Maid to Order update

He was coming out of a board meeting at Wayne Enterprises, a petulant scowl on his face as he held up a magazine against the rain. His car was waiting for him, the chauffeur with the door open and an umbrella up for himself, but then Natasha walked across the sidewalk, huddled under her coat but walking in a way that no man could look away from. And she already knew Bruce had an eye for that sort of thing.

“Natasha?” He took the umbrella from his chauffeur, who hastily retreated into the car, and jogged across the street to her, to shelter her under the umbrella. “It is you.”

Natasha looked at him. She wasn’t so sure, but she’d take his word for it. “You called me a size queen once, remember? Well, you made me one.”

Bruce looked shocked by her candor, but she gave him a steamy smile, letting him know it was alright—she wanted him to want her. She wanted him to fuck her.

“Would you like to come with me?” he asked her.

“Sounds better than coming on my own.”

Both her blouse and her skirt were soaked, if not with rain, then with her sweat. Her body shone even in the darkness of the backseat. Bruce slid in with her, opening up a cabinet and offering her a towel. Natasha gratefully wiped off some of the downpour.

“Normally, I would ask you to go out for a drink with me,” Bruce said. “But I get the sense you’d rather be alone.”

“Then why’d you pick me up?” Natasha quipped haplessly.

He smiled at her. “Being with some people is like being alone—just a little less.”

“Sharing all the benefits of solitude?”

“Exactly. So why don’t we go to my penthouse? I was headed there anyway to relax for the evening. We can have a drink there.”

Natasha looked coyly at him, her lips curved into a perfect symbol of lust. “You’ll promise not to take advantage of me? I’d hate to think you had some kind of sordid design on me.”

“Absolutely not,” Bruce replied, his voice rich with the same irony. “I just want to fuck you.”

***

On some level, it bothered Natasha that she was here, in Bruce’s penthouse apartment, taking in the tasteful minimalist furnishings that blurred the line between spartan and high-class. The place actually reminded her of a lot of soldiers she had known.

It didn’t bother her that he was going to fuck her; if this was anything like the first time, it’d be more than welcome. What bothered her was that she couldn’t quite discern her own motivations for being here. Was it really just that he had made her feel so good the last time? Natasha could seduce anyone, easily find a mate she could reasonably expect to please her. So why Bruce? Her reasoning hadn’t resolved itself, even now that she was here. She just felt drawn to him.

Bruce opened a pint of whiskey to make them some drinks, as if Natasha needed to be plied with alcohol to get fucked. But then, she could use a drink. She tended to turn away from them, a kneejerk reaction to Russian stereotypes and any compromise of her efficiency, but being undercover with Bruce gave her a good excuse. It gave her license for a lot of things. She felt almost like she was back in her comfort zone, running an op—getting to be his Natasha instead of her own.

She paraded around the room, conscious of Bruce’s eyes on her, enjoying letting him see what he’d ‘seduced’. She was dressed for a date, with a sleeveless black sheath dress, the hem covering only a third of her thighs. It looked good on her—it was almost a shame to take it off—but it had served its purpose as concealment. She couldn’t very well walk the streets in what she had on underneath, but that was what she wanted Bruce to see.

While he poured the drink, Natasha undressed. Her bra and panties were black, hiding her ample curves, inviting the eye to discern them, then exposing them with the fullness of realization: the half-cups cradling only some of her sun-kissed breasts, the thong running between the abundance of her golden-fleshed ass. She knew Bruce liked garters and stockings, what man didn’t, and she had worn some just for him. Curlicue designs ran down the hose, accentuating the length of her sculpted legs.

Bruce handed her a glass. She clinked it against his and smiled alluringly while she brought it up to her lips. She could already see the bulge at his crotch. He wasn’t bothering to try hiding it.

Bruce set down his drink and put his arms around Natasha. She finished hers as he caressed her body. She enjoyed the sensations he stirred over her bare skin, through her lingerie, and the pleasure he overtly took in feeling her body. His big hands moved over her bra—not much of a covering, and even less so with her nipples pushing through the lacy black cups. His fingers stroked them, provoking them to lengthen in answer to the feel of his touch through the fabric.

From behind, his body brushed against hers; she felt the hardness of his erection at her pert buttocks. He kissed her ear as he unsnapped her bra… it fell away from her breasts as she was moaning. Bruce exhaled gently, seeing her tits exposed. Natasha could read his delight, the awe he took in them, and it thrilled her out of her malaise as he squeezed the fulsome mounds.

Natasha closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and her breasts swelled to fill his clutching hands. She reached back to feel his growing erection. It was as hard as she could hope for—Natasha ran her fingers up and down its length as if in disbelief. Her other hand’s grip seemed to wither with inattention, letting the empty glass slip out of it and sink into the carpet.

She turned around to give Bruce her full attention, opening his shirt with quick, precise jerks on each individual button. She wasn’t so far gone yet that she would rip it off him and she didn’t want to pretend that she was. It felt good to be sincere. His chest was broad and hairy and she enjoyed rolling her fingers through the dark pelt that covered his pectorals.

Pushing the shirt from his broad shoulders, she caressed his sizable muscles, the physique that was perfectly developed from his chest to his shoulders to his neck. Her high heels put her right where she could be kissed and she opened her mouth to his lips, his tongue. His hands returned to her breasts, manipulating her hard nipples, and they stiffened more under his fingers. Bending her backwards with a hand running through her hair, he leaned down to suck her engorged right nipple.

“Gaaawd, BRUCE!” she cooed, holding his head in her hands to ensure he kept giving her what she was enjoying so much.

His other hand went between her legs, stroking the lace that almost proved a match for how satiny and soft her skin was where he could touch it. Instead of ripping her panties away or moving them aside, he prolonged the tantalizing wait, pushing his finger through the lace panties and into her sex. He couldn’t go very deep with the lace barring his way, but he could stroke her excellently, and Natasha gasped and giggled as she spread her legs wider, opening herself further to his ministrations.

He pressed into her cunt, though only shallowly. She bounced up and down on her heels, pushing herself onto his finger. Her hand was already tugging down his zipper, reaching inside her fly.

Bruce either had his fill of teasing or sensed that Natasha couldn’t take anymore. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, laying her down on her back with an implicit instruction in his touch for Natasha to stay there, waiting, as he stripped. She watched his pants fall, saw his cock revealed, as thick and hard as she remember. Natasha rubbed her breasts, pleasuring her rigid nipples with her long red fingernails. As good as her touch felt on herself, she wanted to be touching Bruce. She wanted him to be touching her.

Bruce joined her on the bed, his big, hairy body seeming to dwarf hers, trap her underneath him like a roof caving in. His hand went down under her panties, felt her bare cunt, its warm juices, and he cupped her mound and squeezed. Natasha gasped as the pressure seemed to go right through her, touching her deepest core.

Bruce buried his face between her breasts, kissing and nipping at them, moving over the ample slopes to get to the tingling tips. When he opened his mouth wide, he seemed to be able to devour all of her 38-C breast, sucking hard at it, the vacuuming pressure on her nipple making it burn and sing with ecstasy, until she could barely feel his hand at the soft hairs of her pussy. It was stroking her clit, helping along the arousal that was already warm and pulsating in her sex.

His middle finger went inside her now, Natasha moaning—he made her feel it more than some men had managed with their cocks, probing, prodding, thrusting until she thought she’d feel him between her buttocks. She was crazily aroused, her cunt sucking at his finger, and though she didn’t want this to ever end, paradoxically she wanted it to be his cock, wanted to feel an explosion of jism inside her. That seemed the only thing that could satisfy Natasha, and she couldn’t go unsatisfied. She didn’t even want to chance going without relief, even if it meant this ended, even though she wanted this to never stop.

She rolled on top of him, kissed him, pulled away from him. She couldn’t seem to get enough of Bruce, couldn’t seem to give him enough of her. Natasha threw herself down on his prick, slipping her lips over it. The friction of her mouth traveling down his length made it grow hotter, harder. She felt the excitement pounding in it, tasted the precum flowing from his tip every time her tongue swiped over it.

Lifting her head, she squeezed his girth with her hand, until his opening winked, displaying the warm white precum he longed to give her, and she lavished it with her tongue, tasting him again and again until she knew she could never get enough. Not before he came. Not before he stuffed her with his cum, either her cunt or her gullet, she didn’t care which.