Work Text:
“Ria asked you a question.” Natasha hums smugly, her hand resting comfortably on your denim covered thigh beneath the orange-toned lights in the restaurant. The place is crowded for a week night in November, but the corner you're tucked into with the barrage of idiots Natasha’s collected over the years feels quiet; secluded.
You’re not secluded, not in the slightest. You’re all gathered around three high top tables pushed together in the corner of the second dining room toward the back of the building, there’s a wall of glass in front of you, the lower seating level like a moving portrait when your eyes wander from the conversation. You’re in the center of all that is happening in this family owned italian restaurant Maria apparently found in college, but it feels like you’re light years away in your head.
You’re not sure what it is about the end of the table that Natasha finds so comforting, but since you’ve known her, she’s always found herself at one distinct end whenever eating out demands for her compliance. Usually, it’s the end of the table that’s pressed up against a wall that she claims, the farthest seat back in a booth, but that’s not an option tonight, and her bold claim of the table’s end chair has sanctioned you in a space void of conflicting warmth.
You have a seat at the table. It’s between her body and Jimmy’s, but the black chair is void of your simmering warmth as you curl yourself into her lap like a kitten drowned in sunlight it’s spent all night yearning for instead. The table is clear of plates now, everyone done eating their meals and their respective sides, but the drinks haven’t gone dry and you’re almost positive Darcy has another round of margaritas coming, so the night is far from over for the group of you who all have professional obligations tomorrow regardless of what time you crawl home. Natasha pulled you into her arms when you’d started spinning your spaghetti noodles around the plate carelessly, giving no explanation to her friends who didn’t even bat an eye at her vulnerability. It doesn’t surprise you anymore, but for a while it did — how they could all be so unaffected by her kindness, her warmth, her ability to love. The simple answer is that they don’t notice the majority of her expression for what it means, and the other is that she’s apparently terrified so bad they refrain from ever even mentioning you outside of her explicit invitation.
Your jeans aren’t tight enough to satisfy you, but there’s a burning heat between your legs that comes both from the memory of her palm slapping against your core and the heat that’s been building there since you’d woken up. She looks almost edible in her black sweater and dark jeans, but what trips you up continuously is the thought of the black lacy thong she wears beneath all of those layers. The black sports bra adds to the image you can’t help but create in your head, taking you farther and farther away from the moment until there’s no ounce of Maria in your spiral.
“My love,” Natasha’s hand slides up the center of your thigh and squeezes hard, her fingertips digging into the muscles she was abusing at this time the night prior. Your breath hitches, your body that had been putty in her lap tensing until you shift back into her, your ass grinding against her core unintentionally, but effectively.
Jimmy’s rambling excitedly to Darcy about a new research development in his lab downtown, and Darcy, who works three floors away from Natasha most days out of the week, has her arm thrown over Monica’s shoulder, forcing her into a conversation she looks happy enough to laugh along with without contributing. There’s a tint to Darcy’s cheeks that catches the light every time she cackles, and there’s no doubt in your mind of Natasha’s on whether or not she’s blacked. Beyond them another conversation happens, but it’s too far to hear even a fraction of, and it’s not like you’re listening to anything at all regardless of proximity or topic.
Your mind is fuzzy, there’s a black hole at the end of your vision and you chase it violently and wildly in tamed submission that Natasha can feel radiating off of you like glittering static. You whine at Natasha’s grip that doesn’t waver, but your eyes eventually flicker to meet hers until clarity comes over you again and colors don’t feel as bright on your fingers.
“Answer. Maria.” She warns, no leeway for praise in her demand. Your throat bobs, tears gathering in your waterline as you snap your gaze to Maria with a blush of something innocent across your cheeks. The fire that had burned behind your eyes, despite the edges wrapped in padding, had been put out hours ago, and the weight of her control that hasn’t wavered keeps you down deep in a space that only she can invoke.
“What?” Your voice is soft, quiet and gentle as it attempts to reach across the table to her ears damaged by years of combat before she’d turned to lab medicine. You know she can’t hear you, Natasha has pulled you into the moment enough for your brain to start working a little bit more than it had been, and you can tell by the immediate quirk in her nude lips that she didn't hear a single part of you sheepish question, but there's a telling glint in her eyes that replaces her confusion. She knows. Maria knows a lot of things. She knows a lot of things about you, and about Natasha, and about the dynamic that you engage in not always behind closed doors, and even though your mind spins, finding Natasha and her body and her love in everything that you see, you can recognize that the glint in her blue yes means that Natasha’s told her every minor detail about the night and the hours of the day that got you here to begin with. Maria knows about the punishment, and the teasing, and the blissful submissive state you’re all wrapped up into.
“I asked if you liked the spaghetti.” She laughed softly, shaking her head as she reached for the old fashion on the table half gone and mostly watered down. Her lips don’t purse when she takes a sip, she doesn’t grimace as she soothes the dryness in her throat, and it's a moment of recognizing the smallest glimpses of Natasha in her that drags you back away from the moment happening. “And she’s gone again.” She laughs knowingly, watching your eyes go distant and hazy, noticing how your body melts into Natahsa’s just a little bit more than it had been.
A gasp falls off of your lips when Natasha’s hand travels farther up your legs, cupping your core that hasn’t been able to find a single inch of contact with the inseam of your jeans all night. Your eyes widen, a glimpse of pleasure that Maria’s never seen you experience before washing across your face. You’re not the only one who's been wanting this for hours. Natasha’s itching with a desperate need to feel you, claim you, put the final nail in the coffin for the night. It’s a wonder how she’s even held out this long, but she has, and you’re not in the right headspace to push back and get her to break faster.
“Do you want to go to the bathroom?” Natasha asks you, but it’s not really a question. You’re going to the bathroom whether you want to or not, and Maria can only smirk with knowledge as she watches you get whisked away in the private gender neutral stall down the hall.
Natasha shoves you into the room with rushed movements that have you tripping over your own two feet, but before your body can collide with the sink that sticks out an awkward amount for even a coordinated, mentally stable individual,, her arms cradle you closer than she has since you’d left the apartment at five. There’s a moment of softness that pulls you down to the darkest depths of peace, her hands cupping your cheeks and drawing you closer until her lips graze against your temple.
”You need me, baby?” She questions, her words muffled against your forehead until she pulls away to glance down at you fully. Your cheeks are flush with warmth and color, a sheen across your skin that’s not just because you were sitting directly under a stream of blowing heat, and your eyes, oh your eyes. She loves them at every moment, but right now, when they can’t focus on anything in particular but are trying so unbelievably hard to find her and only her, she loves them more than she could’ve ever known before she met you. “Daddy got you that needy you just need to be fucked in the bathroom? You need me to make it feel just a little bit better?”
Your head nods, bobs up and down between her hands, and your mouth, the mouth that she’s watched all night with wild fantasies of having it on her, opens to respond, but the words that you can’t even name in your head fail to fall off of your tongue. She smiles, because how can she not when you’re so perfect beneath her touch and control, and nods. “Okay baby, okay. You’ve been so good. Just needed a little reminder this afternoon, huh? Just needed to remember that Daddy makes all the decisions and you like it that way.”
”Please.” You manage to croak, your beautiful eyes beyond starry and dazed as they gleam up at her with nothing but adoration and submission that she’s spent years curating to her liking. It’s all you can give her, all you can say, but it’s more than she’d wanted or expected from you at all.
“Good girl. Such a good girl, begging so nicely, trying so hard for Daddy. Of course, I’ll fuck you in the bathroom, my love. Of course, I’ll shove my fingers between those pretty thighs with all our friends out there listening.” She hums sweetly, like she’s promising to give you the world, not an orgasm after being the one to deny you for hours.
Her hands on your waist feel so comforting as they pull and twist at your body, getting you just how she wants you pinned between her chest and the sink that juts out from the wall with rust around the seams. It’s an all too short feeling of contentment that calms your buzzing nerves for a moment, her touch vanishing from your clothes that cover skin yearning for intimate warmth, instead reaching for the faucet in front of both of your bodies.
”Let me wash my hands.” She muses quietly, her face dipping down to bury itself in your neck, her lips and the warm vibrations of her words tickling the shell of your ear. You can’t fight the whine that fills the bathroom along with the unsteady stream from the faucet. Your head falls back onto her chest, your eyes pinched together in desperation that’s becoming impossible to control with limbs that feel too heavy to move on your own. The beautiful submission is becoming a prison you can’t escape or find the light in, the darkness closing in around you until it’s a cold constrictive fist around your heart. “Shh, shh. Daddy’s gonna make you feel good, Daddy’s going to fix it, but we don’t want people hearing you, and you can’t stay quiet with Daddy’s fingers rubbing your clit. Isn’t that right? Just have to make those pretty sounds when Daddy touches you, can’t help yourself even when there’s people out there to hear you. We can’t have that tonight, baby girl. Nobody else needs to know how much of a slut you are.”
The soap doesn’t smell like the nice one she keeps in the bathroom at home, that one’s always on the cusp of overflowing when she tops it off before bed like a freak, but this one sticks out from the wall in a half broken white and blue case, and it doesn’t foam in her palm or between her fingers as she rubs and scrubs beside the stream of water, but she seems satisfied with its effectiveness as she runs them under and watches the suds pool around the rusted drain. It’s a nice establishment beyond the four walls of the bathroom, you wouldn’t have expected it to look like this, but that’s not a concern for either of you at this point.
Your whining doesn’t quiet down, but it doesn’t need to on its own for any longer than it takes Natasha to push the faucet off. “Do we whine to get what we want, little girl?” She corrects, her fingers inching toward your chin, snaking around your waist in the same moment, pulling at the button of your jeans and waiting at your lips for a response to her question.
All you can do is whine again, your body wiggling in her touch as she eases your jeans down your thighs one-handed. “No. We don’t whine to get what we want, but Daddy’s been so mean to you hasn’t she? Little slut just can’t handle it. She likes to play a big game, likes to whine, and demand things, but she can’t really handle it. She just can’t ask Daddy for what she wants either.” Natasha tsks, but her fingers come to your lips finally, and they plunge into the warmth of your mouth that she’s been watching all night, pressing down on your tongue until you gag, the only reason you whines are interrupted for a moment as her fingers tease over the dampness of your panties. ”Oh fuck, you’re so wet. Who’s all this for, baby? Who got you so wet?”
It’s a jumble of syllables that fall off of your tongue that’s pressed beneath her fingers you suckle so desperately, your tongue trying to lap and swirl between them but the weight of her control unallowing. Your attempt satisfies her regardless of the sound, her fingers pulling your panties to the side and two thick fingers plunging into you without ease or caution. Your hips twitch in her hold, your pelvis digging into the edge of the sink that creaks and groans beneath the weight of her body pressing you down.
“Do you want to stay down?” She asks, a moment of clarity in her voice as she slows her fingers entirely and lets you adjust to the stretch that keeps you full and pulsating around her knuckles. “Answer me, baby. Come on, just one word for me.” She pulls her fingers out of your mouth, wiping your saliva on your shirt. Your cheeks flush harder, your eyes watering as you stare back at her reflection in the mirror.
”Please.” You nod, tears falling down your face at the thought of losing this beautiful state of mind that you only get to fall into so hard occasionally.
“Good girl.” Natasha’s hand slaps at your face before her fingers enter your mouth again, the digits between your legs speeding up with the addition of her thumb on your clit. “Fuck you’re so hot, squeezing my fingers so tight. God, baby. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this. Couldn’t keep my hands off of you tonight and everyone noticed. Everyone watched you be a little slut who likes Daddy’s hands all over her in public. God, such a little whore for Daddy. But only Daddy, right? Just me, baby?” She laughs when you can’t answer, her teeth sinking into the side of your neck as she huffs and groans into your warmth. “You getting close? Oh, I know you are. I can feel you squeezing my fingers. Squeeze again, clench your pussy baby, fuck, fuck. You can cum, don’t have to wait, don’t have to ask. Come on, cum on my fingers before somebody comes in. Come on baby, don’t be the reason you don’t get to cum again today because there won’t be another chance.”
She takes her fingers out of your mouth at the last second, pulling you into a kiss that stifles your moans and whines as you fall apart on the fingers that don’t stop pushing in and out even after your orgasm subsides. Your body shakes, trembles, your clit sensitive and firm beneath her thumb that still strokes in circles that condemn your actions from earlier. “So good, so sensitive. I know, I know. But Daddy just wants to feel you for a minute. Daddy just wants to be selfish with you for a minute.” Natasha mumbles against your lips, her fingers only slowing to a stop when your whines of sensitivity grow louder than her kiss can conceal. “Good job, baby girl. Good job, so good. So so good for me.”
“No.” You whimper when she pulls away, leaving you to stand on your own at the sink. “No, Daddy. Want you.” It’s a mumble of words that maybe make sense and maybe don’t, but Natasha understands the sentiment and how much it took out of you to get them through your teeth at all.
“I’m right there, I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere baby, just gotta clean you up. Why don’t you sit down and go potty for me? Had a couple drinks with Jimmy and Maria, I know my girl has to pee.” Natasha guides you to the toilet, her smile inviting and comforting as she walks you through the motions of peeing like its something award worthy. “Gonna clean you up, gonna say goodbye to Masha, and then Daddy’s gonna take you home and get you all comfy in bed, right? All done with the day, just need to go home and cuddle now.”
“All done with the day.” You repeat, sparing one last glance at your appearance in the mirror before you turn to her dazedly.
“That’s right, all done with the day, baby girl. All done.”