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wandasdollie · 1 month ago

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꒰ 𑄽୧ ꒱ 𓈒 ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀sheep in wolf's clothing ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀𝜗𝜚

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀18+! men and minors dni.

. ̣̣̣︶ ྀ pairing ˚ ۪ ݁ ds:mom wanda x reader

꒰ tags ꒱ 𓈒 drugging / cnc, mind control, wanda's hex, fauxcest-ish? not really sure how to tag this but it surely needs a trigger warning! smut, fingering, squirting, mommy wanda!

ꔫ ࣪ ˖ a / n ⑅♡ ྀ˖ girl that gets wet while watchin' dr. strange mom... i have had this idea for a while n wanted to get it down! i have not proofread this, i m very sorry for that! ૮ ྀི> ˔ < ྀིა

Your feet ache.

They are past pain now— your socks are wet with blood from the blisters at your ankles. Your shoes, cute as they may be, little pink bows adorning your toes and ribboned laces, were certainly not made for this sort of walking!

This walking, which has lasted well over an hour, is what causes the tears to spring from your eyes and make a complete mess of your makeup. It is the tears congealing with your mascara making it hard to see in front of you, paired with the frizzing your hair and the sweat pooling on your lower back, which make you feel as though you might just sit down right here and never ever get up again.

You’ve been walking for what feels to be an eternity, abandoning your car on the side of the road in search of help— a whole slew of lights had flickered on your dashboard at once, the car giving out one little pathetic puff of smoke before coming to a halt. You have been so far out of the city that your phone has not had any reception the whole time. As many times as you’ve checked to call for help, you have not even found one measly bar of service.

So, here you are, trudging along the highway, up and up and up a mountain that doesn’t quite seem to have a peak.

You’ve not seen another soul for this full hour, though there has been a slightly eerie feeling at the back of your neck, almost as if someone is watching you, causing you to look over your shoulder very once in a while, just to find that same empty stretch of road that you’ve been accompanied by all along. It feels strange, to not see even one person. You’re in quite a rural area now, with only trees and farm to either side of you, not a home in sight.

That is, until you round a small curve in the road, watching your every step so as to be careful not to trip over the little rocks that you’ve been tiptoeing around. When you finally do lift your head, however, the sight, blurred by your gooey lashes, is enough to spark another round of tears.

It’s a house.

Not just a house, but the cutest little cabin you’ve ever seen, surrounded by apple blossoms, smoke pouring from a chimney. Sign of life. You hear the herd of sheep before your eyes find them, they walk without purpose around the large acreage that surrounds the home.

You’ve not spotted the owner of the house yet, but she has surely spotted you.

You wipe at your eyes, frantically tie your hair into twintails so that you may look at least a bit more presentable when you ask for this hermit’s aid. Luckily, the rest of your outfit is still quite well kempt, though your shoes have gone muddy from all the walking. You figure that surely a farmer is used to a bit of mud, so you carry on down the driveway towards the cabin, eyes scanning between white trees in hopes of finding a body.

“Can I help you?” The voice comes from everywhere at once, surrounding you with its sweet heaviness, that ever-so-slight hint of an accent making your heart constrict. You’re not quite sure which way to turn, and wind up foolishly spinning around until you’re faced by the voice’s owner.

When you finally find her, you can’t stop the gasp that leaves your lips. You are completely shocked, not only by her presence— you had expected someone much older and far more off-the-grid to live on a farm this far from civilization— but also by her beauty. She is not much taller than you, hair a soft, pastel orange that shines so brilliantly under the sun that she looks as though she is made of fire and sunlight and warmth. Her features are so striking to you that you feel you must look away, entirely disconcerted by such high cheekbones and full lips that you feel unworthy of her presence.

This, and she is the first person you’ve seen in miles, so it feels a little bit as though you are being visited by an angel.

“Oh!” You sigh softly, beginning to play with your own fingers in your typical nervousness, completely forgetting all about the help that you need, instead focusing all too much on simply how attractive the woman in front of you is. You finally allow yourself to lift your gaze back up to her heart-shaped face, though you find it entirely impossible to lock your eyes into her own, choosing instead to watch the quizzical movements of her berry-stained lips.

“Yes, please…” You begin again, your brain becoming muddled by the sudden butterflies flapping their wings in your tummy. “I… I was… My car. Broke down, a few miles away, and…”

The older woman quirks her head to the side, looks at you with all the sweetness and pity in the world, has to glue her own hands to her sides so that they do not reach out to cup your tear-stained cheeks. She gazes down upon you in a similar way in which you have just been looking up at her, as if you are her own visiting angel, here to brighten the darkness that has been eating away at her heart.

“A few miles?” She repeats, voice so gentle yet so laced with concern that it makes you feel weak in the knees. “You poor little thing. You must be exhausted, hm?”

To this you can only weakly nod, your shoulders slumping from the weight of the backpack you’re carrying, knees grateful for the cessation of movement but rewarding you only with stinging pain.

“Come inside,” the redhead hums, placing a firm hand on your arm, pulling you towards her cabin, which smells faintly of apple and cinnamon and all of the warmth that your underdressed body craves.

You follow the woman eagerly, as though you are just another in her herd of sheep, up the stairs and into her living room, where she guides you onto the sofa. Her hands wander over you, perhaps checking that you are uninjured, perhaps greedy to feel the supple flesh beneath your blouse. You allow it, equally greedy to feel the soft pads of fingertips running over your shoulders and gently petting your thighs, smiling up to the woman as she lays a blanket over your lap.

“I’m going to make you some tea, sweet girl.” She smiles to you before disappearing further into the home, offering you ample time to glance over your surroundings. It seems well lived in, with several books strewn about, and a few small crochet projects. There are a few family pictures, but when you try to look deeper at them— primarily to see if your savior is married— the faces appear blurry. You fist at your eyes once again, figuring that your makeup is still clouding your eyes, and decide to ignore the photos all together. You don’t see any other sign of a husband throughout the house and make your assumption now— she must be here alone.

How odd, you think, that such a breathtaking, caring woman could live completely solitarily. You shrug the thought process away and snuggle further into the large quilt that she has nearly smothered you in, kicking off your shoes and stretching your toes towards the fire that crackles a few feet away from you.

It is not long before the woman returns to your side, placing the pot of tea and a few little assorted treats on the coffee table in front of you. She sits ever so closely beside you on the sofa, her hip landing right where you’ve placed your hand on the cushion.

“You poor thing…” She repeats, pouring the tea into a small cup, all but feeding it to you in her delivery, but consciously forcing herself not to be too overbearing in her care of you. She’d much like to swaddle you in her arms and take care of your every need, but it is not yet time for that. “May I ask, what are you doing out here all alone? This is no place for a small thing like you.”

You take a small sip of the tea, which causes the smallest quirk of a smile to raise onto the woman’s lips before it disappears in the next second. Your hands warm themselves around the mug, the culmination of the fire and the liquid causing your body to warm, but it feels more as though the proximity in which you’re sitting next to this woman is what has brought the blush across your face.

“I ran away from home...” You sigh, looking down at your lap, both embarrassed that, at your age, you still sound so young and foolish, and yet still entirely furious with your family, enough so that those salty tears tease at your eyes all over again. “I was just mad, ‘nd I left.”

The woman to your right sighs, long and deep and full of something of her own familial melancholy, but she dares not bring up her own trauma, instead stretches an arm behind you, trapping you with her sweet cedar scent. You shrug your way closer to her, attempting to be subtle but entirely failing in this, until you’re nearly leaning into her chest. There is simply something so animalic, something compulsory which draws you into this woman as if you’ve been snapped together like magnets.

“I am very sorry to hear that, darling,” she purrs, hand which was once stationary on the sofa now lifting to prompt you into drinking more of your tea, which is so bright red in color and strong in fragrance that you wish to ask her what it is, but instead your lips fail you, falling more numb with each sip of the foreign tea. “Don’t you worry, Mama’s going to take care of you.”

“M… Mama?” You manage, and had intended to say much more, but you are so beginning to overheat, and her perfume is so intoxicating, and her voice is so gentle, and her hand has begun caressing your arm in a way that your brain has simply forgotten what it is to function properly. The redhead smiles, and for the first time, as your lashes grow heavier, your breathing slowing, you can see the smallest hint of scarlet in the green eyes, the hint of an ulterior motive behind her gentle grin.

You can only look up at her, eyes wide and dumb, mouth hanging open, soft lips begging to be kissed, mind swimming from its intoxication. You feel entirely entranced by her, your mind far from your own issues, no longer registering the pain in your feet. The only thought your mind is capable of conjuring now is of this woman, whose name you do not even know yet you feel entirely indebted to her, who has inserted herself into your life and has taken it over entirely. You feel now as though you’d quite like her to hold you like this until the end of time.

The older woman takes the teacup out of your hand, sufficiently satisfied with is intoxicative properties, places it down on the table beside you, now allows her hands to wander as they have been so begging to do. She begins at your temples, pushing hair back from your face despite that it is nearly caked to your skin from the sweat. She fixes your pigtails, voice excessively sweet as she compliments the style on you. You lean into her touch, as though your every breath is only in service of her, following the redhead’s touch as she pulls you into her lap, finally freeing you from the heaviness of the quilt and replacing it with her own arms.

Her body is soft, though her thighs tighten when you slide over them, a small groan of approval escaping the woman’s lips once you saddle her leg, your skirt bunching at your hips. Her hands all but fly to the flesh that has been revealed there, kneading and groping as you wiggle ever closer to her.

Your initial nervousness around the witch is still tugging at the back of your mind, the shyness making you blush as your chest presses up against hers, but it has all but disappeared as soon as the woman’s hands find your ass. You are all hers, flesh malleable beneath her hands, just as she wants it.

You’ve begun to drool, so incapable of conjuring one coherent thought other than how desperately you desire to kiss this woman. Her thoughts are all the same, your wet lips the focus of her attention, and yet she remains still, eyes boring into you, waiting for something, or perhaps just basking in the innocent way you sit atop her, illuminated by the orange fire behind you.

You’re not sure what to do with your own hands, and the redhead notices your indecision. Her smile is unrelenting as she takes your smaller hands into her own, places them right at her own collarbone, encouraging you to move them wherever you please. You follow her action eagerly, bunching your fists into her blouse, brows furrowing a little when you try to unclasp one of her buttons, but it just doesn’t budge. Your captor chuckles sweetly, undoes the button for you, lifts your chin so that you look up at her.

“I promise I will never hurt you, not like they did.” Her voice is incredibly soothing, hands having returned to your side, holding you tightly in a way you’ve always needed to be held. “I am not a monster. Those people… the ones you once called family; they are the monsters. You never have to see them again. You are so safe here with me, my baby.” Her nose scrunches in the most heartachingly precious way with that last sentence, a hand lifting to cup your cheek, thumb swiping down until it finds your lips.

The redhead pulls you the few inches it takes for your lips to connect, finally taking you in the way she’d planned the very moment you stepped into her hex, teeth gently scraping your lower lip, her own producing the sweetest of reassuring moans. Your own hands lift from the collar of the woman’s shirt up to her jawline, holding her delicately as your fingers still feel all tingly and you’re still not quite sure that she’s real, that your mind isn’t just playing some trick on you from all the exhaustion.

She is very real, she reminds you of this when her tongue gently parts your teeth, pushes into your mouth, pulls out to swipe along your lips. She is expert in her attack of your lips, and once she has you entirely focused on her wet kisses, the older woman begins rocking your hips for you, placing a bit of pressure so that your cunt presses into her thigh, forcing a short moan from your lips that you can’t conceal, making your skin even redder.

You whine softly, the first pressure against your swollen clit causing a stir in your stomach, making all of your muscles feel tight, your hips starting to buck sporadically, uncontrollably. Your body jerks backwards from the sensation, pulling yourself from her kisses, grip around the woman’s jawline tightening, fingernails digging into skin.

“Does that feel good, little one?” She hums ever so quietly, her accented tongue making you shiver when she every time she calls you a name like that. When you dumbly nod in response, the redhead props her leg ever so slightly so that you gain even more of that pressure that you crave, your hips humping against her far quicker than the woman had anticipated. She coos towards you in response, hands caressing you so gently, yet the look in her eyes has darkened. You’ve fallen so well into her trap, become just the little plaything that she has desired.

The woman is incredibly gentle with you, in the way that her low voice compliments all the good work that your bucking little hips are doing, how pretty your moans sound, how beautiful you look on top of you. Her touch is gentle too, as she maneuvers you ever so slightly so that you are now off of her thigh— much to your sleepy protest— and hover above her. Your hips still twitch, seeking the pleasure that you’ve lost but only met by open air against your soaked panties.

The witch takes a moment to admire you, her fingers sneakily undoing the buttons on your shirt, letting the pretty lace fabric hang open over your shoulders. She has to bite down hard on her lower lip to stifle her own low groan, the sight of your perky breasts dropping from your blouse, nipples already stiff from her previous groping of them.

“Such a pretty little thing you are,” she sighs, leans forward to press some sweet, teasing kisses to your chest, sucking on the supple tissue to create a few dark bruises there, “all for me.” The older woman then takes your nipple between her lips, tongue flicking over the pink bud, forcing your back to arch into her so much so that it hurts, your hands flying to tangle in her hair.

“M… Mama…” You whine quietly, the name coming like it is second nature, like you were always meant to be hers. The title makes the woman stir below you, her fingernails claw into your ass, her breathing hitch. Now you are the one to chew on your own lip, hoping not to embarrass yourself with the loudness of your own desperate moans, but you cannot save yourself from that embarrassment. The way that the woman gently teethes at your nipples, fingers once again sneaky in the way that they push your cloth panties to the side, revel in the wetness that they are met with.

“Fuck,” She groans, your tit falling from her mouth, her forehead pressing against your chest as if she is the one receiving all of the pleasure. “So wet, sweet girl…”

You start to beg for her, moaning loudly, lips only producing strings of interrupted vowels, unable to form any real word. She is so close to entering you, teasing your cunt so tortuously, pads of her fingers dipping in before they fall to sliding through your wet folds, as though she is keen on exploring the entirety of your body, keen on torturing you for as long as she wants. As long as it takes for her to hear as many of those needy whimpers as possible.

Once her scalp starts to sting from your desperate pulling of her hair, the witch relents, slides one finger into you. The touch is so subtle, but it sends you reeling, hips once again beginning to hump against her, desperately riding the palm of her hand.

“‘Nother…” You whisper faintly, throbbing pussy so desperate to feel more of this woman that you can’t even think to be polite. The woman below you is no different. Had this been a different situation, she surely would have had a few words regarding your manners, would have made you beg for her like a good girl would. But she is so swept up by the haze of lust that she simply does as you demand, slides another finger into you.

It is with complete ease in which her fingers slide into you, picking up a slow, methodical pace which your hips counter with a pace of their own. You are soaking wet, pussy dripping all over the woman’s hand, surely down onto her nice jeans, and for a second you worry that you’re going to make a mess. Though, that worry does not last long, for the fingers you’re riding curl harshly, hitting you in a place that makes your legs begin to shake, causes a gush of your arousal to coat your thighs.

Wanda’s smile has gone all but evil as she admires what a mess she has made out of you, her mouth beginning to water at the sight of your wetness pooling on her own thighs. She adores it, adores the way you blush when you notice the accident. You begin to apologize for making such a mess, but you’ve only created more of a lubricant for a third of the woman’s fingers, which she greedily slides in when you least expect it.

The addition causes the loudest yet of your moans, the curling of her fingers into you making you dizzy. You’re not too sure what it is that you’re feeling, the tightness of your stomach and the weakness in your knees, but it is so euphoric that you chase it eagerly, head flung back, and eyes shut tight. It is when the witch’s thumb teases your clit that you’re coming hard against her hand, hips jittery as you slow your riding, thighs so weak that you fall from your once lifted position down to saddle the woman’s thigh once again.

“That’s it… good girl,” she hums sweetly, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead, and then a few to your cheek, fingers still pumping into you as you fall against her chest. “You did such a good job for me, sweetheart.”

“Thank…” You sigh, forehead nuzzling into the crook of the older woman’s neck, your eyelids so every heavy, your chest heaving to catch your breath. “Thank you, mommy.” Your voice is just barely a whisper, your throat starting to sting from the dryness of the air, and the volume that it has just previously achieved.

“Why don’t I help you take a bath, hm?” The woman smiles, her fingers pulling out of your cunt and lifting to her own lips. She licks them clean, groaning a bit from the taste, before letting both of her hands lay against your back. “Then we can take a good long rest together, alright?”

You nod into her, so tired that, when the woman picks you up and carries you through the cabin, you don’t even notice the red glitching of your atmosphere, don’t realize that the sheep outside have silenced. All you can smell is her sweat and cedar perfume, can only hear her gentle breathing, only feel the fingers that draw small shapes into your back. You’ve already forgotten the pain in your feet, the anguish that had tormented you hours ago. You feel entirely content, perfectly happy to remain in her arms like this forever.

#🍼 ݁˖ 𐙚 my fics! 𓂃 ࣪ ◌#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #mommy!wanda #x reader fic #marvel x reader #marvel fic #wlw nsft #wlw fanfic

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wandasdollie · 7 months ago

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꒰ 𑄽୧ ꒱ 𓈒 ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ensommeillé. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀𝜗𝜚 ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀18+! men and minors dni.

. ̣̣̣︶ ྀ pairing ˚ ۪ ݁ wanda x bunnyhybrid!reader

꒰ tags ꒱ 𓈒 mommy!wanda , smut w/o much plot , somnophilia , cunnilingus (r!recieving) , squirting , aftercare.

ꔫ ࣪ ˖ a / n ⑅♡ ྀ˖ this is based off of two requests i recieved, so thank you very very much for sending them in!! i luv seeing your thoughts, i hope i did them justice <33 pls send more!! ໒ ྀི>֯ . <ྀི֯ ̥ ︣ა

⁺ ⑅ ꫂ ၴႅၴ tag list ֯݁ต @emiliaisdead , @mommywandas ( pls comment if you'd like to be added~! )

When you finally return home after what you believe to be the world’s longest day of work in history, the pout settled on your lips is unrelenting. You might be a little overdramatic, sure it’s only about four in the afternoon, but you haven’t caught a break all day! You’ve been running around for hours, doing all of the little errands that your bosses have sent you on, waiting on guests and cleaning up messes like your life depended on it. You haven’t sat down once in hours!

So, completely needless to say, when you come home, it’s all you can do to not throw yourself on the floor and fall asleep right then and there.

But you don’t want to disappoint Wanda when she gets home, no no. You want to fix her dinner so that it will be ready by the time that she returns home, and your bedroom is awfully messy right now from the frantic way you’d gotten dressed this morning. But… there’s the sofa… and as you release your hair from its tight braids, long, fluffy ears falling heavy against your shoulders, you can feel all of your day’s stress melting through you, your feet much like cement cubes as you trudge through your home.

Mama would want you to rest, right? She always says that her favorite little bunny needs her beauty sleep, and you wouldn’t want to upset her by not doing just that! Of course, you want to look your prettiest for her always. And she does encourage your slumber as often as she can. She has quite the fascination with it, you’ve noticed. But, it’s best not to worry yourself too much over that right now. You need to make some dinner and clean up and—

You’re not sure just how you wound up on the sofa. Nor how your clothes landed in little pink piles on the floor; you’re usually much more careful to put them in the laundry basket. Yet, here you sit, in nothing but your panties and a sweater that you always keep in the living room in case you get too cold, laying beneath your favorite blanket. Your feet are perfectly tucked, and though you’ve turned on the tv to watch whatever program is on right now, you’ve brought one ear over your eyes to act like a sleeping mask, blocking out the image on the screen, along with the light bouncing off of the snow outside.

It takes you so few minutes to fall asleep, someone would think you’ve been awake all of 24 hours. But you certainly haven’t, even though you did get up quite early this morning. Your exhaustion hits you so completely that you just can’t help but pass out immediately. So, you drift off quite easily, though your worry over Wanda’s return is still toying at the back of your head.

𓊆 . . . 𓊇

You hadn’t heard her come through the door, though she did so quite loudly. Wanda herself had gone through her own exhaustive day of work, and as usual, she couldn’t possibly wait any longer to wrap her arms around her bunny and squeeze all of her stresses away. Though, when she returns home to less than your usual fanfare, she grows quite concerned right away.

That is, until she spots you on the sofa, curled up so tightly in your little ball of slumber that Wanda’s heart nearly explodes inside of her chest.

She is sure to be quiet as she sets down her purse and pulls off her overcoat, kicking off her heels to save you from their noise, yet leaving on the pencil skirt and tight, buttoned shirt that hug her curves so enticingly. The sight of you all cuddled up and sleepy, in addition to the setting sun outside, makes her yawn. She herself has grown impossibly tired, yet hides it well as she comes to your side at the sofa.

She gently pets the top of your head, sitting beside you on the small sliver of cushion that your body does not occupy. She simply cannot help herself, and lifts the blanket so that she may drink in the image of you sleeping there. The smirk that rises to her darkly stained lips is downright greedy as she notices just how little you wear, sweater bunched up high around your chest from your tossing and turning, showing off your tummy. Wanda licks her lips, hands moving from the crown of your head down to your side, gently rubbing into your warm flesh, her hands still freezing cold from the short walk from her car to the front door.

The feeling of sudden cold against your skin makes you flinch, but is not enough to fully wake you. You wiggle away from the feeling, but Wanda’s firm hand only follows you, softly tickling you in attempt at waking.

“Wake up, little one.” Her voice is soft, so coaxing and almost a bit lewd, as is her fashion when trying to wake you up in such a pleasant manor. Though, she doesn’t want to wake you entirely. She has always had a preference for your half-asleep manor, when all you can do is whine and fuss and, on days when you wake up from inappropriate dreams, moan and cum around her fingers until you ultimately fall back asleep like nothing had happened in the first place.

When you don’t wake up even after she gives your cottontail a little squeeze, her wandering hands eventually hook beneath your knees, lifting you until she holds your little form against her chest, walking you to the bedroom. There’s not much she can do with you while on the sofa, especially when her body is still so constricted by tight work clothes. But when she does make it to the bedroom, Wanda does not strip. She adores the power she holds over you when you lay naked below her, while she remains entirely dressed. There is simply something so enticing about her little bunny looking so obscene and nude while she maintains all of her decency.

As she lays you on the bed, Wanda delicately removes your sweater, and you unconsciously move to help her, arms lifting out of sheer habit— you have done just this far too many times before. The redhead cannot contain her low groan at the sight of you sleeping so soundly, so primed for her taking, so innocent while her thoughts are such the opposite.

Her fingers gently trail down your sides, fingernails lightly scratching into your flesh, sending tickles through you, bringing just the littlest bit of awareness into you. She whispers something in Sokovian, something along the lines of ‘such a pretty girl, such pretty tits.’ Had you been at all lucid, the words would have made you turn into putty in her hands, though, you’re already just that. Just a little plaything, just for her.

Wanda straddles you now, as best as her tight skirt will allow, and dips down so that she can place soft, fleeting kisses into your stomach. She massages into the flesh at your hips, then your breasts, her hands still incredibly cold against you, the little prickles of goosebumps forming on your arms right away. This, she feels guilty about. Though she enjoys having you all to herself, while you are so blissfully unaware, she does not like it when her little girl is at all uncomfortable, especially in the cold of the winter. Despite how carnal she may feel for you at this moment, her most important want for you is comfort. So, she decides she must begin to act quicker, so that her bunny is not left in this cold for too long.

The redhead’s fingers slip down your sides, index fingers hooking into your panties and sliding them off with ease. She once again releases one of those lust-fueled moans, licking her lips from just how downright delicious you look. Though you aren’t even conscious enough to be turned on, your pussy is already slick with arousal, simply begging for Wanda’s fingers, for her mouth, for any of her. Still, she will remain patient. Patient, despite how she is so very entranced by you. The soft, innocent look on your face is enough to tell her to be gentle.

“Dripping wet for me, and you don’t even know it. Silly girl,” she coos gently, lowering herself so that her kisses meander to the bottom of your tummy, right where it’s the most sensitive, right where she knows you’re sure to stir from the touch. And she’s right, even the tiniest bit of touch there makes you squirm below her, your hands bunching up in the sheets below you, your hips raising ever so slightly to meet her touch.

“Needy little thing…” She purrs, kisses trailing to meet her hands on your thighs, which she props up, spreads wide. Wanda presses a few little kisses to the insides of your thighs until her head comes between them, her kisses pressing to your cunt, lips becoming wet from the slick that she finds there.

Even the tiniest touch has you more awake now, little bunny hips beginning to rock up to meet her kisses, your clit throbbing, desperate for her touch, even though your silly little brain is not yet registering what is going on. You are simply seeking pleasure without even knowing it, body working without your nervous system working to tell it what to do.

“Mama…” You whine ever so softly, your voice hoarse from sleep and small enough that Wanda can barely hear you.

“Shh, zaya… it’s alright. Mama’s just going to help you sleep, hmm?” Wanda muses gently, her fingers lightly running through your folds, teasing you so that your back lifts from the bed, so that you’re basically dripping onto the sheets. She’d typically tell you to speak up, that you’re not being loud enough for mommy to hear your pretty moans, but she’s all too swept up in just how sweet you sound now, your vocabulary reduced only to her title.

Wanda hums softly, turning her head to press a few more sloppy kisses to your thighs as one of her fingers dips inside of you. She moans all too loudly as this happens, as she curves her finger up into you, all too pleased at just how tight you are for her. Wanda smiles into the flesh at your thigh, licking your soft skin and gently sucking on it to leave her favored dark patches there, the last of which she left still faintly staining your skin. As you’re definitely wet enough for her, she slides in a second finger with ease, and your hips begin to whine up and down against them, desperately seeking her pleasure.

“Mommy…” You try, your eyes slowly beginning to open but you’re still drowsy with sleepiness, brain so foggy from your long day that you can’t really fight awake just yet. Your body’s movements slow as Wanda begins to take over, pinning your hips down to the bed without too much force, the pumping of her fingers quickening their pace. She curls her fingers into your firm flesh, the sounds of her sliding so obscene, so pleasing to her own ears that she can’t help but moan in tandem with them, whispering gentle reminders of how sweet you are, how good you taste, how you’re mommy’s perfect girl.

And taste you she does, her tongue eagerly lapping up all of the wetness that spills from you. When her fingers move in such a speed that is entirely overwhelming, there comes a gush of liquid so intense that it wakes you up entirely, your hands whipping over your face as if to hide you from such embarrassment. Though, Wanda only seems to enjoy this mess that you’ve made, it only pushes her further into her dominant headspace. You’re just her messy little doll that can’t keep any control of herself, that needs to be cleaned up and tended to at any given moment. She loves it, wants more of it, pushes you even harder for it.

“’m sorry…” You whine out, your hands dropping to reveal your bright pink face, lower lip trapped between teeth to conceal your needy moans. Though it’s not much use, because the second that Wanda notices your attempt at maintaining any bit of modesty, her lips latch onto your clit, sending a streak of pleasure right up your spine, your back arching even more than it previously had. Her name flings from your lips a few times from this sudden uptick in sensation, filling your large bedroom with nothing but your whimpers and moans. Your fingers land in her perfectly curled hair, tugging on it gently as though she could possibly be any closer to you, despite the way her mouth is latched onto your cunt.

She would typically fuss at you for apologizing, that you should never feel sorry for something like this, that mommy likes you messy. But her mouth is so full of you now, so encumbered by your taste, that she cannot speak, does not want to.

Wanda’s goal is, unfortunately for you, always overstimulation. She loves to feel you throb below her, loves the way your pussy becomes bright pink and puffy and your pupils become blown out. She prefers her bunny over-fucked and out of breath, and this is just how she will get you ever time. Her fingers are simply merciless, even when she feels you suddenly tighten around her, feels the way your thighs begin to shake, your orgasm washing over you. She allows you to ride it out, yes, but does not cease when your back hits the bed, body convulsing ever so slightly. Even when your fingers fall limp in her hair, she does not give you a moment to recover. Though she does remove her fingers from your pussy, they are quickly replaced by her tongue, which greedily laps up every bit of liquid that spills from you. Wanda is impossibly thirsty for you— she always is— and such is incredibly evident from her diligence in licking up every single bit of you.

You whine her name as if you’re stuck on a loop, your body twitching with every bump of her nose to your overworked clit. It might seem like you are begging her for relief, for her to stop, you both know that could not possibly be further from what you want. You truly want her to fuck you again and again until you can’t walk, but your body is so very desperate for sleep. Your thighs are so sore already from the amount that you’ve walked today that they feel like pins and needles as they struggle to prop up around her head. Your tired little body is so exhausted, your brain becoming fuzzy all over again, your consciousness careening towards sleep once more. Though, Wanda will not allow this. She won’t let you sleep just yet, though her more caring instincts so want to allow you to doze off, you just taste so good on her tongue, your whines so precious to her ears that she wants to hear them as much as she can before she goes without them while you sleep for eight hours. She has to bank this memory deep within her mind, so that later, when you do fall asleep with your head on her chest and your arms wrapped around her waist, she will have something to remember while her hand slips down the front of her own pajamas.

It does not take long, with the older woman’s tongue dancing over your sensitive bundle of nerves, for you to cum for her once again. This time, you are much less dramatic with your trembling, instead you finally let your legs fall, and though it takes you a moment to recover, eventually your breathing settles.

Wanda cleans you up ever so gently, careful as to not further stimulate your delicate clit as she slides your panties on, then your favorite matching pajama set over top. She removes the duvet which you’ve made such a mess of, covering you instead with a clean blanket from the closet. She allows you to sleep for an hour or so, just until the sun has set outside— much earlier than she’d expected, and it makes her quite sleepy, too. But Wanda fights the urge to crawl up into bed with you, and instead makes you something to eat. She won’t let her angel wake up hungry in the middle of the night, that’s for certain. So, once she’s fixed you both a proper meal, she wakes you up ever so gently, fingers pushing back the hair that has stuck to your forehead with sweat, kissing your cheek to coax you awake.

You wake up a bit grumpy, begging her to let you sleep even more, but she refuses, tells you in the warmest of tones that you’ll ruin your sleep schedule, and that mommy doesn’t want to stay awake without her bunny keeping her company. You begrudgingly follow her to the kitchen, but as soon as you smell what she’s prepared, you perk right up.

“You are such a good girl for me, you know,” Wanda hums as she pulls you into her lap at the dinner table, lightly bouncing you on her knee, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Your ears perk up ever so slightly at the words, a blush raising to your nose as you play with the button of her shirt.

“Really?” You giggle in return. Your memory of the moment is truly inexistent, your head was so fuzzy and sleepy that you weren’t really lucid enough to remember any of it. But you have the wet spot in your panties to remind you of just how good it felt, so you’ll take her word for it.

You eat as Wanda feeds you, smiling to her as she does, and you each share stories of your days. She pouts when you recount your tale of utter fatigue, of how many tables you’d waited in just an hour, of how some man asked you to refill his soda ten times! Wanda laughs a bit as she cleans up the table in record time before sweeping you back to your shared bathroom. You whine a little as she finally undresses from her work clothes, watching with wide eyes as she wiggles her hips to remove the skintight skirt from her hips. You hate that you’d been asleep for the majority of the time she’d been wearing it and will without a doubt beg her to wear the same outfit again soon.

Once she is dressed in a pretty lace nightgown of her own, she slips into bed beside you, whispering gentle compliments and encouragements into the dark room, stroking the fur of your ear, and you are out like a light in a heartbeat.

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