Linger in bed over a fantasy.

As she stared at the canopy of her bed, she thought about the elaborate security measures that Tony Stark had installed throughout the mansion. It struck her that it would have been very easy for him to install surveillance cameras everywhere … “everywhere” including Janet’s bedroom.

She grinned. It was a ridiculous idea. Tony was a mega-rich, mega-successful inventor, businessman and superhero. The thought that he would construct this elaborate, high-tech, heavily-defended fortress just for the purpose of watching Janet take her clothes off was flattering herself a bit much.

Still … she had to admit that much of the time, he seemed to act like a little boy who’d never outgrown his toys. Whenever he wanted to show the rest of the Avengers a new suit of armor, or a cyclotron or a sonic cannon or a jet-powered motorcycle, he had an unmistakable “look what I get to play with” look on his face. He had probably never actually used some super-secret surveillance device to peek at her in the shower, but she was willing to bet that he’d at least thought about it.

She looked around the room. Let’s see, she thought. If I was Tony Stark, and I wanted to see what the Wasp was hiding under her costume, where would I put the camera? Definitely somewhere near the full-length mirror in the far corner, where an unsuspecting young superheroine might spend time admiring herself in various undergarments. The camera lens would be hidden in the ornamentation around the edges of the mirror, or maybe even within the mirror itself. It would have a good view into her bed as well, if the camera were positioned low enough to see under the canopy.

She found herself starting to get intrigued by the idea. She grinned, then stretched elaborately, making sure that her motions caused the bedsheet to fall away from her breasts. Janet was built small, slim, and athletic, not tall and busty like most every other female superhero she’d crossed paths with, but she knew that men liked to look at her. She made sure to stay in excellent physical condition - an absolute necessity for anyone who dodged bullets and chased villains on a regular basis.

Casually, slowly, she drew her hands down the side of her face, down her neck, past her collarbone, and over her breasts. If he is watching me now, she thought, I’ll bet he just spilled his morning coffee. And then he’ll lean closer to the screen, wondering if he’s really seeing what he thinks he is, and yes, there’s the winsome Wasp, tickling her own nipples with her fingertips, making her little pink buds all firm and crinkly.

Her rising nipples broadcast a glow through her body. She shifted under the bedcovers, drawing a deep breath and letting it out. She moved her legs, drawing one thigh across the other, rolling her hips. The soft sheets slid across her body with every motion. Man, she told herself again, this really is a nice bed.

One of her hands drifted down under the covers, seeking out the warm shelter between her thighs, almost with a will of its own. She brushed her fingernails over the thicket of curly hair, and traced over the folds of skin beneath, finding that they were growing wet. She held her crotch in her hand, enjoying the pressure there while her left hand continued to toy with her nipple. Then, with a little guilty thrill, she drew her knees apart, probed with her fingers, and found the bump of her clit.

She growled happily, arching her back as the sensation rippled through her. He’s certainly getting a show now, she thought to herself, circling her wet clit with a fingertip, awakening every millimeter of soft, sensitive skin. Is he the kind of guy who just watches, or does he have to get his own hands in his pants? Would he sit there in front of his surveillance monitor, cock in hand, whispering to the image on the screen, urging me to do such-and-such or so-and-so?

Janet dipped a finger down into her cunt. This time she moaned, taking her left hand from her breast so that she could clutch at the pillow. She slid her finger in as deep as she could reach, then out again, stroking herself, causing her hips to rock, gently. After a few dozen slow thrusts, she drew her finger back out and returned her attention to her clit, gasping at how sensitive it had become.

Would he wait for me to come first? she wondered. Would he go cautiously, reserving his own orgasm, not wanting to miss a moment of what he was seeing on his screen? Would he pace himself, stroking slowly, easy now, watching intently, holding his own breath so that he could hear her gasping?

She stroked herself, pushed at the sheets with her toes, rolled her head on the pillow, and made little noises of pleasure and hunger. The giddy tension within her rose, and fell, and rose, and fell. She climbed close to the summit of her arousal, then slipped backward into a pleasant, but slightly disappointed haze. She wasn’t quite managing to bring herself off.

But this wasn’t her first solo flight, and she knew how to bring this particular plane in for a landing. She kicked off the bedsheets, moved the pillows aside, and sat up straight with her back against the rigid wooden headboard. She drew up her left foot close to her crotch, with her toes on the mattress, and stretched her right leg out straight and flat, keeping her thighs open wide. She reached out her left arm along the top edge of the headboard, taking firm hold of it, and dropped her right hand into her lap. She drew aside a fold of her pussy with two fingers, found her clit again, and began to stroke again, with a rapid, fluttering touch.

The rapid, firm pace sent fresh desire rushing through her body. The headboard creaked under her grip, and she let out a short, shuddering groan. She kept up the pace, stroking lightly, hurriedly, insistently. Her breathing was short and quick. The mattress under her pussy was damp, as wet as her fingers and the inside of her thighs. Sweat rose on her chest, tricked down her forehead.

A surge of need seized her. Her toes curled and her hips thrust forward on her bed, as her cunt squeezed, tying to take hold of a cock that wasn’t in her. She moaned, but this wasn’t her orgasm, not yet, just a foreshadowing. She drew her hips back against the headboard and continued to stroke herself, trembling with anticipation of what was surely soon to come.

The next shock that flashed through her nerves and pulled a cry from her throat was the tipping point. She stroked herself faster, desperately, whimpering, just needing that last little push, and it was so close, so close …

She shouted, and her climax lit her up from the inside with the brilliance of a new star. She clutched at the headboard, thrusting her hips up off the mattress, leaning her head back and shouting again. “OH! … yes, oh, OHHhh! … nnnnnhh …”

She changed the rhythm of her fingers, stroking slowly now, deliberately, bringing herself down nice and easy, drawing out every pulse of her orgasm. She gasped for breath, moaning, shuddering, slipping on the bedsheets that were now slick with sweat and desire.

In the end, she was flat on her back again, staring up at the bed canopy, her hand still between her thighs, her pussy vibrating faintly, like a tuning fork that had been struck a few moments ago and left to sing itself to silence. She blinked stars out of her eyes, pushed damp hair back from her face. “Whoo,” she sighed. “Good morning to me.”

This was certainly going to give her a definitive answer as to whether Tony Stark was spying on her or not. If he’d just watched that, she knew that she’d see it in his face the next time she laid eyes on him. Of course, there was no way he would actually do something like that, and the whole thing was just a silly little fantasy. Certainly got you going, though, she told herself. Guess you’re a little bit of an exhibitionist at heart. Not much of a surprise, though, from a girl who dresses in spandex and goes flying over the city.