Selina's hand pushes deeper, three knuckles gone, the stretch a white-hot ring around Wanda's cunt. The burn radiates through her pelvis, a fire that should mean pain but instead makes her thighs tremble open wider, hips tilting to take more. Selina's palm is thick across her pubic bone, thumb pressing down like a brand, and Wanda feels the edges of herself — the ones that should be fighting — blur into something wet and hungry.
Above her, Harley and Felicia are kissing. Their mouths meet in a slow, wet slide, and Wanda watches pink and red lipstick smear together, tongues tangling, and she knows — that's her taste on their lips. Harley moans into Felicia's mouth, thumb still circling Wanda's nipple, and Felicia's green eyes open to catch Wanda watching. She pulls back from Harley, a string of saliva still connecting them, and licks her lips deliberately.
"Mm. You taste good, witch."
Wanda's fury flares — a red spark in her chest — but it catches on something else, something darker that unfurls low in her belly. Her body has never been this alive. Every nerve is lit, every touch a detonation, and the hatred she wants to feel is curdling into a desperate, aching need. She hates them. She hates herself for wanting this. But her cunt clenches around Selina's fingers, greedy, and the lie crumbles.
Selina adds her pinky. The stretch deepens, pressure pushing against her walls from every angle, and Wanda's breath comes in sharp, broken gasps. Selina's wrist presses against her clit, grinding in slow circles, and Wanda's hips roll in counterpoint — chasing, always chasing.
"That's it," Selina murmurs, her cheek brushing Wanda's ear. "Stop fighting it. You'll enjoy it more."
Harley dives back to Wanda's chest, mouth latching onto her left nipple, sucking hard enough to make Wanda arch. Felicia takes the right, her tongue flat and slow, and they nurse in tandem, a wet chorus of suction and breath. Wanda's nipples ache, swollen, the sensation too sharp and too good, and she can't stop the moan that escapes her throat.
Selina's hand shifts, curling — her fingers crooking to find that spot, the deep one that makes Wanda's vision white. She finds it, presses, and Wanda's body locks, a scream caught in her chest, thighs clamping around Selina's wrist.
"There she is," Selina says, voice low and satisfied. "Right there."
Felicia's mouth moves up Wanda's body — ribs, sternum, throat — leaving wet trails. She kisses Wanda, open-mouthed and demanding, and Wanda tastes herself on Felicia's tongue, salty and sharp. She kisses back without thinking, without permission, and Felicia laughs against her lips.
"Look at you. Kissing the villain. What would your Avengers say?"
Wanda doesn't answer. She can't. Selina's hand is moving inside her, a slow, measured fucking, and Harley's mouth has found her collarbone, teeth scraping, while Felicia's claws trace the line of her hip, dipping lower, teasing the crease of her thigh.
They're competing — she can feel it. Each touch is faster, harder, more desperate, as if they're trying to claim her first, to wring the loudest sound from her lungs. Harley bites her nipple and then soothes it with her tongue, looking up to make sure Felicia saw. Felicia's fingers dip into Wanda's wetness, gather it, and bring it to Harley's mouth, feeding her. Harley moans, sucking Felicia's fingers clean.
Selina's thumb presses her clit. Hard. Wanda's hips buck, a sob tearing from her throat. The pressure is building — that deep, coiling heat that has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with surrender. She feels it in her thighs, her belly, the backs of her eyes. Her fingers curl into fists, the ropes creaking, and she hates how badly she wants to let go.
"Don't hold back," Selina breathes. "I want to feel you come around my hand."
Harley's mouth is on her ear, whispering, "C'mon, Red. Let go. We gotcha."
Felicia's lips graze her throat, her claws trailing down Wanda's stomach, featherlight, finding the place where Selina's wrist disappears inside her. She presses there — a point of contact, a second pressure — and Wanda's mind whites out, the edge of orgasm shimmering just out of reach.
But she holds. Gritting her teeth, jaw aching. She won't give them that. Not yet.
Selina stops moving. The sudden stillness is worse. Wanda's cunt clenches around nothing, desperate, and she whimpers — a sound she didn't know she could make.
"Oh, sweetheart," Selina says, and her voice is almost gentle. "You don't have a choice."
Her hand curls again, finds that spot, and presses. Wanda shatters.