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.
I value feedback on these stories -as well as suggestions for plots/content- so please send email my way! archaicbangles@gmail.com
Wonder Woman: Slave of Gorilla City, Part 7: Dining with Diana
The first sensation she felt was warmth—too much of it. A heavy, oppressive heat radiating against her bare skin, clinging like wet velvet. Wonder Woman stirred, her body stiff beneath the weight of something massive pressed against her back. Then memory crashed in, jagged and unwelcome.
Grodd’s arm lay draped over her waist, his thick fingers splayed possessively across her stomach. His breath—hot, humid, laced with the musky scent of dominance—puffed against the nape of her neck in slow, rhythmic bursts. Diana’s body stiffened as she registered the slickness between her thighs, the dried streaks on her inner legs, the phantom ache where he’d stretched her open. The realization slithered into her consciousness like a blade: He was inside me.
Her stomach twisted. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that could erase the memory of his grunts, the brutal snap of his hips, the way her traitorous body had clenched around him in climax. Worse than the violation was the shame—the sticky, suffocating aftermath curling in her chest like smoke. I came. I came for him. The thought was acid in her mind.
Diana shifted minutely, testing the slack in Grodd’s grip. His fingers flexed instinctively against her abdomen, blunt nails scraping at her bare tummy. She sighed. Morning light bled through the high windows of his chamber, illuminating the wreckage: her stockings torn at the thighs, the crusted spill of his spend glistening on her stomach. The scent of sex clung to her, thick as perfume.
She hadn't allowed herself to consider it before now, hoping against hope that she could escape Gorilla City before being ravished, but now she had to think about it: The Amazon Curse, the worst fate that could befall a warrior like Wonder Woman.
The teachings of her mother swept through her mind like a hymn. Every daughter of Themyscira knew the warnings whispered in the temple shadows—If an Amazon woman was forced to cross three thresholds, each more damning than the last, then she would lose her free will. Gritting her teeth, she considered each step:
First, the Curse required an Amazon's body betraying itself, convulsing around a male cock in orgasm. Check. She swallowed against the bile rising in her throat.
Second, an Amazon should never swallow the seed of a male willingly; it was unthinkable.
And the third… She shuddered, the memory of her mother’s voice hissing that final condition. No. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—let it come to that. She wouldn't even think of it.
Grodd stirred behind her, his massive chest rumbling against her spine. Diana flinched as his fingers traced idle circles over the crest. Surely Grodd did not know of the Curse? It was the Amazons' most closely guarded secret, their ultimate weakness. No, she told herself. He was just an ignorant beast looking to rut her...surely he remained unaware of the larger ramifications.
Then she felt it—his cock idly twitching against her, still sticky from last night's violation, pressing against the cleft of her ass. Diana recoiled, clenching her thighs together instinctively. The movement jostled her ankle chains, their metallic chink loud in the cavernous space.
Grodd’s waking growl vibrated against her back as his arm tightened around her waist, dragging her flush against him. His hips rolled forward, grinding the thick ridge of his morning arousal against her. “Dawn already?” he rumbled, voice thick with sleep and something darker. His breath was hot on her ear, his teeth grazing the shell with deliberate, mocking threat.
Diana stiffened, her body rigid with disgust. “Stop, Grodd,” she hissed, twisting away—or trying to. The chains around her ankles clinked sharply, mocking her resistance. The sound seemed to amuse him; he chuckled, low and possessive, before shifting her knees apart with one massive thigh. His cock began sliding against her, lazily grazing the cleft of her ass without penetrating it. "Oh, stop, please, Grodd," Wonder Woman heard herself asking as she felt him casually push and pull his massive cock pleasingly along her butt cheeks.
Her own words—pleading—made her skin crawl. She wasn’t some trembling captive in a pulp novel, some simpering damsel to be pawed at. She was Wonder Woman. A diplomat. A warrior. A princess.
Diana jerked forward, twisting in Grodd’s grip, her chains biting into her ankles as she tried to put space between them. “I said stop,” she snarled, voice sharp enough to draw blood. “You have me shackled, you’ve… violated me. But I am not your plaything. I am a political prisoner. Treat me as such—with dignity, or...or release me!” Her chest heaved, the words scorching her throat. She hated the tremor beneath them, the way her thighs pressed together, still sticky from last night.
Grodd exhaled through his nose, a wet, amused sound. His fingers tightened on her hip—not painfully, just possessively—before sliding up to trace the dip of her waist. “Dignity?” he mused, dragging a knuckle along her spine.
"Yes," Diana said, trying to sound proud. "The dignity of an Amazon princess. What happened last night must never happen again!"
Grodd chuckled, his massive chest rumbling against her bare back. His fingers traced lazy circles on her hip, mockingly gentle. "I see..." he rumbled, amused. "Well, clearly you are in charge around here." He nodded towards her ankle chains and humiliating hosiery.
Diana stiffened as his other hand slid up her thigh, hooking a finger under the lace top of her ruined stocking. "But let us not ruin the morning after our coupling which such contentious talk, beauty. Perhaps I have mistreated you. For instance, since you worked so hard serving my guests last night..." He dragged the fingertip higher, grazing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. "...you must be starving." The words dripped with faux concern. His breath was hot against her ear as he added, "We can't have my princess wasting away."
Diana blinked, the sudden shift in tone throwing her off balance. Grodd... inviting her to breakfast? The absurdity of it—the sheer domesticity—made her throat tighten. But perhaps if she assented, she could shift the meeting into a bit of diplomacy: a parley of equals?
She turned her head just enough to catch his gleaming yellow eyes, searching for the trap. "You would...invite me to dine?" The question slipped out before she could stop it; she knew she'd laced it with too much cautious hope, and felt foolish before the last word was even out.
Grodd's lips peeled back in a grin, revealing too many teeth. "Of course. A king must feed his treasures." His hand slid up from her thigh to her side, thumb brushing the underside of her breast—just once, just enough to remind her. "Unless you'd prefer to stay here?" His hips rolled forward again, emphasizing the alternative.
Diana recoiled, the nylon of her black stockings rasping against the sheets as she twisted away. The garments clung to her like a second skin, the lace tops torn where Grodd had gripped her thighs last night. The thought of presenting herself like this—bare save for the silken hose and the stench of him—made her stomach lurch.
She pressed her knees together as she tried to tug the remnants higher up her thighs. “I cannot—” Her voice cracked. She swallowed, forcing steel into it. “I require proper attire.” The words tasted absurd even as she said them. As if clothes were the indignity here, and not the way her body still hummed with the memory of his violation.
Grodd exhaled through his nostrils, a wet, considering sound. His gaze dragged down her body—lingering. Diana resisted the urge to cover herself. She was no blushing maiden. Yet the way his yellowed teeth glinted in the dim light made her skin prickle.
With theatrical grace, he rolled onto his back—the cushioned bedding groaning beneath his bulk—and reached beneath a blanket. The scritch of wood on stone made Diana’s shoulders tense. When he withdrew his hand, he held a flat, lacquered box, its surface polished to a mirror shine. The hinges creaked as he flipped the lid open with one thumb, revealing folds of tissue paper. Nestled inside lay a single item: pantyhose, cream-colored and gossamer-thin, nearly the exact sort she’d often worn beneath her star-spangled panties...so very like the ones she'd worn when he first captured her.
Diana stared. The sheer absurdity of the offering—as if silk legwear could drape her bare torso, shield her nipples from the leering apes—made her throat tighten. Her fingers twitched at her sides, nails biting crescents into her palms. "This—" Her voice was sandpaper. "This is all?"
Grodd's chuckle vibrated through the bed. His knuckle tapped the box's edge, and his grin widened. "Unless you'd prefer nothing?"
Diana inhaled sharply, ready to reject the breakfast entirely—then froze as his massive palm flattened against her bare back, pinning her in place while he reached for something behind the headboard. His fingers closed around a gilded mallet. With one lazy swing, he struck a bronze gong Diana hadn't noticed before. The sound shimmered through the chamber like poisoned honey.
The double doors of the bedchamber creaked open before the last vibration faded. Nurse Sonia walked in, her own serving girl stockings and frilly apron from last night disheveled. Her gait was odd, her pupils were wide—more mind-controlled than usual, Diana could tell—and the way her hips swayed unevenly spoke volumes: she walked as though still tender, and Diana was worried sick that Sonia, too, had had her womanhood filled with ape cock last night.
Grodd didn’t bother sitting up. He merely flicked his fingers toward Diana, his lips curling around a wet, mocking tsk. "I meet you halfway," he rumbled, drumming his claws on the lacquered box. "I offer you silk instead of chains, breakfast instead of punishment—and still you bristle?" His chuckle was a landslide of gravel. "No matter. You will dine with me."
Diana’s pulse stuttered as Sonia shuffled forward, her movements puppet-like, last night's once-neat serving girl apron now rumpled and streaked with... things Diana didn’t want to identify. But then she saw it—coiled in Sonia’s trembling hands like a golden serpent: her lasso. Her lasso. The familiar glint of it sent a jolt through her chest. For one wild, reckless moment, Diana imagined lunging—grabbing the lasso, looping it around Grodd’s thick neck, yanking until his smug breath choked off—
But Sonia’s glassy stare cut through the fantasy. The nurse didn’t even blink when Diana flicked her gaze meaningfully toward the lasso, then back up to her face. Instead, Sonia’s fingers tightened mechanically around the golden rope, her knuckles whitening as though some invisible force had seized her wrists. The lasso’s glow dimmed under Grodd’s control, its usual hum of power muffled into something docile, almost sleepy.
Diana barely had time to stiffen before the lasso slithered around her own throat, the golden coils settling against her collarbones with a weight that felt like betrayal. Sonia began to position it, and Wonder Woman couldn't help herself. "Nooo..." she moaned in despair. "Sonia, please, no." Being leashed again, knowing she'd be completely helpless, was crushing.
"A precaution, Princess," Grodd smirked. "I thought us done with the necessity of the Lasso's magic, but perhaps it would be foolish to disregard the most effective means of binding you. At least, until you are fully mine."
Diana's lips parted in protest, but Sonia's fingers—unyielding as iron—had nearly completed their task. The nurse's movements were unnaturally precise under Grodd's mental domination. The golden coils of the Lasso slithered against Diana's throat, cool and damning. Each loop tightened with a whisper of finality, the knot at her nape pressing into her vertebrae like a brand. Sonia's knuckles brushed Diana's collarbone—once, twice—as she secured the leash, her touch lingering just a heartbeat too long, her dilated pupils reflecting the dim chamber light with eerie vacancy.
Grodd shifted his weight behind Diana, his bulk pressing against her spine as he lazily gestured toward her chained ankles. "Remove them," he rumbled to Sonia. The nurse obeyed instantly, and the metal fell away with a dull thud against the fur-strewn floor.
Then off came last night's stockings. Sonia’s hands were clinical as they gripped the torn lace tops of Diana’s thigh-highs, peeling them off and letting them slither to the floor like discarded snakeskins.
Sonia then balled each leg of the new pantyhose before sliding them up Wonder Woman's unresisting legs, over her knees and up each substantial thigh, finally settling the gusset against her crotch and the seat against her rump, enveloping her juicy bottom in a silky cream sheath. Diana strangely found a slight comfort in the hose, which hugged her in precisely the way her costume nylons did. And at least they make my womanhood a little less accessible she thought with a sigh.
Grodd dismissed Sonia with a flick of his fingers—the nurse shuffling backward with mechanical obedience. The moment the doors clicked shut, Grodd seized the trailing end of the Lasso still coiled around Diana’s throat.
"Now, let’s discuss breakfast," he purred—just before yanking the golden rope taut.
Diana gasped as he jerked her downward, and she crumpled fairly easily, first to her knees (Curse you, Ape King) then, after another tug, to her stomach. Grodd’s other hand seized her wrist, twisting it behind her back with casual brutality before coiling the Lasso around her hands in cruel loops.
"Now, now," he chided, the Lasso biting into her flesh as he pulled her bound wrists toward her ankles, bending her back painfully. Diana hissed through clenched teeth as her spine arched unnaturally, her breasts crushed against the rumpled furs and cushions. Grodd looped the excess rope with practiced efficiency, attaching her wrists to her ankles, cinching each knot just shy of agony. The final tug yanked her into a tighter bend, leaving her trussed like a festival goose—her back bowed, her body shaped like a curvy letter "U".
Hogtied she thought. Grodd had made her the animal between them.
Grodd’s massive hands hoisted her off the bedding with a grunt, draping her bound form over his shoulder again, just as he had the night before, like a sack of grain. Hera, he is so powerful Wonder Woman found herself thinking, before shaking her head as if to get the notion out.
Her cheek was pressed against the coarse fur of his back. The silken pantyhose, so cruelly similar to her uniform’s, did nothing to shield her from the heat of his palm splayed across the back of her thighs, fingers kneading the plush flesh there possessively. She could feel the eyes of the ape guards lining the corridor as Grodd carried her past, their hoots and guttural laughter nipping at her pride like scavengers.
Soon enough they were at the dining hall, as Diana spied the large oak table. Despite herself, her stomach groaned. I may not have to eat as much as a mortal woman she thought but I must still sate my hunger periodically She wondered where Grodd would seat her, bound as she was -or even how, given that her legs were bent behind her back, anchored to her wrists by her Golden Lasso.
She felt Grodd stride forward, and then—with a suddenness that made her gasp—he plunked her down not in a chair but upon the table itself. Specifically, on her stomach, atop a large silver platter, its rim chased with gold, clearly meant for roasting a boar or a deer, not for seating a captive princess. "There you are, girl," Grodd chuckled, his voice rising so the few elite apes of court assembled in the hall could hear. "'Time to dine!"
Diana found herself laid out before the hall, her creamy nylon-clad abdomen pressed against the cold metal, her legs curled uselessly behind her like a trussed fowl’s. Her struggles against the Lasso did nothing, as she knew they would not, but she still tried, succeeding in little but rubbing her aching breasts along the platter and shaking her stockinged bottom for the court. The roars of the assembled apes stopped her attempts quickly.
She was helpless.
Handled.
Humiliated.
And worst of all: The gusset of her fresh hosiery was already dampening anew with the heat of her situation, moistening in unmistakable warmth. Noooo she thought.
Nearly a month of Grodd's physical and psychic conditioning was taking its toll. Unwelcome though it was to a warrior of her stature, being regularly treated this way by such a supreme beast was beginning to wet her as a woman.
The Amazon Curse MUST not be completed she thought to herself, fervently. Grodd had bedded her, true, but she had not willingly drank his seed, nor...the third step. So long as she could free herself and Sonia before either subsequent step was complete, she could undo his hated influence over her and put what had happened in Gorilla City behind her.
Wonder Woman tried to close her eyes to the reality of her positioning, to the hot torchlight and ape calls all around her, to the feel of the cold platter beneath her mostly nude belly. But Grodd would not have it. Grabbing what little slack remained in her Lasso, he jerked her head up as much as her muscles would allow. "Truth telling time, girl. Speak loudly so my court can hear: Who mastered you last night?"
Diana clenched her jaw, willing herself to bite down on her tongue—anything to stop the inevitable confession. But the Lasso's golden glow pulsed brighter around her throat, its power seeping into her veins like molten honey. Her lips parted against her will, the words tumbling out in a trembling rush: "You did, Grodd." The admission burned worse than the ropes.
The court erupted in hoots and chest-beating laughter. Diana squeezed her eyes shut, but Grodd's clawed fingers gripped her chin, forcing her to face them. "Louder," he purred, twisting the Lasso just enough to make her gasp. "Tell them how."
Her traitorous body trembled as the Lasso's glow pulsed hotter. "You—" Her voice cracked. She hated the wetness between her thighs, the way her nipples pebbled against the cold platter. "You bound my legs. You...you thrust into my womanhood." The words tasted like ash. One of the apes lobbed a grape; it burst against her shoulder, sticky juice trickling down her bound arm.
Grodd chuckled, selecting a ripe fig from the table. "And?" His claws traced the Lasso's coils, tightening them just enough to make her arch. Diana's breath hitched—she wouldn't say it, she wouldn't—but the golden strands flared brighter, pulling the confession from her like a splintered arrowhead:
"I came," she gasped. The admission hung in the air, ripe and damning. The apes roared. One hurled a handful of oranges; they struck her ribs, soaking her flank in sticky residue. Grodd's grin widened as he plucked a grape, crushing it between his fingers above her face. Juice dribbled onto her lips. "Again," he commanded.
The Lasso burned hotter. Diana's toes curled in their silken prisons. "I came—" she choked, "—on your ape cock." The words tasted fouler than the grape's remains smeared across her chin. Her thighs trembled, the gusset of her hose growing slicker.
Grodd made a great show, then, of wrapping the glowing Lasso's end around his arm. Like her, he would be compelled to tell the truth. "And you will again," Grodd roared, performing for the court. "And you will beg for the privilege!"
Diana's stomach clenched. She knew he meant it; the Lasso was evidence of that. But the Lasso didn't predict the future, only facilitated honest intent. Just because Grodd told her she'd beg, it didn't make it so.
Then why a traitorous thought, half hers and half his, crept through her mind are your tights so wet?
Suddenly Grodd brandished a large apple for the assembled apes. "This bitch has talked enough already!" he laughed. "Let us feast now without her prattle!"
The apple rolled from Grodd’s palm before Wonder Woman could brace for it. It wedged between her teeth with a wet thunk, the sour pulp flooding her tongue. Diana gagged, her throat working furiously—but the fruit was too large, too firm. Saliva pooled at the corners of her lips. Ape laughter swelled around her like a tidal wave.
"MMMpphh!" she wiggled furiously on his platter, a beautifully curvy little piglet with an apple in its mouth.
The feast commenced, ambivalent to her outrage. Grodd ate messily, consuming various fruits and wines with relish as Diana sat there, securely tied and forced to watch. At times, he would ignore her completely. But irregularly, he would take notice of her bound, half-naked form, squirming in her stockings on his table. And that's when he was at his cruelest.
At one point, Grodd seized a fluted glass bottle, its spout slick with oil, and tipped it over her spine. The liquid slithered down her back in a slow, obscene trickle, pooling in the hollow above her bound wrists before dripping onto the platter beneath her. Cold. Thick. The scent of olives and rosemary clung to her skin. Diana flinched as Grodd’s claws followed the trail, scooping up a handful of pistachios and crushed herbs before smearing them into the oil along her flank. The garnish stuck to her like a second skin, peppering her flesh with tiny, humiliating spots.
"Presentation is everything," Grodd rumbled to his court, plucking a fig from a nearby bowl. He split it open with his thumbs, revealing the jeweled pulp inside, and dragged the dripping halves along the curve of Diana’s ass. The fruit’s sticky residue clung to her pantyhose, gluing the sheer fabric to her flesh in blotchy patches. A rumble of laughter rippled through the apes.
With each fresh humiliation, Diana would struggle, her bonds unyielding, her helplessness reinforced.
She could feel it—the slow, creeping dampness inching through the gusset of her pantyhose. The silk clung slick against her folds, a telltale warmth she couldn't suppress. The oil dribbling down her back, the figs smeared across her ass, the courtiers leering at her trussed form—every degradation sent another pulse of unwanted heat between her thighs. Mortification coiled in her gut, twisting tighter with each mocking cheer from the apes.
Grodd's telepathic voice, unheard at it's full strength since he'd taken her last night, entered her mind:
"You smell like pussy, Princess."
Diana stiffened, her thighs clamping together reflexively, an attempted denial, only for the movement to pull her bound wrists tighter against her ankles. Oh, Merciful Minerva. How has this beast developed such power over me?
The shame coiled in Diana’s gut like a living thing, twisting tighter with every mocking hoot from the apes encircling the table. This isn’t me, she screamed inwardly. Yet her body had relished iron grip of Grodd’s hands, the primal strength of him pinning her down, the way her womanhood had been breached by his cock.
The biggest cock I've ever seen she thought.
The realization slithered through Wonder Woman's mind like a serpent through sacred ruins—unwanted, undeniable. Grodd's size, his sheer physical dominance, had rewired something primal in her. Amazons revered strength, worshipped power in all its forms. And here was a male whose strength eclipsed hers completely. The contradiction burned: she hated him, despised his cruelty...yet her thighs clenched at the memory of his power owning her, his cock stretching her—
"Courtiers!" Grodd's roar shattered her spiral. He rose from his throne-like chair, nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply above her bound form. His lips peeled back in a grin too sharp to be called a smile. "Do you scent it? That musk beneath the olive oil and figs?" His knuckles dragged down Diana's oil-slicked spine, coming to rest just above the soaked gusset of her pantyhose. "The mighty Wonder Woman—dripping for her Ape King."
"Let there be NO doubt! Grodd has broken the mightiest woman in the world! I have made her mine!"
The hall grew slightly quieter at his boast, which shocked Wonder Woman slightly. The assembled apes had loudly affirmed every other speech and action she'd seen Grodd deliver. Could it be that they remembered her strength from their battle at the mouth of the City? Respected her? Or was it something else.
Diana did not have time to consider it further, for Grodd seemed also to sense an air of skepticism. Roaring louder than she'd ever heard, he stood quickly, his massive fists beating his chest.
"Proof!" he bellowed.
Grodd’s loincloth hit the floor before Diana could blink. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, already half-hard from her humiliation. The musk of him hit her nostrils first—ripe and primal, layered with the salt of last night’s conquest. The apes nearest the table drew back slightly, then leaned back in, their dark eyes glittering with morbid respect.
The apple gag tumbled from Diana’s lips as Grodd hooked a claw beneath her chin. Spit-slick and trembling, she gasped for breath—only for his scent to flood her lungs anew. "Now, Princess," he spoke, stroking his cock into full size before the hall. "We have been rude to a woman of your stature. Though I fed your pussy my cock last night, I have fed your noisy word-hole nothing yet here today. Let's fix that, so my court can see you obedient!"
Diana recoiled, her bound body writhing against the platter. "No—!"
The word barely escaped before Grodd’s thick fingers grabbed a handful of her raven hair. The Lasso flared gold against her throat, its power slithering down her spine like molten wire. Her lips parted against her will, her breath hitching as she knew telling him "No" here would never, ever be tolerated. With his other hand he managed his massive cock, now almost full size, hoisting it onto the table before her ruby red lips.
"Now," he growled, voice dripping with mock patience, "let's try that again. Properly this time." His cockhead traced the seam of her lips, pressing just enough to make her gasp. "You will say 'Yes, my Ape King'—and then you will open that pretty mouth for me." The Lasso’s glow pulsed hotter, searing her resolve like parchment. Diana’s nostrils flared—she could smell him, the musk of last night’s violation still clinging to his skin, her residual vaginal secretions reinforcing her shame.
Her jaw trembled. "I...I..." She swallowed hard, hating the slickness between her thighs, the way her nipples ached against the cold metal platter. Every eye in the hall bored into her. The Amazon Curse loomed—one step closer—but the Lasso’s magic was relentless. A whimper escaped her as the golden coils constricted, forcing her spine into a deeper arch.
"Yes," she gasped. The word tasted like defeat. "Yes, my...Ape King."
Grodd's laughter rumbled through the hall like distant thunder. With a single brutal tug, he unraveled the hogtie—not to free her, but to reconfigure her shame. The Lasso slithered around her limbs, obeying his will, cinching her wrists behind her back now, forcing her onto her knees with her spine arched obscenely. The pantyhose stretched taut over her thighs as she knelt, their cream sheen darkening where they clung to her dampness.
"Better," Grodd grunted, picking her up by the her binding like a pup by the scruff of her neck, and placing her under the table in front of his chair. When he retook his seat, his cock was fully in her face again.
Diana stared at the thick, veined monstrosity inches from her lips—already glistening at the tip with pre-cum. It smelled overpoweringly male. Her stomach twisted, but something lower clenched tighter.
Grodd’s fingers tightened in her hair. "Now," he rumbled, voice thick with amusement, "show my court how thoroughly you serve."
The thing loomed in front of her, waiting. Diana fought his control, licking her lips as her neck muscles shook with the tension of her resistance. Then, silently, inevitably, Grodd's victory was complete as his telepathic and magical commands combined to fire the neurons in her brain that would signal her surrender. Just as they had time and time again.
With a shudder, she leaned forward, her tongue flicking out tentatively to lap at the bead of moisture pearling at his tip. The taste exploded across her palate—salt, iron, something darkly earthy. Ape. Her conqueror's essence. Her stomach lurched...and her womanhood pulsed traitorously. Thank Hera it is just a dribble she thought. Surely not sufficient to trigger the second phase of the Curse...
Grodd's chuckle vibrated through the table above them as he took a deliberate bite of roasted meat, juices dripping onto Diana's bare shoulders. "Don't be shy, Princess," he taunted, grinding his hips forward until the swollen head bumped against her parted lips. "You've taken far more of me than this."
Her cheeks burned, but her mouth opened wider, her tongue flattening against the underside of his shaft in reluctant submission.
A chunk of half-chewed meat plopped onto her forehead, its greasy juices trickling down her temple as Grodd huffed above her. His hips pistoned forward, forcing her red lips to stretch obscenely around his girth. The taste of him flooded her senses—thick with the same raw dominance that had speared her the night before. Diana gagged, her throat convulsing, but the Lasso’s golden coils tightened around her neck, punishing any hesitation.
Her cheeks bulged grotesquely, stretched to their limits as Grodd worked deeper with each short, taunting thrust. Each inch forced past her teeth sent spit spilling down her chin, mingling with the various edible oils that now streaked her form. She could feel the apes shifting closer, their hot breaths stirring the air as they craned to see their king’s conquest.
Diana’s tongue flickered desperately, an attempt to please, to get this over with. She traced thick underside of his cockhead, lapping at the bitter pre-cum sliding down his tip like a supplicant at some profane altar. If she could just distract him with these featherlight licks, if she could coax him to spill without bursting-
Grodd’s fingers knotted tighter in her hair. Nice try His telepathic "voice" dripped with amusement as he shoved further forward, her lips stretching white around his girth. Her throat convulsed—too much, too fast—but he held her there, letting her spittle drip onto his balls while her nostrils flared for air.
"MMMpphh!" Diana’s muffled scream vibrated against his shaft as he held her there, nearly half his huge cock in her mouth and throat, her thighs trembling as she fought not to choke. Above her, Grodd tore into a leg of lamb with grotesque relish, grease spattering her hair as he chewed.
Suddenly, at Grodd's mental command, certain of the Lasso’s coils loosened—just enough for Wonder Woman's wrists to slip free. Before she could react, Grodd’s massive palm flattened against her spine, pinning her so she couldn't push back from his groin. "I loosed those hands for a reason, pretty." Reaching down to grab her right hand, he guided it to his balls. "You are new to this, Princess. But you must work the roots while you taste the tree."
His scrotum was heavy in her palm, warm and dense as ripe fruit. The hair there was coarser than she’d imagined, wiry between her fingers as she instinctively squeezed. Grodd groaned, his hips jerking forward—and suddenly Diana’s spit was joined by more of his precum as he breached deeper than before.
"Now the other hand," his voice slithered into her skull, oily and inescapable. Diana whimpered around his girth, her free hand hovering uncertainly near her thigh. "Lower." The command burned through her synapses like wildfire. Her fingers twitched. "Touch yourself."
Diana's stomach lurched. The fingers cupping Grodd's sack continued to caress him—but her other hand, trembling like a leaf, moved over her crotch. The silken gusset of her pantyhose was already soaked through, her arousal betraying her the moment her fingertips brushed the damp fabric. A shudder wracked her body.
An Amazon’s body is sacred. The memory her mother's words. Queen Hippolyta had warned her against self-pleasure for the carnal benefit of Man. Never spill your own nectar before a male’s gaze. But as with all traditions of Amazon life, her capture by the Ape King rendered them infuriatingly moot.
Diana’s fingers hovered above the soaked silk of her pantyhose, trembling. The vulnerability she felt was exquisite—bound by her own lasso, forced to kneel beneath a banquet table with an ape’s cock stretching her lips, and now commanded to pleasure herself for his amusement. The court’s laughter buzzed in her ears, but worse was the heat pooling between her thighs, the way her clit throbbed in time with Grodd’s shallow thrusts.
Her fingertips brushed the damp silk of her pantyhose, the fabric clinging to her folds like a second skin. Two fingers traced slow circles just above the soaked gusset, never breaching the nylon barrier, yet applying just enough pressure to make her breath hitch. The silk puckered under her touch, already pliant due to the soaking brought on by her feminine juices. "Ohhmmpph..." A traitorous moan vibrated against Grodd’s cock as her fingers found the exact spot where the fabric was slickest—where her body had betrayed her most.
Grodd’s grip tightened in her hair. "Not yet." The telepathic command slithered through her mind as his hips pulled back, dragging his cockhead over her tongue. Diana’s fingers froze mid-stroke, her entire body trembling with denied release. His laughter rumbled through the table above as he resumed eating, casually dripping honeyed figs onto her collarbone while she knelt there, panting around his girth.
Her hand hovered over the soaked silk, aching. The moment her arousal ebbed, Grodd thrust forward again, his cockhead nudging the back of her throat. "Again." Diana’s fingers returned to the slick gusset, tracing desperate circles—only for him to yank her head back once more when her breath hitched. "Nnngh—!" Her whimper dissolved into a cough as pre-cum dripped down her chin.
The cycle continued—Grodd’s sadistic rhythm as precise as a torturer’s tool. Push her to the edge with her own touch, deny her, then force her mouth wider around his girth. Diana’s thighs trembled violently, her toes curling inside their silken sheaths. She was slick enough now that her fingers slipped against the nylon without friction, teasing her clit through the nearly translucent fabric. So close—
So possessed was she by the rhythm of their mutual arousal, that Diana had begun to reciprocate unconsciously with her other hand, stroking Grodd's sack as he made her rub her own aching pussy.
Her fingers worked in circles, massaging his testicles as they hung heavy between his thighs—palming and rolling them in a way that seemed to tease the very essence from him. Grodd's thrusts grew erratic, his breath coming in ragged huffs, his grip tightening in her hair as precum spilled freely into her mouth. Diana drooled it out where she could, mindful of the Curse even in her ever more wanton trance.
But something else was happening—something she hadn’t noticed until Grodd’s growl of approval rumbled above her. She was humming.
Not a whimper, not a protest. A deep, involuntary vibration around his cock, the kind of throaty purr her Amazon sisters made when pleasure coiled tight in their bellies. Every time he thrust forward, her lips sealed tighter around him, and the sound escaped her—low, primal, unmistakable.
"Hmmmmpphhh..." she moaned, the noise unsolicited by hypnosis or the Lasso, but simply from the act of performing her task. Later, she would wonder why she did it: She was Amazon, and Wonder Woman knew that meant ultimately excelling in all things...but was this conscious or UNconscious? An effort to please him or to get the entire encounter over with?
"Hmmmmmmphhhhhh..."
Whatever the reason, Grodd did not complain. More purposefully than ever, he began to pound the face of this enslaved superheroine, now utterly disregarding the feast strewn about his table.
Above her, his simian grunts grew louder, interspersed with half-chewed chunks of food that rained down onto her oiled shoulders and the crown of her raven hair.
"Hnnngh—! That’s it, Princess," Grodd snarled, his massive thighs trembling as he fucked her mouth with abandon. Diana’s fingers worked in tandem—one hand cupping his swollen sack with increasing pressure, the other rubbing furious circles against her soaked pantyhose. The nylon gusset had stretched obscenely thin from her ministrations, the fabric clinging in translucent patches to her engorged lips beneath.
But then—she wasn't sure what instinct guided her—she squeezed, pressing her thumb along the sensitive ridge beneath his sack while her other fingers kneaded firmly. The effect was instantaneous. Grodd's hips jerked forward with a snarl, his cock pulsing violently against her tongue as his orgasm ripped through him. Hot ropes of cum splashed against the back of her throat, thicker than she remembered from the night before, flooding her mouth with the bitter-salt taste of him. She choked, her eyes watering as she struggled not to swallow—Blessedly, in Grodd's ecstasy, he released the back of her head, and she jerked backwards, her mouth now unobstructed.
Gagging and sputtering, she spat his seed on the tile floor beneath the table. I MUST not swallow too much she thought desperately. Else the Curse will have me on this floor pleasuring him for the rest of our lives!
His semen hit the floor with a thick plop, pearly strands clinging to her lower lip as she gasped for breath. The taste lingered—bitter musk, salt, something almost vegetal—but the bulk of it now pooled between the cracks in the stone, glistening under the torchlight. She wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist, smearing stray droplets across her oil-slicked skin, her stomach churning at the scent rising from their activity.
Grodd’s laughter rumbled through the hall like distant thunder. He watched her—the proud Amazon warrior now kneeling in a puddle of his release—with dark amusement dancing in his yellowed eyes. One massive hand reached down, gripping her chin between thick fingers, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "Such a waste, Princess," he mused, his thumb brushing the corner of her lips where a stray drop still clung. "But no matter. I have plenty more for you."
Before Diana could react, he hauled her upward, her body slick with oil and humiliation, and dragged her onto his lap as if she weighed nothing.
Grodd adjusted her effortlessly, arranging her limp limbs like a doll's—one arm hooked beneath her knees, the other supporting her back—until she was cradled against his chest. The position was grotesquely infantilizing; her curves pressed against his muscles, her cream-pantyhosed legs splayed indecently over his simian bulk. The banquet hall seemed to tilt as he rocked her slightly, his massive fingers tracing idle circles on her inner thigh. She couldn't help but sigh, her exhaustion palpable. "There now," he rumbled in response, the vibration of his voice shuddering through her spine. "Was that so hard?"
It was...strange. Even when the Ape King had pulled her to his form last night while they slumbered, it had not been so gentle, so intimate. Was he...comforting her? Perhaps, for the way his fingers carded through her tangled hair -as if soothing a distressed lover rather than a captive...Well, it was yet one more new experience for the vaunted Wonder Woman in a month full of novelty.
But even in this position, part of Princess Diana, the captive, was still Wonder Woman, the warrior. As he cradled her half-nude form before the court, she was using the moment to calculate. How much of his jism had she swallowed? Perhaps a tablespoon full, all told? And was it affecting her even now, weakening her will?
Diana suspected not. The second phase of the Amazon Curse was said to be deeply impactful, and the fact that she was still speculating the best way to snap Grodd's thick neck with her thighs suggested that he had not forced enough of himself down her gullet to-
The thought evaporated like morning mist when Grodd’s fingers tightened possessively around her thigh. "Tsk. Still so rude of me," he murmured, his breath hot against her temple. The words dripped with mock chivalry, as if they were lovers sharing a private joke rather than captor and conquered. Diana’s stomach lurched—she knew that tone. It preceded cruelty.
"Two meals in a row, and both times you went unfed, sweet Diana." A chuckle. "As you would have no doubt lectured me...that is no way to treat -what did you call yourself?- a political prisoner?"
His free hand vanished beneath the table for a heartbeat, rummaging in some unnoticed baggage, then reemerged clutching something that made her breath hitch: a glass baby bottle.
The bottle glinted obscenely in the torchlight, its bulbous teat already slick with condensation. But far worse than the bottle was the content: Wonder Woman narrowed her eyes, her senses diluted by weeks in Gorilla City's low-lit caverns. What she saw made her gasp.
Inside the bottle swirled a viscous, off-white fluid, too thick to be milk—clinging to the glass in glutinous strands as Grodd tilted it teasingly. Strands of pearly white swirled lazily in the amber-tinted fluid, their origin unmistakable. Diana’s nostrils flared as the scent hit her like a fist: iron and salt with an undercurrent of something unmistakably masculine.
He knows. Diana had guarded her thoughts of the Curse most carefully amongst all her secrets, shielding them from Grodd's telepathic powers even during his most invasive moments. Yet that bottle, filled with his essence and prepared for just this dinner, pulled back the curtain on how useless all of her defenses had truly been.
She began to struggle, her creamy hosed legs kicking and her fist beating against the torso of her captor. But the Lasso, as always, warmed and tightened. Cease your tantrum, girl.
Unwillingly, she settled, but so, by association, did the Ape King. Pulling her closer, Grodd shushed her softly, his fingers slipping between her thighs—not to restrain, but to tease. His fingertips brushed the damp silk of her pantyhose, tracing the swollen outline of her lips beneath the fabric. Diana arched against him involuntarily, her breath hitching as pleasure lanced through her resistance. "Shhh, Princess. No more fighting. Just drink." His voice slithered into her skull, velvet-wrapped steel.
The bottle’s teat pressed against her lips, its rubbery give unfamiliar against her mouth. Diana clenched her jaw, but the Lasso’s golden coils flared brighter, searing her skin with divine fire. Her muscles unlocked obediently, her lips parting just enough for the tip to slip between them. The first taste was cloying—thick cream cut with brine-sharp aftertaste. Her tongue recoiled, but Grodd’s thumb stroked her throat, coaxing a swallow.
"Easy," his voice slithered through her skull, velvet-lined claws sinking into her resolve. His fingers never stilled between her thighs, rubbing slow circles through the soaked silk of her hosiery, every stroke sending shivers up her spine. "You took me so well before. This is just...dessert."
Diana gagged as the bottle tipped higher, thick cream spilling over her tongue. She tried to clamp her lips shut, but the Lasso burned hotter, forcing her jaw slack. The texture was nauseating, Grodd’s essence swirling in viscous strands that coated her palate. Her throat convulsed, but his telepathic touch gentled, smoothing the reflex like a hand down a spooked mare’s flank. "That’s it. Small sips. Such a good girl. MY good girl."
Her toes curled inside the reinforced silk as his fingers worked her through her nyloned crotch. The rhythmic pressure against her clit synced cruelly with each swallow—pleasure yoked to degradation. A moan escaped around the rubber teat; she loathed how the vibration made Grodd’s chuckle rumble against her back. The court’s murmurs blurred into white noise as her vision narrowed to the bottle’s slow drain, the way her traitorous throat bobbed with every reluctant gulp.
Diana’s eyelashes fluttered. The liquid was smoother than she’d first thought, clinging to her molars like sap. And she’d expected bitterness—but was it just her or was it becoming cloyingly sweet, laced with honeyed fruit notes that masked the original musk. NO! she thought, trying to retain her will. A trick! A trap. Yet her tongue moved on its own, lapping the teat clean between swallows, chasing the saccharine aftertaste like a starved kitten. Disgust coiled in her gut—not just at Grodd’s alchemy, but at the way her hips rocked subtly against his palm with each sip.
She whimpered when the bottle emptied—an involuntary sound, high and needy—before catching herself. The rubber teat popped wetly from her lips. The silence in the hall was suffocating. Courtiers stared at her slick, pantyhosed thighs, at the way her chest rose and fell too fast, at the flush creeping down her oil-streaked neck. Grodd’s fingers withdrew from her gusset, a sticky thread of her emissions hanging between his claws. Diana barely noticed. Her limbs felt leaden, her thoughts syrupy. The bottle’s weight had been comforting. The emptiness now was... unsettling.
Grodd’s chuckle vibrated against her spine as he wiped a stray droplet from her chin with his thumb. "Look at you," he murmured, pressing the digit between her lips. Her tongue darted out—automatic, greedy—cleaning it with a suck that made his nostrils flare. "My little princess drank it all." The words curled around her, warm as a hearth. Somewhere, Diana knew she should recoil. Instead, her lashes fluttered shut. The taste lingered, honey-sweet, thick on her tongue like the last dregs of ambrosia.
The Amazon Curse slithered through her veins, molten and insidious. Her thighs, so silken and sexualized, ground ever so gently against the air as she slipped into slumber. Wh-why? Why am I doing this? And when had she begun nuzzling his chest? Her thoughts swam in syrup, her body limp as a doll’s. Two steps taken, whispered the last sliver of her will, clinging like a burr. One remains. She tried to summon the image of Themyscira—white cliffs, salt wind—but even her mother’s face blurred at the edges.
Grodd’s fingers traced the tender hollow of her throat. “Sleep,” he rumbled, and the word carried the weight of a command laced with telepathic honey. Her eyelids grew heavier, her breath slowing to match the rise and fall of his simian chest. Around them, the court’s torches guttered, casting lewd shadows against the walls. Yet all were silent.
As her eyes closed --to open again Princess Diana knew not when-- a last thought occurred, less of defiance and more of immutable fact: Her will was fading, but the fact that she knew it meant there was still some of her left.
With what endured, she must marshal her full, Amazonian womanhood, and quickly -furiously!- if she was to have any hope of remaining Wonder Woman at all.