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“I want to play.”
The wind blows sporadically, wild and unruly beyond the thick pane of glass just slightly fogged up from the heat of the fire burning beside it. Natasha watches the sky closely, unbelievingly even, almost as if she’s daring the clouds overhead to lighten up in spite of the forecast that’s remained the same for three days now. The both of you have always known it was supposed to rain tonight since Tuesday morning, and Natasha’s not ever the one in your relationship to hope for changes that she can’t make happen herself, but she’s been telling you for days that she has a good feeling about tonight.
You’ve said it three times in the last ten minutes. Four words that fall short of a question every time rivaling the volume of the wind outside the apartment. It’s loud, growling howls of rustling branches and brittle leaves that calls for your company with her friends in only a matter of minutes, but you still make your desires known to her because you can; because you want to.
Natasha scoffs, her eyes closing momentarily as she takes in your admission for the third time in only ten minutes. She’s heard the same four words at every opportunity of silence since the very moment your eyes had popped open just after six, the sun not even awake in the sky yet to cast light upon your need. She’s unbudging in her reserve even now though — infuriatingly good at remaining unbothered despite your attempts to persuade. “I know you do.” She mused, unwilling to pull her eyes away from the sky and glance in your direction.
She doesn’t have to see you to feel your body creeping up behind hers, tiptoes tapping against the floorboards as you yearn for the warmth she radiates like a furnace. The fire licking and crackling beside her is enticing on its own, definitely, but the comfort of her body is something unable to be made by anything else around or on the market. You want her, but she’s pushed you off of her body at every point today, not biting the hook you dangle in front of her face and you’re not sure why.
“Daddy! I want to play!” It’s five words now; four words and a title that you’ve been purposefully allowing to hang in the air, not falling off your tongue, just sitting in the back go your mind and the front of hers as she pretends to be unaffected by your arousal for her and only her. It’s an ego inflation to be reminded that the only reason you’re so antsy right now is because of her.
”Say it one more time and you’re not going to like what happens.” It’s a response intentionally missing the name you so desperately want to have fall over your shoulders and your eyes like a weighted blanket. The game has transpired for so long at this point that it’s not just about the victory or the relief of getting what’s not been attainable to you by force outside of your own anymore. Your head is heavy, kind of warm even as your thoughts buzz around with the topic of her, and your throat feels tight with tears that aren’t welling up in your waterlines just yet. You want her. You want her to make it better, to stop creating physical boundaries when you already feel so isolated, but so many of those minor desires have built beneath your gaze so undetected since the morning that there’s no way to vocalize them and make any sense. They’re trapped in your head and on the tip of your tongue, but the only words you can find are the same ones she’s shut down a few hundred times without ever giving you a reason other than ‘because I said so’.
“I think it’s going to rain.” She admits finally, losing some of the conviction behind her stare as she accepts the conditions of the weather outside. The first droplet seems to taunt her, falling just beyond the windows and catching on a leaf barely hanging onto the tree you sometimes see kids trying to climb before school. “It is raining.” She corrects, and the defeated sigh that she huffs is beyond endearing, but you’ve stopped processing anything that doesn’t directly correlate with having the kind of attention you want. It’s a momentary pang of guilt that clenches your belly in something tight, a momentary recognition that she’s been excited for this night for weeks now, and you’re maybe blowing things a little bit out of preparation by harping on a decision she’s made very clear, but it fades away in a second when your stance shifts next to the fire place and your thighs rub together to spark something electric between your legs.
“Please! I want to play.” Your hands reach for her bicep in the same instance that she turns away from the window, her jaw locked, her eyebrows raised as she bears an expression of disbelief and exhaustion at you through cloudy eyes. “Daddy.” It’s a breathy plea that tries to save your ass at the last minute, eyes full of stars and burning desire as her hand catches your wrist and tugs you into her chest. It’s one single moment later that a sting spreads through your ass, and your eyes become glassy with emotions you’re too far gone to name.
“I just warned you, baby.” Natasha shakes her head in disappointment that makes you shiver. She shakes her hand at her side like it stings, like she’s irritated at the circumstance you’ve forced her into. “Hands on the window.” She lulls her head in the direction she wants you, stepping just an inch away to give you the choice to make the move yourself or be forced into it regardless.
“No.” It’s a breathy plea, eyes wide and batting up at her as you try to plead for solid ground to stand on, but you’ve bratted away every last ounce of sand, left to stand on nothing but open air beneath you and a tight rose Natasha controls meticulously. Whether you fall is up to her. You’ve lost all standing in this situation now. “No, Daddy, please.” Your lip wobbles, and for a minute Natasha almost believes that you don’t want this, but then her memory flickers to every small moment of the morning and early afternoon. Even if it hadn’t been your intention to earn yourself a bruised ass moments before meeting her friends for dinner and drinks, your body and your mind has been begging for this desperately.
“What did I tell you?” Natasha’s eyes soften, a moment of deceit that you buy into too easily. Your shoulders melt, fall forward slightly as your body deflates and you finally let her have you fully. Your cheeks burn with shame, embarrassment and humiliation that makes you feel small turning you pink beneath her gaze. Natasha can't explain how much she loves this sight, how much she loves knowing you trust her enough to make you feel those feelings at all. “What did I tell you, detka?”
Your head shakes, lips pressed together firmly. Tears that you’ve felt coming for hours prickle at your waterline incessantly. You can recognize that you wanted this, that you’ve been pining for this days beyond just this morning and the early afternoon, but now that you stand at the line of submission written in an abyss of nothing but empty space and darkness that looks terrifying before you’re down in it, you’re terrified of letting go.
Natasha’s fingers are so cold in the wintertime. It’s not yet into the coldest months of the year, but November welcomes a chill that hasn’t hit since last year, and the digits are icy as they wrap around your chin and dig into your cheeks. The kindness in her eyes has hardened again, once again giving you access to the disappointment and hunger that swims in her green gaze. “Answer me.” She seethes, leaning closer, down into your face until the mint on her breath trails across your upper lip.
“Um,” Your eyes flicker from side to side, unable to focus on her because if you do, you loose everything and she wins. You’re trying to find the words, remember what she’d told you, but all you can hear in your head is the whisper of her title that still feels so far away from your reach. “Daddy.” Your beg, eyes closing, your face leaning into her touch despite the ache that pulls beneath your skin at the pressure.
Natasha scoffs, letting go of your chin only to spin you around and shove you toward the window. One hand grabs your wrist, guiding your left hand to the glass that gives you a direct view of the trees and streets outside, the rain pattering onto the sidewalk and splashing onto tires, and her other grabs your waist, squeezing at you like you’re nothing but an object to satisfy her inability to remain still for even a moment. Natasha Romanoff is as quiet as a mouse, she’s a shadow in the darkness even in a blinding room, but when the curtains are drawn, when it's just you to bear witness to her flaw and her fought for humanity, she’s a jumping bean that just can’t sit still. Your body is her peace. Now is no different.
“I told you that if you said it again, you wouldn't like what happened. Did I not?” Natasha emphasizes, her fingers tangling into the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down without concern for who can see through the window, or if they can see. They can’t. Your t-shirt covers the white thong that you wear, but your palms pressed to the glass give it away regardless. Your cheeks burn redder, your mind slipping farther and farther away as you submit to the feelings and to her.
“Yes.” Your voice is soft, sweet. Natasha hums, pleased.
“Yeah, I did.” She coos softly, her hand massaging your ass now, teasing you more than your brain can even comprehend. Your core clenches at the contact, hot and achy between your thighs as her fingertips brush so close to the center of your legs but never fully there. “So now I’m going to give you thirty on each cheek, ten on your pussy, and then you’re going to go change into what I picked out for you, and we’re going to have a nice dinner. Understand?”
Your head nods softly, dazedly. Your eyes close, your head falls forward until your forehead meets the cold glass and sends an assault of goosebumps down your spine that Natasha feels on the soft skin of your ass before she sees it. A smile tugs at her lips, one genuine and earnest, but she doesn’t make you aware of it, and she doesn’t demand that you open your eyes to see it either. “Mhmm.”
“I need words, my love. Daddy needs to make sure you understand what's happening.” There’s a softness to her now that you feel so lucky to have earned at all, a warmth blossoming through you that makes the dark seem inviting for the first time all night. It’s not as scary to stare at the line of submission when she has you like this, warm beneath her body that presses you to the window, her pebbled nipples an anchor on the upper part of your back as she leans in close to kiss your ear. ”Come on, use your words for me, baby.”
“Understand.” You mimic back the single word you can manage to get off your lips, and Natasha hums in satisfaction as she steps away from you again and taps your thigh.
“Spread your legs more. More.” She demands, watching you closely. It’s just shy of being uncomfortable when she deems you in a good enough position, but that’s entirely the point as she slots a hand at the front of your core, her palm resting on your belly and her fingers just an inch away from your clit as she angles your ass out farther, allowing your knees to strain just slightly at the stretch. “I’m not gonna stop. You don’t have to count. You’re going to say thank you after the first twenty, and then you’re going to say thank you after the last ten. Do you understand?”
“Please.” You can’t deny how badly you want this anymore, how desperately you yearn to please her, make her proud, amend all the wrong that you’ve done in the last couple of days. Your nerves ache for her touch, your heart feels heavy, like a stone in your chest that’s so close to falling farther than you’ll ever be able to save it. “Daddy.”
Natasha smooths her hand over the left side of your ass one last time before a hard smack startles you and shakes you all at once, your palms bracing yourself more appropriately in the seconds that follow. Natasha doesn’t stop, she said that she wouldn’t, but it dawns on you how many twenty really is as she drives hit after hit into your ass. All ten on the left cheek, and then all ten on the right, no element of surprise, but there doesn’t need to be, the pain that intensifies with each hit without break is enough. The last hit, on your right ass cheek, makes you jump higher than you had the entire time, your eyes pinched shut and tears leaking down your face as you shake your head, ready to plead for something you don’t even know about yet. Maybe its more, maybe its softer, maybe it’s to drown in the essence of her entirely.
“What do you say, baby?” Natasha’s voice is calming, even. You heave for breath that comes in shaky at first, and it dawns on you how dry your throat is as you try to swallow at the question asked. “Come on, I know you can do it. What do you say?”
“Thank you.” It’s quiet, hoarse, you think half of your words are drowned out by the dryness in your throat that claims all vibration mistaking it for hydration, but Natasha sees the sentiment in your effort, and she hums.
“Ten more, baby girl. Ten more on that pussy and then what are we going to do?” Natasha asks, giving you another moment to catch your breath even if you don’t recognize her intentions.
“Um. Um, gonna change.” You find the words, the instructions that you’ve been given, but its hard, and it only makes you writhe against the window harder as you fight to regain control of your mind. It would be so much easier to answer her if you could just think straight, but every thought starts and ends with her right now.
“That’s exactly right. Smart girl.” Natasha praises, and your cheeks redden, a whine falling off of your lips in denial that you’re only half standing behind. “Shh, stop it. Don’t fight it. Stop fighting it. Just let go, baby girl. Ten more and then we’re all done. Ready?”
“Yes.” You nod, even though you don’t have a choice and you don’t want to have a choice right now. Natasha smiles, she hasn’t stopped smiling, and taps the inside of your thigh encouragingly, a final warning before the first hit slaps your clit at just the right angle to sting.
“Daddy!” Your voice feels like it echoes all around you, but maybe it doesn’t, maybe it only feels that way to you. Regardless, Natasha shushes your whines, her fingers rubbing over the damp material once, and then twice, but not a third. Another swats replace the comfort of her tantalizing caresses and your body clenches, but she doesn’t relent this time.
“One more. It’s gonna hurt, moya lyubov. Hold Daddy’s hand, shh, give me your hand.” Natasha encourages you into a new position, her hand tightly holding onto your right. She doesn’t spare you on the last one, her palm making contact with every inch of your core so hard your knees slam together for the first time throughout the entire ordeal, trapping her hand exactly where it is. Her fingertips probe your entrance, your weeping hole begging for contact that she only provides for a moment before she removes herself and spins you around, pulling the edges of your t-shirt down until your ass doesn’t reflect back to her in the mirror. “Only a couple tears.” She notes dutifully, her fingers swiping across your cheeks as she brings her lips down to your forehead, letting herself stay there for a moment as she inhales the scent of your shampoo still clinging to your hair beneath layers of gel and hairspray that prepare you for the night. “You did so good for me, baby girl. So good.”
Your head shakes, your eyes still closed, still seeking the same darkness you feel. “Yeah, baby. So good for me.” She leans away again, wipes her fingers across your face and smiles. “We need to change those panties before we leave too.” Your cheeks flush with color that Natasha takes full pleasure in being able to see fully now, and she leans forward to kiss your lips until you melt against her easily. “All done, my love. All you need to do now is remember that I’ve got you, and you don’t have to make any of the decisions.”
“Okay.” You nod, eager to comply with those lists of demands, including the changing of your panties. You shift uncomfortably beneath her gaze, suddenly aware of how cold and sticky the sensation between your thighs continues to be without change. “Now?”
“Water first.” She notes, leading you toward the kitchen with a hand tangled into yours and fingers gentle on the center of your spine, wary of the strength in your legs. “Get what you wanted?” She questions, leading you to sit in the stool beside the counter while she opens the fridge door, searching for the water you’d abandoned earlier in the morning.
”Yes.”
“Good.”