yours, her hands reaching for you, her fingers finding the hem of your shirt, pulling it up, exposing your skin. You could feel her touch, hot and urgent, her fingers tracing the curve of your body, her hands cupping your breasts.

You gasped, your body arching into her touch, your mind filled with images of her, of you, of the two of you together. She seemed to sense your desire, her hands moving faster, her touch becoming more insistent, more demanding. She was undressing you, her hands pushing your shirt up, her fingers unhooking your bra, her hands cupping your breasts, her thumbs rubbing against your nipples.

You could feel your body responding, your nipples hardening, your breath coming in short gasps, your body aching with need.

And then, suddenly, she stopped. Her hands left your body, her touch disappearing, her lips leaving yours. You could feel the loss, your body aching with need, your mind filled with questions, with confusion.

"Why did you stop?" you asked, your voice barely audible, your eyes locked with hers. She smiled, a slow, wicked smile that promised more pleasure than you could bear.

"Because I want to hear you beg," she whispered, her voice low. "I want to hear you say it."

You hesitated, your body aching with need, your mind filled with images of her, of you, of the two of you together. You wanted her, you wanted her touch, her kiss, her body on top of yours.

"I want you to fuck me," you said, your voice steady, your eyes challenging. Wanda's eyes widened in surprise, her body tensing against yours. She hadn't been expecting that, hadn't been expecting you to take control.

But she recovered quickly, her eyes gleaming with excitement, her lips curving into a smile. "Mmm," she murmured, her hand reaching between your legs, her fingers finding your clit, her touch sending waves of pleasure through you.

Her touch was electric, her fingers expertly stroking you, her thumb circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure. You could feel your body responding, your hips bucking, your breath coming in short gasps. You were so close, so ready, your body aching for release.

"I want you to lick me," you said, breathy, in betwen gasps. "I want your tongue on me, your mouth on me, your face between my legs."

Her fingers find the edge of your panties, pulling them aside. She looked up at you, her eyes locked with yours, her breath hot against your core. And then she licked you, her tongue flat against your clit, her touch sending waves of pleasure through you. You moaned, your body arching into her touch, your hands finding her hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands.

She started to move, her tongue circling your clit, her fingers slipping inside you, her touch sending you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing, your breath coming in short gasps. As your body trembled with the aftershocks, Wanda pulled away, her touch leaving you bereft. You whimpered, your body aching for more, your mind filled with thoughts of her, of you, of the two of you together. You wanted more, you needed more. You've been craving her for months.

Wanda seemed to sense your desire, her lips curving into a smile. She reached down, her hand moving between her legs, her fingers unbuckling something. You heard a rustling sound, and then you saw it - a strap-on harness, a thick, silicone cock attached to it.

Your eyes widened in surprise.

"Is this what you want, baby?" she asked, her voice low, her eyes locked with yours. You could only nod, your body aching with need, your mind filled with images of her, of you, of the two of you together.

She stood up, her body towering over yours, her hand guiding the cock to your entrance. She pressed the tip against you, her eyes never leaving yours, her breath hot against your face. "Tell me you want it," she whispered, her voice demanding, her eyes challenging.

"I want it," you said, your voice steady, your eyes locked with hers. "I want you to fuck me with it, Wanda. I want you to fill me up...."

Wanda hums in some sort of approval, her hands gasping at you to flip you onto your stomach. Her body moving forward, the cock sliding inside you. You moaned, your body arching into her touch, your hands reaching for her, your fingers digging into her flesh. Filling you up, giving you exactly what you begged for.

She grabbed your hips, her fingers digging into the soft flesh, her body slamming against yours. She was fucking you hard, her hips thrusting forward, her cock sliding in and out of you. You could feel every inch of her, filling you up, stretching you, sending waves of pleasure through you. Gasps of her name and nothingness come bumbling out from between your lips.

You could feel your orgasm building again, your body tensing, your breath coming in short gasps. You were so close, so ready, your body aching for release. And then, suddenly, she stopped again. Her body moved away from yours, her touch disappearing. You whimpered at the loss, your body aching with need, your mind filled with confusion, with frustration.

"I want to look at you while I make you come," she whispered. She turned you around, her hands guiding you onto your back, her body moving between your legs. Your knees pressed so tightly against you, her body coming down on top, almost pressing you into this position.

She pressed the tip of the cock against your sopping entrance again, her eyes locked with yours, her body moving forward. She slid inside you, her cock filling you up, her body moving slowly, sensuously, her eyes never leaving yours.

She was fucking you slowly, her hips moving in a steady rhythm, her cock sliding in and out of you. She was looking at you, her eyes filled with desire, with love, with obsession. She was fucking you, she was making love to you, she was giving you everything you wanted, everything you needed.

You could feel your orgasm building again, your body tensing, your breath coming in short gasps. You were so close, so ready, your body aching for release. And then, suddenly, it hit you. Your orgasm crashed over you, your body convulsing, your eyes rolling back, your mouth opening in a silent scream.

Wanda stayed with you, her body moving slowly, sensuously, her cock sliding in and out of you, her eyes locked with yours. She was looking at you, she was with you, she was giving you everything you needed, everything you wanted.

And as you came down from your high, your body sated, your mind filled with thoughts of Wanda, you knew one thing for sure. You had her, you had her touch, her kiss, her body on top of yours. And you would never let her go again.