Wonder Woman, Slave of Gorilla City, Part 3: A Feminist Redressed
WARNING!!! The following story contains bondage, domination, and extremely adult sexual situations. If this isn't the kind of thing you're interested in, for heavens sake DON'T READ IT!!! You should be OVER 21 YEARS OF AGE to read this, as it is intended for adults only.
This story is written as satirical fiction for entertainment purposes only, and is not intended to gather monetary recompense in ANY WAY, SHAPE, or FORM...it is freely offered for interested readers only. The original creations of Wonder Woman, the Justice League, J'onn, Grodd, Steve Trevor, and Gorilla City are copyrighted by DC Comics.
The scent of the temple lair clung thick and damp against Wonder Woman's bare skin—no armor, no lasso, no dignity left. Just the bite of the golden rope coiled around her neck, the cell in which she was kept until Grodd summoned her a largely unnecessary second precaution.
Since the nurse's physical ministrations had made her vulnerable, Grodd’s telepathic whispers had slithered through her mind, warm and insistent, wrapping around her resistance like vines slowly choking a tree. Between his hypnotic presence and her golden "leash," Diana knew she wasn't going anywhere.
Two weeks. Fourteen mornings waking to Gorilla City’s wet heat pressing in on her. Fourteen nights spent twisting against the ghostly impressions Grodd implanted—the phantom weight of his hands, the forbidden pulse of pleasure curling low in her belly when she imagined his fur against her thighs. She hated herself for shivering at the visions, yielding ever more ground to the Ape King's invasions. Hated that she could feel her body betraying her, growing slick when she tried to sleep, her most feminine muscles clenching around nothing.
The...moisture...around her womanhood was largely a novel sensation to Wonder Woman. Because her life had been consumed with warfare and crime-fighting, she had largely neglected her sexuality...never taking a male partner and rarely indulging in self-pleasure. Both had seemed like indulgences for which the evils of the world did not allow time.
But since she had been compelled to cum at the hands (or rather, at the Ben Wa balls) of Grodd's proxy nurse, she could not regain her self-discipline. Wonder Woman slept wet, she woke wet, and she even found herself moistening during the day -even in the absence of obvious stimuli- her now-growing bush of pubic hair glistening far too often for her comfort. It was a testament to Grodd's growing power over her, and she knew that she mustn't grow complacent.
The nurse's fate also concerned her. She had clearly been a captive herself, coaxed into taking advantage of Wonder Woman as she had (except for, perhaps, that last kiss...which Diana admitted still lingered a bit on her lips). Regardless of her complicity, she was a fellow sister, and -as such- her protection was Wonder Woman's responsibility. That she did not know the nurses's location or status was yet another preoccupation.
To distract herself, Diana had counted every crevice in her cell’s stone walls, tested every seam for weakness. She’d dug her nails into the mortar until her fingers bled. She’d flexed against the lasso’s magic a thousand times, gritting her teeth as it burned brighter in response, tightening until her breath came in shallow gasps. Still, it held. Grodd’s laughter echoed in her skull whenever she strained too hard.
But what was interesting was that Grodd's presence since she had initially succumbed had been limited to telepathic incursions. Whereas, in her first week, he would arrive in her cell each morning to touch her, probing her nudity for signs that his hypnotic suggestions were successful...now that he had achieved success, he did not come.
Instead, on a handful of the mornings since, his gorilla attendants had arrived—massive, thick-fingered brutes. They would posture and grunt, showing Wonder Woman who was in charge in the most bestial ways: chest bumps, strutting, etc. Then, after the display, they would touch her -it seemed, to Diana, almost measuring her. They were far from gentle, but they did not attack; instead they would palm her breasts, gauge the width of her hips and reposition her as though she were a doll.
"Stop it, you beasts!" she would declare. "I am not yours to touch! I am Princess Diana, of the Amazons!" And then she would swing a fist or kick out at them with her still-powerful muscles...or at least try to, before the lasso compelled her to be still again for their humiliating assessments.
And then they would exit, leaving her to wait and consider for hours. As morning sunlight peeked through the bars of her cell on day 14, she wondered what new humiliations were in store.
Interestingly, all of the gorillas she had seen -either guarding her or during the fight in which she'd been captured- had been male. There had been no visible female at any point. Wonder Woman filed that fact away for later consideration; it might be important.
Suddenly, the cell door groaned open. The scent of rotting fruit and musk rolled in ahead of the guards—two hulking silhouettes blotting out the torchlight. Diana instinctively tensed, the lasso’s magic flaring gold against her collarbones.
"Get 'er," one rumbled to the other, his nostrils flaring as his thick fingers curled around the leash. The other exhaled in a wet chuff, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath against her scalp as he pulled her to her feet. "Struggle—hurt." His meaning was clear, even in the crude syllables.
Diana didn't flinch as they hauled her upright, but her pulse hammered against the lasso's "collar" like a trapped bird. The taller gorilla sniffed at her hair, his muzzle wrinkling in what might've been amusement.
She knew that scent—her own sweat, yes, but beneath it, the faint musk of reluctant arousal. It clung to her despite the cold basin scrubs she'd performed each dawn, as if her body were whispering secrets to them. The realization made her bare toes curl against the stone floor.
The leash jerked. Diana stumbled forward—no armor to balance her, just the absurdity of her own nakedness and the mocking glint of her tiara -the one article Grodd had left her- catching torchlight. Her breasts swayed heavily with each step, the weight of them awkward without either battle harness or lycra to cinch them tight. Suddenly: a flash: Grodd's gaze on her heavy breasts, those massive hands palming their fullness like cantalopes...and immediately she choked back a noise. His thoughts. Not yours. But the telepathic vines coiled tighter, feeding her the sensation of calloused fingers pinching her nipples until they ached. Her throat worked around nothing.
The hallway air licked damp between her thighs as she walked. Behind her, the guards’ knuckles dragged against the stone, their breath huffing in time with the slap of her bare feet. Diana kept her eyes darting back and forth for an exit as she was force-marched. When she tried to turn her head, the lasso burned her neck. "Straight ahead!" growled the guard holding her leash. "Back straight!"
Passing gorilllas chuckled as they loped by her escort. She felt exposed. Presented.
They turned a corner, and Grodd’s bedchamber yawned before them—a cavernous space choked with stolen opulence. Silk tapestries sagged from the walls, their once-vibrant dyes bleeding into the damp. A pile of cushions dominated the center, indented with the shape of his massive body. The scent here was different: heavier, muskier, layered with something darkly sweet. Incense? No, more likely rotted bananas left to ferment in the heat. And beneath it, thick as tar: him. Diana’s nostrils flared despite herself.
Grodd lounged on his haunches, fingers steepled under his chin. His armor—spiked pauldrons, the gorget etched with savage glyphs—was hung on a nearby peg. Only the loincloth remained, a flimsy slash of leather across his hips. Diana’s stomach plummeted. She feared she knew what that meant, but she steeled herself:
"King Grodd," she uttered through clenched teeth. "In the name of Paradise Island, I charge you with kidnapping and with assaulting the dignity of a princess. Release me now, and I may find it in my woman's heart to grant you mercy, as I am a known friend to all animals."
The guards’ grip tightened, blunt nails scraping her shoulder blades. One exhaled against her nape—a wet, interested noise.
Grodd merely smiled, his massive face split nearly in two.
The sheer bemusement, the arrogance of that grin...something suddenly snapped in Wonder Woman. Without a second's forethought to tip off her telepathic captor, she bucked violently, twisting her torso so her elbow jammed into the shorter gorilla’s ribcage. He grunted and bowed over so quickly he nearly toppled. With a spin, she yanked her other shoulder free of the his partner's grip, balancing on the balls of her feet as she prepared to deliver a kick to his groin. She must be fast. If she could only-
"Stop."
"Oh!" She gasped. The power of that word; it wasn’t spoken—it unfolded inside her skull like a poisoned flower, its petals slick with honey. Diana’s muscles locked mid-struggle, her breath hitching as the command slithered down her spine. Grodd hadn’t moved from his cushions, but his eyes—amber and pitiless—glowed with a telepathic sheen. The guards, immediately recognizing that their presence was no longer necessary, scramble to get their bearings before moving towards the exit, slamming the chamber door behind them.
Diana stood frozen, the leash pooling slack at her feet, her body thrumming with the aftershocks of that single, devastating syllable. Grodd’s telepathic command still bloomed behind her eyes like ink in water, and suddenly Diana could see nothing but darkness. Time and awareness collapsed, and she knew from fighting telepaths like Dr. Psycho that she was being held in a sort of psychic stasis.
Before she could reckon with how long she might be out, it was suddenly over. Reality crashed back, and Diana blinked—once, twice—her vision swimming into focus. She shook her head. Clearly, at least a few minutes had passed with her trapped in Grodd's standing coma. Seemingly, nothing had changed...she was still in the chamber, still before him, but-
The first thing she noticed was the tension. The lasso’s magic no longer coiled tight around her neck, choking every defiant thought. Instead, however, golden filaments cradled her. The rope branched over her shoulders like delicate harness straps, each strand thrumming with barely restrained power. The main length looped snugly beneath her breasts, cinching just enough to emphasize their weight, the soft undersides pressed upward as if offering themselves. Another loop encircled each mound, the rope’s glow casting aureoles of light over her nipples, already stiff from the humid air and Grodd’s lingering psychic caress.
"How dare you? It's not enough that you use my lasso to seize me, but now this...this harness?" She flexed her arms instinctively—and gasped. Her wrists were bound together with intricate knots, but unlike the brutal shackles of her cell, the lasso’s magic allowed her to move. There was enough slack to where she could lift her hands to her mouth if she wished...or she could touch her own thighs. It was a decent range of motion...wait. A sudden realization sent a jolt of horror skittering down her spine. Because beneath that fleeting freedom in her hands lay the true cruelty: the rope’s end snaked down her belly, slithered between her legs, and—
Diana’s breath hitched. The lasso’s golden fibers pressed flush against her slit, the woven heat of its magic humming against her most sensitive flesh. It wasn’t just resting there—it parted her, the slender strand nestling into the crease of her labia with obscene precision. And there was more: behind her, the remaining length coiled up the cleft of her ass, the friction subtle at first but inescapable now that she was trying to move. The Lasso of Truth had been reworked into a harness that held her open, exposed, as if Grodd had peeled back her very skin to admire the glistening vulnerability beneath.
Her body reacted before her mind could scream denial. A bead of slickness welled where the rope kissed her entrance, the warmth pooling against the golden thread. The sensation was unbearable—not pain, not quite pleasure, but the relentless awareness of being displayed: the lasso's magic was forcing her to accept the Truth of its position; she couldn't avoid it. As she instinctively struggled, she found that every shift of her hips ground the enchanted fibers deeper, the magic thrumming in time with her pulse until she could no longer tell if the new flush of feminine arousal she was feeling came from the physical stimulation of her bindings or the treacherous sensations Grodd had planted in her being.
"Walk." The telepathic command slithered through her synapses like a tongue tracing vertebrae. Grodd had returned to his nest of cushions, unmoving, but his loincloth tented obscenely now, the leather straining over a shape Diana refused to acknowledge. His nostrils flared as he inhaled her scent—the salt of sweat, the musk of her helpless body’s response. "Let see how you look nestled near me, little goddess."
Diana’s first step was a stumble. The lasso’s magic pulsed between her thighs, the golden fibers tightening just enough to make her gasp. Each movement dragged the enchanted strand against her clitoris in slow, torturous strokes. She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper, but her traitorous hips rolled forward anyway, seeking friction. The harness kept her wrists before her, allowing her to clutch at nothing as she took another step. "Ugh...Oh goddess." A whimper escaped—half frustration, half something wetter—as the rope’s heat seeped deeper.
Grodd’s chuckle rumbled through the chamber, thick with amusement. His massive fingers drummed against his thigh, claws clicking against the leather of his loincloth. The bulge beneath twitched visibly, and Diana had to push down panic. The shift beneath his loincloth seemed titanic, the sudden, grotesque rearrangement of leather as something beneath it surged to life.
Diana had seen the male form in all its iterations—sculpted marble in Themyscira’s temples, the lean hardness of soldiers in Man’s World, even the occasional drunken fool flashing his meager pride outside a tavern. But this? The loincloth tented obscenely, the leather stretched near to splitting by the sheer girth of what rose beneath it. A strangled noise escaped her throat—part shock, part horrified fascination—as the outline emerged in brutal clarity: thick as her fist at the base, flaring obscenely wider toward the tip, a furred shaft that belonged less to a primate and more to some mythical beast.
She wondered—Is today the day?—as the loincloth’s leather peaked ominously. Two weeks of telepathic violations, of phantom fingers coaxing her womanhood to weep against her will, and still he hadn’t taken her. Not physically. Not the way her nightmares insisted he would. But the bulge straining against the hide was different today. Thicker. Angrier. The outline of his cockhead pressed against the leather like a fruit demanding consumption, the shape so grotesquely defined she could trace the flared ridge with her eyes. Her stomach lurched. Would he pin her to the cushions? Would he tear into her with that monstrous girth, her body splitting around him? And would she even be his first victim? Where were all of the female apes? How many other women had he compelled thusly? And where...
As she took her next to last step in approaching him, Diana found that she still had control of her voice: "Grodd, what have you done with the nurse you had...examine me?" She swallowed, the effort of stalling her next footstep towards his seatee ultimately pointless. "It will...it will go easier on you if she is unharmed."
Grodd reached for her then, his arm massive, and grabbed the length of harness above her encircled breasts. With a yank, he pulled Wonder Woman to within inches of his form, his mass steadying her as she stumbled slightly across his cusions. Grodd’s nostrils flared. He inhaled her scent—fear-sweat and the musk of her dampening thighs—with a slow, deliberate roll of his tongue across yellowed canines.
When he spoke, it sounded as though from a cavern: "Taken a shine to her, did you, Princess? Well, no matter. Soon, you'll only have eyes for Grodd." With a slight shove, he pushed her down.
"Oomph!" Diana landed on her bare rump on the cushions, a few feet from Grodd. Embarassingly, her legs splayed, casting the shiny rope in her labia in sharp relief.
Grodd stood then, looming, and Diana was pleased at first that he turned away from her rather than pounce. "That nurse, young Sonia is her name...she's was a tall one. About your size, really. I like my females tall." As Diana struggled to close her legs and gain some dignity from her landing, Grodd, ruffled through a mass behind his bedding. "When we took her, she had chests full of goodies. Quite the clothes horse. I have never understood the need amongst my apes," Grodd muttered, adjusting his sole loin cloth absently with one hand. "But for my beauties, I like them...adorned." Grodd suddenly found what he'd been sifting for, and slung a huge mahogany chest from the his rummage pile over his shoulder like it was nothing, tossing it to within a few feet of Princess Diana.
Landing with a thump that left it half-buried under silk cushions, the chest's impact snapped it's lid open without being touched, revealing a trove of fabrics, dresses, uniforms and silks so delicate they shimmered like spiderwebs in the torchlight. "They should all fit you," Grodd nodded at the chest. "My apes had you measured these past few morns."
"Now choose," his voice slithered inside her skull, thick with amusement. The telepathic command came with images—Diana kneeling before the chest, fingers trembling over lace and satin, her nipples pebbling beneath the ghostly sensation of Grodd’s breath on her neck. She swallowed hard. This was another game, another way to peel back her defiance layer by layer until she chose her own degradation.
"I will not. This apparel isn't fit for an Amazon, King Grodd. If I am to be your prisoner, I must be treated with the dignity my rank amongst women provides me." Diana raised her chin defiantly.
Grodd touched his temple with a snort, and suddenly there were more images inside her head: This time of the nurse, her blonde hair tied into a pony tail, wearing only sheer white stockings as she was shackled to a prison wall. Then a gorilla guard, wielding a cat-of-nine tails. A lashing. Screams.
The threat was clear. If Diana was to fight, then the nurse would be used as leverage to make her comply.
Wonder woman turned, her bound wrists hovering over the chest. The lasso’s magic hummed against her skin, its golden strands tightening imperceptibly in anticipation. Diana’s jaw clenched as she sorted through the clothing. Such abundance: evening wear, costumes, office wear, uniforms, and lingerie. She didn't know what Grodd wanted. Instead, her fingers brushed past the delicate fabrics and curled around a plain, sky-blue cotton panty, the full-panel sort that mimicked the coverage of her own uniform's star-spangled briefs . It was utilitarian. Unsexy. A rejection of Groddos fetishistic whims.
The lasso burned. Golden light flared along the harness straps, searing into her flesh like brands. Diana gasped as the magic punished her defiance—not with pain, but with a wave of dizzying, unwanted sensation. The rope between her thighs throbbed, its enchanted fibers vibrating against her womanhood in sharp, rhythmic pulses. Her knees nearly buckled. A wet sound escaped her lips as her body betrayed her, hips jerking forward to grind against the tormenting pleasure.
She dropped the modest panties; clearly Grodd wanted something else of her.
The Ape King's telepathic laughter coiled through her synapses, thick as jungle rot. "Try again, little princess."
Diana’s fingers hovered over the chest’s contents—what had Grodd said when stripping her bare that first day in the jungle cave? "Such finery." His voice echoed in her memory; little had she known then how long her captivity would last. What had he focused on? Then it hit as her hands swept up a pair of frllly hose. Her nylons. He'd seemed quite taken with them, with their sheerness and texture. In fact, it was just happenstance that she'd been wearing any, as Diana had only gone back to them after years of bare legs and armor in an attempt to be more feminine. She pulled the pantyhose free of the chest and checked them over.
The lasso sang. A vicious pulse of golden light lashed up her inner thighs, the magic vibrating against her womanhood like a thousand tiny tongues.
"Oh! Grodd! Please...stop!" Diana cried out, her back arching involuntarily as the pleasure-pain crested. Her fingers spasmed, nearly dropping the hosiery.
Slowly the lasso subsided. So this was to be how it was: rewarded for "good choices" and punished for "bad." As with Nurse Sonia, Wonder Woman knew that her behavior was being conditioned. And though she was a superheroine, she knew even she was subject to such techniques, given enough exposure.
Still, with little choice, she used the limited slack of her wrist bindings to shimy the silky hose up her legs. The nurse had clearly kept them for bedroom play only, as they were obscenely sheer and filmy, a pale pink-ish in color and boasting a ridiculous little bow at the waistband. Even as she worked the panty portion up over her imposed crotch-rope, Diana saw that they would shimmer sexily in the limited lighting of Grodd's chamber.
Wonder Woman couldn't believe she was willingingly donning something so frilly. Though her gowns on Paradise Island were diaphanous, Amazon women didn’t wear hosiery unless at embassies, and even then especially not the impractical sort, pink and shimmery, with bows. Yet Amazon warriors didn’t whimper as their cunts wept around enchanted rope, either.
Grodd exhaled through his nose—a wet, satisfied sound. His claws flexed, scraping against the leather of his loincloth where the monstrous outline of his cock twitched impatiently.
"Pretty."
The telepathic word dripped down Diana’s spine like honey laced with venom. She could see the ape King gazing fixedly at the faint shadow of her pubic curls through the silk, darker where her thighs met. Grodd’s claws flexed against his knees. The loincloth tented higher..
The pink silk was cool—too delicate for the jungle’s humidity, too girl-ish for a warrior’s pride. That her large breasts were still bare made the presentation even more gratuitous. She clenched her thighs instinctively closed, but the golden strand nestled between them pulsed in warning, the magic thrumming against her clit until she gasped. A bead of sweat slid between her shoulder blades.
"Tell me, concubine," Grodd sneered as he beckoned her towards him with a thick finger, "Do you like your rainment?"
Diana tried to hold her tongue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but the lasso's magic pulsed against her throat. Words spilled out before she could stop them—breathless, trembling. "I—I look ridiculous. Like some simpering maiden from a Man's World brothel." The insult tasted hollow. She continued: "My womanhood—" her voice hitched as she glanced down at the sheer pink fabric clinging to every contour, the way the torchlight caught the delicate sheen between her legs "—I'm exposed. The warriors of Themyscira don't dress like this, Grodd. We don't shimmer." Diana's breath stuttered as the lasso's magic flared against her body, forcing another declaration: "You're mocking me. You've made me into a plaything. It would do you better to show me respect."
Grodd drew himself up, as though she had said something he didn't expect. For the first time, he appeared to her to be king holding court, rather than simply a powerful beast. "Is that so, Amazon? I am intrigued on where you, as an apex woman, are coming from, my pretty princess. And if you and I are to engage, I should like to hear more on your perspective."
Wonder Woman was a little startled. Did Grodd sound...sincere?
She hesitated. "You—you actually want to hear more?" The lasso made the words tumbled out before she could stop them, hopeful despite herself. "Because I could explain The Second Sex in detail. Or perhaps Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman—if you’d prefer something more foundational." Her voice hitched as she took a step closer; she knew he was intelligent; could it be that no one had ever simpy tried to explain human women to him? "Or—or Audre Lorde! Her intersectional analysis would be particularly illuminating given your—ah—colonial approach to my captivity."
Grodd’s massive fingers drummed against his thigh—slow, thoughtful. A glint of something almost like respect flickered in those amber eyes. "Fascinating," he murmured. His tongue rolled over the word as if tasting its shape. "I find myself... unexpectedly engaged."
Diana blinked. Her pulse hammered against the lasso’s collar. Had she—had she actually reached him? The absurdity of it prickled her skin. Here, half-naked in pink pantyhose, wrists bound like a pleasure slave, and she might’ve just—
Grodd’s leaned down then, a slow, deliberate gesture, and pulled something from between the cushions. Diana’s breath caught.
The ball gag hung gleaming—black leather straps, a polished silicone sphere too large for comfort. Its surface caught the torchlight in a way that made her throat constrict instinctively. Grodd’s nostrils flared as he lifted it between thumb and forefinger, the straps dangling like a spider’s legs. "But first," his telepathic voice purred, "you’ll need one more accessory to properly educate me."
Diana’s stomach lurched. The absurdity was almost worse than the violation—her feminist treatise reduced to muffled grunts, her arguments straining against a mouthful of silicone. The gag’s straps were edged with tiny golden studs, mockingly ornate. She imagined trying to articulate intersectionality with saliva pooling under her tongue, her lips stretched obscenely wide. The sheer pantyhose suddenly felt like the least of her humiliations.
Grodd’s claws beckoned—a slow, deliberate curl of fingers that made the golden harness tighten against her ribs. Diana took a last shuddering step forward, her thighs whispering together in their pink silk prison. The closer she got, the more his scent enveloped her—musk layered over something darker, like wet earth and heated metal. Her gag reflex twitched in anticipation.
She stopped just beyond arm’s reach (as if distance still mattered now), her chin lifting in reflexive defiance. Grodd’s chuckle vibrated through her skull before his telepathic command slithered out: "Wider." The gag’s silicone sphere gleamed with a thin sheen of oil in the torchlight. Banana oil, she realized with dawning disgust—the same cloying sweetness that clung to his fur.
Diana’s lips parted on a shaky exhale. Not enough. "Uhh....ohhh," she whimpered as the lasso’s magic flared between her thighs in warning, the golden strands pulsing hot between her labia. Her jaw unhinged further, saliva already pooling under her tongue. Grodd’s nostrils flared as he leaned forward, his free hand cupping her chin with surprising gentleness. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth—a mockery of tenderness—before pressing down hard enough to stretch her lower lip taut.
The silicone ball was colder than she expected. It kissed her teeth with a quiet click, the taste of artificial banana flooding her palate. Diana gagged instinctively, her throat convulsing, but Grodd’s grip was merciless. He pushed until the ball flattened her tongue, until her uvula fluttered against the intrusion. The straps slithered over her cheeks like living things, the leather still warm from his grasp. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in his amber eyes—mouth grotesquely stretched, red lips glistening—before the buckle snapped shut behind her head. The studs bit into the hollows beneath her ears, a twin sting of adornment and restraint.
Grodd leaned back on his haunches, admiring his handiwork. His knuckles grazed her cheek, tracing the swell of the gag with something perilously close to reverence. “Tell me,” Grodd mused, his telepathic voice dripping with faux curiosity as he casually tossed his loincloth aside, his cock swaying thickly between his thighs, “how does your beloved Beauvoir reconcile biological essentialism with this?” The last word thrummed with dark amusement as he gestured languidly downward, where his arousal twitched against the humid air—a grotesque rebuttal to any feminist text. Veins pulsed under coarse fur. The head glistened, already pearling with moisture. Diana’s knees locked. The gag muffled her whimper.
Answer him, the Lasso-made harness urged, its magic winding around her vocal cords like a lover’s fingers. Diana clenched her fists, straining against the bonds. The words rose in her throat, academic and scalding—The male gaze is not an inevitability but a construct—but all that escaped was a wet, choked "Mmmphh!" around the silicone. Spit dribbled down her chin. She tried again, jerking her hips to punctuate the argument, but the movement only ground the harness deeper, its heat branding her thighs. "Nnmgghh! Hnn—!" Each aborted syllable vibrated through the gag, turning Audre Lorde into a series of panting, desperate noises. Her cheeks burned. The pink pantyhose clung to her trembling legs, sheer enough that Grodd could see the flush creeping down her inner thighs.
Grodd exhaled through his nose—a slow, satisfied sound—and hefted his cock in one massive palm. Diana’s breath hitched. She’d glimpsed it before—during the fight, in flashes of telepathic violation—but never like this. Up close, it was obscenely textured: thick black fur matted with precum at the base, the shaft ridged with veins that pulsed under her horrified gaze. The head flared grotesquely, a swollen mushroom cap glistening under torchlight, its slit beading with moisture. It twitched in his grip, the motion sending bits of fluid splattering onto the cushion between them. The scent hit her—musky, feral—and her stomach lurched even as her vagina -shamefully- clenched around nothing.
Grodd’s claws curled around the gag’s straps, tightening just enough to make Diana’s jaw ache. “Speak,” he commanded—not aloud, but inside her skull again. The lasso’s magic flared gold, compelling compliance. “Educate me.”
Diana sucked in a sharp breath through her nose, the silicone sphere pressing heavy against her tongue. She would articulate this. She would make him understand. Her chest rose as she marshaled her thoughts, threading Beauvoir’s arguments through the gag’s obstruction—The female is not born but made—but what emerged was a garbled, wet "Hhhnnghh—sssspmhhh—mmnnph!" that dissolved into spit. She tried again, jerking her chin forward as if punctuation could force coherence. "Nnnhhh—construct—gggkkk!" The harness pulsed between her thighs, its golden strands vibrating in time with her frustration. Her cheeks burned hotter than the torchlight.
Grodd’s claws tightened fractionally on the gag’s straps. His cock—gods, the size of it—twitched against the humid air, swaying closer until the flared head bumped her kneecap. Diana flinched. The heat of him seared through the sheer pantyhose, branding her skin even through the silk. Then, slow as honey dripping from a comb, he dragged the slick, swollen tip up the length of her thigh. Not thrusting. Not rutting. Just… touching. The sensation was obscenely gentle—the ridged head catching on the delicate weave of her hose, smearing precum in glistening streaks that made the pink fabric cling translucently to her flesh.
Grodd exhaled through his nose—a wet, interested sound—as he lifted his cock away just enough to let it fall against her thigh with a soft, meaty thwap. The impact barely stung, but the intimacy of it made Diana’s stomach lurch. Again. He did it again—lifting, dropping—watching the way her telepathically ensnared muscle would quiver with each lazy slap. The third time, he let the weight of his shaft linger, the furred underside pressed flush against her leg as the heat of him seeped through her nylons. "Yesss...Go on, pretty girl," he growled as his spend began to gather where his cockhead kissed her thigh, the nylon had gone sheerer, dampened by the fluid beading at his slit.
Diana clenched her fists against the golden harness, her wrists straining midair as if she could physically push the words past the gag. "Mnngh—ssshh—autonomy—!" The syllables dissolved into a wet gurgle as Grodd’s claws tightened on the straps, tilting her head back to admire the mess she’d made of herself. Spit glistened in strands from her lower lip to her collarbone, some droplets catching in the hollow of her throat before rolling further down—down between her breasts, which heaved with each frantic breath.
Then, without warning, his claws twisted her harness—not cruelly, but with the casual certainty of a handler repositioning livestock. Diana gasped as her body spun, the golden harness tightening instinctively to keep her upright. The chamber wall loomed before her, its rough-hewn stone carved with ancient murals of apes conquering lesser species. Her breath hitched. The lasso’s magic pulsed between her thighs, its golden strands thrumming in anticipation as she registered the heat behind her—Grodd’s massive frame bracketing her in, his musk thickening the air until she tasted it at the back of her throat. Banana oil and fur. Decay and dominance.
His first thrust was almost polite—a slow, testing press of his cock against the cleft of her ass, the sheer pantyhose straining to keep out the obscene pressure. Diana jerked forward instinctively, but the harness held firm, keeping her arched just enough for him. The sensation was wrong: not penetration, not yet, but the unbearable imminence of it. His shaft slid along her silk-clad crease with grotesque precision, the precum-slick head catching on the Lasso in her cleft before dragging downward again. Each pass left a glistening trail, the nylon turning translucent where his fluid smeared. She could feel the ridges of his cockhead through the fabric, the way it flared wider than any human counterpart. "Grodd, no..." she tried, wagging her tongue in the hollow behind her gag, hoping for articulation. But it still came out as bubbly whimper only, hardly Amazonian.
"Tell me," Grodd murmured—not telepathically now, his breath hot against the nape of her neck—as his hips rolled forward again, grinding his girth along her ass with deliberate, degrading slowness. The wet shlick of his cock against her pantyhose echoed in the chamber. "How would you break me, warrior?" His claws traced the golden harness straps biting into her shoulders. "Would you snap my spine with those thighs?" Another thrust, harder this time, the swollen crown catching on her tailbone. The nylon stretched dangerously thin. "Crush my windpipe between your womanly hands?" His laughter vibrated through her back as his cockhead bumped the base of her spine, leaving a sticky streak. "Or would you—" his hips snapped forward suddenly, the furred weight of him slapping against her asscheeks with a sound like meat on marble "—talk me to death with womanly theory?"
Diana tried. Gods, she tried. The Amazonian counter-techniques rose in her throat—knee to the femoral artery, elbow to the hyoid, twist and pivot—but the gag turned her snarl into a garbled "Nnghhh—mmphh—hhhnnph!" Spit bubbled at the corners of her stretched lips. Her thighs flexed instinctively, the sheer pantyhose straining over quads that could shatter stone, but the magical harness held her hips locked in place, her calves trembling uselessly. Grodd's chuckle rumbled against her shoulder blades as his cock slid lower, the ridged underside catching on the lace-trimmed gusset of her hose. A wet, involuntary "Hhhggk!" escaped her—half frustration, half something far more humiliating.
Grodd inhaled sharply behind her, his wet nose pressing into the sweat-damp curls at her nape. "Mmm. There." His claws traced the shudder rippling down her spine, following the goosebumps erupting beneath the pink silk. "Your pulse jumps like a trapped rabbit here," he murmured, the tip of one claw dipping into the hollow behind her ear where her heartbeat fluttered wildly. His cock twitched against her ass in response, smearing another glistening stripe down the cleft. "And here—" His palm flattened between her shoulder blades, pushing until her nude chest barely met the carved wall "—your lungs refuse to obey you. Fascinating." Diana's breath hitched. The stone was cool against her nipples, the contrast making them pucker painfully. Grodd's tongue clicked. "But this," he purred, dragging a single claw down the length of her spine to hook in the waistband of her pantyhose, "is my favorite betrayal." His finger traced the rope splitting her butt cheeks downward to the where it disappeared between her thighs. Then he moved off of the rope, allowing his finger to wander to her nyloned inner thighs. Wonder Woman knew they were moist. "Your body adores its cage, doesn't it, feminist?"
The harness jerked suddenly, golden strands singing as they cinched tighter around Diana's ribs. Grodd's telepathic growl vibrated through her skull: "Too easy." In one fluid motion, he spun her to face him—his cock bobbing obscenely between them—and hauled her by the harness straps until her calves hit the cushions. Diana's knees buckled instinctively, her legs bending as she sank onto the piled silks. Her bound wrists flopped uselessly into her lap, the golden loops gleaming against the pink fabric stretched taut over her thighs. Grodd loomed above, his shadow swallowing her whole. His nostrils flared as he took in the sight: the tiara slightly askew in her dark hair, her knees bent, the way her chest heaved against the harness, the gag's straps digging into her spit-slick cheeks. His claw tapped the silicone ball protruding from her lips. "You've been pampered, it seems," he murmured. "I have spent a great deal of effort over the past week wetting you, my dear."
Wonder Woman huffed angrily into her gag, turning her head so that she didn't have to look up at him.
"And I must ask, what have you done for me? Are not Amazonians as skilled diplomats as they are warriors? Is it not fair," he smiled, seating himself before her prone body, "to expect a little satisfaction in return, princess to King?"
And with that, Diana's vision divided as he telepathically forced a sequence of images into her mind. And if she had thought herself in peril before...it was nothing compared to the future he showed her now.
She hoped to Hera, Athena -anyone who would listen- that she could find a way to prevent it.