The ascent through the New York sky was a whirlwind of chaos and exhilaration, the kind that Natasha Romanoff had only ever experienced in the heat of a botched extraction or a freefall from an exploding quinjet. But this—this was different. Jason's arm was clamped around her waist like a band of unyielding steel, his body heat searing through her tactical suit as they hurtled upward at speeds that made her ears pop and her vision blur. The wind howled past them, whipping her red hair into a frenzy, tearing at the unzipped edges of her black leather ensemble.
Beside her, Wanda Maximoff was equally ensnared, her red coat flapping like a banner of surrender, her chaos magic flickering erratically in bursts of crimson light that did little to counter the raw force propelling them. The city below shrank to a mosaic of lights and shadows.
Jason's smoke-like aura enveloped them all, a swirling vortex of dark energy that buffered the worst of the atmospheric shear, turning what should have been a fatal plummet into a controlled ascent.
"Jason, you idiot—put us down!" Natasha barked, her voice cutting through the roar of the wind. She twisted in his grip, her spy's instincts firing on all cylinders. Her elbow shot out in a precise strike aimed at his solar plexus, a move that had dropped trained assassins in seconds. But it connected with nothing but unmovable muscle, the impact reverberating up her arm like she'd punched a concrete pillar. Jason didn't even grunt; his flight path remained arrow-straight, veering unerringly toward the towering silhouette of the Marriott Marquis, its upper floors a beacon of luxury amid the concrete jungle.
"Privacy," he snarled back, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her body. There was strain in it, the rage still bubbling beneath the surface like magma in a fault line, making the air around them crackle with latent power. "Soundproof walls. High altitude. No cameras, no interruptions. I can't hold it much longer—the power's building again."
Wanda's response was a gasp of protest, her accent thickening with the adrenaline surging through her veins. "This is insane! You can't just kidnap us like this—release me!" Her hands glowed with that signature scarlet energy, tendrils of chaos magic snaking out to pry at his fingers, wrapping around his wrist like living vines. But Jason's aura pushed back, absorbing the magic with a hiss, like water on hot coals. She felt it then—the overwhelming force of him, not just physical but something deeper, a well of fury and desire that made her stomach twist in equal parts fear and unwelcome curiosity.
The hotel rushed up to meet them, its penthouse suite windows gleaming like eyes in the night. Jason didn't decelerate. With a bellow that shook the air, he smashed through the glass, the shatter echoing like a gunshot amplified a thousandfold. Shards exploded inward in a deadly rain, but his aura deflected them harmlessly, turning the intrusion into a controlled breach. They tumbled into the opulent space—a sprawling expanse of cream carpets, mahogany furniture, and a massive king-sized bed swathed in pristine white linens. The panoramic view of the city was now marred by jagged edges, the alarms wailing faintly before Jason's eyes flashed red. Twin beams of heat vision lanced out, slicing through the control panels with surgical precision, silencing the blare before it could summon security.
He released them in mid-air, his foot hitting the floor with a thud that vibrated through the room. Natasha rolled into a combat stance, her body coiled like a spring, green eyes scanning for threats. Her suit was half-unzipped from the wind's assault, the leather parting to reveal the smooth, pale curve of her cleavage, her breasts rising and falling with controlled breaths. Wanda landed more gracefully, her magic cushioning the impact, but she stumbled back a step, her coat hanging open to expose the form-fitting red corset that hugged her lithe figure—accentuating the swell of her C-cup breasts, the dip of her waist, and the flare of her hips into long, toned legs sheathed in thigh-high boots.
Jason loomed between them, his chest heaving, muscles rippling under sweat-slicked skin. He was still clad only in those threadbare shorts from May's house, the fabric tented obscenely by the massive erection straining beneath. His eyes glowed with that infernal red light, the smoke aura thickening around him like a shroud, raising the room's temperature to a sweltering haze. Beads of sweat traced paths down his chiseled abs, pooling at the V of his hips. "I need to fuck you," he growled, the words raw and unfiltered, laced with the desperation of a man on the edge. "Both of you. It's the only way—the rage, the power, it's surging. If I don't bleed it off, I'll level this whole damn block. Fight me, run, whatever. But it'll end with my cock buried in you."
Natasha's mind raced, cataloging exits, weapons, weaknesses. She'd faced down gods, assassins, and world-ending threats, but this was a new breed of madness—a superhuman with mommy issues and a MILF fetish who thought sex was his off-switch. Her body, traitorous thing that it was, responded with a low thrum of heat between her thighs, adrenaline morphing into something darker, more primal. Wanda's expression was a storm of uncertainty, her full lips parted, hazel eyes wide. "Jason... this isn't you. The anger—it's poisoning you. Let us help, truly help, not like this."
"Come on ladies!" he commanded, his voice dropping an octave, fists clenching until his knuckles whitened. The windows rattled in their frames, frost creeping along the edges from the sheer intensity of his aura.
"Now. Or I'll rip those clothes off myself."
It was Natasha who moved first, her decision pragmatic, born of years in the shadows where survival meant playing the long game. If this was the key to de-escalating a walking apocalypse, she'd weaponize her body like she had a hundred times before. Her fingers found the zipper of her suit, tugging it down with deliberate slowness, the sound a metallic hiss in the tense silence. The leather parted like a second skin, revealing inch after tantalizing inch of her flawless form—creamy skin unmarked by the scars most spies bore, thanks to SHIELD's tech. No bra underneath; her breasts tumbled free, pert and high, nipples tightening into rosy peaks under the room's sudden chill. She peeled the suit down her hips, the material clinging briefly to the swell of her ass before she kicked it aside, standing in nothing but sheer black thong panties that did little to hide the damp patch at her crotch, the outline of her shaved pussy visible through the fabric. Her body was a masterpiece of lethal efficiency: flat stomach etched with subtle abs, thighs powerful from endless squats and sprints, an ass that was firm yet plush, begging to be gripped.
Wanda watched, her breath catching, a flush creeping up her neck. Natasha shot her a sidelong glance - 'we end this his way, or we don't end it at all'. The witch's hands shook as she shrugged off her coat, letting it slide to the floor in a whisper of fabric. Her fingers—assisted by a subtle pulse of magic—unlaced the corset, the ribbons unraveling like serpents uncoiling. It fell away, baring her fuller breasts, soft and inviting with dusky nipples that hardened under their gaze. She was curvier than Natasha, her body a blend of Sokovian resilience and feminine allure—pale skin dotted with faint scars from her past, hips that swayed hypnotically as she unzipped her skirt, letting it pool at her feet. Her red lace panties matched the corset, already soaked through, clinging to the neat strip of dark curls above her slick folds. She stepped out of her boots, vulnerable now, but her chaos energy hummed like a live wire, ready to ignite.
Jason's gaze raked over them, predatory and hungry, his cock twitching visibly against the shorts. A low, appreciative rumble built in his chest. "Fuck, you're both so goddamn hot. On your knees. Worship this dick like you mean it."
The command hung in the air, heavy with expectation. Natasha knelt fluidly, her knees sinking into the plush carpet, green eyes locked on his as she hooked her fingers into his waistband. She yanked the shorts down, his cock springing free like a beast unleashed—nine inches of thick, veined perfection, the shaft curving slightly upward, the bulbous head flushed purple and glistening with a bead of pre-cum. It throbbed in the open air, heavy and demanding, the musky scent of his arousal filling her nostrils. Wanda joined her a beat later, her knees pressing into Natasha's side, their shoulders brushing in a moment of shared tension. The witch's eyes widened at the sight, a soft "Oh..." escaping her lips.
Natasha took the initiative, wrapping her elegant hand around the base, feeling the velvety heat pulse against her palm. She leaned in, her tongue darting out to trace a slow, teasing line from the heavy sac of his balls up the underside of the shaft, savoring the salty tang. Wanda followed suit, her softer mouth brushing the head, lips parting to envelop it in wet warmth. She sucked gently at first, tongue swirling around the tip like she was tasting forbidden fruit, a soft hum vibrating through him: "Mmm..." Jason's head tipped back, a guttural groan tearing from his throat: "Fuuuuck, yes... just like that."
They found a rhythm, a duet of devotion. Natasha took him deeper, her throat relaxing with expert control honed from... less innocent missions. She bobbed steadily, cheeks hollowing as she swallowed half his length, the wet gluck-gluck of her efforts echoing obscenely. Saliva dribbled down her chin, mixing with pre-cum, her free hand cupping his balls, rolling them gently, feeling them tighten. Wanda lavished the exposed shaft, her tongue flicking along the veins, tracing patterns that made his hips jerk. "So big... I can taste you," she murmured, her accent husky, before taking her turn at the head, gagging softly as she pushed further, eyes watering but determined. Natasha didn't relent; she licked the seam of his balls, sucking one into her mouth with a lewd pop, her hand stroking in tandem with Wanda's bobs.
Jason's fingers tangled in their hair—Natasha's fiery red and Wanda's auburn waves twisting together in his grip. He guided them, not roughly yet, but with insistent pressure, fucking their mouths in shallow thrusts. "That's it... good girls, suck that cock. Drain the rage right out of me." His aura flickered, the smoke thinning as waves of pleasure coursed through him, the red glow in his eyes dimming to embers. Pre-cum leaked steadily now, coating their tongues, the flavor earthy and addictive. Minutes stretched, their jaws aching but unrelenting—Natasha deep-throating him until her nose brushed his pubes, Wanda's lips stretched wide around the girth, their breasts pressing together, nipples grazing in sparks of incidental friction that sent shivers down their spines.
Finally, he pulled back with a wet schlick, his cock bobbing slick and shining, strings of saliva bridging to their swollen, spit-glossed lips. "Enough foreplay. On the bed. Spread those pretty pussies for me." His voice was rougher now, the rage ebbing but lust rising like a tide, turning his commands into something almost coaxing.
They rose on shaky legs, the carpet burning against their knees, and climbed onto the massive bed. The linens were cool against their heated skin as they positioned themselves side by side, legs parting in mirrored invitation. Natasha's thong was discarded with a flick, revealing her bare pussy—lips plump and flushed, clit swollen and peeking from its hood, inner thighs already slick with arousal. Wanda's panties followed, her folds glistening, the dark curls framing her entrance like an arrow pointing to heaven. The air was thick with their scents—musky, feminine, intoxicating.
Jason prowled forward, the bed dipping under his weight as he knelt between them. He started with Natasha, his large hand sliding up her thigh, fingers tracing the sensitive skin before delving between her legs. Two thick digits plunged into her without warning, her walls clenching greedily around the intrusion. She was soaked, her body betraying her composure with a sharp inhale: "Ahh! Jason... fuck." He pumped them roughly, curling to stroke that spongy spot inside her, his thumb grinding against her clit in firm circles. Her hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the pressure, a low moan building in her throat.
Wanda wasn't neglected; Jason's other hand mirrored the attention, fingers spearing into her velvet heat, scissoring to stretch her wider. She whimpered, her chaos magic sparking harmlessly against his arm, heightening the sensations like a live current. "Ooh... yes, right there," she breathed, her free hand drifting to her breast, pinching a nipple as her eyes fluttered shut. The room filled with the wet schlick-schlick of his fingers working them over, their moans harmonizing—Natasha's husky and controlled, Wanda's breathy and melodic.
But fingers weren't enough. Jason withdrew from Natasha, positioning the head of his cock at her entrance, rubbing it through her folds to coat himself in her juices. Then, with a single, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. Her pussy stretched around him, a burn of fullness that bordered on pain but tipped into exquisite pleasure. "Shiiit! So deep... nngh!" Natasha cried out, her back arching off the bed, nails digging into the sheets. Her inner muscles rippled, adjusting to the invasion, gripping him like a vice as he set a punishing rhythm—hips snapping forward with superhuman force, the slap-slap-slap of skin on skin reverberating like gunfire.
He fucked her relentlessly, each thrust driving her deeper into the mattress, her breasts bouncing with the impacts, nipples tracing wild arcs. "Take it, Widow... your cunt's so tight, milking me already." The words were crude, but they ignited her; she wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him closer. "Harder... pound me, you bastard," she gasped, her voice breaking on a moan.
Wanda watched, transfixed, her fingers circling her clit faster now, but Jason wasn't done. He pulled out of Natasha with a wet pop, her pussy gaping momentarily, cream coating his shaft in a frothy sheen. He flipped Wanda onto her stomach roughly, yanking her hips up until her ass was presented high—cheeks round and firm, parting to reveal her dripping slit. "My turn to wreck you, witch." He slammed home, the angle allowing him to bottom out against her cervix, a jolt that ripped a scream from her throat: "Aaaah! Jason, yes... fill me up!" Her magic flared wildly, red wisps coiling around their joined bodies, amplifying every sensation—his cock felt even thicker, every ridge dragging against her walls like fire.
He alternated now, a tireless engine of lust: ten savage pumps into Wanda, her ass rippling with each impact, pussy creaming down his thighs; then switching to Natasha on her back, folding her legs over his shoulders for deeper penetration, her cries echoing off the walls. "You both love this, don't you? My cock owning these perfect holes." The rage was fading fast, pleasure flooding his veins like cool water on flames, but he didn't slow. Instead, it fueled him, turning the fuck into something insatiable.
Wanda leaned over, capturing Natasha's mouth in a heated kiss, tongues tangling sloppily as Jason railed the spy. "Mmm... taste so good," Wanda murmured, her hand sliding down to tweak Natasha's nipple, rolling the hard bud between slick fingers. Natasha broke the kiss with a whine: "Don't stop... I'm gonna cum... fuuuck!" Her orgasm hit like a wave, walls spasming around him, juices squirting in hot bursts that soaked the sheets. Jason growled, riding her through it, but pulled out before he lost control.
The threesome escalated, positions blurring into a symphony of flesh and ecstasy. He had them stacked—Wanda on her back, Natasha straddling her face in a 69, both women devouring each other with abandon. Jason knelt behind Natasha, sliding back into her sopping pussy, his balls slapping against Wanda's forehead with each thrust. "Lick her while I fuck her senseless," he ordered, and they obeyed—Wanda's tongue flicking Natasha's clit, delving into the stretched folds around his shaft; Natasha grinding down, her mouth full of Wanda's pussy, sucking the clit like a ripe berry. "Gluck... slurp... mmmph," the sounds were pornographic, wet and rhythmic. Natasha came again, flooding Wanda's mouth: "Yes! Drink it... aaaahhh!" Wanda followed, her body shuddering, magic exploding in harmless sparks that tingled their skin.
Hours slipped away unnoticed. The first climax for Jason came around what felt like midday, though the drawn curtains hid the sun. He'd bent Natasha over the arm of a chaise lounge, pounding her from behind while Wanda knelt beneath, tongue lapping at their union—circling Natasha's clit, then Jason's balls, humming vibrations that pushed him over. "Fuck... take my load, both of you." He roared, flooding Natasha's pussy with thick ropes of cum, excess spilling out to drip onto Wanda's waiting tongue. She lapped it eagerly, "So hot... tastes like sin," before Jason pulled out and shoved his still-hard cock into her mouth for cleanup, her throat working to swallow the mix of their essences.
They collapsed briefly, panting, but the respite was short. Jason's energy was boundless, the rage purged into a bottomless well of stamina. He carried them to the suite's massive shower, steam billowing as hot water cascaded over their bodies. Under the spray, he pressed Wanda against the tiled wall, lifting one leg to hook over his hip, thrusting up into her with water sluicing down their joined forms. "Ride me here... feel that water on your clit." Natasha joined, soaping her hands and gliding them over his back, then between Wanda's cheeks, a finger teasing her tight rear entrance. "Relax... let me in," Natasha whispered, sliding the digit inside, double-penetrating the witch as Jason fucked her pussy. Wanda screamed her release, "Ooh God... both holes... cumming so hard!" The water washed away the evidence, but not the aftershocks.
Emerging pruned and glowing, they raided the minibar—champagne popped, strawberries dipped in cream, fed to each other between kisses. Jason sat on the edge of the bed, Wanda straddling him reverse cowgirl, her ass bouncing as she rode his cock with increasing abandon, the lewd squelch of her cream-filled pussy filling the room. "Your dick's so deep... ruining my pussy," she moaned, grinding her clit against his base. Natasha perched on his face, thighs framing his head as his tongue plunged into her cum-slick folds, lapping up his own deposit from earlier. "Eat me out... tongue-fuck that creampie," she demanded, grinding down until she shuddered through another orgasm, juices coating his chin.
The afternoon blurred into a haze of experimentation. Jason's super Strength allowed for feats that bordered on the impossible, turning their liaison into a playground of gravity-defying indulgence.