Chapter 5: On the Plane
The stretch was impossible. A white-hot ring of fire that tore through nerve and sinew. Natasha’s back arched, a silent scream locking her jaw, her hands fisting in the comforter.Wanda didn’t stop. She pressed forward with relentless, slow pressure, the obscene flare of her cockhead forcing Natasha’s body to accept what it was never designed to take.
“There,” Wanda gritted out, sweat beading on her temple as she watched herself disappear inch by brutal inch into the clenching, resisting heat. The feeling was colossal, a fullness that bordered on mutilation. Natasha choked, her vision swimming, every muscle in her ass and thighs seizing in protest. Then, with a final, wet pop, the widest part sank in, and she was fully seated, buried to the hilt inside Natasha’s ass.The pain was a live, screaming wire. But beneath it, radiating from her core, was a sickening, deep pulse of pleasure. Her cunt, untouched and weeping, clenched on nothing. The used diaper, still partly pinned under her, was a damp, humiliating reminder of her place.She was split open, filthy, and completely owned.
Wanda began to move.Not with passion, but with a terrifying, surgical precision. Long, slow drags out until just the tip remained, then a deliberate, crushing push back in. Each thrust jolted Natasha’s entire body, the crinkle of the plastic diaper loud beneath her.
“You feel that,” Wanda stated, her voice controlled even as her breath hitched. “You feel how deep that is?It’s in your stomach.You’re just a sheath for me. A warm, dirty hole.” She punctuated the words with a sharper thrust, wrenching a raw sob from Natasha’s throat.The phone lay discarded on the bed beside them, the screen dark. But the threat of the photos, the evidence of this specific, brutal claiming, hung in the air, another layer of violation.Natasha turned her face away, tears streaming into her hairline.
“Look at me,” Wanda commanded, gripping Natasha’s jaw and forcing her head around. “You don’t get to hide.You take this. You take all of it.” Her hips snapped forward, harder now, finding a punishing rhythm.
The pain began to transmute, melting into a devastating, full-body arousal. A guttural, broken moan spilled from Natasha’s lips.Her hips pushed back weakly, meeting a thrust, her body betraying her utterly. She was coming, untouched, her cunt spasming wildly as her ass was brutally fucked, waves of shame-soaked pleasure wrecking her.Wanda felt the internal convulsions, the final surrender. Her own control snapped.Her thrusts became erratic, animalistic. She fucked into Natasha with a force that shook the bed frame, her nails digging into Natasha’s hips. With a final, deep snarl, she buried herself as deep as possible and came, a hot, violent flood that Natasha could feel filling her, a claiming from the inside out.
She collapsed forward, her weight pressing Natasha deeper into the damp diaper, their bodies joined by the monstrous, softening cock. They lay there, a tangle of sweat, cum, and the sweet, pungent smell of soiled plastic. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the soft, wet crinkle beneath them.
After long minutes, Wanda pulled out with a soft, wet sound. She looked at the ruin between Natasha’s legs, the mess they had made.She said nothing. She fetched a warm, wet cloth and began to clean her with a detached, clinical tenderness. She wiped away the blood, the sweat, the evidence of her own climax, and finally, the mess from the diaper. Natasha lay limp, utterly spent, her body humming with a profound, aching emptiness.
Wanda disposed of the cloth, then returned to the bed. She pulled Natasha against her, skin to skin, and draped a blanket over them.In the dark, her voice was a whisper. “We have a mission briefing in Berlin tomorrow.Early flight. The jet leaves at 0600.”
Natasha mumbled something incoherent against her chest.
“You’re not packing a bag,” Wanda continued, her hand stroking Natasha’s hair.“You’re not packing anything.You’ll wear what I choose. You’ll be what I choose.For the entire trip.” She kissed the top of Natasha’s head. “Sleep now, моя любовь. You’ll need your strength.”
The private quinjet bay was cold at 5:45 AM. You stood by the gangway, duffel bag over your shoulder, trying to look professional. Support staff for a low-stakes diplomatic escort—your cover.Your stomach was a knot of nerves.They arrived together. Wanda looked impeccable in a dark, tailored pantsuit, her hair smooth, a small leather briefcase in hand. Natasha walked beside her, but she was transformed. Over a simple long-sleeved black top, she wore a pale grey sweatshirt, its fabric soft and babyish. Instead of tactical trousers, she had on loose, light grey sweatpants.And they crinkled with every step. Audibly.Your eyes dropped.The sweats were full in the seat, padded. The sound was unmistakable in the quiet hangar. Natasha’s face was a careful mask, but her eyes were downcast, a faint blush on her cheeks. She wore white ankle socks and simple sneakers, completing the jarringly infantile picture. A pacifier on a black clip was attached to the collar of her sweatshirt.Wanda stopped before you.“Good morning, Y/N. You’ll be sitting with us. There’s a private cabin in the rear.” Her tone brooked no argument.You just nodded, falling in step behind them as they boarded. A few other compound staffers were already seated in the main cabin. Their eyes flicked to Natasha, then quickly away, confusion and dawning understanding coloring their expressions. The crinkling followed her down the aisle like a shameful parade.The rear cabin was small, luxurious, and secluded. Wanda guided Natasha to a wide, plush seat that looked different from the others. It had extra straps and buckles on the arms.“Sit,” Wanda said.
Natasha obeyed, settling into the seat.The crinkling was louder here, enclosed.Wanda knelt and began to secure her. She buckled a wide belt across Natasha’s lap, then straps around her thighs, forcing her legs to stay spread. Finally, she pulled another strap from behind the seat back and secured it across Natasha’s chest. Natasha was pinned, her diapered bottom elevated slightly by the design of the seat.“Comfy?” Wanda asked, her voice sweetly mocking.
Natasha gave a tiny nod, the pacifier bobbling against her chest.Wanda then reached into her briefcase. She pulled out a thick, adult-sized diaper—plain white—and laid it on Natasha’s lap.Then another.And a third.She stacked them. Then, she produced a large, plastic bottle with a clear tube attached to the nipple.It was filled with a cloudy, off-white fluid.
“Open,” Wanda said, unscrewing the cap.Natasha’s lips parted. Wanda slid the nipple between them.“Your breakfast.Drink it all. Every drop.”
You watched, transfixed, as Natasha’s throat worked.She suckled obediently, her eyes closed. The sound was soft, wet, pathetic. You could smell it from where you stood—the familiar, musky scent of Wanda’s cum, but underlain with something chemical.
Wanda watched her drain the bottle, then leaned close, her lips brushing Natasha’s ear. Her whisper was loud enough for you to hear.“That’s my good girl. I mixed my seed with a little something extra.A stimulant for your bowels. By the time we reach cruising altitude, you’re going to be a very, very messy baby. You’re going to fill all three of these diapers for me.One after another. And you’re going to do it sitting right here, where Y/N can watch.You don’t speak. You don’t ask to go to the lavatory.You just let it happen. You understand?”
A tear escaped Natasha’s closed eye. She nodded around the nipple, finishing the last of the bottle with a final, hollow suck.
Wanda pulled the empty bottle away and clipped the pacifier from her collar into her mouth.Natasha began to suckle it automatically, a hollow, rhythmic clicking sound.
The jet engines whined to life.Wanda took her own seat across from Natasha, crossing her legs. She looked at you, gesturing to the seat next to her.“Sit, Y/N.Watch. This is her reality now.”
You sat.The plane began to taxi. Natasha’s breath hitched.A soft, painful cramp visibly tightened her stomach. She squirmed in her restraints, the crinkling of the plastic loud against the growing roar of the engines.The plane accelerated, lifted. As it climbed, the pressure shifted.Natasha whimpered around the pacifier. Her face flushed a deep red.She strained against the straps, her knuckles white on the armrests.
You heard it first.A low, gurgling rumble from deep in her belly. Then a wet, prolonged sigh, accompanied by a sudden, profound expansion of the seat of her grey sweatpants.The fabric strained, bulging outward, as a warm, heavy load filled the first diaper. The smell hit a moment later—deep, organic, shameful—cutting through the cabin’s recycled air.
Natasha’s head fell back against the seat, her body going limp save for the occasional, helpless shudder.A second wave hit, softer, adding to the mass. She moaned around the pacifier, tears streaming freely now.
Wanda watched, her lips parted, her own breathing shallow with arousal.“Good girl,” she murmured.“That’s one. Two more to go. You’re not to be empty for a single moment of this flight.”
She shifted her gaze to you.Your face felt hot, your own pulse thrumming in your ears. You were horrified.You were unbearably, guiltily hard. The raw, domestic obscenity of it was more intimate than any fuck.
Natasha’s eyes opened, glassy with tears and humiliation, and found yours.There was no defiance, no spycraft left. Only a plea for recognition, for you to see her in this utterly broken state.And in that look, you understood your role. You were not just a witness.You were part of the architecture of her submission. Your attention, your silent complicity, was the final lock on her cage.You held her gaze. You didn’t look away. And as the jet leveled out at cruising altitude, and Natasha’ stomach cramped again with a violent urgency, you understood this was only the beginning of the journey.