Maid To Order update

“God, I love how big your cock is,” Natasha exhaled, suddenly able to breathe with him inside her, hilted so deep in her cunt. “It feels so good, so fucking good inside me.” She grabbed hold of the backs of his toned thighs to pull him in even deeper, or at least keep him inside. “Now move it, old man, if you can! Fuck me! Make me come! Make me beg for mercy!”

She knew he couldn’t. No man could. The Black Widow took all that men had to give and still wanted more. But Bruce made her want to test herself. Bruce made her doubt, made her even a little bit afraid, and she didn’t run from her fears. She conquered them. And she might not be able to conquer Bruce, but she could live through what he’d do to her. She could even enjoy it, no matter how hard he fucked her. She had taken worse—she just hadn’t ever taken it this good.

“Mmm, not bad,” she murmured, his lengthy cock moving inside her, her hips undulating in a dance with the strokes he gave her, all while her sex squeezed tighter and tighter around his cock.

“Not bad at all,” Bruce groaned, the intensity bordering on pain as she clenched all around his prick. “God, you’re tight as a virgin…”

“I don’t think you like virgins. I think you like girls who know what they’re doing.”

“I’d like just about anyone who looks like you.”

“And fucks like me.”

“No one could possibly fuck like you.”

From the ease he had thrusting in and out of her and the way she kneaded his prick by clutching her folds around him, Bruce had no doubt Natasha was experienced, even trained. The seductress had to have had scores of men, maybe hundreds. But she looked so young and innocent, apart from her eyes. No one as young as her could have such wickedly jaded eyes…

Natasha raked her fingernails down his back while whipping her hips to his in a frenzy, pounding herself onto his raging erection. “Mmmm—not so bad yourself, Bruce. My pussy’s burning. I want you to keep fucking it, keep giving it that big cock. Oh fuck, I love that goddamn prick of yours!”

Bruce groaned, clenching his ass as he forced himself into Natasha until his cock was buried in her. They were merged, bodies pressed together, limbs entwined, their sweat swirling together on their joined skin. For a long time, he simply lay on top of her, kissing her, partly because he needed a moment to catch his breath and partly he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a good fuck. He wanted to savor it. He didn’t want it to end. He didn’t want Natasha to go away unsatisfied. He didn’t want her to leave at all.

“Bastard! Don’t think you can get me off by just holding that big dick inside me!” Natasha clawed his broad shoulders, moaning as she lifted herself off the floor to fuck herself on his erection. “Even though you are hung like the Devil. Unnhhh! You feel so big inside me! Fuck me with that big cock! Unh! Nn! Fuck my pussy!”

Bruce groaned and rocked his hips, quickly finding a rhythm to fuck Natasha with that she found amazing, especially for a man who’d already had his stamina taxed as she had that night. A lesser man would’ve been in a coma by now, but Bruce was determined to satisfy her. He had the will of a bull and the constitution to match. Fuck, she could fall in love with this man. She didn’t know which she’d love more, his cock or the way he used it on her, but as long as he had both, it didn’t matter.

“I don’t know if you’re trying to flatter me or you’re just hung up on how many inches I have. Are you a size queen, Natasha?” Bruce gritted out, trying to keep up the banter while everything else he had went into fucking her. Natasha could’ve laughed at his pride if it weren’t so well-placed. He was doing it. He was getting her off while taunting her with how little it strained him. She couldn’t even come up with a retort.

“Unnn, Yes! Gghh!” Natasha’s lips trembled, curled in a smile with tremors of pleasure breaking and reforming it. There was no getting used to his swollen prick using her cunt so exquisitely. “Fuck me!”

Bruce felt the first tickle in his balls and gasped, “God, honey, I think I’ve fucked you enough. I’ll never satisfy you, never, I’m almost done. Don’t want to stop, can’t stop, feels incredible, but I gotta come, I gotta come. Shit, Natasha, you’re too much… too damn much… I, I’m coming!”

A shuddering thrill raced through his musculature, tensing him up and relaxing him somehow at the same time. His cum thundered through his cock and entered Natasha, filling her on the first spurt. He kept thrusting into her, milking his seed out jab by jab. When he at last was empty, he lay on top of her, feeling all of his weight, his breath coming in urgent pants.

“Don’t pull out!” Natasha cried. “I’m so close, so damn close…”

“I’m sorry, Natasha, there was no stopping it,” Bruce gasped, trying to keep thrusting though his cock was softening quickly.

Natasha tried to clench around his prick, hold him inside her, finish herself off with a last stab of pleasure, but he was too wet and slippery now. She felt him slide out of her and cursed, slipping into unprofessional Russian one last time with her dismay.

Natasha’d had plenty of unsatisfactory lovers before. The honeypot maneuver, loath as she was to use it, worked on people who were not lucky in love—and there tended to be a reason for that. But it had been so good. Of course she was disappointed it was over. It had been wonderful, some of the best sex she’d ever had, but there could’ve been more. She wanted more. In a way, the premature end to their coupling had piqued her need for him more than total satiation would’ve.

Bruce was apologetic, but a little blasé, even smug, in his sympathy. He had, after all, given her plenty of orgasms already. “I guess I’ll have to owe you one.”

“Make it two.” Natasha squeezed her thighs together, pressing his limply hanging prick inside of her soft flesh. “Oh, it’s so wet. Sticky. I like it, though. Even wet… and sticky… even soft. It feels nice.”

“I’m glad. You felt pretty nice yourself. I hope it was good for you.”

“Good enough for starters.” Natasha rolled his soft manhood with her legs. “I wish this were still hard. I think I could just fuck it all night.”

“I’d let you if I could,” Bruce said, rolling off her body and onto his back.

Natasha quickly reoriented herself to him, bent over his groin. She lifted his prick in her fingers until it was at her mouth—then she sucked it hungrily.

“I’m sure if anyone could, you could,” Bruce said. “But I’m afraid it’s done for the night.”

“Then just let me enjoy having it in my mouth,” Natasha said, and she kept sucking it until she had to admit to herself that Bruce was completely drained.

She’d gotten her victory—won out over the only man who’d ever really tempted the temptress—but it was hollow. A pyrrhic victory. After all, he’d made her want to lose. More than that, he made her want a rematch.

***

Natasha was gone in the morning. Even if she did want to stay, to lose herself in the part and in Bruce, her cover was as a maid. Maybe if she really were the dumb little bunny rabbit she’d pretended to be, then she’d believe something could come from that match, but the Black Widow knew better.

For two months, she fell back into her routine. Briefings, assignments, paydays, then covering her tracks, staying on the move. Eking out a living on the outskirts of society, on the first whiff of rarefied air between the haves and the have-nots, where she had everything and nothing. Everything, because assassinations and espionage gave her more money than most people saw in a lifetime. Nothing, because there was nothing to spend it on but luxuries. The vacations, the hotels, the endless succession of beaches. Poor little rich girl, she knew, or maybe what was left of the Russian in her being morose over a life that most would kill for. She had killed for it, though, and she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t.

If she thought of Bruce, it was not because she let herself. She’d long since relegated peace and love and home to the ash pit of childhood, alongside the embers of fairy tales and Santa Claus. It was easy—no, not easy, but familiar—to say that being with Bruce was no more real than dreaming of Prince Charming. The more time and distance there was between her and that night in Gotham, the more she told herself she could just write it off as uncommonly good sex.

Then there came a bad op. An op so bad it forced her to remember how bad ops could go, how many had soured on her, all the things that were burning behind her. Her confidence was shaken. She was in no state to go back into the field, not now, maybe not ever. She told herself this Russian malaise, this bout of self-loathing, would pass. But all the money in the world couldn’t buy back the red in her ledger and there was another page of it now. Black Widows were unsentimental, but even the biggest camel could only take so many straws.

She didn’t know where she could go without a mission, especially without money—a woman without a country, much less a home. Until she let herself think of Bruce. She wasn’t childish enough to think of him as coming home, but he had made her want to stay. Was that a home? A foundation? It was something. Maybe even what she needed.

She booked the next flight to Gotham.

***

Bruce hadn’t varied his routine since her last surveillance on him, which surprised Natasha. She’d have such a billionaire playboy would have more variety in his life with an unlimited expense account and nothing but time. Instead, it was like he was sticking to a cover story, which was insane, of course. A carefree daredevil who stuck to an almost rigorous schedule was simply… eccentric.

It did make him easy to arrange a contact with.