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, Grodd, and Gorilla City are copyrighted by DC Comics.
Chapter 5: A Bath Before Service
Diana jerked awake at the touch—fingers tracing the curve of her bare shoulder, too soft to be Grodd’s. She blinked up through the dim torchlight of the dungeon cell, her muscles stiff from sleeping on stone. Sonia knelt beside her, those dark, vacant eyes staring down, lips parted just enough to reveal the faintest sheen of saliva. The nurse’s uniform was rumpled, the fabric clinging to her sweat-damp skin, but her movements were precise, deliberate.
Despite the days since Wonder Woman has last seen the nurse, she was dressed much as she had been: white stockings -pristine- pulled taut up Sonia’s thighs, the garters biting into her flesh. Her heels—scuffed but polished—that seemed so out of place in a setting like this. And the tunic which barely covered her hips, riding up as she leaned pull Diana up a bit. The scent of soap clung to Sonia, lavender and something bitter underneath. Grodd liked to dress up his dolls.
"You’re to be cleaned," Sonia murmured, her voice flat, as though reciting from a script. Her hand drifted lower, sliding down Diana’s side to her hip, where the crust of Grodd’s spend still clung to her skin.
Diana’s stomach twisted—not just at the memory of last night, but at the way her own body had responded. The way her folds had moistened when she’d rubbed herself against Grodd, desperate to get him off to save Sonia...the slick heat between her legs betraying her as much as her gasps had. Her purpose had been noble, but her method...well, at least it had worked.
The officer’s skirt suit she still wore was proof of that: ruined now, the navy fabric stiff where his white ropes of cum had dried, the pantyhose shredded from Grodd’s claws. The uniform had been meant to mock her, to reduce the warrior to a plaything. Had it served its purpose? Was there any warrior left in Princess Diana of Themyscira?
“Sonia,” Diana whispered, catching the nurse’s wrist. She searched the woman’s face—the slack mouth, the dull shine of her eyes—for any flicker of recognition. “You fought him once too, didn’t you? Before he... took you?”
Sonia didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned closer, her breath warm against Diana’s cheek. “I wanted to,” she murmured, and for a heartbeat, something flickered behind her pupils—a spark, a memory. Then it vanished, smoothed away by the thick syrup of Grodd’s control. “But wanting doesn’t matter now.”
Diana frowned, shifting against the stone. She flexed her wrists instinctively, expecting the familiar bite of her own golden lasso coiled tight around them—but there was nothing. Only bare skin, tender where the ropes had chafed. Had it been removed as she slept? Her stomach dropped. “Sonia,” she said sharply, “where is my lasso?”
Sonia’s fingers gripped Diana's shoulders firmly as she helped her to her feet. “It’s gone,” she replied simply, her voice smooth as polished glass. “We don’t need it anymore.”
Diana recoiled as if struck. “What do you mean, gone?”
Sonia’s lips twitched—not a smile, but something colder, like the ripple of water before a predator surfaced. “Master says you won’t fight him soon. Not truly.” Her fingers lingered on Diana’s hip, tracing the pleat of her ruined skirt.
Diana opened her mouth to protest, but Sonia was already reaching behind her, producing a coil of thin, silken rope— pedestrian but effective. The sight of it made her throat tighten. “But you're not there yet. And as you are so much stronger than I, precautions are still necessary,” Sonia murmured, looping the rope around Diana’s wrists with efficiency. She pulled tight, knotting it just above the warrior’s elbows, forcing her arms behind her head in a pose that arched her spine, thrusting her breasts forward.
“Follow,” Sonia commanded, turning on her heel. The click of her own heels echoed sharply against the cavern walls, bouncing off the damp stone in a rhythm Diana struggled to match.
The jungle city’s halls were uneven—grooves worn by centuries of gorilla footsteps, slick with condensation from the underground springs. Diana wobbled, her slingbacks catching on a fissure in the rock. The ruined officer’s uniform did her no favors; the shredded pantyhose snagged on her thighs with every step, the torn skirt flapping against her legs like a tattered flag of surrender. She caught herself against the wall, fingertips scraping moss. Ahead, Sonia didn’t pause. Was she forever now just another doll in Grodd’s collection, marching to his tune? Wonder Woman refused to believe it: she would never abandon a sister to slavery.
The bathing chamber smelled of sulfur and crushed orchids. Steam curled from the sunken stone basin, swirling around Sonia’s calves as she stepped onto the mosaic tiles—some ancient gorilla artwork depicting conquests, rutting, submission. Diana’s stomach tightened. Sonia turned, hands already lifting to the first button of Diana’s ruined blazer. "Strip," she murmured, but her fingers were already working, peeling the stiff fabric from Diana’s shoulders; since she did it without the risk of untying her, there were a few strategic tears to be made. The Amazon shuddered—not from cold, but from the drag of Sonia’s nails down her spine as she pushed the blazer free.
Despite her terse attitude towards disrobing Diana, Sonia’s breath hitched when her large breasts spilled loose, the officer blouse gaping open. A flicker—something human—crossed her face before vanishing behind the glassy veneer of Grodd’s control. She knelt and set about hooking fingers into the waistband of Diana’s skirt. The fabric crackled with dried seed, sticking to Diana’s hips until Sonia peeled it away with a wet sound. Diana bit her lip. The nurse’s thumbs brushed the hollows of her hips, lingering where the pantyhose still clung in torn webs. Sonia exhaled sharply through her nose. "Lift," she ordered, tapping Diana’s ankle. The warrior obeyed, letting Sonia roll the ruined stockings down her legs and slip off her shoes.
The water was so hot it stung. Diana hissed as she stepped into the sunken pool, the steam curling around her calves like grasping hands.
Sonia remained still for a moment—unnaturally still—before her fingers moved to the sash of her tunic. There was efficiency in the motion, as if she were unwrapping a medical instrument rather than preparing to give a companion an unwanted bath. The fabric slithered to the tiles with a whisper, pooling around her ankles like spilled ink.
Her body was a study in contradictions: slender shoulders tapering into arms corded with wiry muscle—the kind perhaps earned from restraining thrashing patients—yet her waist dipped inward sharply, soft before flaring into hips that could cradle a head between them. Her breasts were full, the shape of ripe apples, their pink tips already peaked from the steam. Below, a tangle of golden curls glistened, damp with the chamber’s humidity, the same honeyed shade as the hair spilling down her back.
Sonia’s fingers hooked into the tops of her stockings next, peeling them down her thighs with warmth, before removing them alongside her heels. She grabbed a sponge from a nearby bucket, dripping with suds, and stepped into the pool.
Diana backed up instinctively, her bound wrists forcing her shoulders to roll forward—a defensive posture that felt alien to her warrior’s body. The water lapped at her waist, heat seeping into her muscles, but it did nothing to ease the tension coiled in her spine. Sonia advanced, her movements smooth as oil, the sponge trailing soapy rivulets on the pool's surface before she reached for Diana.
"Stay," Sonia murmured, pressing the sponge to Diana's collarbone. The command was soft, but it carried the weight of Grodd's telepathic control. Diana flinched as the sponge slid lower, skirting the swell of her breast, the roughness of the fibers catching on her nipple. Sonia's touch was methodical—scouring away the remnants of Grodd's cum from Diana's skin—yet her fingertips lingered in the hollow beneath Diana's ribs, tracing the rapid flutter of her breath.
Diana clenched her jaw. The heat of the water, the drag of the sponge—it was like a seduction. She twisted away, but Sonia's free hand clamped onto her hip, nails biting crescent moons into flesh. "You will be cleaned," Sonia intoned, voice distant, as though reciting scripture. The sponge circled Diana's navel, dipped lower. Diana's thighs tensed, but Sonia wedged a knee between them, forcing her stance wider. The sponge scraped over the delicate skin of her inner thigh, and Diana's breath hitched—not from pain, but from the traitorous throb between her legs.
She hated this. Hated how her body arched into Sonia's touch when the sponge brushed her slit. Hated the slickness that had nothing to do with the bath. Grodd's control was a poison, yes, but this—this was her. At least, she thought it was, as the Ape King was not in her thoughts nor in the chamber. And a warrior like Wonder Woman did not pant like a bitch in heat, no matter the circumstance. Diana wrenched her wrists against their silken bonds, but the movement only made her breasts sway, nipples stiffening under Sonia's vacant gaze.
The nurse's fingers lingered at the junction of her thighs, sponging away the remnants of Grodd's seed with clinical precision. Diana gritted her teeth. Every stroke sent electric jolts up her spine—her body remembering last night, how she'd ground her gusseted womanhood against the massive ape's cock, desperate to get him off. She twisted away, but Sonia's grip tightened, nails scraping skin. "Stop—" Diana began, but the protest died when Sonia's thumb pressed, just there, and her hips jerked forward of their own accord.
Heat flooded Diana's cheeks. She wasn't supposed to want this. Yet her nipples pebbled under the water's surface, her vagina clenching around nothing.
Before she could stop herself, Princess Diana pursed her lips, and leaned forward, bound hands straining against the silk ropes—not to escape, but to feel. She half-closed her eyes, inviting another kiss like the one Sonia had given her at their first meeting. The nurse froze. For one heartbeat, Diana swore she saw Sonia's pupils dilate, her lips parting on a shaky inhale—but then, all of a sudden, the nurse's hand cracked across Diana's cheek, the slap echoing off the wet stone.
"You're his," Sonia hissed, voice fraying at the edges. Spittle flew from her mouth as she rebuked.
Wonder Woman stood there, hurt and shocked. Shocked by the fact that she'd gotten lost in the moment, yes, but also at the rejection by a fellow sister. But before she could speak, though, something in the nurse's fractured expression pinned her in place. The slap had been too exaggerated. Deliberate. A performance for a new set of eyes.
Diana turned just as the chamber’s heavy stone door groaned inward on rusted hinges.
Grodd filled the doorway like a storm cloud blotting out the sun—massive, fur matted from the jungle’s humidity, his golden gorget glinting with the same cruel sheen as his eyes. Steam curled around his knuckles as he dragged one claw along the doorframe, the screech of stone-on-metal setting Diana’s teeth on edge.
"Is she clean, girl?"
Grodd's voice rumbled through the chamber like distant thunder, vibrating the water's surface into trembling ripples. Sonia's spine straightened instantly, her hands withdrawing from Diana's body as if scalded. "Yes, Master." Her voice was hollow again, the momentary fracture in her control sealed tight.
With a snap of Grodd's fingers, two hulking ape guards lumbered in, their fur matted with sweat and jungle grime. Between them, they carried folded garments—black silk and white lace shimmering in coarse hands. Grodd's nostrils flared as he inhaled Diana's scent—lavender soap undercut by the musk of her unwilling arousal. "Dress her," he commanded telepathically, and Sonia's body moved before the words finished echoing.
Diana recoiled as Sonia seized her wet shoulders, steering her toward the guards like a prized mare being harnessed. "Unhand me!" The Amazon's voice cracked against the tiles, regal even in naked disgrace. "I am Princess of Themyscira, daughter of Hippolyta—not some tavern wench to be shoved about!" Sonia's fingers dug into her biceps in response, the nurse's grip contradicting the blankness of her expression. The guards snorted, their hot breath ruffling Diana's damp hair as they shook out the first garment—a frilly apron so small it would barely veil her nipples.
"What-what is this?" Diana asked in disbelief. "Do you actually expect me to dress like...a serving girl?"
Grodd chuckled deeply, the sound vibrating through the humid air like distant drums. "Not just any serving girl, Diana," he rumbled, stepping closer. The water rippled at his approach. "Tonight you serve me. And my guests." His claws clicked against the folded garments. "Now, hold still."
Sonia took the garments from one of the apes, and began to pull the apron over Diana's head, navigating her still-bound wrists.
Diana regarded the apron as she felt its light weight settle upon her shoulders—the delicate lacework, the intricate stitching, the way the fabric would barely cling to her damp skin. It was a mockery of servitude, a deliberate reduction of her stature. She lifted her chin, meeting Grodd’s gaze with defiance.
Grodd stepped forward, his massive hand gripping her chin with surprising gentleness. "You must understand, Princess," he rumbled, amusement curling his lips. "This is no mere humiliation. Tonight, Gorilla City welcomes its allies—the warlords of the Forgotten Jungles, the syndicate heads who trade in flesh and secrets, the nobles who bow to no throne but mine." His fingers traced the line of her jaw, possessive. "And like all hosts, I must feed and entertain my guests." He released her jaw, snapping to Sonia to fetch the stockings next. "And for that, I need serving girls."
Diana's nostrils flared as Sonia knelt before her, rolling the black silk stockings up her legs with practiced precision. The nurse's fingers lingered at the tops of Diana’s thighs before securing them with a garter belt that pinched her skin. The lace patterns on the hose mocked her—delicate swirls and floral designs that would be beautiful on any other woman, on any other day. But today they were chains, softer than the ropes that bound her wrists but tighter somehow. As she looked down and saw how they paired with the frilly white apron that barely enwrapped her torso, the realization hit Diana like a gut punch: she was being dressed some French maid, her warrior’s body reduced to a cliche', a decoration.
Sonia reached for the next garment—a black pair of panties so sheer they were nearly translucent, the lace scalloped and ruffled in a way that would leave nothing to the imagination. Diana’s stomach twisted as Sonia pulled them up her thighs. The nurse paused, her gaze flickering up to Diana’s face, searching for something—the inspiration to resist perhaps? But Diana had scarce enough for herself, locking her jaw and staring straight ahead, even as Sonia settled the panties against her crotch and bottom, the lace whispering against her damp skin.
Diana flexed her wrists against their bonds, feeling the silk bite deeper into her flesh. She had to try something. "Grodd," she said suddenly, lifting her chin, voice dripping with derision. "You parade me before your allies like this—a prize already half-undressed—and yet you don't fear one of them will try to take me for themselves? Or is your ego so bloated you can't conceive of a rival strong enough to steal me?"
Grodd merely smiled
Then she froze as she saw him, by way of response, pluck a rubber helmet from the the pile of remaining garb—black, glossy, with a molded faceplate that obscured everything but the nostrils and lips. The implications settled over her like ice water: anonymity. They wouldn't know it was her. They wouldn't know they were witnessing, being served by Wonder Woman. "Grodd," she hissed, "you wouldn't dare—"
But he was already motioning for Sonia to finish the task. The nurse hesitated—a split-second flicker in her fingers as they hovered near the helmet's straps—before lifting it toward Diana's head. The princess jerked back, but the ape guards seized her shoulders, holding her fast as Sonia worked the mask into place. The rubber clung instantly to Diana's damp skin, sealing over her mouth with only a small breathing slit. Her protests came out muffled, distorted into something animalistic and desperate as the straps cinched tight behind her skull.
Grodd's knuckles grazed the smooth curve of the mask where her cheekbone would be. "No one would dare to take my prize," he murmured, claws catching briefly in the laces of her apron before withdrawing, "but why risk the evening on the chance?" His laughter vibrated through the hollow shell of the helmet, thick with the promise of humiliation yet to come. "Tonight, you're not Wonder Woman. You're not even Diana." He leaned in, his breath hot through the mask's vents. "You're mine."
Diana tried to jerk away as Sonia knelt before her once more, buckling the straps of stiletto heels around her ankles—shoes designed to cripple a warrior's stance, to force her onto trembling toes. She attempted to stamp her feet like a schoolgirl, to smack the tile beneath her in defiance, but Grodd's telepathic command lanced through her skull like a spike of frozen iron: Be still. Her muscles locked instantly, breath hitching as her body obeyed before her mind could scream refusal. The heels were on, the outfit obscenely final. Sonia's fingers lingered against her calf—not cruel, not kind—just there, a ghost of a touch before vanishing into the steam.
Through the narrow eye slits of her rubber mask, Diana caught the blur of movement to her left—Sonia stepping into the periphery of her vision. Diana was grappling with the fact that the mask forced her to turn her entire head to see properly, reducing the world to a dim, smeared tunnel. Sonia stood with her back to Diana, shrugging into an identical apron, the strings dangling loose as she tied them in a bow at the base of her spine. The nurse's skin gleamed in the torchlight, still damp from the bath, the curve of her ass barely concealed by black lace panties that matched Diana’s own. Diana’s breath fogged the inside of the mask, her pulse hammering as she watched Sonia roll stockings up her thighs—a careful drag of nylon against skin. The nurse’s hands trembled for half a second before she secured her own garters with a snap.
Then Grodd’s form blotted out the view—his bulk eclipsing Sonia entirely as he stepped before Diana. The mask’s restrictive field of vision meant she didn’t see his hand until it was already gripping her inner thigh, claws pricking the silk of her stockings. "Spread," he commanded, the word vibrating through her skull like a struck gong. Diana clenched her legs together instinctively, heels scraping against the tiles as she twisted away—but Grodd exhaled sharply through his nostrils, his free hand seizing her opposite knee. With a single wrenching motion, he forced her thighs apart, the sudden strain making the garters bite into her flesh. The rubber mask muffled Diana’s gasp as her body was manhandled into lewd display, her damp sex exposed beneath the sheer panties.
She felt Grodd’s claw hook into the lace—the fabric sliding with a quiet shush as he pushed it aside without ceremony. Cool air ghosted over her folds, and Diana bucked, but the guards pinned her shoulders, their gorilla strength immovable. A low, metallic whir filled the chamber—made by some sort of device Grodd had retrieved from the folds of his harness.
Then—cold. A slick, gelatinous press against her pussy, thick as two of her fingers. Diana recoiled, but the guards forced her hips steady. He was putting the device inside her! The cylinder pulsed—alive somehow—its surface rippling with unnatural warmth as it pushed deeper, coating her walls in something that tingled like mint and burned like embers. Grodd’s growl vibrated through her thighs: "This is the final precaution for this evening."
A small, mechanical dildo! The realization hit her like a spear to the gut. Diana screamed into the rubber mask, the sound warping into a wet, animal snarl. How dare he?! Her womb was the cradle of the Amazons, the sacred vessel of generations untouched by man—and he stuffed it with machinery like she was some common brothel trinket! The Ben Wa balls applied by the nurse after her capture had been insult enough, but at least they were natural, and inserted by a fellow sister.
Suddenly, the device whirred, nestling snug against her cervix, and Diana’s knees nearly buckled as it emitted a testing pulse—brief, sharp—lightning arcing through her pelvis. She arched, heels skidding on tile, but Grodd held her open with pitiless ease.
Another pulse. Stronger. Diana’s vision whited out for a heartbeat, her thighs quivering in the the Ape King's grip.
"You will learn tonight," Grodd's voice slithered into her skull, thick with amusement.
The device pulsed inside Diana—not pain, not pleasure, just there, a humming reminder of his control. Her thighs trembled against his grip, the lace of her panties bunched at the side like a discarded thought.
"You should be grateful," Grodd rumbled, his claws gently replacing her sheer underwear. The vibrator inside her gave another experimental flicker, making her hips jerk. "This is how a woman must learn." His breath was hot through the mask's vents, smelling of overripe fruit and iron. "Serve well tonight, and it will reward you." Another pulse—sharper this time, more of a shock than a vibration—and Diana's toes curled in their stilettos. "Disappoint me," he continued, rising again to stand before her, "and it will remind you why you kneel."
Behind her, Diana heard Sonia squeal slightly behind her own mask—a wet, startled sound muffled by rubber—and knew that she had also received a jolt. And unlike Diana, she lacked superhuman durability and endurance. Her subsequent moan -lower as she adjusted to the sensation- made Diana pity her more than at any time prior. It was one thing to know that a fellow sister had been subjugated by these beasts, but to actually witness it...
Sonia deserved more than to be a broken toy in a mad villain's collection. Wonder Woman silently vowed that she would help this woman be free. Not just from Grodd's telepathic yoke, but from the shame of everything that had been done to her here.
As she was spun around and marched out of the bathing chamber and towards the great hall, hands bound, dressed as a fetish maid, her very pain and pleasure ordained by the massive Ape King who had invaded her mind...Wonder Woman hoped that was a vow that she could keep.