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Wandavision: Love, Honor, and Obey
🕑 Added 2021-01-18 23:23:25 +0000 UTC“Honey, I’m home,” Steve called as he swept through the front door, followed by the familiar routine of his homecoming.
Dropping his briefcase by the stairs to be taken up later, taking off his hat, tie, and suit jacket to be hung up where they belonged, or left dangling alongside his suspender straps in the case of his tie. He stepped out of his shoes on the tiles of the entryway, so that it was his black socks that embraced the vacuumed-daily carpet and not anything he’d stepped in while going to and fro work.
It wasn’t that Wanda didn’t trust him. She simply didn’t trust the custodians at his office or half the people who walked dogs in this town.
He padded into the kitchen, and Wanda felt his gaze on her. She was wearing a breezy floral-print dress, the cotton beautifully painted into a pattern of white oleanders, pink roses, and green leaves. It also hugged her braless chest and showed off her stockinged thighs. Of course, it covered her groin and buttocks, but the way Steve looked at how she bent over, it felt like it didn’t.
“Steve!” she chastised in a wary voice.
“What?” he asked her, his stocking feet swishing over the linoleum floor. “I was just thinking how you’re so much smarter than all the girls at the office.”
Wanda stayed where she was in front of the stove, stirring the spaghetti sauce simmering on the burner. “I’m sure if your boss hired a smart cookie like you, then the women he’s hired must be brain surgeons, dear.”
“Yeah?” She felt Steve’s hands on her narrow waist, crushing her dress against her skin so she really felt how soft it was—and how hot his fingers were. “Then how come none of them have figured out how to keep their panty lines from showing?”
Wanda gulped. It’d seemed so silly to wear panties when she wasn’t wearing a bra—honestly, her garter belt seemed constrictive enough—but how could she explain to Steve that, much as she liked the way her dress felt on her bare body, she hadn’t been inviting him to see how it felt on her bare body too?
Especially since he was the man of the house. Pleasing him was her wifely duty and she seemed to be doing a good job of it without really trying! It was enough to make her duty feel more like a privilege.
But speaking of pleasurable duties, the sauce was coming along so nicely and she knew it would taste delicious, for both of them… not that letting Steve do what he wanted to do would be a chore for her.
“Steve, my word, you must behave! Can’t you see that dinner’s almost ready?”
“But I’m ready right now,” Steve purred in her ear. Wanda’s eyelids fluttered. The ladle almost slipped out of her hand before she redoubled her grip on it.
It was hard for Wanda to believe that the sight of her naked silhouette within an entirely proper dress would arouse her husband so. After all, Steve had seen her naked many times, and worse, seen her in things so scandalous that Wanda would almost rather burn them than keep them in her closet, where some burglar might conceivably find them and know how Wanda dressed for her husband.
But she’d underestimated the depths of Steve’s lust for her. He ran his hands over her curvy outline like he was paging through a book, skimming through the pages of her dress to get to the good bits.
“Steve, get a hold of yourself! I’m trying to cook! Why don’t you go have a beer?”
“You know I prefer a dry martini,” Steve grunted. “I don’t like how bitter beer tastes. I prefer my drinks to go down nice and sweet.”
Wanda eyed her stewing sauce, feeling some sympathy for it. It would only take a quarter of an hour for her to be finished—she thought they could whoopee, eat, and if Steve was still randy, some more whoopee before the dishes.
Steve, though, seemed incapable of being put off for so long. He stood behind her with his arousal pressed between her buttocks, providing a constant reminder of his readiness while his hands roamed hungrily over her luscious flesh. They were everywhere at once, while his manhood only ever wanted the same thing.
“This sauce will be plenty bitter if it burns!” Wanda slapped his hands away, one-two, giggling as she realized the absurdity of playing hard-to-get with her husband. The only way she could pull it off was by reminding herself, with womanly wisdom, that Steve didn’t know what was best for him. He’d thank her later, when he had her and a home-cooked meal both. “I’m making this sauce just for you, y’know. It’s a special recipe and I’ll never forgive you if you ruin my first try at it.”
“I think you’ll forgive me for anything,” Steve muttered. “So long as my mouth is between your legs.”
“Oh, Steve, how can you be so fresh? Imagine when we have kids! To hear you speaking such language…”
“I can imagine us having kids,” Steve cooed in her ear. “And the sooner we get started, the better!”
His hands shook as they worked at the buttons in front of her dress, as though he could barely resist simply tearing them open, barely respect the pride he knew Wanda took in her wardrobe. Soon, his hands were inside her open cleavage, molding her plump breasts, fingers scoring at her stiff nipples. With his fingertips sliding over the fine sheen of sweat that covered the creamy skin, it was obvious he knew how excited she was despite her protestations.
His hips worked like a motor revving up, rubbing his torrid erection along the split of her buttocks. Wanda moaned, feeling wet need spread inside her. Despite everything, she took pride in how lust for her had gotten so thoroughly into him. She knew Steve Rogers was no sex maniac. It was simply her that made him this way. It was as endearing as it was infuriating that his sex drive was so… healthy.
“Please, Steve! Just wait until the sauce is ready!”
He gave her left nipple a painful, yet thrilling twist, then withdrew his hand to flick off the burner. Wanda turned to face him, trying to look stern. If he wanted to act like some girl-crazy schoolchild, she would practice her child-rearing skills on him.
“Steve, haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”
The next thing she knew, he had picked her up and seated her on the kitchen counter, her petite body now on par with his towering height. “I have. And if my sauce was any more ready, you’d have one hell of a laundry day on your hands.”
“Oh, Steve!” Wanda moaned, whinging at how crude he was. What would America think if they knew their dashing war hero could be such a boor? She reached down beside her thighs and twisted the burner back on. “Fine. You be a caveman and I’ll see to it we don’t starve!”
Steve ignored her veiled criticism to flash her a grin. “That’s what makes our relationship work so well, Mrs. Rogers. Division of labor.”
He pulled her to the edges of the counter, then hiked her dress up over her garters. Steve groaned at the sight of her sleek thighs, and paced himself as he lifted the dress higher, over her fleecy pubic hair and the pink womanhood underneath. As it came into view, he let out a pleasured moan that sounded downright obscene to Wanda.
She cast a quick spell to rotate the ladle in the saucepan, Wanda not trusting her hands at the moment. She wanted both of them on Steve’s head, to pull him back if necessary—or to keep him in place. She parted her legs and pushed him down closer to the intoxicating sight, the smell, the promise of taste that she knew he relished so much.
“If you’re going to have such a filthy mouth in my nice clean household, we’d better be sure you have better things to do than talk.” Just before his puckered lips could kiss her there, between her milk-white thighs, Wanda stopped him with her firm grip on his hair. For a moment, she thought Steve might scalp himself like a TV Indian, but then he dutifully paused. “Just remember, you could’ve had a nice spaghetti sauce instead.”
“Are you trying to scare me?” Steve quipped.
Wanda gave up on further conversation with him. She let him burrow his face into her lap while she leaned back, slumping her shoulders against the wall. There was no way she’d be able to time when the sauce was done cooking, not when Steve could eat her pussy for hours. That was the only cuisine her blockhead husband cared about. She supposed she’d just have to live with the fact that Steve Rogers would rather devour the pussy she’d been born with than the food she slaved over for hours at a time.
“You taste incredible,” Steve moaned.
Wanda’s eyes were getting heavy. She forced them open, giving the saucepan a sharp look. The ladle was still turning dutifully thanks to her magic and if she looked at the clock, she could see she had another—
Then Steve ran his tongue over her clit and Wanda’s eyes crossed instead of focusing.
Steve rubbed his handsome face into Wanda’s sex, anointing himself with her juices, inhaling the rich aroma of her lust. He’d grown more familiar with it since first marrying her, but he’d never gotten used to it—it still made him feel as intoxicatingly horny as ever.
Steve thrust his hands under Wanda’s gorgeously rounded little hips, cupping her ass, lifting it slightly so he could kiss right on her juicy slit. And he did, sliding his tongue right into her pink pussy, tasting the foaming cream that came from only the deepest parts of her cunt. Wanda shuddered and bit her tongue. She was reminding herself about dinner by the second, but with every second she was caring about it less and less.
She shook her buttocks in Steve’s hands, unconsciously opening her thighs wider. “Oh, oh Steve!” Her face was dreamy with lust as his tongue ran through her folds, lavishing her with a feeling she couldn’t deny. “The… the sauce…” she moaned, casting the spell to stir the ladle one last time. She overdid it, the ladle whipping around the saucepan like an eggbeater, but Steve had her far beyond caring by then.
Steve had to hold himself back, to keep from pressing his swollen member against the counter and painfully cramping it as he sucked noisily at Wanda’s delicious pussy. He devoured her like a starving man, like he’d been dreaming all day about how she would taste.
“Unnhh!” Wanda whirled her head from side to side, grimacing as she tried to take the sensations churning deep inside her, far beyond where Steve’s tongue was stirring her cunt. “Oh GOD, Steve!” She gasped and began rolling her hips in his hands, grinding her womanhood onto his mouth. “I… I can’t stand it! You make my pussy feel so good! You make me… make me wanna come!”
Steve quickly lapped at her wet pussy, as though desperate to taste as much as he could, as far as possible. He cleaned her labia of its cream as fast as it could pour out of her. Until even that wasn’t enough for him. Then he curled his tongue around her swollen clitoris. Wanda bucked and writhed so hard that a flailing hand caught the side of the saucepan, almost knocking it over. She jerked back her singed hand.
“Oh, Steve, my sauce!” she moaned, concentrating to cast a spell to at least switch off the burner.
Before she could, Steve wrenched her around so that she slid down the counter, still perched on his face and broad shoulders, until she was bowled into a cupboard a safe distance away from the stove. There, he went at her pussy with a vengeance.
“Yes, Steve! Eat my cunt!” Beside herself with delight again, Wanda held onto the back of Steve’s head as she worked her groin against his face, fucking herself all up and down his licking tongue. “Suck me, suck your wife! Mrs. Rogers wants to come!”
Steve wrapped his lips around the bud of her clitoris. He sucked it gently, forcefully, letting it rest only to flick his tongue against its twitchy tip. Now Wanda was rocking her hips much too hard to be held in place. Steve took his hands off her ass and instead shoved two fingers into her sex, mouthing her hot clit while feeling the slippery folds inside her canal needfully grip the penetration.
“I’m gonna come!” Wanda cried, not noticing or caring how obscene her words had become, only shuddering from head to toe. The wonderfully familiar heat of fulfilling her wifely duty burned out of her core, where her husband was treating her creamy cunt so right. “Eat me out, Steve! Lick me good! Unn, oh fuck, oh Christ! GGHHH!”
Her pumping hips were a blur, but Steve managed to get his left hand onto her shaking ass and working the fingers between her cheeks. Wanda groaned as his forefinger hit her throbbing asshole. His big hand stilled her ass with a strong grip, then the pad of his finger was pushing into her puckered anus. All of a sudden she was feeling him in both her cunt and her ass at the same time.
“I’m coming, Steve! Eat me, eat your wife’s cunt! Finger your wife’s asshole! I’m burning up, Steve! Mrs. Roger’s cooommmiinngg!”
She hadn’t come so hard in days. Her cunt spasmed uncontrollably, its swollen lips throbbing on her husband’s fingers as her cream gushed profusely out of her. Gasping with each gulp of her juices that flew from her, Wanda pulled Steve’s hair and desperately humped at his face, inadvertently working her asshole down onto his finger as she did it.
Finally, her orgasm—if it had only been one—subsided. Steve lifted his face from between her legs, wiping her juices from his mouth with the back of his fist. He stepped back from the counter and unzipped his fly, drawing out his naked cock.
Wanda raised a hand to her gasping mouth, seeing his erection. It looked even bigger than usual, stiff and swollen with his blood and with the cum he needed to give her. His meaty girth bobbed and twitched and shook. Wanda wondered how on Earth she’d found a husband who got so hard for her—what she’d done to make him so painfully stiff—if she could even take such a fat cock. Hadn’t she done so in the past? At the moment, it didn’t feel like it. She felt like a virgin. Someone should sing a song about that feeling.
Then she realized that her sauce was issuing white smoke, rivulets of blackening sauce crawling down the sides of the pan.
“Oh, fiddlesticks!” Wanda cried, switching off the burner, then blowing on the sauce to try and stop it before it could burn any worse. There had to be something more she could do to cool it down—how many ice cubes did the recipe call for?
Steve picked her up then, his strong arms easily lifting her slight body.
“Oh, Mr. Rogers!” she gasped. “Are you taking me to bed?”
“Too far,” he whispered passionately. “But maybe we can make the couch.”
Submissively—as if there was another way she could be hoisted around like a piece of luggage—Wanda let herself be carried into the living room, her wet pussy a riot between her thighs. Steve was no roughneck, but he was certainly manly when it came to sex. He just told her when he wanted to ball and it wasn’t a request so much as it was an order.
Well, that’s what I get for marrying a military man, Wanda thought.
Comments
Shendude
An intriguing beginning!
