Wonder Woman Domesticated

The Dark Side Of Superheroine Peril Discussion - 18 and older.
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Wonder Woman Domesticated

Post by EdgarNightbird »

Hello, I am Edgar Nightbird, and this is a new story I have begun to write, featuring our beloved goddess. :lynda1:
It will be a slow-paced, detailed and fetishized story, that will feature plenty of humiliation and degradation for Diana. Starting in the next chapter, we will also meet Frank, the husband.

For the latest updates and more of my stories, come by https://patreon.com/edgarnightbird
Thank you for reading!

Wonder Woman Domesticated

A Day in the Life of Wonder Wife

Chapter 1 - Morning Routines

Diana awoke with a start, her eyes fluttering open to the all-too-familiar sound of Frank’s snoring as it rasped through the bedroom. After yet another night of fitful sleep and sweaty sheets, she blinked away the remnants of exhaustion clinging to her vision. The pale light of dawn spilled through the sheer bedroom curtains, casting a soft glow upon her face as she attempted to gather her thoughts.

She sat up on the edge of the bed, her toes touching the cold floor, and ran a hand through her thick raven hair. The silken tendrils cascaded down her back like a black waterfall, their curled ends teasing the base of her spine. The delicate fabric of her sky-blue negligee clung to her body, its straps twisted and askew from her restless sleep. As she sat forward, the gauzy hem rode up, revealing her powerful thighs and adding an edge of desire to the morning air.

In the muted light of the room, her senses seemed heightened. The lingering stink of Frank’s stale, last-night cigarettes hung in the air, mingling with the earthy musk of her own arousal. It was a heady concoction that made her wrinkle her nose in distaste.

Her gaze drifted downward and noticed a darkened stain on her panties, a consequence of her untended passions and the long period of abstinence she had endured. The yearning it had left in her loins tempted her to return to the sanctuary of her bed and seek release in her own touch. But duty called, and with a reluctant sigh, Diana pushed those thoughts away, her duty as a wife and caretaker taking precedence over self-indulgence.

A dull ache throbbed behind her eyes, a result of the stress she carried each day, only made worse by the smoke-infused air that had invaded her lungs throughout the night. She rubbed her temples with gentle fingers, trying to ease the tension, but the pain persisted.

Rising from the bed, Diana stood at her full height. Tall and noble, her statuesque frame seemed to command the room, her presence resplendent in the early morning light. Even in her bedclothes she was an imposing sight, the power of her limbs evident beneath the sheer fabric of her nightgown. Hardened muscle defined her form, bearing witness of her Amazonian heritage. Long, raven-black hair cascaded down her back in thick, glossy waves, framing broad shoulders and a face sculpted in such raw beauty it seemed almost ethereal.

As she moved through the room, her lithe form became an embodiment of centuries of discipline and precision. Each step flowed like liquid grace, a manifestation of her unwavering dedication to her husband’s desires. Though the world knew her as Wonder Woman, a paragon of strength and independence, it was in these intimate moments that the true depths of her submission were laid bare. She was aware that even in his apparent slumber, Frank’s gaze could be upon her, his lecherous eyes taking in her every detail. And so, she made sure that her posture was impeccable, her spine straight and head held high.

With the grace of a swan, Diana approached the full-length mirror tucked away in the corner of the room. Her reflection stared back at her; a vision of strength and sensuality intertwined. She took in her own appearance with a critical eye, adjusting the straps of her nightgown to fall in parallel lines down her collarbone, showcasing the elegant curve of her shoulders and accentuating her ample bosom. She scrutinized herself closer, taking in every inch of her exposed flesh. The pale olive tone of her skin seemed to glow under the soft light, accentuating the sculpted curves and hard-earned muscle that adorned her body. Her gaze lingered on her ample breasts, their fullness enhanced by the sweet ache of longing that still pulsated within her. Diana knew that her husband, Frank, had a particular appreciation for her breasts—their shape, their weight, the way they filled his hands. She often caught him stealing glances when he thought she wasn’t looking, his beady eyes fixed upon her with an intensity that belied his frail appearance.

With this thought in mind, Diana unfastened the straps of her negligee and let the delicate fabric fall away. Standing before the mirror naked from the waist up, she was unabashedly aware of her own allure. Her large, firm breasts beckoned for attention, their prominent nipples standing erect in anticipation. Diana’s hands moved to cup her breasts, her touch gentle yet purposeful. She caressed them in slow circles, feeling the weight of her own desire settle deep within her core. The sensation sent a shiver through her body, causing her nipples to harden further beneath her touch. As she continued to fondle herself, Diana’s gaze remained locked on her reflection. The image of her own submission fueled by devotion stared back at her—a powerful warrior reduced to such vulnerability for the sake of love. It was a paradox that both thrilled and haunted her. Meeting her own blue-eyed gaze, she was astounded by the sacrifices she had made for this man who lay slumbering just a few feet away. Yet she also knew that she would keep on giving him valuable parts of herself until death did them part.

Diana sighed, her momentary indulgence in self-reflection fading as her sense of duty returned. She reached for her discarded negligee, slipping it back on with practiced ease. As she reattached the straps, once more encasing her ample breasts in gauzy fabric, her eyes settled on the wheelchair nestled in the corner, a stark emblem of her husband’s frailty and the intricacies that governed their married union. A wellspring of compassion surged within her at the sight, for his struggles were her own.

Turning to look over her shoulder, she brought her attention to Frank, still sprawled out in bed and blissfully ignorant of the world around him. His frail form seemed even smaller amid the tangle of blankets and sheets. The gray hairs sprouting from his body were an unsightly reminder of his decline, as were the wrinkles etched deep into his weathered skin. The sight of his hirsute body, covered in liver spots and rashes, made Diana’s stomach churn, but she swallowed her revulsion. This was her husband, flawed and imperfect as he may be.

As Diana approached Frank’s slumbering figure, a mixture of pity and frustration welled up within her. His callous demands and disregard for personal hygiene had worn at her patience over time, yet she couldn’t bring herself to abandon him. Her love for this man, buried beneath layers of resentment and sacrifice, fought against her better judgment. It was a testament to her deep-set convictions that she would choose to share her bed with someone like him, a man who many would deem an ill match unworthy of her profound love.

Settling her shoulders, Diana tore her gaze away from Frank’s snoring form, reminding herself of the pressing matters that awaited her. She had an important presentation at work today, one that could determine the course of her career. A promotion and a much-needed raise hung in the balance, and she couldn’t afford to be late or unprepared. Her blue eyes were full of determination, though she knew that she needed to make an effort to rise above the exhaustion and restlessness of the night. Behind her temples, the dull throbbing persisted, but Diana paid it no heed, her mind already primed with the tasks that lay ahead.

She moved about the room as quietly as she could, her heart pounding in her chest with each soft creak of the floorboards. The fear of waking Frank too early reverberated within her chest. She had learned through bitter experience that disturbing his slumber before he was ready could unleash a tempest of anger that she had no desire to face.

Just as she reached for the doorknob, a wheezing sound echoed through the room, the harsh rasp of his breath breaking the stillness of their shared sanctuary. Diana froze, her breath catching in her throat. Frank stirred beneath his covers, his rheumy eyes flickering open for a brief moment before closing again. Diana’s worries dissipated as she watched her husband’s body settle back into a deep sleep. She released a silent sigh of relief, grateful for this brief respite. Still, her heart swelled with a mix of love and sympathy for Frank. She couldn’t help but feel a deep compassion for his weakened state, as if it were her purpose in life to bring comfort and solace to his troubled existence. It was this unwavering commitment that fueled her relentless pursuit of perfection as his wife.

Moving with calculated stealth, Diana slipped out of their bedroom, her bare feet padding against the cool hardwood floor. She ventured down the hallway, each step taken with a care that reflected years of practice, maneuvering through the house so as not to disturb Frank’s delicate slumber. Her thoughts whirled with trepidation. The delicate balance she had learned to maintain over the years was fragile, easily shattered by even the most innocent of mistakes. Some of the old wooden floorboards creaked under her weight, but she knew all the right places to step to minimize the noise.

Diana entered the spacious kitchen of their modest house, the soft steps of her bare feet a silent grace in the morning stillness. The daring negligee, a mere whisper of fabric, brushed against her thighs, its form-fitting seams clinging to her statuesque frame. Underneath, her heavy breasts shifted and swayed with her movements, unburdened by the constraints of a brassiere.

The early morning sun cast a warm glow through the windows, painting the room with a soft radiance. In this realm of domesticity, Diana had taken on a role that shielded her true self, obscuring the resilience of a warrior with the veneer of a dutiful wife. And so, just as the sun rose each day, she awoke before its golden rays could set the sky ablaze, ready to shoulder the quiet responsibilities that Frank demanded of her.

Diana’s eyes swept across the pristine expanse of the kitchen, her gaze settling on every surface and object. It was a ritual born out of a need for control in an environment that demanded her submission. She inspected every detail with meticulous precision, ensuring that everything was in order before she began her morning routine. The countertops gleamed under the soft sunlight streaming through the windows, a courtesy to her fastidiousness. Yet, amid this pristine cleanliness, her eyes fell upon a sight that filled her with revulsion: a worn old dog bowl, nestled in a corner on the floor.

She knew beyond a doubt that this doggy dish was meant for her, having used it many times before to take her meals. But, as if to make its purpose unmistakably clear, her name, ‘Diana’, had been scrawled on its side in crude letters with a red marker pen. The mere sight of it sent a jolt of indignation through her veins. Her gods-given name written in such a demeaning manner mocked her divine heritage and constituted an affront to everything she stood for. She was an Amazonian warrior princess, not some domestic creature subjected to such degradation! And yet, the bowl served as a stark reminder of her place in this household, reduced to the level of a common house pet.

The dish itself was an eyesore, scratched and rough around the edges. Its white plastic had turned yellow over time, stained and discolored from countless meals served within its degrading confines. It was an object devoid of beauty or elegance, designed solely for function and utility.

As Diana bent over at the waist to pick up the bowl, the sheer fabric of her negligee rose higher on her thighs, exposing the raw power and muscle that defined her Amazonian body. It stood in stark contrast to the submissive role she was forced to adopt, a reminder of the paradox that consumed her existence.

Her fingertips grazed over the dried residue and greasy smears that clung to the bowl’s inner edges, each touch sending waves of disgust through her body. It was a visceral reminder of the sacrifices she had made for this man who lay oblivious in their bedroom. Her nose crinkled at the rank smell wafting up from within the bowl’s depths—a pungent mixture of stale food and lingering decay. Every foul whiff was a proclamation of her obedience, a reminder that she was not even permitted to wash the bowl, its white color chosen with cruel intention to expose every stain and mark, making her confront the remnants of her own degradation with every new meal. She could even spot a smear from last night’s dinner of stale anchovies, the pungent taste still fresh in her mind. Her entire being shuddered at the memory of licking that foul bowl clean after each meal, consuming every morsel no matter how distasteful or unappetizing.

But it was not just the physical aspects that disturbed her. It was the deep-seated symbolism within that simple object—a vessel for sustenance and degradation all at once. That bowl represented Frank’s power over her, his ability to dictate every aspect of her life in this mundane existence they shared.

With a heavy sigh, Diana placed the repulsive bowl on the counter next to what was to become her morning meal today—a plain can of store-bought, low-quality dog food. Her stomach churned at the thought of consuming such unpalatable fare, but she knew better than to question or resist Frank’s demands. She left the bowl and can in a deserted corner of the counter, acknowledging the inevitable reality that awaited her later—an empty stomach filled with grainy dog food, most unfit for a proud Amazon warrior and renowned heroine of untold ages.

In this intimate struggle between duty and self-respect, Diana took solace in one undeniable truth—these vile tasks were mere trials she must endure for love. It was love that fueled her determination to push through her feelings and obey the rules laid out by her husband. As much as it pained her to admit it, this was the life she had chosen for herself. She had willingly sacrificed parts of her identity and dignity in order to build a life with Frank.

With determination firm in her heart, Diana set about preparing Frank’s breakfast, her bare feet barely making a sound against the cool tiles. The morning sun cast a golden glow on the countertops as she chopped vegetables and cracked eggs into a bowl. Soon, the familiar scent of sizzling bacon filled the air, mingling with the faint traces of cigarette smoke that seemed to permeate every corner of their home.

The headache, ever persistent, continued to throb behind her temples, not helped by the smoky scents in the air. It clouded her thoughts, competing with the urgency of her morning tasks. Diana glanced at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall, her deep blue eyes narrowing with a hint of concern. Despite her early rise, she knew that she did not have much time to finish all that lay before her this morning, and she had to ensure that everything was ready before Frank awakened. Her mind buzzed with a flurry of thoughts and responsibilities while her hands danced across stainless-steel pans, preparing a spicy omelet infused with herbs from their small, neglected garden. As the eggs sizzled in the hot pan, releasing their savory aroma, Diana observed their transformation with a serene focus that belied her years of military training.

Moving with purpose, she navigated her way around the kitchen with ease, the years of preparing meals for Frank etched into her muscle memory. Her slender fingers deftly measured flour and buttermilk in proper quantities, seamlessly multitasking as she initiated the coffee machine to just the right level.

Diana’s precise movements never faltered, her body knowing the rhythm of the kitchen. Nimble fingers wrangled pots and pans with a balletic grace that belied her strength, while her bare feet danced with graceful efficiency across the cold tiles, carrying her from countertop to pantry to stove. She knew every corner and every utensil, handling them with practiced ease. Meals were always cooked by her hand, a flow of affection wrapped within each mouthful. She did it all, from the simplest of breakfasts to elaborate feasts, never faltering in her quest to cater to Frank’s every desire. The irony was not lost on her—an Amazonian warrior tending to the culinary needs of a man who barely outweighed their smallest frying pan. But the fire of her nurturing spirit burned bright, igniting warmth into every aspect of their shared lives.

As she cooked, Diana’s mind wandered to the love she shared with Frank. Theirs was an improbable union, formed against all odds. Diana had thought herself destined for a solitary fate, dedicating her life to the greater good of mankind. But Lachesis had intervened, drawing her toward Frank’s vulnerability and need. And in their union, she had found a new purpose—a fulfillment of the dreams she had buried deep within the recesses of her Amazonian heart.

A whisper-soft hiss sounded as the toaster relinquished the finished slices of bread, their golden exteriors proof of Diana’s culinary prowess. Abandoning her ruminations, she reached for the butter, spreading it across each toasted slice. The motion was almost automatic, as if her hands possessed an innate wisdom, having performed this task countless times before. With every dish that she prepared, she paid careful attention to Frank’s preferences, ensuring that every bite would be to his liking. To do otherwise would be a dereliction of her spousal obligations.

As the clock on the wall ticked closer to the hour, Diana couldn’t help but steal a concerned glance toward the presentation that lay wrapped in a manila envelope on the kitchen table. Its mere presence was a reminder of the stakes at hand. She had poured long hours and late nights into its creation, fueled by visions of a promotion and a much-needed raise. They had been living on a tight budget, and any opportunity for financial stability was not to be missed. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach. Her presentation had to be perfect—flawless, to the last minutiae of detail—in order to secure recognition from her colleagues at work. Her delicate features furrowed with concern as she ran through her notes once more, her mind a whirlwind of calculated thoughts and meticulous planning. Doubts pulled at the corners of her mind, threatening to unravel her carefully constructed plans, but she pushed them aside.

Diana’s commitment to her career was as strong as her dedication to her husband. She balanced the dual responsibilities with grace, her thoughts alternating seamlessly between recipes, work, and her ever-present concern for Frank’s wellbeing. Her head throbbed with the intensity of her thoughts, the lingering headache exacerbated by her continuous movement. Yet, she pressed on, never faltering in her efforts.

She whisked the pancake batter with a fervor that matched the tempo of her thoughts, making it dance across the bowl, a few rebellious drops spattering her sky-blue negligee. She paid them no mind, focusing on the task at hand. Appearances, though important, came second to fulfilling her duties.

With determination etched on her face, Diana busied herself combining the pancake mix, milk, and eggs, stirring the batter until it reached the perfect consistency. The sizzle of the hot griddle filled the air as she poured a generous ladleful of batter onto its surface, forming perfect circles with her expert hand. Soon, the aroma of fresh-cooked pancakes wafted through the kitchen, filling every corner and inviting the sleepy senses to awaken.

A subtle, insistent pressure flowed from her lower abdomen, a gentle reminder of a bladder demanding attention. She cast a longing gaze toward the bathroom, but it was a temptation that could not be indulged. Her own needs were an afterthought compared to those of her husband. It was an unwritten rule she willingly obeyed. With a deep breath to steady herself, she pushed her discomfort aside and refocused her attention on her duties.

Her diligent hands moved with purpose, whisking eggs with practiced ease, flipping pancakes with a deft twist of the wrist. In between flipping bacon and stirring pans, she mentally rehearsed each key point of her presentation, her attention divided but focused. Anxiety churned in her gut as she questioned whether she had prepared enough, whether it would be good enough… But she knew she could not afford to get distracted from her primary task. Every detail, every dish, every taste had to be perfect, just as her husband demanded.

Her clear blue eyes flickered back to the clock on the wall, their vibrant hue dulling with a hint of worry. Her movements became more urgent, her practiced hand slicing through vegetables with precision born from countless hours spent honing her culinary skills. The indulgent dance of flavors and textures was a ritual she had perfected, a humble offering to satisfy Frank’s palate. Likewise, the fragrant aromas that wafted through the air were designed to tempt his appetite, evoking a sense of home and comfort.

One by one, the dishes filled the counter, their aromas mingling in a symphony of delicious scents. Varying shades of yellow and brown adorned the china—golden-fried eggs, glistening with a delicate sheen of butter, a mosaic of crispy bacon strips forming an intricate pattern. Toast, perfectly browned and imbued with a subtle aroma of warmth, accompanied the feast. She prepared Frank’s precise portion sizes, his favorite notations of sugary sweetness and greasy delight. The spectrum of his colorful plate shimmered before her scrutinizing eyes as she worked, ensuring the food was visually captivating as well as tasteful. A plate of fluffy pancakes awaited their golden finish, while a platter of the spicy vegetable omelet was ready to be served. Each dish was created with delicate care and love, for Diana poured her heart into every aspect of her duties as a wife.

Her work presentation, however, constantly tugged at the edges of her thoughts, diverting her focus. Even as she tenderly stacked fluffy pancakes, arranged fruit slices in a meticulous, symmetrical display, and garnished the steaming eggs, she fretted about potential missteps, envisioning each spoonful being met with a sour note. With a final flourish, Diana placed the last pancake on the pile, her tender fingers tinged with a dusting of powdered sugar. Taking a quick glance at the clock, she urged herself to move faster.

The alluring smells of her husband’s breakfast wafted through the air, the vibrant aroma of the masterfully prepared dishes teasing her senses and making her stomach growl. Yet, Diana did not dare reach out for a taste. Instead, she merely inhaled the delicious scents, savoring them the only way she was allowed. She longed to taste the food she had created with such care, to savor the flavors dancing on her tongue, but there would be no indulgence for her. She would not have the pleasure of tasting the fruits of her labor. Her own meager meal sat relegated to that lonely corner of the counter, a sad reminder of the sacrifices she made on a daily basis.

The cold, plain can of dog food mocked her with its simplicity. It was a cruel and unappetizing contrast to the colorful feast she had prepared for her husband. Diana averted her gaze. Despite her empty belly, she did not look forward to partaking in that unsavory meal, but it was part of Frank’s strict rules regarding her diet, and she adhered to those rules with the same conviction as she did everything else.

Her soft-soled feet padded across the cool kitchen tiles as she set the table with meticulous care, arranging each dish with impeccable precision in swift, graceful motions. The plate of pancakes, fluffy and golden, beckoned with tantalizing sweetness. The eggs, perfectly cooked and buttered, were a canvas of colors and flavors. And the sizzling bacon, crisp and aromatic, begged to be devoured. She poured the freshly brewed coffee into a delicate cup, steam curling upward in tempting streamers, and set it down beside the feast.

As the plates sat arranged with artistic flair, Diana’s belly again grumbled with its demands. But her own hunger was unimportant. Suppressing her needs, Diana flitted about the table, arranging the silverware and napkins in meticulous order. She kept her thoughts focused on the tasks at hand, banishing the residual headache that lingered in her temples. The more she poured herself into these mundane responsibilities, the greater the semblance of fulfillment she found. In this eternal morning routine, the world became a small bubble where her submission to Frank’s desires provided its own measure of contentment, albeit a complex one.

A gentle sigh escaped her lips as she surveyed the colorful masterpiece before her. The elegant presentation beckoned for Frank’s attention. In a final stroke of her personal narrative, Diana deposited the cold metal can on her allocated side of the table, a stark contrast to the vibrant feast in front of her husband’s seat. Her own minuscule meal felt like cruel punishment, a reminder of the boundaries she willingly accepted to be the woman she thought she could mold herself to be—a perfect wife to an imperfect man, striving to curate a life together where differences coexisted in surprising harmony.

The table was a tableau of Diana’s love and dedication—of her willingness to sacrifice her own needs for his. She stood there in the kitchen, bathed in morning light, ready to serve the man she loved, her eyes burning with unwavering devotion and a deep longing for recognition.

Taking her assigned place to the side of the table, her statuesque form stood at attention, her posture poised and serene, a picture of controlled elegance ready to welcome her husband with a personal touch. Diana took a deep breath, the warming scent of her own creation enveloping her. With a sense of accomplishment, Diana called out in her melodious voice, maintaining the respectful tone she always adopted.

“Breakfast is ready, my love!”

Her timbre carried through the quiet house, a gentle entreaty for Frank to join her. But deep down, she knew it was more than breakfast she was offering. It was her unwavering dedication, her commitment to love and cherish him until the end of their days.

Diana’s shoulders tightened with anticipation. Time was of the essence, and the demands of her office work loomed ever closer. As she waited for the footsteps of her beloved to draw near, she suppressed the quiet stirrings of her own desires, burying them beneath a facade of selflessness and unwavering dedication.

With an upright posture and her eyes fixed on the open kitchen door, she waited patiently, standing at attention like a loyal soldier ready for duty. The pressing need for haste pulsed through her veins, urging her to hurry through her chores and make herself presentable for work. Time was not her ally, but she yearned to prove to Frank, and to herself, that she could excel in all aspects of her life. In that moment, Diana embodied the essence of her role as a wife, her graceful posture and eager anticipation a monument to her devotion. Her inner warrior, fierce and powerful, had once more bowed before her frail husband’s mortal needs, placing them far above her own.
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Re: Wonder Woman Domesticated

Post by DrDominator9 »

Diana's willingness to subvert herself for her husband might carry a hint of nobility but making Frank such an object of both pity and horror (She's forced to eat dog food? Really?!) makes this a tough sell for me. I'll hang in for another chapter but, man, it's tough sledding.
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Re: Wonder Woman Domesticated

Post by EdgarNightbird »

Appreciate the comment, Dr, though I've had warmer welcomes. Perhaps I should have been even more specific. This story will be pretty heavily niched, so it won't be for everyone. We all have different ONs and OFFs, and no matter how well you write, you can never cater to everyone's personal taste. That said, I still appreciate constructive criticism, just like every other writer.
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Re: Wonder Woman Domesticated

Post by DrDominator9 »

Having stated my opinion, I will add (and should have earlier, my bad) that your writing talent is clearly admirable with an excellent eye for detail in both character attitude and scene setting. So thanks for sharing. Let's hear from others here, yeah?
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Re: Wonder Woman Domesticated

Post by EdgarNightbird »

Chapter 2 - Wakeup Call

Diana’s heart sank as her call for breakfast remained unanswered. Silence echoed throughout the house, punctuating the passing minutes. A sense of urgency fluttered within her to hasten her steps—not only to ensure that Frank received the nourishment he needed but also to continue her preparations for work. As the seconds seemed to stretch, each one a taut thread of tension, Diana’s brow furrowed with growing concern. The expectant smile she wore began to waver, replaced by a flicker of worry in her clear blue eyes. Fearing that the sound of her prompting voice might annoy him by flying out so soon again, she hesitated to repeat her call.
After another precious minute had slipped away, Diana resolved to uncover the cause of the delay. With a graceful pirouette, she pivoted on her heels and made her way back to the bedroom. The anticipation mounting within her added a subtle sway to her hips as if the rhythm of her steps matched the beating of her heart. Her movements were fluid, precise, economical. Her heart quickened with each powerful stride, the light fabric of her negligee swishing against her smooth, olive skin.
As she approached the bedroom, her mind filled with a whirlwind of emotions. Diana’s hand hesitated, her heart heavy with a sudden wave of doubt as she stood before the closed door. Should she intrude on Frank’s domain or retreat to the breakfast table and endure a bit more waiting? Their years together had acquainted her all too well with the fickle nature of his morning temperament. Whenever possible, it was a confrontation she sought to evade. Yet, driven by the need for haste, Diana steeled herself to proceed.
Her fingertips trembled for a moment, hovering just above the cool brass of the doorknob. The elegant façade of her poise and grace wavered as she grappled with her conflicting emotions. Doubt, a rare intruder in her disciplined mind, threatened to overpower her unyielding faith in her abilities to persevere.
Pushing her apprehensions aside, Diana steeled herself for what lay beyond the door. She closed her hand around the doorknob, its metallic chill imprinting on her skin. With a flick of her wrist, she turned it and eased the door open.
A sliver of golden sunlight spilled into the room, casting long, dancing shadows across their king-sized marital bed. The sight that met Diana’s eyes made her halt in her tracks. Frank lay in a tangle of sheets, his weathered face softened in slumber while a faint snore rumbled from his chest. The vulnerability of the moment struck her—here was the man who often exuded authority and dominance, now in a state of unguarded repose. His lanky wisps of gray hair spread untamed in all directions, caught between his mottled scalp and the pillow supporting his head. The lines etched on his face by years of strife appeared harsher, more pronounced in the gentle illumination. The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, an echo of dreams unknown to her.
For a fleeting instant, Diana felt a swell of tenderness. She observed him as if seeing beyond the façade, as if the slumbering man before her held secrets and vulnerabilities not readily apparent. It was a side of Frank she rarely witnessed, a reminder that even the hardest individuals found solace in the vulnerability of sleep.
As she stood there in the bedroom, Diana’s nose wrinkled. The air was thick and oppressive with the stench of Frank’s unwashed body. It was a scent she had grown accustomed to, one that invaded her senses every day, but still, it never failed to make her yearn for fresh air. She longed to open a window, to let in the crispness of the outside world, but she knew that Frank would not approve. His frail lungs were sensitive to cool air, and any discomfort it might bring would be perceived as an offense against his delicate state.
A rattling sound brought her attention back to Frank. Her eyes sharpened, taking in her husband’s disheveled appearance. For a moment, she observed every breath he took, every minute flutter of his lashes with an intensity that spoke of both concern and care. Beads of sweat trailed down his brow, his pallid skin glistening in the soft light that filtered through the curtains.
Diana’s heart clenched in her chest as the reality of Frank’s condition settled upon her with renewed weight. The intricacies of his well-being, once so easily dismissed, now unfolded before her in stark clarity. Her love for him wove itself into every unspoken fear, every furrow that etched itself into her brow. And yet, amid the concern that surged within her, Diana’s inner voice rose with a resolute determination. She told herself that she needed to be strong for him, to gather the fragments of her worry and channel them into a force that would support him through the challenges that lay ahead. It was a silent affirmation, a pact she made with herself on a daily basis in the face of her beloved husband’s vulnerability.
With cautious steps, Diana approached him. The gauzy hem of her negligee brushed against her toned thighs with every measured step, her infinite grace and beauty a stark contrast to the unkempt state of her husband. As she drew nearer, the strained but rhythmic sound of his breathing became more evident. Diana reached out, her touch as delicate as a whisper, her fingers brushing against his forehead to push aside the errant strands of greasy hair that clung to his damp skin. As she leaned down toward him, her voice was a tender, silken caress in his ear.
“Good morning, my love,” she whispered, the sweet warmth of her breath mingling with the stagnant air that surrounded him.

* * *

Frank groaned as the sound of Diana’s sweet voice pierced through his slumber, rousing him from his dreams. He shifted in bed, his frail body aching from the restless sleep that had plagued him throughout the night. The smoky haze of last night’s cigarettes still clung to his mouth, adding a bitter taste to every breath he took. And yet, his first thought was for another smoke to start his day off. With a conscious effort, he forced his grainy eyes to blink open, bloodshot and tired, squinting against the soft glow of morning light that spilled into the room.
The sight that greeted him was one he had grown accustomed to over the years, though it never failed to take his breath away; the radiant beauty of his wonderful wife, her striking features etched with care and concern. Diana squatted beside their bed in a graceful, wide-legged stance, her face level with his own. Her clear blue eyes held a depth that seemed endless—windows into a soul that was both powerful and compassionate, unyielding and eternally gracious. Right now, those eyes sparkled with steadfast determination as she reached out to brush aside a stray wisp of greasy hair from his damp forehead, her touch as light as a feather. A grunt escaped Frank’s lips in response, a rough acknowledgment from behind his nicotine-stained teeth.
“What do you want, woman? Why are you bothering me?” Frank grumbled, his voice gravelly with sleep and tainted with a thick layer of discontentment. Unperturbed by his grouchiness, Diana leaned in and pressed her lips against his forehead, planting a soft kiss on his damp skin.
“Good morning, my love,” she whispered, her voice filled with warmth and tenderness. “I hope you had a restful night.”
Frank caught a hint of her sweet scent and felt her silky hair brush his cheek as she settled back again, an unwavering guardian and devoted companion rolled into one. Despite his irritable nature, he couldn’t disregard the emotions she stirred within him. This woman was one of a kind, and she was all his for the taking.
“Morning, already? Can’t even manage a decent stretch of sleep around here,” he mumbled, his drool-stained mouth twisting in a grimace as he clung to the fading tendrils of repose. “And as for my night, it was worse than ever, no thanks to your interruption just now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Frank,” she said, her tone a steady stream of genuine warmth and affection. “I know how much you value your sleep, especially after a night like that. It was never my intention to startle you...” Diana’s full lips curled into a gentle smile as she leaned closer to him, her voice resonating like warm honey in his ears. “…but I wanted to let you know that breakfast is ready, my love,” she said in hushed tones. “Perhaps that will brighten your mood.”
Her delicate fingers brushed another strand of wiry hair from his forehead, her touch tender yet fleeting, as if she recognized the fine line between affection and intrusion during these early hours. Her sweet scent enveloped him as she leaned even closer, her caring words floating on her breath like delicate petals on the wind.
“I’m here to take care of you, Frank. Whatever you need, I will provide.”
Frank scoffed at her attempt to rouse him from sleep before he was good and ready. He burrowed deeper into their tangled sheets and grumbled under his breath, “I’ll eat when I feel like it, woman. Not when you come calling for me.”
Undeterred, Diana persisted in nudging him awake with gentle words laced with patience and understanding, adding a hint of allure to her persuasion.
“I’ve prepared your favorite—fluffy pancakes with a side of fresh berries…” she coaxed, allowing her words to hang in the air for a moment before continuing, “…and there’s bacon to go with your omelet—greasy and fried to a crisp, just the way you like it.”
Frank’s stomach growled at the mention of food but still he resisted rising from bed. He couldn’t deny that breakfast sounded tempting—Diana’s culinary skills were unmatched, and he knew how much effort she put into every meal, striving to cater to his tastes in a way that no one else ever had—but on this particular morning, other things beckoned to him even more strongly: Diana herself.
As she spoke to him in dulcet tones, her voice like a siren’s song, Frank could not resist the pull of her nearness—an ethereal figure bathed in morning light and draped in wisps of sheer fabric that clung to her marvelous curves. His old eyes were repeatedly drawn to the enticing cleft formed by her ample mounds huddling together beneath her scant attire. If memory served him right, he had handpicked that blue negligee for her during one of their outings to the mall, and that decision certainly yielded no regrets from him now. With each subtle shift she made, the translucent fabric fluttered, offering glimpses of firm breasts straining against their delicate confines. At their peaks, dusky hints of nipples pressed upward, caught in the fabric, taut and erect.
He let his gaze linger on her captivating body, uncaring if she disapproved of his ogling. Indeed, having committed to the role of his wife, Diana bore the obligation to present herself for his visual gratification and contentment at all times. He had established that principle early on in their relationship and had remained resolute in his stance ever since. Come to think of it, she had yet to violate a single one of his core directives, at least deliberately. That spoke volumes of her deep respect for the boundaries he had set, and how far she was willing to go to please him at the cost of her own autonomy. Yet, from where he sat, there was always room to demand more from her…
With that inspiring thought in mind, Frank leaned over to the side of the bed to grant himself a better downward-viewing angle. His sluggish gaze wandered down Diana’s body, lingering on her firm midsection, her flexing thighs, and the bright blue panties that clung to her loins between them. The provocative sight was a bit surprising to him. Could it be that Diana’s open-legged stance and abbreviated nightgown had unveiled more than his ever-dignified wife had intended?
In any case, her intimate parts now lay exposed to his eyes with unforgiving clarity. The feminine bulge of her vulva pressed against the supple material of her panties, a few stray black hairs peeking out from around their edges. But even more intriguing to his hungry eyes was the darker spot in front of those delicate undergarments, revealing Diana’s pent-up desires—a profound longing that he had forbidden her to indulge through another set of strict mandates. Exerting control over every aspect of Diana’s life had become something of a personal pursuit for him, and he took great pleasure in witnessing her strong persona yield beneath his uncompromising authority.
Frank rested back on the bed, propped up on soft pillows to support his ailing frame. His eyes gleamed with lust-filled eagerness as he took in the view before him. Diana remained perched on her haunches, an image of poised restraint—a stillness that he found agreeable at this moment. Her posture exemplified controlled grace, her muscular arms finding repose on the mattress with a sense of vigilant relaxation. She regarded him with considerate eyes and a slight tilt of her head, watchful for any unforeseen occurrence that might require her attention. She seemed to grasp his preference for silence and maintained a hushed demeanor, demonstrating her boundless patience and keen ability to gauge the atmosphere of the room.
As Frank’s gaze lingered upon her, he marveled at Diana’s exquisite beauty. Her features seemed to have been chiseled by an artist’s meticulous hand—elegant yet strong, she was an amalgamation of captivating contrasts; The soft curve of her lips held a mysterious allure, a promise of unspoken depths; Her brilliant blue eyes, like serene pools of introspection, locked onto his with a gentle intensity, as if searching for the nuances of his desires and needs; A cascade of raven-black hair framed her countenance, each strand catching the room’s ambient light and weaving a golden halo around her head; Her skin, a canvas of porcelain, carried a warm undertone beneath its flawless surface, a reflection of a life brimming with purpose and vitality.
But it was more than just her physical form that captivated him—it was the intricate interplay of her persona, her poise, and her ability to convey emotions through every gesture, no matter how subtle or refined. For a split second, he could almost believe in the ancient tales, the ones that whispered of Diana being sculpted by the hands of the gods themselves from a humble mound of clay.
In the wake of her silence, Frank’s gaze once again descended, inexorably drawn to the magnetic pull of her cleavage—a tempting expanse of soft flesh and graceful curves begging for his attention. Without preamble, his hand reached toward that alluring sight, slipping beneath the fabric of her gown to explore. His bony fingers traced the contours of one ample, firm breast, feeling its weight and heft before moving to the other. They were perfect in shape and suspension, each one larger than his hands, silky smooth and warm to the touch, and capped with stiff nipples long enough to grasp between his knuckles.
Rather than pulling away, Diana leaned into his touch, allowing him to savor the sensual attributes of her breasts without reservation. Yet, within the depths of her eyes, he discerned a blend of affectionate compliance and suppressed pride—not enough to meet his demands for complete submission.
He had taken care to communicate his fondness for such intimate moments, ensuring Diana understood his resolve and that the pleasure he sought was not to be denied. So, with a penetrating stare into her crystal blue eyes, he reinforced that desire anew in a way that left no room for ambiguity. Observing her response to his unspoken challenge, he noticed her stiffened posture and the subtle tightening of her features, but opted to give her a pass for the time being. There would be ample opportunity to address her inadequate behavior later.
As he kept fondling her breasts, Frank marveled at the paradox before him; Here was a woman of immense strength and capability, somehow ensnared by his own unpleasant appearance and demeanor, willingly surrendering her independence and power to become his devoted wife. How could a woman of such grace and beauty find contentment in catering to a man like him? A man who had grown bitter and irritable over the years, succumbing to ailments brought on by his own unhealthy habits. It was a mystery that seemed to defy all reason, explained perhaps in part by Diana’s infinite compassion and resilience—qualities he had never possessed himself, nor truly understood.
As much as Frank enjoyed the fruits of Diana’s commitment, he often found himself grappling with the reality of their unorthodox marriage. Not that he complained. His once pitiful existence had undergone a remarkable transformation since the arrival of Wonder Woman in his life, eclipsing all former years combined. Most days, he luxuriated in every moment spent in Diana’s intimate company. Yet, her underlying motives continued to elude him. He could only assume that his unflattering ‘Lost Puppy Syndrome’ traits resonated in some profound way with Diana’s caregiving and nurturing disposition. This connection seemed to spark a protective instinct within her, an intrinsic urge to provide the care and support he secretly craved. Without a doubt, Diana was a ‘rescuer’ at heart, always primed to extend her assistance and solace to those navigating their way through hardship or portraying themselves as helpless. Over three years of marriage, Frank had come to understand Diana’s acute responsiveness to the emotional needs of others and the true depth of her commitment to alleviating their burdens. This dedication extended beyond her public identity to her personal realm as well, reflecting not only her iconic Wonder Woman persona but also her genuine character. All in all, Diana was a remarkable woman; powerful, self-sufficient, and endlessly resilient, with an unwavering determination, boundless empathy, and an inspiring capacity to embody both her iconic superheroine persona and her authentic, compassionate self.
Yet, there she knelt—a beacon of strength and beauty—beside their marital bed, assuming a posture of deference to his authority. The sight of her in that submissive stance stirred something primal within Frank—an emotion that merged desire with a profound sense of pride. To think that this remarkable woman, with all her might and beauty, had chosen him above myriad contenders, willingly embracing a role both intricate and conflicting, evoked within Frank a potent mix of yearning and self-assurance.
But perhaps he shouldn’t sell himself short. It was quite possible that Diana’s true drive to serve him stemmed from the commanding aura of his persona, an authority surpassing even her own, if he may say so himself. As if to put this hypothesis to the test, he reestablished eye contact with Diana and fixed her with a hard stare.
“Give me your panties,” he commanded, the sharpness of his voice cutting through the oppressive silence. His words hung heavy in the air, causing an audible hitch in Diana’s breath. A tremor danced across her fingers as she hesitated for a split second and then complied, reaching beneath the hem of her nightgown to hook her thumbs into the waistband of her delicate undergarment. The satiny fabric slipped from her curves as if reluctant to part from her warmth, the dampness of her skin creating a gentle friction that impeded its graceful descent. But off it came, leaving bare a wider expanse of smooth, creamy white skin than had previously been revealed. She closed her legs to slide the garment past her knees, and then spread them wide once more, gracefully lifting each foot in turn to step out of the leg holes. Throughout the process, she maintained her deep squat, resolute in the face of his groping hand which still lingered on her breasts. Her composure remained steadfast as she maneuvered out of her underwear—a poignant display of the remarkable control she held over her body. Holding up the lacy fabric by its strings, dainty and delicate, she let the damp underwear dangle from a slender finger, proffering it to Frank with an almost ceremonial elegance.
For a brief moment, the room seemed to hold its breath as their eyes met, Diana looking as if she was struggling to decipher the thoughts behind Frank’s gaze. Wordlessly, she watched as he accepted the intimate gift, the fabric passing from her hands to his with an added exchange of emotions that lingered in the charged air. Like a heavy fog, silence settled back over them, the room pregnant with tension as their eyes remained locked in an unspoken understanding.
Frank’s weathered hand balled up Diana’s panties and lifted them to his nose, closing his eyes for a moment to immerse himself in the intimate embrace of her essence. Her scent was an evocative blend of the rich, earthy notes of the deep jungle after a monsoon, mingling with the sweet, spicy musk that marked a woman in heat.
“Tell me, Diana, did you masturbate in these? They sure carry that scent,” he said, maneuvering his hand into a more strategic position over her left breast. His fingers cinched around her taut nipple, pinching the trapped flesh and keeping it poised at the edge of pain as if daring her to give him anything but the truth in response.
Diana’s cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and defiance as she refuted the accusation. “No, Frank, I did not… pleasure myself while wearing them,” she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of indignation. “I did not yield to temptation. Although, I must confess that I teetered on the precipice of giving in to my desires this morning. The dream I had, though now fuzzy in my memory, stirred something within me, causing my body to respond.”
Frank’s lips curled into a crooked smile. While her command of the English language was impeccable, a subtle and inviting undercurrent of her ancient Greek accent lingered in Diana’s voice, adding an exotic charm to her presence. This accent of hers tended to become more pronounced whenever she was agitated or uneasy, making it both a discernible indicator of her emotional state and an endearing trait. And at this moment, it was unmistakably prominent.
“A dream? Are you being unfaithful to me in your sleep now, Diana?” Frank accused, his voice carrying a mix of challenge and intrigue. “Could it be that you secretly wish for another man—or perhaps a woman—to replace me?” With each word, his grip on her nipple tightened, his fingers digging into the tender flesh as he pressed her for the truth.
Accusing her of cheating on him through a dream was, of course, ridiculous, but so elevated were Diana’s standards that she might consider even such an insinuation a breach of trust on her part. He cared little of it himself, jealousy being far from his thoughts; He knew Diana would never cheat on him in a hundred lifetimes. Yet, there was a certain satisfaction in provoking her about it, in challenging her lofty ideals and reveling in her efforts to defend them.
Diana’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she fervently denied his accusation, her voice firm and resolute. “No, Frank! You are the only man I long for, in my dreams and in reality. There is no one else who holds my heart and my desires. I am fully devoted to you, body and soul.”
She clasped her hands together on the mattress as if in supplication, her knuckles turning white and the muscles of her arms bulging from the intensity of her grip.
“I swear, Frank,” she whispered, a trace of frustration coloring her voice. “There is no other person in my heart or in my thoughts. It was merely a dream, fleeting and intangible. I cannot even recall the whole narrative, just... fragments that slip through my grasp like fragile sand. I understand your concerns, Frank. But I assure you, my desires belong to you and you alone. I am devoted to our marriage and the life we have built together. My dreams, no matter how vivid or fleeting, are only a mere echo of the love I have for you…ngahhh!”
Frank released Diana’s nipple with a sudden, forceful twist, causing a sharp gasp to escape her lips. He could almost see the pain shoot through her body, radiating from her breast to every nerve ending. Teeth gritted, she looked up at him, the sheen of unshed tears glittering in sky-blue eyes that brimmed with vivid affection, along with an almost intangible trace of suppressed defiance. He could see her swallow to compose herself, and when she opened her mouth to speak, her voice carried a genuine sincerity.
“Frank, is there anything I can do to further prove my unwavering devotion to you?” she asked in a tender, yet resonant voice.
Frank took a moment to appreciate the incredible woman he had managed to wed—a woman who catered to his every need and desire without complaint or question. It was an arrangement he had come to appreciate more with each passing year. And yet, looking back, he wished he had realized sooner the profound significance of the devoted partner he had in her. It was moments like these that reminded him why he had married Diana—to revel in her beauty and savor every morsel of affection she bestowed upon him. He couldn’t help but feel an undeniable sense of pride and accomplishment knowing that this magnificent woman stood by his side through thick and thin—completing him in ways he never thought possible. Though he may never fully comprehend the depths of what drove Diana to love him so fiercely, he couldn’t deny the allure of having such a devoted woman by his side—the power it gave him over someone so strong and beautiful.
He lay there for a moment longer, contemplating how he could make best use of Diana’s unwavering love and loyalty in the time they had left together, before the inescapable specter of old age claimed what little remained of his vitality. Again, he felt a twinge of regret at not realizing sooner just how incredibly lucky he was to have found such a devoted partner in life. With time fleeting and his final days creeping ever closer, Frank knew he had to make the most of every moment with this incredible woman who had entered his life through little more than a fluke.
A subtle grin played at the corners of his lips as he leaned in, his eyes dancing mischievously.
“Well...” he drawled, his tone laced with intrigue, “I do have something in mind that you could try in order to redeem yourself. How about you demonstrate some of that devotion through a little morning entertainment?”
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Re: Wonder Woman Domesticated

Post by EdgarNightbird »

If you find the story texts hard to read, I also have them (and others) available in high quality PDFs for FREE at: https://patreon.com/edgarnightbird
You are most welcome to stop by and pick up a copy or two. :)

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