Wonder Woman Domesticated

Chapter 1 - Discipline

Diana awoke with a start, heart pounding like the hoofbeats of Ares' war chariot. She groaned, clenching her thighs together as she emerged from the heated throes of an amazing dream. Even now, delicious aftershocks flitted up her spine, making her nostrils flare.

The images had been so real, the pleasures so intense...

For a long moment she lay still, eyes squeezed shut, unwilling to let the vivid visions slip away.

In her mind, she was still there—stretched out naked on Themyscira's glittering shores. Sweat-slicked muscles rippled in the sun, her armor cast aside and forgotten. White sand clung to her bare skin, hot and gritty. High above, seagulls wheeled across an endless cerulean sky, their distant cries blending with the rhythmic surge of waves.

Then, the serene tableau shifted, morphing into something far more... enticing.

Diana's nails raked the sheets, brow furrowing in sweet anticipation as the lucid reverie pulled her deeper into its seductive embrace.

Two faceless Amazons shimmered into being in the distance, their bodies strong, lithe, and gloriously unburdened by clothing. Bronzed skin glistened, sparkling droplets highlighting every hill and valley of sculpted muscle. Heavy breasts swayed as the warriors strode

closer on long, toned legs.

Soon the three of them lay entwined on the sand, slippery limbs tangling in a fervent clinch. The air grew thick with the scent of salt and sweat, zenith sun competing with the radiating heat of enflamed female flesh.

Callused fingertips roamed the planes and curves of Diana's body with commanding familiarity, leaving flushed skin in their wake. Soft lips followed, trailing fire down her neck, across her collarbone, and latching onto taut nipples—teasing, tasting, driving her mad with need.

Diana arched into the sweet foreplay, awash in euphoria as warm tongues circled her pulsing pearl, stroking deep into molten folds. Her fingers twisted in silken hair, hips canting toward the heavenly mouths.

"Yes... oh, goddess, yes..." she whimpered, her voice a desperate plea.

Rapture built like a volcano in her loins, radiating through every cell until she practically vibrated.

Seconds before the blissful cataclysm could crash over her, the passionate scene warped again. Welcoming arms turned into harsh bindings. Golden sunlight bled into deep shadow. Ecstasy curdled into agony...

"No! Stop, I didn't—"

Diana's protest choked off as a cruel blow snapped her head to the side. Copper flared in her nose, sharp and bracing.

Wha—? ... Wh-where am I?

Blinking past reflexive tears, she took in the damp, shadowed gloom pressing in from every side. The bare stone walls, blotched with creeping mildew, tugged at memories she couldn't quite place. And that stale, earthy smell—was this the dungeon beneath the royal palace?

Her body, still nude and sweaty, lay belly-down on a rough stone slab, the chill of it seeping through her bones. Coarse ropes bit into her wrists and ankles, pinning her in place, while the suffocating press of a musky loincloth crammed her mouth, stifling any vocal dissent.

Familiar faces loomed above her—scholars, priestesses, warriors, even her queen mother—all regarding her with glowers of disgust and disappointment. Silent judgment crackled in the air between them.

Self-reproach warred with the intoxicating thrill of submission, the heady mix of emotions making Diana dizzy. She tried to lift her head, to make sense of the punishment, but a cruel hand yanked her hair back, hot spittle striking her face with searing scorn.

"Harlot!"

"...coupling with outsiders like a bitch in heat..."

"She defiles our sacred traditions..."

"Traitor!"

"...dishonoring the name of Champion."

The condemning words rained down on Diana like physical blows, each one shredding her heart. She strained against her bonds, desperate to prove her innocence, but the accusing glares never wavered.

"It would seem our beloved princess is in need of a harsh lesson in chastity and obedience," Hippolyta coldly declared. She nodded to an attendant, who handed her a long leather strap. "Hold her steady. I will beat the wickedness out of her myself."

Four warriors stepped forward and seized Diana's limbs in iron grips, bending her into a vulnerable arch. Hippolyta towered above the stone table, silver-blue eyes devoid of warmth. With a swift, remorseless swing of her muscular arm, she brought the strap crashing down across Diana's upturned buttocks.

Thwack!

Fiery bands of agony seared Diana's flesh. But before she could cry out, two more brutal strikes landed.

Whap! ... Thwap!

The beatings continued mercilessly, building in tempo and ferocity. Diana's world shrank to the blazing pain consuming her backside and thighs. Muffled grunts punched out of her chest with each impact, but she bit down on the sour cloth plugging her mouth, clinging to the last fragments of pride.

Smack! ... Thwack! ... CRACK!

At last, hovering on the edge of consciousness, a frenzied scream tore from her raw throat. The shameful sound bounced off grim stone walls, reminding her of a similar cry wrenched from her moments ago by all-consuming bliss. Pleasure and pain blurred sickeningly until she didn't know which was which.

Mocking laughter echoed in her ears. Male laughter.

Diana's eyes flew open as she jackknifed upright in bed. Her heart galloped, breath shuddering in quick, desperate gulps. Wide-eyed, she blinked in confusion at the familiar silhouettes of her bedroom, the mundane stillness jarring against the taste of blood in her mouth and the phantom ache scalding her bottom.

Her hands fisted in the sheets, seeking an anchor.

"Merciful Minerva..." The invocation left her lips in a breathless rasp, more reflex than conscious thought.

As her pulse steadied, she pressed a hand to her cheek, half-expecting to find the imprint of a slap or the heat of tears. Her fingers touched only smooth, flawless skin.

Relief washed through her. It must've all been in her mind, then.

And yet, underneath the horror, the raw edge of

need

hadn't faded one bit. A dark thrill lingered, purring against her ribs like the feral rush of violence—seductive, glorious, and wholly wrong.

Diana stretched out in the rumpled bedding, muscles tense and sore as though she'd run a gauntlet in her sleep. The slick glide of her thighs made her hiss. Evidence of deviant arousal glazed her, warm and clinging.

Great Hera, there's no undoing this.

Bleary-eyed, she squinted at the thin gray light bleeding through half-drawn curtains.

"Ugh... Already...?" Hadn't she just laid down? The star-lit hours had flown by, as they so often did of late.

Her gaze dropped to the digital clock on the nightstand, its glowing red numbers a stark reminder of the modern world she now inhabited.

5:46 AM—mere minutes away from her blaring alarm.

With a groan, Diana untangled her limbs from the clammy bed sheets and propped herself up on one elbow, raven hair spilling in messy waves. Her fingers drifted to the plastic box, muting it with a practiced tap. No need for man-made contraptions—her body knew the drill, even if her weary soul wasn't ready to follow.

Stifling a yawn, she sank back into the pillows, turning her head to the man sleeping soundly beside her. His hand rested near hers on the sheets, the worn gold band on his finger catching the dawn light.

Diana traced her matching ring with a thumb. Nine years, side by side, and not a day when she'd doubted her vows.

Even on mornings like these,

she thought, a wry smile playing at her lips.

Frank lay sprawled beneath the faded duvet, his pallid face and squat shape so different from the statuesque, bronzed strength of her Amazon sisters. His snores, loud and grating, filled the bedroom—a rough, unflattering sound that often kept her awake deep into the night or jolted her from precious rest.

Yet she couldn't imagine sleeping without it.

Driven by a quiet impulse, she brushed her fingers over his gnarled knuckles. How strange, she thought, that a warrior like her, forged in fire and tempered by centuries of combat, could harbor such fierce affection for this ordinary man—this flawed, mortal creature who knew nothing of her world's dangers and demands.

Why him, of all people? What power does he hold over me?

Her gaze steadied as the truth crystallized in her mind: Frank had claimed a piece of her heart neither her proudest victories nor fiercest sisterhood bonds had managed to reach—as if it had always been his by right. Maybe it didn't matter how or why. Only that he held this fragment of her soul now, and that no force on earth or in Olympus could take him from her.

"Morpheus grant you sweet repose, my love," she murmured, her voice a dove's coo in the morning hush.

Her legs shifted beneath the covers, silken skin brushing silken skin. Still swollen. Still slick. Still throbbing with that desperate, unsatisfied ache.

It was wrong—gods, it was so wrong. To picture her Amazon sisters like that... to

want

them like that, and then—

Shame seeped into her veins, mingling with the crude pulse of arousal. Where were these dark, twisted delusions coming from? The cold, damp stone, the ropes biting her flesh, the humiliating punishment—all watched over by faces she knew, trusted. Her mother, her mentors. They had looked at her as if she had betrayed them.

And maybe she had.

Diana swallowed hard, the weight of guilt settling into her chest. To fantasize about her sisters was one thing—but to be lying in bed beside a man was the true transgression. The most forbidden act among her people.

This was my choice,

she reminded herself.

I committed to this path, and I will not falter. Not today, not ever.

She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, trying to push away the lingering images and the darker undertones that accompanied them. A warrior—an Amazon—did not lose herself to such weakness. But the conflict burrowed deeper.

Her trial of abstinence had been a test of discipline, and for months, she'd held the line. But lately... it was getting harder. Each night, the dreams grew more intense, her control slipping, cracking.

Two nights ago, she had found herself writhing against the dusky form of Philippus, their primal grunts swallowed by the lush depths of the jungle. And the week before, it had been Ascyra, pinning her to a bunk in the training barracks—the fiery Captain of the Guard ravishing her for hours with bruising kisses.

No.

She would not succumb. Through the mental blur, she recognized these fancies for what they were—her body's misguided attempts to cope with its prolonged sexual deprivation. Nothing more.

Forcing steady breaths through her nose, Diana tried to calm the frantic beat of her heart. Desire was a flame she had mastered before. She would master it again. Her lips pressed into a small, defiant line as she stared at the water-stained ceiling, willing the ache to subside. But it was futile.

This won't do. You need a distraction. On your feet, Champion!

Sheets rustling, Diana swung her legs over the side of the bed, planting bare feet on cold hardwood. Goosebumps prickled up her calves and thighs, making her toes curl. But she ignored the nipping chill, along with the shiver running across her shoulders.

As she settled her weight onto the mattress edge, the aged bed frame groaned in protest. For decades, this simple double bed had cradled the slight form of Frank's first wife. Now it contended with a battle-forged swordswoman whose broad shoulders and curved hips dwarfed its modest proportions.

It was... irksome.

Then again, a few back aches and sleepless nights seemed a small sacrifice for the quiet sanctuary she had found in Frank. A life of peace, no matter how imperfect, was still a hard-won blessing in her book.

Perched on the sagging mattress, Diana allowed herself a moment to savor the stillness of dawn—a rare slice of solitude before duty called.

Faint light seeped through the thin curtains, painting the worn floorboards with muted hues of gray and gold. Outside, the world stirred to life in whispers: a distant car engine, the chirp of a bird, the soft rustle of a breeze.

But the reprieve was fleeting. Tension coiled at the base of her neck, winding tighter with each passing minute until it unraveled into a dull throb behind her eyes—the inevitable toll of the stress she carried day after day.

It was the kind of headache that no amount of rest could remedy, as though it had taken root somewhere deep in her skull. She pressed two fingers to her temples, tracing slow circles. But the pain persisted, stubborn and unyielding as Athena's shield.

The stale, smoke-laden air she'd been forced to marinate in all night certainly did not help matters. Frank's before-bed cigarette had added a thicker acridness to the nicotine-yellowed walls, mocking her every attempt to break him of the habit.

'A good wife balances her husband's flaws with her own self-improvement.'

Those lofty words had become her favorite saying—the guiding principle she returned to in moments of doubt. While not easy to accept, it always proved wise counsel. And right now, a dose of humility seemed just what she needed.

True to her own advice, Diana regarded the sky-blue negligee she wore to bed. After a night spent tossing and turning, it was little more than a tangle of silk clinging to her sweat-damp body. One spaghetti strap had slipped down her shoulder, baring a heavy breast to the room, dusky nipple saluting the dawn like a good little soldier.

Clicking her tongue against her teeth, Diana hooked a finger under the errant strap and guided it back to its proper place. The wayward globe disappeared once more behind its cerulean veil, straining the flimsy fabric into a taut curve.

The shift caused the lace hem to ride higher, revealing several more inches of olive-toned thigh. Diana bit back a curse, eyes drawn to the dark stain blooming on the powder blue silk of her panties.

Gods, she was soaked!

The thin barrier did nothing to contain the sticky flood, nor the pungent musk wafting up to tickle her nostrils. She breathed deep, savoring the ripe scent of her own arousal mingling with the room's stale cigarette stench. Something about that crude combination made her loins clench with renewed hunger.

The raw intensity of the moment hit her with gut-punching force. She fell back onto her elbows, strong thighs spreading wider. Her panties pulled taut against her pelvis, damp crotch molding to every secret fold and contour.

Locking onto that irresistible target, Diana feasted on the sight of her meaty vulva bulging around the stretched fabric like an overstuffed coin purse. The jut of her clitoris was unmistakable, a proud peak tenting the delicate material.

A guttural sound escaped her throat, half growl, half sigh, as temptation coiled tighter. Eager hands twitched at her sides, itching to bridge the distance, to indulge in the decadent slip-slide of her skilled fingers against that throbbing epicenter of need.

But her pleasure was no longer hers to wield.

Upon speaking her wedding vows, Diana had ceded that once-unquestioned power to her husband's authority. And his rules were exceedingly clear—no furtive touching, no masturbation, and absolutely no orgasm without his express permission. Every single part of her body, from the elegant arch of her feet to the raven-black strands of her hair, belonged to him and him alone.

Exactly as it was meant to be.

Yet, even as her rational brain struggled to reassert mastery, the untamed heat blazing between her spread thighs seared logic to cinders.

Diana's eyes rolled beneath passion-heavy lids to regard her snoring spouse lying oblivious mere arm's length away. Did she dare wake him to beg satisfaction? Would he understand the magnitude of her body's feral demands? Show uncharacteristic mercy to his aching bride just this once?

The possibility alone made her pulse stutter.

Saliva pooled under her tongue at the debauched thought of rousing him with the hot embrace of her mouth, coaxing him to rigid attention by suctioning lips and swirling tongue until that thick, wart-riddled cock stood ready to spear into her weeping sheath...

Curse Aphrodite, she needed to cum! Her sanity hinged on it. Diana nipped her plump bottom lip, torn with indecision.

Give in, an inner voice whispered, velvet and insistent. You've earned it.

No,

she countered vehemently.

I've earned nothing. Restraint is my path.

But you want it...you're craving release. Take it. No one will ever know.

Her chest tightened as the ache of longing surged. It would be so easy—

I would know,

she shot back.

And that's reason enough.

Is it? the voice taunted. What has 'restraint' ever brought you but endless grief? One little slip, Diana. One moment just for you...

"Shut up," she said, aloud this time, though the denial rang hollow in her ears. "I will not so easily forsake my vows."

Do it, the voice snapped, impatient now. Stop denying yourself. Live.

The Pride of Themyscira, Champion of Chastity and Feminine Virtue, earnestly contemplating outright defiance of her husband's command for the sake of her own selfish, carnal gratification? Scalding reproach and wild exhilaration twined in her belly at the scandalous realization.

Compelled by instinct, Diana's fingers skated across her quivering abdomen, tracing the cut lines of muscle until they came to rest just north of paradise. She swallowed thickly, throat bobbing.

One slender digit extended to skim the lacy border of her panties, manicured nail following the spreading stain's path back to its warm origin. The teasing caress sparked tiny electrical currents that lit her up from toes to scalp.

"Mmm..." The husky purr hummed low in her chest as that whisper-soft fingertip explored the slick seam of her protruding inner lips, gliding up and down the slit with sinful ease.

Even that barest pressure made her shudder, lashes fluttering as she fought to keep her eyes open—to watch herself give in to temptation.

With every pass, she applied firmer contact, relishing the slide of soaked fabric pressing deeper into yielding, velvet-soft flesh beneath. Puffed and throbbing, her folds had grown so fat they threatened to devour the scrap of silk whole.

Diana curled her tongue against the roof of her mouth, quelling the unwarrior-like whimpers bubbling up. Her body was a wildfire, and she was all too willing to succumb to the conflagration, letting it consume her until there was nothing left but smoke and embers.

Reaching the apex of her intimate cleft, she allowed the pad of her thumb to graze the straining head of her clitoris.

"Oh!"

The breathy exclamation rushed past her lips as lightning exploded in her loins, raising every fine hair on her skin to quivering attention. Her spine arched like a drawn bow, lifting her bottom clear off the mattress. Toes splayed against age-worn hardwood, thighs trembling with strain.

The reflexive thrust of her hips drove her fingers harder against the bundle of nerves, and for one blissful, suspended moment, the universe narrowed to that single point of shattering ecstasy between her legs.

Oh merciful Hera, I need more. So much more.

One last glance at Frank's slack-jawed face and the steady rise and fall of his chest was all Diana needed before her attention spiraled back to the heat pooling in her center.

Hooking urgent fingers into the waistband of her panties, she yanked them up hard, hissing at the cruel bite of elastic punishing her swollen folds and crushing her clit into submission. Fireworks burst behind her closed lids, teeth sinking into her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.