Chapter 1: Measuring Up
The door swung open before Hannah could hide the tape measure.
She froze, the little yellow strip of plastic wrapped around the thickest part of her cock, which was already filling out, a heavy, flushed weight against her thigh. The mirror showed it all: her own wide, horrified eyes, the athletic curve of her shoulders tensed, and the undeniable truth of her body, laid bare in the lamplight.
Natasha stood in the doorway, a silhouette against the brighter hall.She didn’t speak. Her eyes traveled from Hannah’s face, down her toned stomach, to the measuring tape.The silence was a live wire.
“It’s—” Hannah’s voice cracked. She cleared her throat, the sound too loud in the room.“Nine.When it’s hard. The girth is five and a half.”
She said it like a confession, a defect listed on a medical chart. Shame burned through her, hot and familiar. This thing, this part of her that felt separate, that bulged obscenely in the soft linen pants she loved, that made the embrace of a tight dress an impossibility.
Natasha moved then.She kicked the door shut with her heel, the click final. Her eyes were dark, her breath coming a little faster. She didn’t look at Hannah’s face as she crossed the room; she stared only at her cock, which gave a thick, traitorous twitch under the attention.“Show me,” Natasha said, her voice low.
Hannah fumbled, hands trembling as she tried to unwind the tape. Natasha’s fingers intercepted hers, cool and sure. She took the tape, her knuckles brushing against Hannah’s heated skin, and let it fall to the carpet.Then she knelt.The sight stole Hannah’s breath. Natasha Romanoff, on her knees, her fiery hair a spill over her shoulders, those piercing green eyes looking up from beneath dark lashes.She didn’t touch, not yet. She just looked, her lips parted.“I can see it growing,” Natasha murmured, almost to herself. Her hand came up, hovered. “It’s so fucking beautiful, Hannah.”
Hannah shook her head, a denial stuck in her throat.Beautiful wasn’t the word.Impressive.Intimidating. A problem.
Natasha’s fingertips finally made contact, a feather-light trace up the prominent vein on the underside.Hannah jerked, a full-body shiver. Her cock swelled further, aching, the head now fully exposed and slick with pre-come.
“Please,” Natasha whispered, and the word was different now, stripped of any asking.It was pure want. Her other hand came up to cradle Hannah’s balls, heavy and full.“Please, Daddy.Fuck me. I need that big black cock inside me. I’ve been dreaming about it, dreaming about how full I feel when you split me open on it.”
The filth from her wife’s mouth, so at odds with her controlled exterior, sent a jolt of pure lust straight to Hannah’s core. Her fingers tangled in Natasha’s red hair, not guiding, just claiming.
Natasha’s eyes never wavered. “And maybe,” she continued, her voice dropping to a sinful hush, “after you wreck my pussy… maybe you could piss on me? Mark me with it? Let me feel how hot you are inside?”
A guttural sound ripped from Hannah’s chest. The words were a shock, a dark fantasy she’d never voiced, and hearing them from Natasha’s lips made her dick throb violently, gaining that last impossible inch, rising to its full, daunting height.
Dominance surged through her, washing the shame away in a scalding tide.This was hers.This power.This woman.
She fisted Natasha’s hair tighter and pulled.Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make her point. Natasha rose with the motion, a gasp catching in her throat, her eyes blazing with submission and challenge.
Hannah didn’t throw her onto the bed; she placed her there, a deliberate act of control. Natasha landed on the rumpled sheets, the silk scarves slithering around her. She was already wet, Hannah could smell it, that sharp, sweet scent cutting through the room’s perfumed stillness.
Hannah climbed over her, caging her in. She looked down at her wife’s slender body, the pale skin, the delicate collarbones. She kissed her, not softly, but a consuming, deep kiss, swallowing Natasha’s moans. Her hand slid between Natasha’s legs, through the slickness, finding her clit swollen and ready.
“You want this?” Hannah growled against her mouth, her thick fingers circling, pressing.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“You can take it?”
“I’ll take every inch.Make me.”
Hannah positioned herself. She used the fat, veiny head of her cock, slick with her own fluid and Natasha’s, to nudge and press against Natasha’s opening.It was tight, always so tight at first. She watched Natasha’s face, the flutter of her eyelids, the bite of her teeth into her own lower lip.Then Hannah pushed.It was a slow, relentless invasion. Natasha’s back arched off the bed, a sharp cry tearing from her throat—not pain, not anymore, but the overwhelming shock of the stretch, the profound fullness.Her nails scraped down Hannah’s arms.
“Look at me,” Hannah commanded, her voice strained with the effort of holding back.
Natasha’s green eyes flew open, glassy with pleasure, locked on Hannah’s. As Hannah sank deeper, inch by unbearable inch, Natasha held her gaze, her pupils blown wide. When Hannah was fully seated, balls-deep, buried in the clutching, scalding heat, they both stopped, breathing raggedly.Cockwarming.It was Hannah’s secret vice. Just this, being joined, feeling Natasha’s body pulse and adjust around her, the intimacy of complete possession. She lowered her head, sucking a hardened nipple into her mouth, lashing it with her tongue until Natasha writhed.“You feel like a fucking dream,” Hannah muttered, her hips making tiny, involuntary rolls.
“Move,” Natasha begged, her heels digging into Hannah’s ass.“Please, move. I’m not broken.”
Hannah pulled back almost all the way, watching her glistening length emerge, before driving home again with a solid, deep thrust. Natasha screamed, her head thrashing back into the pillows. The pace was brutal, a steady, pounding rhythm that shook the bed frame, that mixed their sweat.
Hannah fucked her like that, with a focused intensity, one hand braced by Natasha’s head, the other groping and squeezing her breast. The vulgar, wet sounds of their joining filled the room, a soundtrack to the straining of muscles and the broken, praising curses Natasha gasped out.
“You own this pussy,” Natasha chanted, her voice hitching with every drive. “It’s yours, Daddy, only yours, fuck—”
Hannah felt the coil in her gut tightening, a familiar, urgent pressure. She changed the angle, lifting Natasha’s hips higher, going deeper still. Natasha’s words dissolved into sobs as her own climax ripped through her, her inner muscles clamping down on Hannah’s cock in rhythmic, milking spasms.It tipped Hannah over the edge. With a final, ragged groan, she buried herself to the hilt and let go, pulses of hot come jetting deep inside, the release so intense it bordered on pain. She collapsed forward, catching her weight on her elbows, their bodies still fused.
In the shuddering quiet, broken only by their gulps for air, the bedroom door, which Natasha had kicked shut, slowly creaked open an inch, as if the latch hadn’t caught.It revealed a sliver of the empty, dark hallway beyond.
Neither of them noticed.
The heat between their bodies was a damp, living thing. Hannah’s weight was a comfort, pressing Natasha deep into the mattress. She nuzzled the sweat at Hannah’s throat, tasting salt, feeling the heavy, satisfied thud of her pulse.
“You’re still inside me,” Natasha murmured, a note of awe in her hoarse voice. She clenched around Hannah’s softening cock, feeling the last spurts of come mix with her own wetness.
Hannah groaned, a low, visceral sound. “Feels like home.”
They lay like that for minutes, the room silent except for their slowing breath.Then Natasha shifted, a wicked little grind of her hips. She tilted her head up, her lips against Hannah’s ear. “You didn’t do it.”
“Do what?”
“What I asked for.” Natasha’s voice was a sly, hot whisper. “You came in me.Now I want you to piss in me. Fill me up with that, too.Mark me inside and out.”
Hannah went still. The request, even after the dirtiest sex, sent a shock through her system—a taboo thrill that made her spent dick give a feeble twitch. She lifted herself on her elbows, looking down at Natasha’s flushed, expectant face.Her green eyes were serious, daring.
“You’re filthy,” Hannah said, a slow grin spreading across her face.The power of it, the utter degradation, was intensely appealing. She played with the idea, rolling it around. “Might make a mess of the sheets, though.”
Natasha’s eyes shone. “I don’t care.”
“I know,” Hannah chuckled, the dominance of the moment making her bold. She leaned down, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble.“Maybe I ought to put you in a diaper first. Then it’d all get caught. No mess at all.”
The words were a joke, a dark, offhand remark.But beneath her, Natasha stiffened. A sharp, stifled moan caught in Natasha’s throat, strangled before it could escape. She turned her face into the pillow, but not before Hannah saw the flash of something desperate and deeply ashamed cross her features. It wasn’t rejection.It was raw, exposed want.Ageplay. It was a fantasy Natasha had circled in her own mind, a secret shame she’d never voiced. The casual suggestion, tossed out like a piece of trash, hit her with the force of a craving.
Hannah didn’t notice the hidden moan, but she felt Natasha’s sudden tension. She misinterpreted it.She softened her tone, brushing red hair from Natasha’s cheek.“Hey.Only joking. It’s a hot idea, though.The piss, I mean. Feeling that warmth go deep.” She kissed Natasha’s shoulder. “Maybe another time.”
Natasha nodded, her voice muffled by the pillow.“Yeah. Another time.”
But Hannah’s mind was already drifting down a different, darker path. The idea of absolute possession, of marking, of something even more fundamental than urine, stirred a hunger in her guts. A secret of her own, fouler and more unspeakable.Scat.The ultimate taboo. The thought of Natasha, willingly, eagerly… her stomach tightened with a mix of revulsion and intense, shameful arousal.
She pushed the thought deep, locking it away.It was too much, even for them.Maybe especially for them.
She rolled off, pulling Natasha against her side. The bedroom door remained slightly ajar, a silent slash of darkness in the periphery. Natasha curled into her, but her mind was racing, the word diaper echoing in the secret chambers of her desire.
Hannah stared at the ceiling, feeling Natasha’s breath even out toward sleep.The aftermath of sex usually brought her peace. Now, it left her restless. Two hidden kinks now lay between them in the bed, unspoken, taking up space.Outside the room, in the dark hallway, the house settled. Neither woman heard the faint, almost imperceptible creak of a floorboard.
Neither woman heard the faint, almost imperceptible creak of a floorboard. The sound didn’t belong to the settling house; it was the cautious, weight-bearing compression of a floorboard just outside their room, in the dark of the hallway.The week that followed was a slow burn.
Hannah moved through her days with a distracted intensity.Her cock felt like a live wire, a constant, heavy presence. The memory of Natasha’s whispered request—maybe you could piss on me—played on a loop, twisting together with her own darker, shameful thoughts. She found herself watching Natasha with a new, almost clinical focus: the graceful line of her throat as she drank her morning coffee, the shift of her shoulder blades beneath her tank top as she unpacked a suitcase. She was looking for a crack, a sign that Natasha was haunted by the same filthy ideas.
Natasha, for her part, was jumpy. She’d catch Hannah staring and offer a quick, bright smile that didn’t reach her eyes.She spent more time in the spare room, ostensibly organizing. The martial arts precision she usually applied to her surroundings seemed redirected inward, into a tense, private containment. The unspoken word diaper hung between them, a ghost in every silent moment.
A week to the day after the measuring tape, the silence broke.Hannah came home later than usual. The house was quiet, but a light was on in the spare room. She walked down the hall, the plush carpet muting her steps.The door was slightly ajar.She pushed it open.
Natasha was on the floor, kneeling on a soft blanket.She was naked. In her hands was a diaper.Not medical.Not discreet. This was stark white, thick, with cartoonish blue clouds printed on it.It was obscenely babyish. Natasha had it open under her, and her hands, usually so steady and sure, were fumbling with a roll of clear packaging tape. The tearing sound of the tape being pulled was brittle and loud in the quiet room. Natasha’s face was a mask of intense concentration, her brows knit, her lips pressed together. She was sealing the diaper shut around her hips, the plastic backing crinkling with her movements.
Hannah’s breath vanished.Her vision tunneled. All the blood in her body slammed downwards, a torrential rush that made her head swim. Her cock, always a burden, became a rigid, throbbing force against the zipper of her jeans.It was instantaneous, a total physiological surrender. The sight was the most perverse, most perfect thing she had ever witnessed.She didn’t move. She just watched, one hand braced against the doorframe, the other hanging at her side. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Natasha finished taping the second side, smoothing it down with a trembling palm. The diaper was bulky between her thighs, cinched around her narrow waist, a ridiculous, powerful contrast to her slender, athletic frame.Hannah’s hand moved of its own accord. It dropped to the straining bulge in her pants. She palmed herself through the denim, a rough, desperate grind.The pressure was insane.She couldn’t stop. She unbuttoned her jeans, shoved her hand inside her boxers, and wrapped her fingers around her own girth. It was hot and slick with pre-come. She didn’t stroke with finesse; it was a brutal, hurried up-and-down, her thumb smearing wetness over the head.
She kept her eyes locked on Natasha, who was now staring back at her, frozen, caught. Natasha’s eyes were wide with shock, then horror, then a dawning, deep-seated shame. But beneath the shame, Hannah saw it—a flicker of thrilled, defiant pride.
That did it.Hannah’s jaw clenched.A low, choked sound tore from her throat. Her orgasm ripped through her, swift and violent. Her come erupted in hot, pulsing jets, flooding her boxers, soaking through the fabric of her jeans. She spasmed, her legs trembling, as she emptied herself into her own clothing, all while standing in the doorway, fully dressed from the waist up.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of Hannah’s ragged breathing and the crinkle of plastic.Then, without breaking eye contact, Natasha slowly, deliberately, got to her feet. She reached for the hem of the t-shirt she wasn’t wearing, remembered, and let her hands fall.Instead, she just stood there, letting Hannah look. Then, with a dancer’s poise, she began to remove the clothes she had on—which was nothing. It was a pantomime. She mimed unbuttoning a blouse, sliding it off her shoulders.She shimmied as if stepping out of invisible panties. All while locked onto Hannah’s gaze.
When the silent performance was done, she stood before Hannah in only that absurd, cloud-patterned diaper.Her pale skin glowed.Her red hair was a fiery cascade down her back. She was completely exposed and yet profoundly covered.
Hannah’s spent cock gave a final, painful throb.She pulled her wet, sticky hand from her pants, leaving the button undone.
“Look at you,” Hannah said, her voice a graveled scrape. “Look at what you need.”
Natasha flinched but held her ground.
“You’re a fucking baby,” Hannah continued, stepping into the room.The humiliation poured out, hot and acid. “Taping yourself into a diaper like a little infant.Couldn’t even wait for me, could you? Had to put your little plastic pants on all by yourself.”
“Hannah—” Natasha’s voice was small.
“Shut up.” Hannah circled her. The crinkling sound of the diaper was a constant, mocking underscore.“All that talk.All that fire.And this is what you really are. A pathetic little girl who needs to be kept in diapers. Is that why you’re always so wet?Because you can’t control yourself?”
She stopped in front of Natasha. She reached out and ran a single, condescending finger along the top edge of the diaper, where it dug into Natasha’s hip bone.Natasha shuddered.
“You’re disgusting,” Hannah whispered, the words laden with dark affection.“My filthy, babyish wife.Do you feel small? Do you feel like you belong to me now?”
Natasha’s eyes brimmed with tears. She nodded, a tiny, broken movement.
Hannah leaned in, her lips almost touching Natasha’s ear.“Good.Now stay there.Don’t move. I’m going to get cleaned up. And then I’m going to decide what to do with you.”
Hannah left her there.The click of the bathroom door shutting was the loudest sound in the world.
Natasha didn’t move. She stood in the center of the spare room, the crinkling plastic of the diaper a deafening reminder of her exposure. Shame rolled through her in hot, nauseating waves, but beneath it, thrumming low in her belly, was a terrifying thread of excitement. She’d been seen.Truly seen.When Hannah returned, she was different. Clean jeans, a fresh t-shirt, her hair damp.She carried a glass of water. Her expression was calm, analytical, the softness from their earlier lovemaking utterly gone.
“Drink this,” Hannah said, offering the glass.Natasha’s hands shook as she took it. She was parched.She drank it down, the cold water a shock to her system.
“All of it.”
Natasha finished, a trickle escaping her chin. Hannah took the empty glass and set it on the dresser with a soft tap.“Now,” Hannah said, her voice quiet and firm. “You’re going to use that diaper.You wanted to be a baby? Babies don’t control their functions.They fill their diapers without a thought.”
Natasha’s breath hitched. “Hannah, I can’t—”
“You can. You will.” Hannah stepped closer, crowding her.“It’s what you put it on for, isn’t it?To pretend? Let’s make it real.I want to see you lose control. I want to watch you shit yourself like the infant you are.”
The vulgar command, delivered so evenly, broke something in Natasha. A sob clawed its way up her throat.She shook her head, tears spilling over.
Hannah’s hand shot out and grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look up.“Do it. Or I will walk out of this room and this… this little game ends forever. You’ll just be a grown woman who taped herself into a diaper for no reason. Pathetic.”
The threat was worse than the command. The idea of Hannah leaving, of this secret being locked away again in shame, was unbearable.This was the consequence of being seen.This was the price.
“I… I don’t know how to just…” Natasha whimpered.
“Then I’ll help you.” Hannah’s voice dropped to a cruel whisper.“Think about how small you are. How you don’t make the rules.How your body isn’t your own anymore. It’s mine. And I’m telling it to let go.”
Hannah’s other hand slid between Natasha’s legs, over the front of the bulky diaper. She pressed the warm, padded material inward, applying a firm, insistent pressure on Natasha’s lower abdomen.“Let it go, baby. Just let it happen.”
Natasha cried in earnest then, hot, infantile tears streaming down her face.She squeezed her eyes shut. The pressure in her gut, from the water and from a deeper, more primal fear, built to a crescendo. She fought it, her muscles clenching, a lifetime of conditioning screaming against the act.
“Now,” Hannah ordered, her finger tracing a demeaning circle over the plastic.With a ragged, broken moan, Natasha surrendered.Her body unlocked. A warm, loose rush flooded the seat of the diaper, a shocking, immediate expansion of material against her skin. The sensation was profoundly alien—a deep, internal emptying paired with the intimate, shameful warmth spreading and settling against her. The smell reached them a moment later, earthy, organic, undeniably human.Natasha wailed, a high, continuous sound of utter humiliation. She folded in on herself, but Hannah held her jaw, forcing her to stand tall.
“Look at you,” Hannah breathed, her eyes blazing with a dark, possessive fire.“Look what you did. My good girl.”
Hannah released her jaw and took a step back.Her own breathing had grown shallow. She looked from Natasha’s devastated face down to the front of her own jeans. A dark, spreading patch of dampness bloomed there as Hannah, watching Natasha completely break, lost her own control. A sharp sigh escaped her as she pissed herself, the hot urine soaking through her jeans and running down her legs in a release that was purely psychological, a mirror of dominion.She didn’t try to hide it. She just let it happen, her gaze locked on Natasha.
“Touch it,” Hannah said, her voice thick.Natasha, hiccuping through her sobs, stared blankly.
“Put your hand on your dirty diaper. Feel what you did.”
Slowly, trembling violently, Natasha brought her hand down.She pressed her palm against the swollen, warm, heavy back of the diaper. The reality of it, the texture and weight, made her gag. She cried harder, her body convulsing with shame.
“Play with it,” Hannah commanded, taking another step closer, her own wet jeans clinging to her thighs.“Squish it. Remember it.”
Natasha’s fingers curled, pressing into the soft, messy fullness.A fresh wave of sobs racked her. She was adrift in a sea of degradation, anchored only by Hannah’s unbreakable will.
“Good.” Hannah finally looked away, as if the sight was almost too much. She took a deep, shaky breath.“Now you stay in it. You’re going to sit in your mess and think about what you are.I’m leaving the door open. You are not to clean up.You are not to change.You will sit here until I say otherwise. Do you understand?”
Natasha could only nod, a puppet with cut strings.Hannah walked to the doorway. She paused, looking back at her wife—crying, soiled, utterly conquered. A complex mix of triumph, revulsion, and desperate love churned in her gut.
“I love you,” Hannah said, and the words sounded like the cruelest joke of all.
Then she turned and walked out, leaving the door wide open.
The hallway light cut a yellow wedge across the floor, stopping just short of Natasha’s feet. She stood alone in the semi-darkness, the heavy, used diaper a grotesque truth between her legs.The smell filled the room. Her sobs gradually quieted into shuddering breaths.
In the silence, she heard the faint, unmistakable sound of Hannah’s own shower starting down the hall.