Wonder Woman and the Maid(servant) of Might (two parts)

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Ericc15
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A few disclaimers before we get down to it.

One, this is a sequel to my previous story, Wonder Woman and the Pampered Princess. It’s set an unspecified amount of time later, anywhere from several days to a couple weeks.

Two, this is the same story that I posted on The Changing Mirror message boards a few months ago. If you compare that post to this one, however, you'll see there are material differences between the two. This one is longer, for one thing, and I'd like to think it's a bit better too.

Three, as before, you should think of this WW as falling somewhere between the WW from the comics and movies, and the WW-type heroines from the online movies that get promoted here, like Ultragirl or Wonder Vivian. She's a bit more impulsive, a bit more careless, a bit more unobservant of her surroundings, a bit more foolish, and a bit more unlucky than her mainstream counterpart. So she's somewhat more likely to be tricked and defeated initially by her enemies, but she usually perseveres and wins in the end. Also many fellow members of the Justice League, mostly men, find her antics and her uneven track record to be rather tiresome, while her fellow superheroines largely consider themselves to be among her dear friends and great admirers. (Both points of view are valid.) WW is largely ignorant of the naysayers, while always being very friendly and genuine with her supporters. (Both points of view are quite valid.)

And three, I'm tossing a lot of my own personal kinks into this series, and I couldn't list them all now. But I suppose I consider the main story elements to be mind control, memory and personality alteration, wardrobe changes, downgrade, power loss, bondage, humiliation, lezdom and submission.

Otherwise, enjoy, let's begin.

Chapter One

“Ow . . . ouch . . . ouch! Ooooo, this is torture! Why must my captor be so harsh?!”

Princess Diana whimpered and wrung her hands. “All right, fine, lesson learned. I won’t go to bed without brushing my hair again!”

Honestly, that witch Circe was just beastly to her! Hadn’t Diana made it perfectly clear that her servants did everything for her? It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t realize hair could get knotty while you slept. And her hair was Circe’s fault in the first place!

She sighed. She had stopped trying to understand her abductor several days ago. And Circe obviously had no interest in understanding her. Every time the princess tried to tell her something important, Circe would either ignore her completely, or listen to her and then do the exact opposite! For example, whenever it was time for Diana to go to or from her horribly inadequate cell, Circe could have just taken Diana by the arm and escorted her there. Or maybe used her magic to teleport Diana there, or even just summoned some type of magical servant who would then sling Diana over its shoulder in an undignified manner and carry her there!. But no, always she insisted on looping that awful magic rope of hers several times around Diana’s body, pinning her arms to her sides, and then literally dragging the princess there, even if the princess fell down. Every day Diana explained that this was totally unnecessary, that she had no choice but to obediently go wherever Circe ordered to go, that escape was impossible and it was better to wait for someone to rescue her. Also, the rope was always uncomfortably tight, and it bit into her easily bruised skin. It left marks that were quite unbecoming to a woman of Diana’s beauty. And on top of all that, she did not appreciate being dragged everywhere like she was a lazy donkey, it always felt so demeaning and humiliating. And yet Circe kept doing it! What did she think was doing, living out her fantasy of being a rancher? One time the evil witch had even patted Diana on the head, as if she were a precocious child, and said, “poor, pampered princess”. That had been even worse than being treated like a mule!

The woman was most unreasonable. But at least in this case, Princess Diana understood why Circe did it. The witch would always take pleasure – excessively so, in the princess’ opinion, considering they’d never even met until a couple weeks ago – in inventing new ways to embarrass and frustrate Diana. Clearly Circe enjoyed immobilizing Diana’s arms, and giving Diana rope burns twice a day, and watching Diana fall down after tripping clumsily over the train of her dress, and treating Diana like a cow. Not to mention taunting Diana by airing all of her embarrassing dirty laundry, the deep and dark secrets she'd inexplicably learned about the princess even though she was 100% certain she’d kept them hidden.

Taunts like “I’ve noticed you can’t see very well”. No, she couldn’t, which was why she had secretly worn contact lenses most of her life. Her subjects couldn’t see her wearing eyeglasses like some kind of NERD. Of course, once Diana admitted it, naturally Circe had responded by giving her a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses with huge round lenses, like something an old lady would wear. Even if they did correct her vision, the only reason Princess Diana wore them was because there was nobody around to see it.

Or like “I know you thought you were being subtle, but I’ve noticed you checking out my breasts more than once today.” Darn it, she thought she'd been totally subtle! Diana was still so jealous of Circe’s bigger, better boobs. “I think there’s more to it than that. You do it because you like what you see, don’t you? You must love looking at other women's boobs if you can't resist staring at MINE. And I'm sure you'll keep on doing it, even after you've been found out!” Circe had continued snidely. Diana had denied it firmly, but inside she’d felt ill. What if Circe could prove it? It was her royal duty to marry a man one day and bear children who would rule after her! What would people say if they knew she would sometimes check out her maidservants when they weren’t looking? And not just from the front either??

Diana didn’t like remembering that conversation. Nor did she like the fact that Circe's prediction had proved correct. Even after the humiliating secret had been exposed, she couldn't stop herself from staring at the sorceress' bosom, despite the fact Diana could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks every time Circe caught Diana looking at her cleavage - and smiled.

So Princess Diana understood. Circe was a big bully, and the princess was her target. That also explained the hair, which was the current cause of all Diana’s problems. Princess Diana’s cell came complete with a pair of glass doors and a large stone balcony. She was near the top of a tower that was at least several hundred feet tall, so it wasn’t as if she could use it to escape. It was cold, being so high up, and the wind whipped her hair around and bit at her. However, that hadn’t stopped her from going out onto the balcony several times and crying out for help. It was really unlikely anyone would ever hear, and all it ever seemed to get her was a sore throat, many tears, and Circe mocking her for being the "most distressed damsel ever". She hadn’t even bothered to stop Diana, knowing how useless her attempts were. Instead, two nights ago the witch had compared her to another famous princess trapped alone in a tower.

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“You’re just like Rapunzel. Not the Disney princess with the frying pan. The docile and helpless one, waiting for a prince to climb her hair,” Circe said, never failing to miss an opportunity to make wisecracks at Princess Diana’s expense. Maybe because they always seemed to score a hit on her fragile self-esteem. “All you need now is the hair.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s correct,” Diana said meekly, even though she didn't remember Rapunzel having big, geeky glasses that only an old and gray librarian would wear. But she’d learned quite some time ago that a “conversation” with Circe actually meant “humbly agreeing with everything Circe said”. Especially when Circe insulted her.

Circe didn’t respond right away. After a few moments’ pause, the witch finally said, “You misunderstand me. I wasn’t making an observation. I was letting you know what comes next.”

Before Diana even had time to understand what THAT meant, she squeaked as she felt a wave of energy flow through her like a jolt of electricity. That was followed by a second wave, a wave of dismay. By now she recognized the sensation of Circe using magic on her, and that always meant something new she wouldn’t like. Sure enough, Circe hauled her up onto her feet without another word, then escorted her to a full-length mirror she’d used before to show Diana any changes made.

“Oh, goodness,” Diana said, realizing that her hair had suddenly become longer. WAY longer. Instead of just touching her shoulders, her wavy hair was now long enough to graze the small of her back! Although at least it wasn’t long enough for someone to climb.

It didn’t necessarily look BAD. Of course the castle servants had taken very good care of Diana’s hair over the years, and it still glowed like a woman's hair after using shampoo in a commercial. She was actually somewhat relieved that her red hair looked exactly the same as it had before, just . . . longer. Diana kept staring at her reflection, trying to decide if Circe wanted her to be upset by this or not, but suddenly she felt another familiar and unwelcome sensation. Only instead of having a spell cast on her, she felt magic rope tying itself tightly around her like an evil serpent.

“Nooo, whyyyyy?” Diana complained, whining as she usually did. “My arms are delicate, they still have bruises from this morning!”

Her stomach lurched as Circe pulled hard on the Lasso, spinning her around to face her. “Can it, crybaby. You’ve got work to do.”

“Work?” Diana asked, mystified. “But I never work.”

“And that’s why this will feel like work, because you've never used those limp noodle arms of yours for anything physical,” Circe told her, putting a hairbrush in her hand. “With hair that long, you need to take proper care of it. From now on, every night before you sleep, and every morning after you rise, you’re going to have to brush the entire length of your hair with one hundred strokes. Otherwise you’ll regret it.”

Diana looked at the brush with distress, just like the damsel Circe said she was. “One HUNDRED? That will take forever!”

“Better get a move on then,” Circe answered. “It’s time to haul your bony ass back to your chambers.”

“It’s not bony!” Diana said, appalled. Then she twisted her head around, trying to see her butt, even as she was unceremoniously yanked out of the room. “Wait, is it?!”

----------------------------

It had taken SO LONG for Diana to brush her hair that night, and her arms had been so tired. It didn’t get any easier the next morning, and last night Diana had petulantly chosen to throw caution to the wind. What was the worst that could happen to long hair, just because she hadn’t brushed it a hundred times?

Knots could happen. When she woke up that morning, she rapidly discovered that she had several knots in her hair. Instead of the usual bedhead, Diana’s hair looked unusually unkempt and tangled. Years of training had rebelled at this. Her hair was one of the only things she had left, she would NOT allow it to turn into a bird’s nest!

Her arms and hands were already sore, and Princess Diana winced and her eyes watered every time a knot resisted her brushing. “Why does she always have to be so mean to me?? Why is that worth more to her than the ransom Mother would pay for me?” she asked out loud, moaning as a tug of the hairbrush pulled her hair a little harder than she liked.

Maybe because she could practically conjure money and valuables out of thin air?

And that reminded her, because okay, you could explain a lot of what Circe did as her entertaining herself at Diana’s expense. But then there were the dresses and the jewels.

Mother had been kidnapped once, before Princess Diana was born. She had told her daughter about it on more than one occasion. Fortunately for Mother, she was kidnapped by masked men wanting five million dollars, rather than a mean-spirited dark sorceress wanting a new princess the way a little girl wanted a new doll. Diana’s grandparents, who she had no memory of, had paid the ransom with a briefcase filled with money, and a transmitter that gave away her kidnappers’ location. Mother had been saved, uninjured but wiser for the experience, and once Diana was old enough, Mother made sure she knew everything about it.

Of course, most of that information had proven inapplicable to the current situation. That included a warning Mother had given her, a warning that her abductors might try to discourage her and break her confidence by stripping her of everything that made her look like royalty. Mother’s kidnappers, for example, had taken her clothes, her shoes and all her jewelry, leaving her only in her undergarments and a slip, all of which were rather dirty and gray by the end. So when she was kidnapped while wearing an expensive ballgown, a pair of thousand-dollar shoes, a diamond tiara, and two diamond bracelets, Diana had assumed she wouldn’t have any of them on for much longer.

Naturally, not only did Circe NOT do that, but she took it even further!

Every morning, after Diana arose and went to dress herself – still a rather new experience for her – she would find a set of high-end white undergarments in her drawers, and an expensive dress, a pair of matching long opera gloves, and a pair of matching high-heeled shoes waiting for her in her closet. The undergarments fit her perfectly, her boobs were supported just the right amount, and they felt smooth against her skin. Although none of it was exactly what Diana would consider to be “lingerie”. The bras and panties were always more conservative than sexy, more like something a wealthy forty-year-old female CEO would wear to the office, not something a princess her age would wear to a ball. And in keeping with the conservative theme, there was always a matching slip and bodysuit too. At least, she thought it was a bodysuit, she'd never worn one before, even though she knew they were currently in fashion. Unlike the rest of her underthings, this felt a little tight around her stomach and ass, and while it covered her entire back, the front stopped just below her breastbone. Two shoulder straps kept the odd garment from slipping down. If she’d seen her Mother or another woman her age wearing it, the princess might have even thought it was a girdle. But that was laughable, Mother had never needed one of those, and neither did Diana. So it must have been a type of bodysuit, with a purpose she couldn’t decipher. She wore it anyway, even though the rather baggy slip hid it from view. Best not to offend the ogre.

The dresses were always variations on the flouncy ballgown she’d had on when she was abducted – short puffy sleeves, full skirts, narrow waists, high collars, bodices with laces or ribbons in front, zippers in back. Some had been more elaborate than others, like the one pink dress with the dark pink bows near the bottom of the skirts, but to put it in commoners’ terms, none of the dresses would have looked out of place in Disney’s Cinderella. They were always in lighter shades, such as baby blue, pastel pink, pale yellow or white, and they were all ultra-feminine which, granted, was definitely her style. She loved the gloves and the shoes too, although after a while she stopped wearing the gloves because they were getting in the way, and the heels definitely made her daily draggings a little harder for her. Plus for most of her life, high heels tended to make her even clumsier, which was a problem for a total klutz like her, not to mention her incredibly tolerant Mother. Since becoming Circe’s prisoner, it certainly wasn’t out of the ordinary for Princess Diana’s day to end with rips, tears and/or stains on her dress, as well as a broken heel. But there was always a new dress, gloves and shoes in immaculate condition in her closet the next day. Diana didn’t understand it, and Circe was as maddeningly vague as ever.

The fact that every night, after spending the whole day in the finest silks, she was then made to wear a hideous pink nightgown which only someone's great-grandmother would wear? That just made her feel even more confused. (And tacky.)

But that was nothing compared to the jewels. For Diana was not only still wearing the same diamond jewelry she’d arrived with, but now she had on more besides! Pretty much every day, Circe would bring her at least one very expensive-looking item for her to wear. It could be a ruby ring, or an emerald pendant, a white-gold ankle bracelet, a pearl necklace, diamond earrings, an elaborate brooch . . . it was never the exact same thing twice. And Circe had instructed her to wear every single piece every day, no matter what. Which was why Diana never wore the opera gloves any more. By this point she had a total of four rings on her fingers and five bracelets on her wrists, it was impossible to wear them all AND the gloves. Plus her tiara, three necklaces and a pendant, earrings, two ankle bracelets, a ladies’ diamond-encrusted watch, and a cameo brooch featuring, ugh, Circe’s profile.

It could be viewed as generosity, or even flirtation, except for two things. One, Circe claimed they were all stolen property. Every piece she brought Diana, Circe would say with considerable pride, “Oh, I stole this from a Cartier’s in Paris”, or “I took this from the safe-deposit box of an elderly Holocaust survivor in Warsaw”, or “Until today this piece was on display at a museum in Los Angeles”. And of course Princess Diana would thank her, even as she felt terribly guilty about Circe's ill-gotten gains making her the beneficiary of someone else’s unhappiness. By the eighth or ninth time, her “bling” felt a lot heavier than it probably really was. And two, Circe never presented the “gift” in a way that made Diana feel happy or cherished inside. Often Circe would look very smug and self-satisfied as she revealed the stolen item, as if she was the one getting the jewelry instead of Diana. Then, as she put the jewelry on Diana herself, she would describe the sordid means by which she’d acquired it in a taunting, belligerent tone of voice. And when Circe ordered Diana to wear each addition every day, just like all the others, she made it sounded like a threat. Imagine, wear this jewelry - or else!

On the plus side, Diana was starting to get over the moral dilemma of having to wear stolen jewelry every day, as her pride and vanity in her looks whittled down her ethical principles. It was just so pleasing to see how she looked in the mirror! “Maybe this is for the best,” she thought to herself. “Why leave these items behind glass and inside bank vaults, when they look so much prettier on me?” The only thing that made brushing her way-too-long hair bearable was getting to spend the hour admiring her extravagant growing jewelry collection in the mirror, and admiring how beautiful she looked in them even more.

Of course, the main thing that made hairbrushing bearable at BEST was having to do it all by –

“Oh, Princess?”

Diana almost leapt out of her chair. Circe was here? NOW?? She never came at this hour! Oh no, oh dear, this couldn’t be good!

Circe grinned even more widely than she had been a moment ago. “Wow, you look truly frightened by the sight of me. Probably going to be more deferential than usual now?” she asked, delighted.

She didn’t even bother denying it. “Yes, C- I mean, yes, Mistress Circe?”

The witch’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh ho, I like the sound of THAT coming out of your mouth. You should do it more often! But actually, I came to bring you a present. And it’s not evidence of a crime!”

“W-what is it, Mistress Circe?”

The princess suddenly realized she could see one end of Circe’s Lasso in her hand. The rest, though, was somewhere behind her . . .

Then Circe stepped aside, dragging into the room a young woman tied up in her magic ropes, much in the way she would always tie up Diana. She was a pretty blonde girl, between the age of twenty and twenty-five, dressed in a maid’s uniform that greatly resembled the ones worn by the female servants in Mother’s castle – a conservative, sturdy, grey long-sleeved dress, underneath a wide white apron that started at her chest and went down to her knees, with thin straps that tied around the back, and wider shoulder straps at the top. Just visible below the dress were thick tan woolen socks and thick-soled, flat and clunky shoes. And on the top of her head, a white bonnet that fit snugly. The sort of maidservant’s uniform used by an employer who cared more about function than style . . .

Wait. This WAS a maid’s uniform from her castle.

Because that was her youngest maidservant wearing it!

“Your Highness???” the young maid asked, sounding surprised but thrilled.

“Cassie?!” Diana gasped.

To be concluded ...
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I hope I'm not too late to say this - but this is one of the most satisfying stories I've read on the board in a long while, maybe all year. At first I didn't think I'd take to the (largely) non-sexual humiliation, but the sheer breadth of your imagination made it work... heh, Wonders. It was especially nice seeing the criminally-underused Circe pulling all the strings for once.

(By the way, I especially love how you lay out your personal Take on Wonder Woman at the start of these stories. I've been turning over something similar in my head, but I never thought I'd see someone else articulate it so well: for the purposes of Super Heroines in Peril, she should be goofy enough to laugh at, and yet powerful and dignified enough that you can understand her being a super heroine in the first place. It's not an easy balance to strike between porn parody and the "real" version, but anyone who even tries has my full respect.)

... well, like I said, I hope I haven't posted this too late, and if you have it in you to write the concluding part, I think we'd all love to see it.
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