Hello, I am Edgar Nightbird, and this is a new story I have begun to write, featuring our beloved goddess.
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.
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.
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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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.
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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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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Diana’s heart fluttered as she contemplated Frank’s thinly veiled request. His words hung heavy in the air between them, thick with implication. She inhaled deeply, catching the stale scent of his breath mingled with the musky aroma of sleep that clung to him. The hints of his unwashed body invaded her senses, assaulting her with odors both familiar and foreign.
Her keen eyes studied his worn features, taking in every line and blemish that marked his weathered face. She noticed a new crop of age spots on his temple, speckling his wrinkled skin like dark constellations. His rheumy eyes, still clouded with crusty remnants of slumber, held a glint of mischief as they bored into hers.
Diana squatted there, frozen in place by the bedside, her body still bearing the remnants of Frank’s touch. The throbbing ache in her nipple was a stark reminder of his control, of the delicate tightrope she walked in their relationship. She knew that her pain meant little to him, for it was merely a tool to assert his dominance and test her devotion—a duty she never failed to fulfill, no matter the cost. The cool air kissing her bare skin raised goosebumps along her thighs and sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. Her breasts ached from his rough handling, the soreness mingling with the yearning itch of unfulfilled desire that had been steadily building within her core.
She looked at the blue panties balled up in his hand, her heart conflicted with mixed emotions. The thought of being stripped of such an intimate piece of clothing left her feeling exposed, vulnerable, and yet she understood the significance of this surrender. Her underwear now in his possession, a tangible symbol of her submission and devotion. The absence of fabric against her skin left a phantom sensation, a shadow of what was no longer there. She winced. The lingering scent of her forbidden arousal mingled with the stale musk of the room, a heady concoction that served as a backdrop to their individual desires.
The various sensations washed over Diana in a dizzying tide. She inhaled again, deeper this time, drawing his smoky scent into her lungs. As keen as her senses were, she strove to push past the physical perceptions, seeking the emotional undercurrents that flowed between them. Yet, she sensed Frank’s simmering impatience, his growing need for gratification, and knew there was no other way forward in this moment but to grant him what he craved.
Diana bit her lip, feeling a mixture of anticipation and nervousness. She knew what Frank was asking for, understood the unspoken desire in his eyes, and even though it had been a part of their relationship for years—etched into the fabric of their marriage—she still felt self-conscious about it. Diana’s blue eyes held a mix of tenderness and submission as she moved closer, her fingers sliding across Frank’s chest and under his pajamas. The intimate touch elicited a shiver of desire within her, a quiet reminder of her own longings hidden beneath the veneer of selflessness and duty.
Her fingertips traced a path across his hairy chest, circling leathery nipples long since devoid of resilience. With intimate care, she navigated folds of sallow skin, following their irregular shape in a steady, downward-moving spiral. The caress of her hand on his chest was a tender prelude, her fingers delicately grazing through his gray chest hair and over the rounded paunch of his belly.
Diana’s touch was like a dance, each movement thoughtful and intentional. Her fingers traced patterns on her aged lover’s papery skin, eliciting shivers and moans with every pass. And then, without a word, her hand ventured below the covers, navigating through the warm darkness and pajama bottoms until she found his manhood. Her fingers closed around it, her touch gentle yet purposeful. She felt the familiar shape of his arousal in her palm, its thickness manifesting the desires that still burned within him despite his frailty.
Diana’s senses were flooded as she moved closer to Frank. The musky scent of his body enveloped her, mingling with the stale traces of cigarettes that clung to him. As her hand settled in its destination, Diana’s fingers found their place with a confident yet gentle caress. She molded her grip to the shape of his manhood, already hardened from their previous games. She noticed new details—the rubbery thinness of his foreskin beneath her fingers, crisscrossed with raised veins, age spots, and the odd wart or two. The weight of his manhood felt different in her palm, heavier and fuller than she remembered, radiating a heat that spoke of simmering desire.
She began to stroke him slowly, feeling every ridge and vein. Her fingers explored the velvety softness of the head, tracing its silken contours, sticky with seeping precum. She felt him swell and grow harder under her ministrations, responding to her intimate touch. The steady throb of blood pulsing through him was like a drumbeat against her palm. His low groans resonated through her keen ears, guttural sounds of pleasure escaping through nicotine-stained teeth.
The smoky scent of his breath wafted across her face as she leaned in closer, mingling with the earthier aroma rising from his loins. The strong odors agitated her headache, but she pushed the discomfort aside. Diana’s crystal blue eyes remained fixed on Frank’s, reading every flicker of emotion in his rheumy gaze. She strove to anticipate his desires, adjusting the pace and pressure of her strokes accordingly.
Her ample breasts brushed against his thigh with each movement of her arm, their tender peaks still smarting from his rough treatment. Yet she immersed herself in pleasuring him, channeling her care and devotion into each caress. This was her wifely duty, one she fulfilled with dedication despite her own simmering needs.
Diana attuned all her senses to gratifying her husband—the gentle grip encircling his manhood, the steady rhythm designed for his delight, her eyes peering into the windows of his soul. She gave herself over to this intimate act, focusing solely on bringing him pleasure.
* * *
Frank looked at the soft panties balled up in his fist. They were the same vibrant blue as his wife’s eyes. While she stroked him with a gentle hand, he brought the silken cloth up to his nose and inhaled deeply. The scent of her arousal filled his nostrils, a tantalizing sample of the passion she withheld from herself for his sake. Still damp and warm from her body, the soft fabric was laden with her pheromones. Her Amazon musk was a far more potent aphrodisiac than any pill or tincture ever invented by man. The scent seemed to grow stronger and more intoxicating the longer she was left wanting. He wondered what she would smell like after another month of abstinence.
His other hand reached out to grab at her closest breast again, his gnarled fingers slipping underneath her gauzy negligee. He kept his hand close to her chest, letting her heavy globe rest in his upturned palm like a bag of gold. Now and then, his bony digits caressed the silken circumference possessively, flicking at the hard nipple crowning its smooth curve. He felt her heartbeat through her ribs, strong and rhythmic. She was so warm and silky soft it was hard to believe she was real.
Despite his advanced age, Diana never failed to give him an erection. Usually, her mere presence was enough to stir his desires, but when she dedicated herself fully to him, the pleasure escalated to volcanic levels. Diana gave great handjobs, and it was one of his favorite ways to start the day. It had been some time since he last indulged this particular treat, and he reminded himself to do it more often.
Her touch was feather-light, sending shivers of delight down his spine. Frank exhaled a deep, raspy breath, his eyes closing momentarily as pleasure surged through his aging body. A self-satisfied smirk curled his thin lips as he reveled in the power he held over his beautiful Amazonian wife. Diana’s willingness to please, to bend to his every whim, had become the cornerstone of their unconventional marriage.
“Up higher on those toes,” he admonished, his voice a low rumble.
Diana obeyed his command with practiced grace, raising herself into the proper position, the strain of maintaining the broad squat evident on her trembling thighs. In the dim light, her pale olive skin glistened with perspiration, and her powerful muscles stood out in stark definition—her breasts heaving under the sheer gown with each passionate breath.
Frank inhaled deeply, the heady aroma of Diana’s arousal filling his nostrils once more. The panties clutched in his fist carried her intimate scent, mingled now with the earthier musk rising between her spread thighs. He breathed it in, letting that intoxicating perfume stoke his desire. The combination of her musk, her firm breast flesh filling his palm, and her skilled hand stroking his manhood was more than enough to elevate his blood pressure to dangerous levels.
His gaze traveled down her body appreciatively, from her heaving breasts to the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. He imagined parting those glossy folds with his fingers, finding the slick evidence of her need pooled there. A throb of anticipation pulsed through his manhood at the thought.
The smooth glide of her hand along his rigid length sent sparks of pleasure skittering across his nerves. Her touch was sublime—gentle yet confident in its skill. Her fingers traced every vein and ridge with feather-light pressure, building sensations that spread outward in ripples from his groin. Her intimate touch offered solace and comfort to his ailing body—and pleasure such as he never even knew existed before marrying this wondrous woman.
Frank’s eyes never wavered, locked on Diana’s powerful body as she pleasured him. His gaze intensified, desire etched across his face. He groaned as she swirled her thumb over the sensitive head, spreading the beaded moisture that had collected there. The stimulation made his manhood swell and jerk in her grip, hungry for more. His body responded to her ministrations despite his age, desire coiling tightly within him.
Frank’s calloused fingertips continued to caress Diana’s breast, feeling how the soft flesh spilled between his knobby joints. Her nipple pebbled under his touch as he rolled and flicked the sensitive nub. He could feel her pulse flickering rapidly beneath satiny skin.
Peering through half-lidded eyes, he drank in the visual feast she presented as she hovered by his bedside, her presence casting a radiant aura within the room. Even in these early hours, she was a vision of otherworldly grace he could not reject—this magnificent goddess submitting herself to fulfill his base needs. Despite the weaknesses of his aging shell, Diana was his, mind and body, to use as he saw fit. Power crackled through his veins at the thought.
Her clear blue eyes, as deep as the ocean, met his lust-filled gaze with tenderness and devotion, the strong angles of her face etched with an elegance that only centuries of experience could bestow. Frank couldn’t help but be captivated by her beauty—a stark contrast to his own aged appearance.
As Diana leaned in, her broad shoulders and statuesque posture added an air of power to her presence. Her pale olive skin glowed in the dim light of the room, accentuated further by her long black hair cascading down her back. And those lips… so full, moist, and inviting. Frank’s hand left Diana’s chest and instead reached out to grab her neck and pull her close for a kiss. As if sensing his desires, she followed his lead and bent down to close the distance between their faces.
As their lips touched, Frank experienced the true warmth of Diana’s devotion, a genuine affection that transcended the limitations of their unconventional relationship. Her breath tasted sweet, her scent captivating. For a fleeting moment, the world faded away, consumed by the intensity of their connection.
She was the best kisser he had ever encountered throughout his life, but of course, she had had millennia of practice. Her tongue was alive in his mouth, strong and agile, seeking out and touching all the right places at the right times, offering wet, warm, soothing touches, or daring sweeps and jabs, promising ventures into uncharted territory.
Deepening the kiss, Frank’s hand wound through her hair, gripping the back of her neck tighter. He became hyper-aware of Diana’s proximity, his senses drinking in every tactile sensation. The silkiness of her hair sliding through his fingers contrasted with the taut muscles of her neck beneath his grip. Her quickened breath mingled with his own—the sweetness of her exhale tinged with a hint of his own reflected morning breath. Their noses bumped and rubbed as they adjusted and tilted their heads, striving to align their lips in perfect harmony. The warmth radiating from Diana’s skin seeped into his face and into the palm that still gripped her neck. The throbbing of her pulse beneath his thumb quickened in rhythm with his own racing heart. The heady aroma of her body enveloped him, an earthy musk tinged with traces of her lavender soap. As she stroked his rigid manhood through the kiss the friction of her fingers gliding along the shaft generated a subtle heat. He groaned into her mouth, the vibration of sound resonating through joined lips.
As their tongues entwined, he tasted the minty remnants of her toothpaste along with the silken caress of her exploring tongue. The world receded until only taste and touch remained—the intimacy of two bodies joined in breathless rapport. Time seemed suspended, measured only by the steady tempo of his panting breaths and the firm grip encircling his swollen manhood. With each stroke, a wave of tingling pleasure radiated outward, building in crescendo toward an inevitable climax.
He noted that Diana had learned to read his expressions well—maybe even better than he could himself. Knowing the inner workings of his body, she paused whenever he drew near his climax to let her nails dip lower and scratch his wrinkled skin and sweaty balls, allowing him a moment to recover before climbing her fingers back up and resuming their dutiful task, seeming to know just what he needed and where it needed to be to maximize his pleasure.
When at last their lips parted, a thin strand of mingled saliva briefly connected them before breaking. He could still taste the sweet remains of her in his mouth. Diana’s eyes, now darkened with desire, blinked open to meet his own. Her cheeks were flushed, lips moist and pouty from the passionate kiss.
* * *
Diana’s eyes locked with Frank’s, noting the glimmer of dominance flickering within his gaze.
“Tell me, Diana,” Frank began, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. “How long has it been since you last indulged in your passions? How long have you denied yourself the release that your body craves?”
Diana’s breath caught in her throat at his question, the raw directness of it taking her aback. She knew the exact answer, almost to the day and hour—a number etched into her mind like a sentence of self-imposed exile. Yet she hesitated in replying. Her eyes fluttered briefly as she gathered her thoughts, her fingers still wrapped around Frank’s rigid manhood. Diana’s senses were attuned as she stroked her husband. The throbbing heat of his arousal pulsed against her palm, evidence of his simmering need. The cool air of the room caressed her bare legs and intimate skin left uncovered after surrendering her panties. It contrasted sharply with the flushed warmth blooming across her chest and cheeks. She felt the weight of his gaze, his rheumy eyes boring into her own crystal blue ones, seeking any thread of deception in her words. Her voice wavered slightly as she responded, a hint of vulnerability seeping through the muted melody.
“It has been two months, Frank,” she said, her voice tinged with the weight of her sacrifice. “Two long months since I last allowed myself that pleasure.”
Her confession hung in the air, a revelation of the strength of her convictions. Fifty-eight days of denying herself the most basic of physical satisfactions, choosing instead to cater to Frank’s desires. It had been an arduous path, filled with countless moments of temptation and the battle to stifle her own needs.
“Two months, you say?” Frank’s voice dripped with a mixture of curiosity and sadistic amusement. “Tell me, Diana, how does it feel to have gone that long without? To deny yourself the pleasure that others indulge in freely?”
Diana’s eyes flickered with a mix of frustration and longing as she contemplated his question. The weight of her sacrifice pressed upon her, and she inhaled deeply, gathering her thoughts to provide him with a glimpse into her innermost struggles.
“It has been a challenging journey, Frank,” she responded, her voice laced with the honesty of her words. “Every day without release has been a constant battle between my primal desires and my commitment to you. My body has yearned and ached in ways I can scarcely describe. My skin feels so sensitive, craving the slightest caress. My core throbs with an emptiness begging to be filled.” Diana’s strokes along his shaft slowed as she spoke, her thoughts focused inward.
“In those quiet moments at night, I have lain awake trembling, every fiber of my being crying out for release, yet I have denied myself again and again. For you, my love, and for our marriage, I have restrained my urge to give in to selfish gratification. It feels as if my body is constantly on edge, craving the climax that has been denied to me for far too long.”
Diana’s voice trembled with a mix of resignation and determination as she continued, “But I willingly endure it, Frank, because I understand the power and significance of preserving my body for you. My devotion to you extends beyond physical fulfillment. It is my way of showing you the depths of my love and commitment.”
Her eyes peered into his, voice dropping to a whisper. “But the longing never fully fades. It simmers under the surface, flaring up whenever we are intimate like this. I confess, it is a difficult burden to bear, but one I take on willingly out of devotion to you, my beloved husband.”
Diana’s inner struggle to uphold Frank’s demands while still yearning for her own desires wrestled within her, a turmoil that threatened to overpower even her remarkable willpower at times. But with each passing day, she found solace in knowing that her efforts were not in vain, that her unwavering dedication contributed to the strength of their bond. Her gaze bore into his, her eyes laying bare the depths of her internal torment. In that moment, she longed for understanding, for him to comprehend the extent of her sacrifice and the strength required to uphold it. But instead, his response held a mocking tinge, a stark contrast to the hardships she endured.
“Sounds tough. I can’t imagine going three or four days myself without orgasming,” he taunted, his words oozing with a self-indulgent satisfaction. “Luckily, I have you to make sure I don’t need to, isn’t that right?”
Diana’s heart sank, the dichotomy of their circumstances laid bare before her. Once again, her sacrifice, governed by duty and love, clashed against Frank’s selfish pursuit of pleasure. The difference in their experiences felt like a chasm between them, widening with each passing day. Her voice remained steady, despite the frustration that simmered beneath the surface.
“Yes, Frank. It is my purpose to ensure your satisfaction, to fulfill your needs. I have dedicated myself to preserving our bond, even at the expense of my own desires.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, a palpable tension lingering between them. Diana’s eyes flitted across the space, desperate to find some sign of understanding, of acknowledgment for the sacrifices she made. But deep down, she knew that her devotion and selflessness were likely lost on him, buried beneath layers of entitlement. Yet, as the weight of their dynamic settled upon her, Diana’s resolve only strengthened. She would continue to endure, to sacrifice, for the sake of their unconventional marriage. Her love knew no bounds, and even in the face of such disparities, she remained steadfast in her commitment to her husband.
Frank leaned back against the pillows, his rheumy eyes fixated on Diana. His voice took on a tone of curiosity laced with a hint of delight.
“So, my devoted wife, how much longer do you think you can go without cumming? How do you manage to restrain yourself, to deny those primal urges that surge within you?”
Diana’s gaze met his, her clear blue eyes reflecting a mix of determination and vulnerability. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, her voice steady but tinged with a raw honesty.
“I... have developed ways to control myself, Frank. I redirect my desires into other areas of my life—my work, my duties as your wife, my commitment to maintaining our home. I channel the energy into productive avenues, finding solace in serving your needs and fulfilling my responsibilities.” She paused, her voice laden with the weight of her admission.
“But I won’t deny that it is a difficult path to walk. Every day is a struggle to suppress my own cravings, to silence the call of my body. The longing builds, unrelenting, pushing against the limits of my self-control. It is a constant battle within me, Frank.”
Frank’s eyes gleamed with an unsettling mixture of amusement and desire. He leaned in closer, his voice low and laced with a taunting edge.
“Tell me, Diana, are you wet now? Do you ache for a good cum? Do you think you deserve to find release, to feel the pleasures that you deny yourself?”
Diana’s breath hitched at his provocative questions, the continued rawness of his words sending a surge of heat through her body. Her silence hung in the air for a moment, her eyes meeting his with a mix of longing and apprehension.
“Yes, Frank,” she responded at last, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I am wet. The need to achieve release is a constant presence within me. And as for deserving it... I believe that my devotion and commitment to you should be rewarded. But it is not for me to decide. I am here to fulfill your desires, to bring you pleasure in every way I can. My own needs, as challenging as they may be, are secondary to your satisfaction.”
Her words, though tinged with resignation, held a quiet determination. It was the declaration of a woman torn between her own desires and her commitment to her marriage. Diana’s sacrifice was palpable, yet she pressed on, her love for Frank propelling her forward.
All while they talked, she never stopped stroking him underneath the bed covers, her hand moving in a slow, pumping rhythm. Her fingers first curled around his shaft in a gentle hold, pulling the foreskin downward, and then tightened their grip to slide back up in a firm, milking motion, varying the sensation by sometimes adding a light twist of her hand or a swipe of her thumb under the head. From the subtle sighs and twitches she read on his face, she could tell he enjoyed her efforts.
Frank spoke up again, and his words, sharp and misogynistic, pierced the air. “You know, I could put you in a chastity belt, Diana,” he mused, a hint of sadistic pleasure in his voice. “I’m sure you know all about those from your vast knowledge of human history. But I don’t need to do that, do I?”
Diana suppressed a shudder, her eyes meeting his with caution. She reined in her pride, burying the instincts that screamed for freedom from such control. At the mentioning of chastity belts, Diana’s mind drifted back through the centuries, conjuring up images from a darker era of human history that she had learned about through firsthand witnesses—spies sent out from her home island to report back to the Queen of the happenings in Patriach’s World—long before Diana had been considered a candidate for the title of Champion. She recalled overhearing tales of medieval knights forcing their wives into cold metal cages before heading off to war, denying them any chance for intimacy or pleasure during their long absence. Ancient contraptions made of iron, leather and wood, crafted by male hands to imprison the vulnerable flesh of women. Devices created not just to preserve faithfulness, but to assert ownership and domination over the fairer sex.
Although she had never worn such a device herself, she envisioned the crude locks and hinges that pinched tender skin, the unyielding bands that chafed thighs and waists—tales of inevitable infections from being unable to properly clean oneself, and the dangers of being trapped within should an emergency arise. Those belts were never designed for comfort or practicality, but solely to impose control; An instrument of subjugation masquerading under the guise of virtue.
As an Amazon, Diana despised the concept of the chastity belt and all it represented—the historical oppression of women, stripped of autonomy over their own bodies and sexuality. Everything about it went against her beliefs of equality, freedom and female empowerment that had been ingrained into her since birth. To have her womanhood confined and constrained, even consensually, felt like a betrayal of her heritage.
Yet she also understood that for many women throughout history, the chastity belt had become a symbol of love and devotion, willingly donned to prove their commitment to their husbands. While she struggled to comprehend that mindset, Diana recognized the power of love to shape perceptions. And so she tucked away her indignation and refocused on pleasing her husband, honoring the commitments she had chosen. Her voice betrayed none of the turmoil within as she reassured Frank of her fidelity, regardless of any further restraints he might impose upon her.
“No, Frank,” she responded, her tone subdued. “I will remain faithful and honor your wishes without the need for such measures. However, should you desire me to wear such a device, I will, of course, accept it.” She kept her voice deferential, while inside she seethed at the mere suggestion of being locked inside an instrument devised by men for the sole purpose of controlling their women.
Frank’s eyes narrowed, his gaze heavy with the weight of their conversation. He shifted in his bed, his aged body contorting with stiffness mixed with her handjob-induced pleasure as he absorbed Diana’s words. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he broke the tension with his raspy voice.
“It’s good that you understand, Diana. I appreciate your willingness to comply and the sacrifices you make for our marriage. Your submission is what I expect and demand. It is a mark of your devotion and the depths of your love. That is how it should be.” Frank stated, the finality of his tone a mixture of satisfaction and dominance.
Diana’s heart swelled with conflicting emotions. She knew that her compliance was both a gift and a burden, a responsibility she carried willingly but with a twinge of sadness. She nodded, her voice steady but tinged with a touch of resignation.
“I understand, Frank. I will continue to fulfill my duties as your wife, to honor your desires and uphold the pillars that define our union.”
She spoke the words with conviction, her eyes meeting his as she silently vowed to endure the hardships that lay ahead. The sacrifices she made, the suppression of her needs, were her own free choice after all—a choice she had made out of love, out of a commitment to preserving the sanctity of their marriage.
Diana turned her focus back to the task at hand, honing her keen senses on the intimate act of pleasuring her husband. The musky scent of Frank’s arousal enveloped her as she leaned in closer, mingling with the stale traces of tobacco that clung to him. She inhaled deeply, the heady aroma flooding her senses. In response, her temples throbbed, causing her to wince behind her steady gaze.
Beneath her fingers, Frank’s rigid shaft throbbed with each steady pump of blood, the wrinkled skin slick with beads of precum. She felt every ridge and vein as she slid her fist up and down, varying her grip to elicit low, guttural moans from him, interspersed by the soft wet noise of her slickened fingers gliding along taut flesh. Frank’s thigh radiated warmth against her wrist with each downward stroke as she massaged him from base to tip. His wiry pubic hair brushed her knuckles, coarser than the satiny steel of his erection.
Their combined movement had caused the bedcovers to slip, and the head of his member now poked out from under the edge, bloated and purplish. Through half-lidded eyes, Diana watched her hand move rhythmically, almost hypnotized by the motion. The visual stimulation only enhanced the tactile symphony of sensations cascading over her. She saw glistening trails of fluid coat her fingers, catching the dim light.
The heady blend of sights, sounds and scents immersed her in the intimate act. She attuned every sense to maximize Frank’s experience, letting her own arousal simmer unchecked beneath the surface. This was her purpose now—to bring him satisfaction, no matter the cost to her own autonomy.
Meanwhile, her demanding, low-seated stance was taking a toll on her. She stifled a grunt as her powerful thighs quivered with both strain and unsated desire. Yet she continued to squat, staying high on her toes as commanded, her face flushed with the effort.
Diana’s mind wandered as her hand stroked Frank’s rigid manhood. She again thought back through the decades, reminiscing on her sexual awakening and evolution since leaving Themyscira. Those early days after arriving in Patriarch’s World had been marked by a certain innocence and naivety when it came to matters of intimacy, at least with men. But her Amazonian curiosity was insatiable, and it hadn’t taken her long to indulge in passionate trysts once introduced to these new pleasures of the flesh.
She recalled her first lover—the American spy she had rescued during the war. An eager young man who had helped awaken her sexuality in ways hitherto unexplored. Their coupling had been rushed yet exciting, governed by the urgency of wartime passion. Through him she had discovered wondrous new sensations, ones her sisters had never spoken of during her sheltered upbringing.
There had been others over the years—breathless flings, lusty affairs and heartfelt relationships alike. Diana smiled inwardly, cherishing the memories. With each lover she had expanded her skills, learning how to elicit those guttural moans of male pleasure.
She vividly remembered guiding a soldier’s hand between her legs for the first time, showing him how she liked to be touched. The thrill when a dancer at Studio 54 went down on her in a back room, his tongue dancing across her slit. Riding a chiseled athlete reverse cowgirl style, discovering how angles and motion impacted her g-spot… And of course there was that brief but passionate romance with another hero who knew his way around the female form. He had introduced her to new heights of ecstasy, often using his remarkable abilities in creative ways.
Each experience had built on the last, shaping her into a skilled and versatile lover with both sexes. She had discovered how to touch, kiss and caress a man’s body to elicit maximum delight. And now she channeled all that knowledge into pleasuring her husband.
Though she admitted there were still many things she did not know about men and their strange desires, she was a quick learner and a diligent student, easily picking up on new concepts and kinks, adding to her ever-expanding repertoire of sexual experience.
Diana’s reflections deepened her commitment to Frank’s satisfaction. She might deny herself that same pleasure, but she took pride in being an attentive and sensual partner—one who understood the male anatomy intimately. With renewed focus, she turned her attention back to the work of her hand, determined to bring Frank intense fulfillment.
The room filled with soft sounds—the rustle of sheets, the hushed breaths that mingled with the weighty silence. Diana maintained her steady movements, attuned to the signals of pleasure that emanated from Frank’s body. His responses guided her, allowing her to adjust her touch, pace, and pressure to his liking.
As Diana continued her ministrations, her gaze remained locked with Frank’s. There was an unspoken understanding, an unbreakable connection that bound them together. They both knew the boundaries of their unconventional marriage, the sacrifices and compromises that colored their lives. Yet in this moment, their desires converged, their bodies entwined with a shared purpose. With each stroke, Diana dedicated herself to Frank’s satisfaction, ensuring that every touch, every caress, was imbued with love and devotion. It was a tender act of servitude, the depths of her commitment and the lengths she would go to preserve their union.
Diana’s hand moved in a steady, persistent motion, her touch an offering of pleasure that she bestowed upon her beloved husband. And as she gazed into Frank’s eyes, she saw both an appreciation for her unwavering commitment and a hunger for the pleasures she could provide.
Frank’s hand reached out again to caress her ample chest, tracing a path across the swelling curves and the deep valley between her breasts. Then, unexpectedly, he changed direction, trailing down her sternum and muscled belly until his hand sank between her spread thighs. His bony fingers brushed against the curled, untamed hairs that framed her vulva, grazing the hardness of her prominent clitoris hiding beneath. The intimate touch sent a delicious shiver of desire coursing through her body, so powerful she could barely contain it. Diana’s breath caught in her throat as her longing for release grew more pronounced, her every fiber yearning for the passionate ecstasy that had been denied to her for far too long. Yet, just as that delicious wave began to crest, it sank back into the ocean, his touch ascending to once again fondle her breasts through the silky fabric of her gown.
Heat pulsed through Diana’s powerful thighs, threatening to overwhelm her composure. Her teeth ground together as she fought to remain stoic, to bear the weight of her unfulfilled desires. With every passing moment, the struggle became more unbearable; her body trembled under the strain of holding back, her mind beseeching her to surrender to the raw power of her Amazonian libido that surged within her, demanding release and satisfaction.
Diana’s mind raced as she struggled to restrain her simmering desires. Her core ached with a throbbing emptiness, crying out to be filled. Each brief stroke of Frank’s fingers against her womanhood had sent electric jolts through her body, the sensitive flesh desperate for more intimate contact. Yet she fought against every primal urge surging within. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she stifled a moan, determined not to vocalize the desperate longing clawing inside her.
Be strong, be disciplined, she coached herself silently. But her thoughts drifted, imagining what it would feel like to finally let go after months of deprivation—to feel those waves of pleasure crash over her again and again until she was spent and satisfied. Her breaths grew ragged, chest heaving as arousal mounted. She could almost taste the sweet ecstasy awaiting her. But she knew to indulge in that momentary bliss meant betraying her principles and failing in her wifely duties.
With heroic effort, Diana wrenched her focus back to pleasuring Frank. She channeled her energy into each firm stroke, gripping his manhood with renewed vigor. The twisting ache within her core remained, simmering under rigid self-control.
This is my purpose, this is my sacrifice, she told herself. But oh, how she yearned to feel that sweet release. Her hand moved mechanically along Frank’s shaft while inwardly she waged a silent battle, torn between her desires and her duties. It was a constant struggle requiring all her willpower and commitment to endure. In her mind she begged the gods for strength to continue on this arduous path. She thought of her sisters, her Amazonian heritage—the pillars that defined her. To surrender now would be to betray all she held dear.
So Diana persevered, pushing past the raging tide of her own needs, and letting her disciplined nature wrench back control over her baser instincts. She focused solely on Frank, on being the devoted wife he demanded. This was her burden to bear, and she would not falter.
Diana watched intently as Frank once more pressed her balled up panties to his nose as if trying to inhale part of that Amazon spirit she held so dear. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of embarrassment at this intimate act, knowing he was reveling in the musky scent of her arousal that permeated the soft fabric. Yet it also stirred a complex mix of emotions within her. There was a hint of excitement, knowing how much he desired that intimate part of her, finding pleasure in her most primal secrets. But it was an excitement tinged with sadness and resignation, realizing these traces of her were all he wished to possess, denying her the fulfillment her body craved.
She wondered what he sensed as he breathed in the perfumed fibers—if he could feel the heat of her longing, the slick wetness of her unfulfilled passion coating the delicate lace interior. Did he comprehend the depths of her sacrifice, evident in the concentrated aroma now enveloping his senses? Or was he merely lost in indulging his own selfish desires, oblivious to her torment? Diana studied his expression, searching for any flicker of empathy amid the haze of lust darkening his eyes. But she saw only hunger, and an entitlement that ignored her suffering.
Her cheeks burned under his gaze, flushed with a mix of arousal and unease. There was a voyeuristic intimacy in watching him revel in her scent, reducing her to mere sensory traces caught in cloth. She felt exposed, even as her body remained concealed.
Diana continued stroking Frank’s rigid shaft, keeping her touch steady through the discomfort of this moment. She focused on his pleasure, pushing down her own complicated feelings. Her panties were just another tool for exerting control, for ensuring her faithfulness. She understood this, and bore this burden willingly, no matter how it might chafe against her Amazonian pride.
So she carried out her wifely duties, pleasing her husband while he claimed ownership over the sacred garment that had once graced her most intimate flesh. She endured this imbalance of desire, relying on inner strength to continue her selfless path.
Diana’s senses were heightened as she continued pleasuring Frank, attuned to every minute response from his body. She stroked him with steady, languid motions, feeling the rapid pulse beneath velvety soft skin. The heady musk of his arousal grew stronger, enveloping her keen sense of smell.
“That’s it...just like that… A little faster,” he gasped, his ragged voice filled with lust.
Without hesitation, Diana quickened her pace ever so slightly to match his request, squeezing him on each upward stroke with a milking grip. Her arm muscles tensed and relaxed, her thighs flexing with each movement as she continued to provide him with the satisfaction he craved. The room filled with a mixture of their breaths and the lewd sounds of wet skin-on-skin friction.
She watched his face intently, noticing how his eyes fluttered and his jaw went slack. A guttural groan rumbled from his throat.
“Mmm...don’t stop,” he groaned.
She maintained her rhythm, letting his reactions guide her. The leathery texture of his skin fascinated her—paper thin in some spots, thick and calloused in others. Her thumb circled the sensitive ridge around the head, spreading slick moisture. She inhaled deeply, the earthy scent mingling with lingering traces of stale tobacco.
Frank’s breaths came more rapidly, punctuated by throaty moans. His wrinkled hips rocked reflexively, thrusting himself into her grip. Diana stroked faster, gripping him tighter. She kept her crystal blue eyes fixed on his, reading his desire. As the intensity grew, Diana’s delicate features expressed her determination to please Frank to the very end, her every action a reflection of her unparalleled devotion.
“That’s my girl,” he rasped, his words tinged with primal satisfaction.
Diana leaned in closer. Her lips, painted with a hue of passion, brushed against Frank’s earlobe, and she began to whisper words of affection. Her voice, like melodic verse, filled the air with sweet nothings, words that were meant only for him, even in the sanctuary of their private bedroom. She reassured him of her love, her devotion, and her ever-lasting dedication, captivating him not only with her touch but with her very soul. Each stroke and twist synchronized with her words, each gentle scratch an expression of her devotion. She maintained eye contact with Frank, ensuring that her love and care were evident in every glance.
Diana’s own arousal simmered as she devoted herself fully to his pleasure. But she pushed aside her needs, focusing only on him. The musky scent grew thicker, the velvety steel in her hand pulsed urgently. Frank’s body tensed, back arching.
“Don’t stop! I’m so close...” he cried hoarsely.
Diana increased her pace, slick fingers gliding deftly along his throbbing length. His guttural moans echoed in her ears until finally he climaxed with a deep groan, spilling himself over her hand in hot, sticky spurts. The air around them thickened, and her nose flared as she inhaled the heady, musky scent of his essence.
She stroked him through his orgasm, murmuring sweet words of affection as she gave him the release she so desperately longed for herself. As the last shudders rippled through him, she gently withdrew her hand from his softening manhood, her fingers glistening with his spent seed. The watery slickness coated her fingers in a sticky, pungent glaze.
Diana eyed Frank with concern as he lay gasping before her. Though his cheeks were still flushed with pleasure, his breathing seemed more labored than usual after their intimate act. His thin chest heaved with the effort to fill his aged lungs, the sound coming out in raspy wheezes.
“Frank, my love, are you alright?” she asked, leaning in close to gently caress his wrinkled cheek.
He gave a weak nod in response, not yet able to form words as he slowly regained his breath. Diana’s heart clenched with worry for her frail husband. She knew his health was in decline, his mortal body succumbing to the ravages of time. Moments like these were a stark reminder of his vulnerability, of how fragile the human form became as the years advanced.
Guilt gnawed at Diana’s conscience, fearing she may have pushed Frank too far in her eagerness to please him. Though his desires often conflicted with wisdom, she dutifully indulged them, sparing no effort or skill. But perhaps this time she had been too enthusiastic, too caught up in her wifely role.
Diana rose swiftly from her crouched position, her muscles screaming in relief as she broke the prolonged stance. She rushed to the bathroom and wet a washcloth with cool water before returning to Frank’s bedside. With delicate care, she dabbed the damp cloth over his flushed face and neck, hoping to soothe and revive him.
“Just breathe, my love. Slow, deep breaths,” she murmured. Diana’s crystal blue eyes were wide with concern, her brows furrowed as she tended to him.
As Frank’s wheezing gasps slowed, she gently took his hand in her own, rubbing her thumb over his papery skin. Though gnarled and marked by age spots, his hand seemed so small and fragile in her powerful grip. She enveloped it within her palm, willing her own vitality to flow into his weakened body.
“I’m so sorry, Frank. I should have been more considerate of your condition,” she said, her melodic voice laden with regret. Though she desired nothing more than to fulfill her marital obligations, Diana reproached herself for compromising his well-being.
After long moments, Frank’s breathing steadied and his eyes fully opened, meeting hers with a weary but reassuring look.
“It’s alright, Diana,” he rasped, giving her hand a pat. “Just...overexerted myself a bit, that’s all. I’m fine.”
Diana searched his face, looking for any sign that he was downplaying his condition to spare her feelings. But he seemed genuinely recovered now, his breathing eased and color returning to his cheeks. Relief washed over her, though she resolved to be more vigilant about his limits going forward.
“I’m glad to hear that, my love,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to his wrinkled forehead. “But please, if ever I’m too...enthusiastic in ministering to your needs, you must tell me. I want to make sure I never endanger your health.”
Frank waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. Stop fussing, woman.” A crooked, satisfied smile crossed his lips. “Though I must say, your ‘enthusiasm’ is one of your best qualities.”
Diana blushed at the implication. “All the same, it is my duty as your wife to consider your wellbeing above all else. I will be more mindful in the future.”
Though relieved, Diana’s protective instincts remained on high alert. She resolved to temper her amorous ministrations to accommodate Frank’s declining constitution. Pleasing him was her purpose, but never at the cost of his health. She would find ways to be an attentive wife while considering his limitations. Their unconventional marriage walked a delicate tightrope, but Diana was determined to maintain harmony despite the challenges.
She took a moment to center her heightened senses, focusing on the intimate aftermath. Diana gazed down at her right hand, still slick with the evidence of Frank’s pleasure. The viscous fluid coated her fingers in a messy glaze, clinging between her slender fingers as she stretched and curled them. The slimy wetness felt foreign on her skin, almost oily as she rubbed her fingers together. She scrutinized the pearly trails clinging to her knuckles and cuticles, her nose wrinkling involuntarily. Though integral to the act, she had always found the texture and smell of semen rather unpleasant. She turned her hand, watching the light catch glossy strands stretched between her fingers. Its musky scent permeated the air, tingling in her nose. The fluid carried a certain primal maleness she associated with rutting beasts—nothing like the sweet-tanged ambrosia that flowed from her womanly core when passions were stirred.
Diana cast her eyes downward, examining Frank’s now flaccid manhood resting against his thigh. It was an ugly thing; wrinkled, knobbly and flecked with liver spots, moles and lumpy warts. The purplish tip, partly retracted under the loose foreskin, still glistened with remnants of sperm, a few stray droplets trailing down the shaft toward grayish curls. The sight made her feel a twinge of satisfaction, knowing her skills had drained him dry as she fulfilled her wifely duties.
Yet her womanhood remained swollen and unsatisfied, throbbing with unmet urgency. She squeezed her thighs together, feeling the slick evidence of her arousal. It mingled with the sheen of sweat that coated her olive skin after holding such a strained position to service Frank’s desires.
The mingled scents of his spilled seed and her unfulfilled need teased Diana’s senses. She inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. The juxtaposition was jarring yet intimate—the reality of their clashing desires colliding. She was the vessel through which Frank found pleasure and release. Yet her own gratification remained locked away, denied by duty and sacrifice. Diana sighed, letting her crystal gaze linger a moment longer on her husband’s spent manhood resting heavily against his thigh.
“You know, it’s not gonna clean itself…” Frank said gruffly, interrupting her thoughts. “…and I know you want a taste of what’s on your hand as well.”
Diana winced at his crude choice of words, and then looked down at her hand, still coated in the evidence of Frank’s pleasure. His spend clung to her fingers in glossy strands, the musky scent invading her senses. With every inhale, the pungent aroma reminded her of their intimate act.
Diana knew her performance was not yet over. One thing still remained. She knew that Frank insisted she use her tongue to clean his spill, no matter her aversion to the taste and texture. Furthermore, she needed to make it a sensual show for his visual gratification. She could feel his eyes on her as she considered the stickiness on her fingers. The show she was about to put on would be a difficult but necessary means to uphold the sanctity of their odd union.
Still, Diana hesitated, the implied request giving her pause. She had pleasured Frank countless times over their three years of marriage, but his many harsh and undignified demands never failed to test her devotion. She inhaled slowly, the musky scent of his seed again sharp in her nostrils. Her Amazonian pride rebelled at the thought of consuming such an intimate bodily fluid. Yet her wifely duties compelled obedience. In the end, the latter option won out, as it always did. Besides, she told herself, it would hardly be the first time she tasted sperm, nor the last.
Swallowing her instinctual revulsion, Diana lifted her hand into the light, fingers pointing skyward, crystal gaze fixed on Frank’s. She extended her tongue, pink and glistening, to lap delicately at her slickened digits. The salty-bitter taste permeated her mouth as she cleaned each finger in slow, sensual strokes, gathering up the sticky strands in messy globs. Frank’s eyes darkened, watching intently.
“That’s it, lick up every drop,” he encouraged in a throaty rumble.
Diana suppressed a grimace, maintaining eye contact as she laved her tongue along her knuckles and fingertips. Strands of sperm stretched and snapped between her fingers with each pass. She paused to swallow what she had gathered, the salty fluid mingling with her saliva before it slipped down her throat.
She eyed a particularly thick clump nestling in the webbed crook between two fingers. Focusing on the viscous blob, glistening white against her olive skin, Diana extended her tongue once more, curling the tip around the sticky glob. As it touched her taste buds, the bitter tang of fresh semen flooded her mouth, mingling with the subtle salty-sour notes unique to Frank’s essence. She rolled it on her tongue briefly before swallowing, feeling the lump every inch of the way as it slid down to join what was already pooling in her belly.
“That’s my girl, don’t miss a single drop,” Frank rasped, his eyes boring into hers.
Diana suppressed a shudder, maintaining unwavering eye contact despite her discomfort. This act tested the limits of her devotion, yet she endured it out of duty and love. Her fingers now mostly cleaned, she glanced at the glossy smears clinging to her palm and wrist. With slow, deliberate licks, she traced meandering paths across her own skin, gathering the viscous fluid on her tongue. Frank’s rapt gaze followed each movement. The slick texture and musky taste coated her mouth once more as she ate it all.
“Do you enjoy the flavor, Diana?” Frank asked, a hint of lurid curiosity in his tone. “Does tasting my seed please you? I must say, you look as though it’s the best thing you ever tasted.”
Diana suppressed the urge to frown at Frank’s crude question, keeping her expression neutral despite the turmoil it elicited within her.
“It… pleases me to obey and fulfill your desires, my husband,” she responded carefully. Though the taste was far from appealing to her palate, Diana understood that obedience and sacrifice were hallmarks of a proper wife. And she was determined to uphold her marital vows, no matter the cost to her pride or senses.
Frank grunted, unsatisfied with her diplomatic reply. “Come now, don’t play coy. I want to know your honest thoughts.” His rheumy eyes bored into hers. “How does my cum taste? Do you savor the flavor as it hits your tongue? Does it arouse you?”
Diana bit the inside of her cheek, weighing how to respond. Frank seemed intent on having her describe an experience that went against her natural inclinations. Though she had pleasured many men over the decades she had been living in Patriarch’s World, taking their seed into her mouth and onto her skin, the act never failed to elicit complicated feelings. There was a primal satisfaction in seeing the physical proof of male desire splashed across her body, knowing her skills could drive a man to ecstasy. Yet it also stirred a deep-seated anger within her at being treated like a human deposit for bodily fluids never meant to stain such places.
She stared at the viscous fluid, watching it trail down her knuckles in milky rivulets. The texture was slick and oily on her skin as she rubbed her fingers together pensively. She brought her hand closer to her face, scrutinizing the intricate patterns it formed. She inhaled slowly, gathering her thoughts.
“Very well. If honesty is what you wish, Frank, I shall provide it.” She held his gaze unflinchingly. “The taste of your seed is bitter and sharp, with a saltiness that permeates my mouth. The texture is thick and viscous as it coats my tongue and feels like a cold slug going down my throat every time I swallow. Sometimes the aftertaste stays with me for hours, long past the act.”
She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “I cannot claim to find it pleasurable in and of itself. However, tasting your essence in this manner provides satisfaction in knowing I have fulfilled my wifely duties and brought you pleasure.”
A crease furrowed Frank’s brow at her candid description. Diana tensed, wondering if she had been too blunt. His eyes bored into hers, as if trying to discern some coded meaning in her words.
“So… you don’t actually enjoy the taste? Even after all this time?” He sounded almost indignant, as if her personal preferences were irrelevant.
Diana’s crystal eyes softened, hoping to reassure him. “Perhaps ‘enjoy’ is not the accurate word. But I gain contentment from the purpose the act provides—ministering to your needs and desires. My fulfillment comes from devotion, not sensation.”
Frank grunted again, leaning back against the pillows as he mulled her explanation over. She could tell it was not what he wanted to hear, and wondered again if she should have chosen her words with more care. Regardless, Diana remained still, hands folded in her lap, as she awaited his response.
Finally he spoke again, his voice regaining its previous gruff authority. “Well, regardless of your feelings, it pleases me to watch you taste my cum. Don’t forget this is about fulfilling my wants, not yours.”
“Of course,” Diana acquiesced with a deferential dip of her head. She recognized his needs superceded her own. That part had never been in question.
“Now then, I believe you missed a spot,” Frank added, eyeing a glossy droplet trailing down her forearm.
Diana followed his gaze to the lone bead of semen clinging to her skin. Without hesitation, she extended her tongue once more to lap it up in one smooth motion. The now-familiar salty bitterness flooded her mouth, mingling with traces left from before. She forced herself to swallow, maintaining unwavering eye contact with Frank. His expression eased, seemingly satisfied by her obedience.
“Good. Now get me my smokes,” he grunted, one gnarly hand fumbling blindly out to one side.
Diana looked at the cigarette pack on the nightstand with a sense of unease. She knew all too well the ritual that followed each of their intimate encounters; the acrid smell of tobacco smoke flooding the room as Frank indulged in his unhealthy habit—the one that aggravated her persistent headaches and clung to her hair and clothes for hours afterward.
As an Amazon, her senses were heightened beyond those of ordinary mortals. The stench of those foul cigarettes invaded her nostrils in the most unpleasant way, overpowering all other scents with their harsh toxicity. Even the slightest whiff made her nose wrinkle in distaste.
And the taste… she could already imagine the stale bitterness coating her mouth if she drew too close while he smoked. It would mingle with the lingering salty tang of his seed that still clung to her tongue, creating a revolting combination.
The very thought made Diana’s stomach churn with quiet revulsion. She had voiced her concerns about his smoking many times over their years together, pleading for him to consider his failing health and her own comfort. But he refused to curb the habit, insisting it relaxed and gratified him. So she endured this part of their ritual in silence, swallowing back words of protest. To reject his needs now would make her derelict in her duties as wife. She must again subdue her own desires to fulfill his.
With quiet resignation, Diana fetched the cigarette pack and lighter from the nightstand, bringing them to Frank. He took them with a satisfied grunt, tapping out a cigarette with nicotine-stained fingers. Diana stood back, hands folded, trying not to watch as he placed the filter to his thin lips. The click of the lighter sounded loud in her ears. She saw the flicker of flame illuminate his craggy features for a brief moment. Then he took that first long drag, cheeks hollowing, the end of the white stick glowing orange-red. Diana looked away as he exhaled, not wanting to see the plume of gray smoke escaping his mouth.
The acrid stench instantly flooded her keen senses, seeming to sink into her pores. It mingled with the lingering odor of sex and sweat that permeated the stuffy room. She suppressed a cough as the harsh fumes irritated her throat. Diana yearned to flee the smoky bedroom, but duty kept her rooted in place. She must withstand this temporary discomfort to satisfy Frank’s desires, no matter how it troubled her senses.
Diana stood motionless beside the bed, enduring the harsh cigarette smoke. As Frank took slow drags, she resisted the urge to wave the fumes away or retreat from the noxious cloud surrounding him. She focused instead on taking steady, measured breaths, trying not to inhale too deeply. Seeking a distraction, her gaze drifted around the bedroom. Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting everything in a soft glow. The rumpled sheets bore evidence of their passionate encounter, wrinkled and damp in places where droplets of semen had escaped her careful grasp. Diana leaned down and tidied them absently, smoothing out creases with her hands around his prone form.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror tucked in the corner. Approaching it, she assessed her disheveled appearance. The sheer blue negligee still clung alluringly to her curves, though it had twisted during her exertions. The straps hung askew, the neckline sagging to reveal the upper swells of her breasts. She adjusted the thin strings over her shoulders and tugged the hem back into place. Her raven hair, tousled from sleep and Frank’s overeager hands, spilled over her shoulders in wild waves. She ran her fingers through the dark tresses, untangling the worst of the knots.
Studying her reflection, Diana noticed a trickle of Frank’s cum lingering at the corner of her mouth. She wiped it away with the tip of a finger, grimacing slightly at the sticky residue. His essence seemed to cling to her this morning in more ways than one, marking their intimate encounter in small, yet visceral ways.
Her gaze traveled lower, lingering on her bare thighs and the dark triangle of curls visible between them through the thin blue gauze. She again felt the urge to touch herself, to soothe the pulsing ache of unmet desire still simmering within her. But she dared not indulge those cravings here. Her body was not her own right now, but belonged to her wifely duties and the demanding whims of her husband.
“My cock’s still not clean,” Frank observed in between drags, breaking her introspection in the crudest way. Diana turned away from the mirror with a gentle sigh, moving back to his side with graceful steps.
She approached the bed where Frank lay smoking, his withered body half-covered by rumpled sheets. The acrid smell of fresh cigarette smoke, stronger and more invasive this close to the source, assaulted her keen senses, mingling with the lingering musky scent of their intimate encounter. She fought back a wave of nausea as the harsh fumes invaded her nostrils.
As she drew nearer, her gaze fell upon his flaccid manhood, still resting against his thigh where she had left it moments ago. A few stray droplets of cum lingered on the wrinkled shaft, while the loose folds of his foreskin partially obscured the sensitive head. Diana suppressed a shudder of distaste. She knew it was her duty to use her mouth to clean away the viscous evidence of his pleasure, but somehow she had hoped he would spare her that degrading task this morning.
Kneeling beside the bed, she gave him a reassuring smile before she leaned in, nostrils flaring as the pungent aromas intensified. Up close, she could see his member in detail—the liver spots mottling the purplish glans, wiry gray hairs curling around the base, green-blue veins etched under paper-thin skin. With some reluctance, she extended her tongue, dragging the tip along his length to lap up the traces of salty spend.
The bitter fluid mingled with the ashy undertones of tobacco on her palate, creating a unpleasant mélange that made her want to gag. But she persevered, licking him clean with broad strokes while Frank looked on, murmuring crude words of encouragement.
“That’s it, lick it all up. Prove to me what a good little wife you are.”
The belittling words echoed in her ears while she worked. Her tongue traced each ridge and wrinkle, gathering up viscous globs and wiping away creamy streaks until no trace of his climax remained. All the while, the acrid cigarette smoke swirled around them, seeping into her hair and clothes, coating her in its stale stench. Diana refrained from commenting, knowing Frank would not appreciate the interruption. She focused on her task, keeping busy until he finished.
When she finished, Diana tucked him away in his pajama pants and ran her tongue over her lips, trying to wipe away the lingering salty-bitter taste. Her mouth felt dry and raw. She longed to rinse out the unpleasant flavors, but dutifully remained where she was.
Frank took another long drag, cheeks hollowing around the cigarette filter, before releasing a billowing plume of gray smoke straight toward her face. Diana winced as he did it on purpose, but kept her blue eyes open, her cornea tearing up as the fumes wafted over her, not wanting to avert her face and betray her intense displeasure. She focused instead on maintaining a passive expression, concealing her inner turmoil. Frank’s needs superseded her own, so she endured this unpleasant ritual without complaint.
Inside, her thoughts roiled. She longed to flee this smoky cocoon and immerse herself in fresh air. But the outside world beckoned as well, awaiting both Diana Prince’s hard-working skills and Wonder Woman’s strength and compassion. Diana’s dual identities pulled her in contradictory directions. In here, she was Frank’s dutiful, submissive wife, catering to his every selfish desire. Beyond these walls, she was a proud warrior and respected heroine who exemplified female power.
The dichotomy was jarring, yet she walked the line with practiced poise. Her love for Frank compelled compromise, even when his demands chafed against her values. She tempered the frustration by focusing on the greater good her superhero role allowed. Saving lives and protecting the vulnerable fulfilled her in ways this marriage could not.
Diana stifled a grimace as another plume of smoke wafted into her face. Her head throbbed, the cigarette fumes aggravating her persistent headache. She yearned for fresh air to clear the stagnant smells permeating the room—the stale tobacco, the lingering musk of sex and sweat. But she remained still, hiding her discomfort. This was part of the bargain, the cost of being both an independent hero and a dutiful wife. She cherished aspects of each role, even as they pulled her in opposite directions.
For now, Diana filled the role Frank demanded, pushing down her own needs. She anticipated the freedom her red-blue-and-gold suit would bring—the chance to unleash her full strength and abilities without restraint. A brief respite from the stifling submission she willingly endured at home. The thought stirred her warrior spirit. Soon she would again don the mantle of Wonder Woman, embracing all it represented. She would burst free of this smoky room to fly unfettered through clear skies, her raven hair blowing behind her like a banner proclaiming her independence. It had been too long since her last transformation, and she realized in that moment just how much she had missed the freedom that noble costume brought.
But until Frank dismissed her, she stayed seated in deference, maintaining the illusion of perfection their marriage relied on. For now, Diana clamped down on her restlessness, aware Frank was scrutinizing her reactions. She schooled her features into an impassive mask, hiding her rebellious thoughts behind a veil of patience and poise. When the last of the smoldering butt had been stubbed out in the ashtray, Diana relaxed slightly. The harsh edge left the air, though stale traces lingered.
With a sly grin tugging at his wrinkled lips, Frank turned to her and said, “Now, let’s have that breakfast, shall we?”
Diana felt a swell of relief as Frank finally consented to having breakfast. While ministering to his intimate needs had been her priority, she was all too aware of how the precious morning minutes were slipping away. Her important work presentation loomed closer, and she still needed time to get ready and gather her materials before heading to the office.
Frank remained still for a moment longer before summoning all his strength to sit up in bed, the effort evident on his frail form. His joints protested with a series of cracks and pops, reminding Diana that the past decade hadn’t been kind to his body. His arms shook with the exertion of lifting his torso, and he let out a grunt of frustration at his own weakness.
Diana was at his side in an instant, offering support as she helped maneuver his frail body into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress. She noticed how he trembled with even this small exertion, his paper-thin skin stretched over sharply protruding bones. His natural, unwashed scent mingled with the stale odors of tobacco and medicinal ointments that clung to him, but she pushed that minor discomfort aside. Diana kept one arm wrapped around his hunched back, ready to catch him if he faltered. With her other hand, she retrieved his robe and patiently guided his limp arms through the sleeves, adjusting the front so he was properly covered.
Throughout the process, Frank leaned into her sturdy frame, the top of his head resting against her collarbone. Diana didn’t mind his proximity or the fact that he was likely ogling her cleavage again. If the sight brought him a shred of pleasure amid his daily pain and weakness, she was happy to provide that small comfort. Her role as his wife was to offer love, care and support in any way she could to improve his diminished quality of life.
With utmost care, she hooked her arms under Frank’s armpits and crossed them behind his back in a secure grip. Even through his loose pajamas, she could feel the sharp angles of every rib and bony joint beneath his sagging skin. Though Diana possessed the strength to lift him as easily as a child, she was exceedingly cautious, treating him as if his bones were made of fragile glass. Squaring her powerful thighs, she lifted him to stand on unsteady feet. He wavered a moment, his balance precarious, but Diana held him steady, keeping him close to the warm solidness of her body as she allowed him to find his footing.
“Lean on me, my love. I will be your strength today and always,” she whispered, infusing her voice with tender affection as she kept a supportive arm wrapped around his scrawny back.
Frank grunted with the effort of standing, his legs unsteady beneath him. “These damn legs don’t work like they used to,” he complained through wheezing breaths.
“Shhh, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Diana soothed, her voice laden with bottomless empathy. “Here, let me help.”
With slow movements, she turned him around and encircled his chest from behind with both of her muscular arms, bearing the brunt of his weight as his legs threatened to buckle. Her heart ached, feeling how he struggled to perform even this simple motion. But she also swelled with pride at his determination to push past the pain and weakness to stand, if only for a moment. She took some comfort in knowing this struggle was usually hardest for him in the mornings, and that it would get a little easier for him once his limbs warmed up later in the day.
Despite his gruff exterior, Frank sagged against her sturdy frame, relying on her strength to keep him upright. His bony shoulder blades pressed against her breasts, cushioned by their fullness. But Diana didn’t mind his weight leaning into her. She was happy to support him, to be the unyielding bedrock he could depend upon at all times.
As they took a few halting steps together, she felt his every quivering muscle, each ragged breath and faltering footfall as if they were her own, his fragility evident in the uneven cadence of his gait. Diana adjusted her stride to accommodate his unsteady shuffle, lending subtle guidance and support while still allowing him to walk under his own power.
“That’s it, you’re doing wonderfully, my love,” she encouraged, infusing her voice with heartfelt praise. Meanwhile, her sharp eyes watched for any sign he might stumble or falter. Though progress was slow, each small step fortified her belief in Frank’s inner strength.
Frank grumbled under his breath but didn’t pull away from her supportive grasp. She knew his pride chafed at needing her help for such basic tasks, but Diana never judged his weaknesses. She gave her aid freely, with limitless patience and compassion.
“Almost there,” Diana said as they neared the corner at the foot of the bed where his wheelchair awaited. She could sense Frank tiring, his jagged breaths growing louder. But she knew he needed these small victories, the chance to use his own body before surrendering to the confinement of his mobile chair. Frank grumbled indistinct complaints under his breath, but Diana tuned them out, keeping her focus on ensuring his comfort and safety during the critical transfer.
First, she ensured the wheelchair was positioned just right, ready to receive Frank’s frail body. As she pivoted him around, every motion was slow and gentle, treating him as if he were sculpted from the finest, most delicate crystal. Her senses were attuned to every facet of his fragile body—monitoring his breathing, keeping track of his heartbeat, attentive for any sign of discomfort. The slightest wince or twitch would have halted her instantly.
“There we are, easy now,” she murmured, keeping one sturdy arm wrapped around his torso for support. With her free hand, she guided him down into the seat, mindful that his descent was gradual and smooth. Frank grunted as he settled onto the black vinyl, his wrinkled hands grasping the armrests.
Once he was in, Diana reached for the thin pillows she had arranged earlier and gently tucked them around Frank to cushion his body. She made sure to position them behind his lower back and bony hips to help align his posture. Her fingers nimbly adjusted the angles, attuned through experience to what brought him the most comfort.
Next, she came around to kneel in front of the chair. Her attentive hands lifted his bare feet onto the leg rests, taking a moment to massage each one in a warm grip, kneading his gnarled toes and soothing his arches. Frank let out a small sigh, the tension in his body easing somewhat under her skillful ministrations. Diana’s lips curled into a tender smile, happy to provide this small respite for her aging husband. She then retrieved his slippers from under the chair and eased them onto his feet, ensuring they sat secure but not too snug. Her fingers lingered, giving his ankles a gentle squeeze before withdrawing.
Diana stood back up, hiding a wince as she straightened to her full height. Her own legs, still trembling from maintaining such a strenuous stance for so long by the bed earlier, welcomed the relief. She did a final check, scrutinizing his posture from head to toe, and then leaned down so they were eye level, crystal blue gazing into rheumy gray.
“How is that, my love? Are you settled comfortably?” Her voice was rich with affection and care as she awaited his verdict.
Frank gave a gruff nod, shifting slightly to test the support. “Good enough, I suppose,” he rasped. Diana wasn’t deterred by his grumpiness. A smile touched her lips, pleased she had attended to his needs so diligently.
She unfurled the knitted blanket draped on the chair’s back and laid it across Frank’s lap. Her fingers lingered a moment, ensuring the covering was smooth. She tucked the robe around his legs and planted a soft kiss on his wrinkled forehead.
“There, all done,” she declared warmly, giving his bony shoulder an affectionate squeeze.
With everything in order, Diana positioned herself behind Frank’s wheelchair, ready to convey him to the delicious breakfast she had prepared. Her strong hands gripped the metal handles with a determination that mirrored the steadfastness of her love. As she prepared to set them in motion, she was cognizant that even the subtlest jolt could cause him discomfort. And so, with tender care, she began rolling the chair forward one small nudge at a time. She kept their progress gradual, letting momentum build bit by bit rather than pushing off with any sudden force.
The chair’s rubber tires whispered over the faded hardwood, guided by her graceful stride. Diana chose her steps with care, avoiding the squeaky floorboards she had mapped in her mind, not wanting any sudden sound to disturb the early morning tranquility of their home.
Frank’s frail body swayed gently with the motion as she guided him across the floor. Diana monitored his every reaction, ready to stop at the slightest sign of unease. But he seemed comfortable enough, slumped in the chair with his wrinkled fingers maintaining a light grip on the hand rests.
As she pushed him toward the open bedroom door, she treated the wheelchair as an extension of Frank’s own fragile form, keenly aware of how even subtle vibrations could cause him discomfort. Her powerful strides were tempered to match his uneven cadence from moments before, fluid and unrushed.
Diana’s focus was singular—conveying her beloved husband with both care and dignity. Though her Amazon strength allowed her to lift the whole chair with him in it—even without her golden belt—she adjusted her powers to suit Frank’s mortal fragility. She was his guardian and guide, ushering him forth into the new day with heartfelt love, not on her own conditions, but solely on his.
Their progress was gradual but steady as Diana maneuvered the chair across the threshold and into the hallway beyond. Her pace remained unhurried, allowing time for Frank to shift his weight and brace himself around corners. She listened for any hitches in his breathing, ready to stop and comfort him should the ride become too jarring. But he seemed settled enough, lulled by the gentle rhythm of her steps.
As they left the smoky bedroom, the fresh air of the hallway enveloped her, crisp and clean by comparison. She inhaled deeply, savoring the reprieve from the stale tobacco cloud her lungs had endured.
“Are you comfortable, love?” she inquired in a gentle voice. At his gruff confirmation, she began pushing the chair toward the kitchen, gliding slowly so as not to jostle him, her bare feet soft and silent in the morning stillness.
The layout of their modest house was tailored to meet Frank’s challenges. As Diana snuck through the hallway, an open living area unfolded before her eyes, with plush and comforting furniture strategically placed for easy navigation. The lack of thresholds ensured that Frank had the freedom to explore every corner of the home without hindrance, save for the stairs leading to the upper floor and basement. The hallway that led to the bedroom and bathroom was more than broad enough to accommodate Frank’s wheelchair, giving him a sense of independence and ease of movement.
In spite of this, Diana was often called upon to power his transportation. It was a familiar routine, one she had mastered over time, but it was not without its frustrations. Many mornings, she found herself pushing Frank’s wheelchair, his rheumy eyes lingering on her with an expectant gaze. Diana knew that he was perfectly capable of wheeling himself, his hands still possessing a vigor unharmed by the passage of time. Yet, he had grown accustomed to her servitude, her strength, and it had become an unspoken agreement between them.
As Diana stood there without the shielding of underwear between herself and the world, she became sharply aware of the state of her unattended sex beneath her sheer negligee. Her womanly needs continued simmering unchecked. The throbbing ache between her thighs was a constant presence, her swollen flesh crying out to be sated. She squeezed her legs together reflexively, feeling the slick evidence of her unmet desire. The wispy fabric swished unimpeded against her bare thighs, and she felt unexpectedly exposed, almost naked. It was a vulnerability she was unaccustomed to, and she had to resist the urge to press the delicate material closer to her skin.
Diana’s heightened senses could not escape the lingering evidence of their morning act. The musky scent clung to her nostrils despite her efforts to breathe through her mouth. Remnants of salty bitterness coated her tongue, resisting attempts to rinse away the unpleasant flavor with repeated swallows of fresh-flowing saliva. Though the sensations were unwelcome, Diana endured them without complaint. After all, an Amazon warrior could withstand far worse trials than an unpleasant taste. She reminded herself that she was here as Frank’s helpmate, companion and guardian. The rest they would discover, one small step at a time.
Guiding his wheelchair around the corner, they had barely moved two steps before Frank suddenly called out, “Stop! Wait! I need to take a leak.”
Diana halted immediately. She pushed down the mild annoyance threatening to rise within at her husband’s gruff announcement, wishing he could have mentioned his need sooner, before she went through the effort of tucking him in his chair. But she immediately turned that chastisement inward, at her own thoughtlessness of not asking him about it first. Outwardly, she remained as patient and attentive as always.
“Of course, my love,” she responded gently. “Let’s take care of that first.” She backed the wheelchair away from the hallway and turned it around to face the small adjacent bathroom instead, wheeling him inside.
The utilitarian space was dim, lit only by a small frosted window high on the wall. Diana reached up with a toned arm to flip the switch, flooding the room with harsh fluorescent light. She took a moment to look around, making sure everything looked safe and orderly before moving on to the next step. Like most other areas of their house, this small space had been restructured to suit Frank’s handicap. The walk-in shower contained a plastic chair and grab bars to assist him. A raised toilet seat and wheelchair-height sink allowed Frank independence in his self-care routines, a concession Diana knew was important for his pride.
Diana put away the quilt covering his legs and then moved to stand behind the wheelchair. She hooked her sturdy arms under Frank’s armpits and assisted him to rise on trembling legs, bearing the brunt of his weight as before. Frank insisted on urinating while standing up despite the effort it required from his weakened body. She knew it was a matter of masculine pride for him, and though it would have been safer and easier for him to stay seated, she honored his wishes, recognizing the importance of preserving his dignity.
Frank grunted as he gained his feet, swaying unsteadily. Diana kept her solid frame pressed against his back, ready to catch him if he stumbled.
“I’ve got you, my love, just take it slow and easy,” she encouraged.
Diana matched each faltering step as they shuffled toward the toilet, acting as his loving crutch. The floor tiles were smoothly cool under her bare toes. She winced slightly at the lethargic way his slippered feet scraped along, emitting a grating rasp with each slide forward. But she remained focused on ensuring his comfort and security.
Finally, they made it to their destination. Diana positioned Frank in front of the toilet, though she stayed glued to his back, one elbow tucked under his armpit supporting his weight. Her free hand reached around to undo his robe sash and loosen his pajama pants, exposing his frail body.
“You know, I can smell you back there,” he said.
Diana halted her movements, a faint blush spreading on her cheeks. She knew exactly what scent he was referring to. Her lingering arousal still made itself known, the potent pheromones free to spread from her unclad crotch, filling the cramped space with her musk.
“Maybe, if you’re good today, I’ll let you come tonight. Would you like that?” Frank continued.
Diana felt a flash of heat in her core at Frank’s words, a surge of longing rising within her. His offer tantalized, hinting at the sweet release she had been denied for so long. Her body craved that climax, yearned to finally sate the relentless ache that smoldered within her. Yet the lure was quickly tempered by apprehension. She hesitated to accept, knowing the cost such indulgence often carried. There was also a deeper part of her that bristled at the callous entitlement in his tone, the presumption that he could dangle her own pleasure before her like a treat for good behavior! As if the intimate needs of her body were merely a bargaining chip for him to control. Still, she dared not give voice to the indignation rising in her throat. Duty compelled subdual of pride. And so she swallowed back the immediate words of protest, bending to the convoluted dictates that governed their marriage.
“I...appreciate the thought, Frank,” Diana responded after a tense pause, keeping her voice measured. “But, as always, seeking your satisfaction and comfort takes precedence over my own. However… If you truly wish me to find release tonight, I will gratefully accept your gift.”
Inside, her thoughts roiled. After months of denial, her primal urges clamored for satisfaction. But past experience had taught harsh lessons about the capricious nature of Frank’s whims. Oftentimes his promises of reward devolved into new torments once she surrendered herself fully to his authority.
Still, a glimmer of hope persisted. Perhaps this time he might keep his word, might recognize her dedication with a rare moment of blissful release. Dare she think it possible? She yearned to trust in his benign intent, to believe her patient suffering had softened him enough to occasionally indulge her feminine needs. But a deeper wisdom remained cautious, braced for this hope to curdle into fresh despair. For his part, Frank merely grunted in reply, either appeased with her response or oblivious to the turmoil his crude remark had ignited within her.
Diana shifted her focus back to the task at hand, grateful for a reason to escape further probing of her conflicted state. With renewed care, she helped maneuver him into proper position over the toilet bowl, providing steadying hands beneath his elbows.
Sensing his need for privacy, she averted her eyes as he took aim, instead focusing her gaze on his profile, ready to assist however he required. One sturdy arm remained wrapped around his torso while her other hand gripped the safety bar mounted on the wall, bracing them both.
Diana felt the telltale motions as Frank relieved himself, his thin body shuddering against hers. The sound of splashing liquid echoed off the porcelain bowl, some of it hitting the rim with a duller percussion. Again, she kept her eyes averted as best she could. However, as errant drops started to hit the tops of her bare feet, she realized some intervention was needed to avoid a mess.
“Here, love, allow me,” she murmured, her fingers coming around to grasp his manhood at its base to help angle and direct his unsteady aim. Frank grumbled but didn’t resist as she gently took control, guiding him with practiced skill borne from months of intimate assistance.
Diana’s grip was firm but gentle as she held Frank’s flaccid penis, angling it downward into the bowl. She felt the loose flesh in her palm, the wrinkled skin and traces of liver spots telling a tale of his advanced age. The softness of his member offered no resistance as she directed the aim, her warm fingers eliciting no reaction from its dormant state.
Urine continued to flow in an erratic stream, the sound echoing off porcelain. Under Diana’s guidance, most of it hit the intended target, though occasional drops still splashed against the rim and back-sprayed their feet. She paid no mind to the wetness now dotting her toes and insteps—her focus was singular, dedicated to preserving Frank’s dignity.
Through it all, Frank remained passive in her grip, surrendering control as his frail legs trembled under the exertion of standing upright. She could feel the tension in his fragile body as he strained to pass water. His manhood dangled limply, the wrinkled shaft dribbling a weak stream into the bowl. The sound of splashing liquid seemed abnormally loud in the enclosed space, masking the rasp of his labored breathing. Diana held him secure, her toned muscles flexing beneath smooth olive skin as she bore the brunt of his weight.
As she stood supporting Frank over the toilet, Diana felt an increasing pressure in her own kidneys. The sound of his stream echoing off the porcelain was a potent reminder that she too needed to relieve herself soon. She subtly shifted her weight from one foot to the other, thighs pressing together. The dull ache of her full bladder throbbed within her lower abdomen, having grown more insistent as the morning progressed. Diana knew it was only a matter of time before she would have no choice but to ask Frank for permission to use the facilities.
Such requests always filled her with a mix of unease and resignation. She understood it was her duty as Frank’s wife to prioritize his needs before her own, and he insisted on maintaining strict control over when she was allowed to tend to her bodily functions. Diana accepted his authority in this, however embarrassing it might feel to seek his approval for such a basic and intimate need.
She kept her gaze averted, feigning ignorance to grant Frank privacy even as her touch and strength supported his exposed body. Yet she could not block out the odors assaulting her keen senses—the strong stench of ammonia mingling with the stale scent of his unwashed body and a potent whiff of her own musk. Her nostrils flared in distress, even as she maintained her composure, determined not to add to Frank’s embarrassment over his physical needs.
Slowly, the splattering sounds grew softer, transitioning to a weak dribble before fading altogether. Diana gave Frank’s member a gentle shake and squeeze at the tip, dispatching the last clinging drops before tucking him away and retying the drawstrings of his pajama pants.
“Is that the way to do it, woman? Give it a proper cleaning.”
Diana tensed as Frank gave his abrupt command, her fingers stilling on the drawstring of his pajamas. His words hung heavily between them, their implications impossible to misinterpret. Though she had provided such intimate cleansing many times before, his dismissive tone never failed to sting. A part of her had hoped Frank might spare her this degrading act, might grant her dignity for once. But she should have known better. His desires seemed only to grow more lurid, his demands increasingly humiliating as their marriage progressed. She took a slow breath, gathering her composure before responding.
“Of course, Frank. Let me take care of that for you,” she said, a hint of strain in her melodic voice.
Turning to face Frank again, Diana lowered herself with fluid grace to kneel before him on the cold tile floor. The frigid surface sent a chill through her bare knees, but she paid it no mind, focused solely on the task at hand. The position was a familiar one, yet still elicited a swell of unease within her. She kept her crystal gaze downcast, unable to meet his eyes in this moment. With quiet resignation, she once more took his flaccid manhood into her hand and pulled back the wrinkled foreskin to reveal the sensitive glans beneath. The aged shaft was still slick and damp from having just urinated. She could smell the acrid ammonia clinging to him, mingled with the earthy notes of his musk. Her nostrils flared in involuntary protest, even as she parted her full lips.
Extending her tongue, Diana touched the tip to his shaft, just below the head. She tasted the bitter saltiness of urine mingled with his own flavors as she began cleaning him in slow, thorough strokes. Her supple tongue caressed along the loose folds of his foreskin, lapping up every droplet and bead of moisture until no visible trace remained.
All the while, Frank stood over her, one gnarled hand braced against the safety bar while the other gripped her hair. She winced slightly as his bony fingers wound through her raven locks, tangling in the silken tresses, keeping her head anchored in place as she worked. The harsh fluorescent light overhead cast his wrinkled face in sharp relief, accentuating each crevice and blemish. His rheumy eyes bored into her with penetrating intensity. She noticed how his grip squeezed tighter each time her tongue made contact, as if trying to vicariously feel the caresses she lavished on his member.
“That’s it, clean it good,” Frank rasped, his aged body trembling above her.
Diana tensed at his crude words but did not halt her efforts. She continued methodically bathing every inch of his member, her tongue tracing over each vein and wrinkle. The velvety caress of her mouth sought to soothe even as it removed the lingering acrid traces. This was her wifely duty, in all its unsavory details.
Frank remained still, simply observing as she tended to him. Diana kept her crystal gaze downcast, intensely aware of his eyes boring into the top of her head. With meticulous care, her tongue moved lower, tracing every vein and wrinkle down his shaft to the base nestled in gray curls. She cupped his testicles in her palm, gently lifting and separating them to access the delicate skin beneath. Her warm tongue glided over every inch of intimate flesh as she sought out any errant drops that might have tainted his scrotum.
Despite her composure, this act never failed to elicit conflict within her. With each lap of her tongue, she felt her pride and dignity being compromised. Her Amazonian spirit railed against performing such a demeaning task, no matter the reason. This was not the life of an honored warrior, but an existence stripped of autonomy and self-respect. These moments of intimate servitude were a harsh reminder of all she had surrendered for this man—a daily erosion of the foundations that defined her. She who had once commanded armies now knelt subservient, debasing herself to sate the passing whims of her frail husband. It was a bitter draught to swallow.
Through it all, Diana’s senses remained heightened. She heard Frank’s ragged breaths mingling with her own, felt the straining of his tremulous muscles as he struggled to remain upright. His aged scent mingled with the acrid odor still clinging to his groin, creating a heady combination that turned her stomach. The bitter tang coated her tongue with each lap, impossible to ignore.
She imagined how she must look to him in this moment—the iconic Wonder Woman debased on her knees, reduced to a position of subservience. It was an image that wounded her pride, even as she willingly endured this humiliation out of love and duty. That inner conflict never fully faded. She channeled those emotions into fuel, striving to complete her task quickly and thoroughly so they could move past this shameful moment.
Frank’s gnarled fingers remained entangled in her hair, his grip bordering on painful, keeping her head locked in place as her lips and tongue caressed his intimate flesh. The morning light streaming in from the small window cast everything in sharp relief—the paper-thin skin atop his hand, each cracked nail and swollen knuckle digging into her silken tresses as he relished his wife’s affections.
Only when she felt she had thoroughly cleaned away all traces of his impromptu bathroom visit did Diana slide her lips off his member. With a final flick of her tongue, she sat back on her haunches. Her knees ached from pressing into the hard tiles, and her bladder sent jolting signals of distress through her abdomen, but she paid these discomforts no mind. At long last, she summoned the courage to meet Frank’s gaze again, her crystal blue eyes awash with simmering emotion.
“Is that sufficient, my love?” she inquired, one eyebrow raised. Her voice was warm and steady, betraying none of the roiling emotions she felt.
Frank’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her face. Diana gazed back levelly, her expression schooled into an impassive mask. She resisted the urge to wipe her mouth on the back of her hand, leaving the lingering acrid taste to slowly fade on its own.
After a weighty pause, Frank gave a curt nod, and his gnarled fingers released their grip on her hair. Diana inhaled deeply as his hand withdrew, savoring the reprieve. She resisted the urge to shake out her hair or rub her scalp where his grip had pinched. Instead, she maintained her poise, easing Frank’s manhood back into his pajama pants with gentle hands and retying the drawstring snugly at his waist.
“There, all clean now,” she affirmed, offering him an encouraging smile despite the unease simmering within her.
Diana rose gracefully back to stand at Frank’s side, tall and dignified once more. Her motions were smooth and controlled, allowing none of her inner turmoil to show. The acidic taste still coated her tongue, impossible to ignore. She longed to rinse out her mouth, to be rid of the lingering essence that permeated her senses. But she bore it with renewed stoicity, keeping up her facade of wifely devotion. There would be time later to wash away these reminders, once she was alone.
“Shall we go have breakfast now, my love?” she asked in dulcet tones, keeping her crystal gaze averted as she tidied his clothes. Before Frank could reply, another insistent twinge from her full bladder gave Diana pause. She pressed her thighs together, trying to ignore the growing urge. But it was steadily increasing in urgency, and she knew she could not delay much longer. Drawing on her courage, Diana turned back to Frank.
“But first...if it pleases you, might I have your permission to relieve myself as well?” She hesitated only a heartbeat before adding, “I can wait if needed, but the pressure is growing rather intense.”
Diana held her breath, anxiously awaiting Frank’s verdict. Asking his leave for such an intimate act never failed to make her cheeks burn with quiet humiliation. Yet it was a small price to pay to uphold the pillars of subservience that supported their marriage.
Frank’s eyes glinted with mingled amusement and sadistic delight. He seemed to savor these moments when her basic needs forced her to grovel before him. Diana kept her crystal gaze lowered, schooled into an expression of deference. Inside, frustration and resentment simmered beneath her quiet poise. But she buried those rebellious emotions deep.
After a tense pause, Frank replied, “Since you pleased me so well this morning, you may go pee after you get me seated.” His thin lips quirked in a crooked smile. “Just try not to enjoy yourself too much. It would seem those adventurous fingers of yours tend to stray to places they shouldn’t this morning.”
His mocking words pierced her, an added layer of humiliation. Diana felt her cheeks burn hotter but she merely nodded.
“Thank you, Frank,” she responded softly. She hid her dismay at the additional delay, even as her bladder throbbed more insistently. But she would endure. Such was her plight—forced to seek demeaning permission for basic needs. It was a subtle yet effective means for Frank to assert control, to degrade her Amazonian pride.
Swallowing her discomfort, Diana turned her focus to assisting Frank from the toilet and back to his wheelchair by the door. But first she helped him over to the sink so he could wash his hands unassisted, regaining a small measure of his independence. As before, she stood close behind him, ready to offer support should he need it, her presence letting him know he was protected.
As Frank completed his ablutions, Diana’s eyes drifted to the fogged mirror over the sink, observing their intertwined reflections within the misty glass. The image seemed distorted—a hunched old man clinging to the sturdy frame of a statuesque goddess. Even clouded, the dichotomy was drastic between his wizened features, sagging skin and protruding bones next to her powerful, sculpted physique. His thinning hair, gray with age, was the antithesis of her own raven locks, thick and glossy. Liver spots dotted his hands under the stream of water while her own olive skin remained smooth and unblemished.
The longer Diana gazed upon their merged outlines, the more it crystallized something that had been building within her for some time—a sobering acknowledgment of just how odd their union was. She had always understood it was an unusual pairing, but seeing their physical forms juxtaposed like this made the reality viscerally clear.
What had brought them together across such a divide?
Duty and compassion had certainly guided her steps down this unexpected path. She had committed to being Frank’s caretaker, protector and helpmate until death parted them. And as an Amazon princess, she did not make such vows lightly. But it was more than that.
Her thoughts drifted, probing the complicated emotions that had led her to bind herself to this ailing elderly man. Moments like this forced deeper introspection about the nature of their relationship and the sacrifices she made to preserve it.
She could not deny that his advanced age and declining health had factored into her fateful decision those years ago. Death would indeed part them at one time or another, but barring some terrible accident or unfortunate event, that death would not be hers. While her immortal heritage granted Diana perpetual youth and vitality, she knew that one day, decades or even centuries in the future, she would witness her friends grow old and frail, as she had already done many times over the eighty years she had spent in Patriarch’s World. The prospect had always saddened her, making her cherish their time together all the more.
Diana reflected on how her previous experiences growing up on Themyscira had shaped her views on aging and mortality. As an Amazon blessed with perpetual youth, she had never witnessed the slow decline of old age among her immortal sisters. On her secluded island homeland, the only deaths came suddenly—usually warriors falling in battle or training accidents. There was no gradual fading away, no drawn-out goodbyes. One moment her sisters were vibrant and strong, the next they were gone.
This made Diana’s time in the outside world all the more poignant. Here, she was confronted with the realities of mortal life in a way she never had been before. She watched friends and loved ones slowly succumb to the ravages of time, their bodies and minds deteriorating bit by bit as the years advanced. It was a sobering reminder of just how ephemeral human life was compared to her own. She cherished each moment, knowing it could be the last. But it also filled her with a sense of helplessness, wishing she could halt the steady march toward the inevitable.
While her Amazon sisters knew only sudden, violent ends, Man’s World taught Diana that death could be a prolonged farewell. She was learning to appreciate the gift of growing old with someone, even as it broke her heart to witness their fading vitality. In Frank, she now had an intimate glimpse into the human aging process, with all its wrinkles and frailties.
When they first met, she had been drawn to his vulnerability and need. Compassion colored her view, allowing her to look past their differences. Here was someone wrestling with the deterioration of time, struggling to maintain dignity amid infirmity. She could envision her friends and associates facing similar circumstances one day.
Perhaps on some level she had hoped to understand mortal frailty better through Frank’s experience. If she could gain insight into the tribulations he faced, she would be better equipped to support her aging loved ones when that time came. Her friends meant everything to her, and the thought of their vitality diminishing over time clenched her heart.
Diana had always found meaning and kinship among humanity, treasuring the connections she forged during her time in Patriarch’s World. But the looming specter of mortality would inevitably separate them. By marrying Frank, an elderly man already ravaged by time’s cruelty, she was forcing herself to confront that difficult reality head-on, instead of ignoring it. Her time with Frank had immersed her in the poignant realities of aging that she’d been shielded from for so long. And in this regard, she was determined to walk this difficult road alongside her husband in grace and compassion.
However, as an Amazon, Diana valued equality between partners. Though she had embraced the concepts of marriage after coming to Patriarch’s World, certain ingrained beliefs could not be easily dismissed. Try as she might, submitting herself fully to Frank’s control and whims felt antithetical at times. Already, she had relinquished so much autonomy—over her body, her personal choices, her voice. And for what? The needs of one frail, selfish man?
Diana studied the aged face reflected beside her own. She searched for traces of the inner goodness she must have glimpsed within him once. But all she saw now was a harsh, wrinkled visage scowling back at her as he struggled with the simple act of turning off the faucet.
Disillusionment curdled in her gut. This was not the partnership depicted in romantic tales or that she had envisioned for herself decades ago. She cared for Frank out of duty and compassion; and yes, from the bottomless well of her loving heart. But reciprocal affection seemed lacking. The longer they were bound together, the more their relationship felt intrinsically imbalanced.
Diana mentally chided herself, trying to stifle this outbreak of doubts. She had vowed to stand by this man’s side no matter what challenges their union faced. His physical needs were vast, eclipsing her own. As his wife, it was right for her to prioritize his comfort over pursuing her own selfish desires. Wasn’t it?
But oh, how she yearned for so much more—an equal partnership founded on mutual trust and warmth. One where she could truly be seen and valued for her gifts, not merely used as a tool and caretaker.
Diana’s mind swirled, emotions colliding like storm waves within her. She remained conflicted, pulled between her compassion and her desire for something more. Could this improbable marriage truly fulfill either of them in the long run? Or had they merely deluded themselves into accepting a relationship flawed at its core?
Their gazes met in the mirror. Frank’s rheumy eyes held a glimmer of what Diana chose to see as appreciation. Her own crystal blue ones radiated compassion and care deeper than any ocean on earth. In that shared look, the complexities of their marriage suddenly congealed into a poignant reminder of what she endured this servitude for—the comfort of the man she had come to love despite all obstacles.
Diana shifted her focus back to the present as Frank finished his washing, supporting him with unwavering care. For now, she would table her conflicted desires and concentrate on meeting his needs. Later, in private moments, she would unravel the tangled threads of her own passions, weighing which path might lead to fulfillment, and which to further sorrow.
“There we go, all done,” Diana declared warmly, hoping he could hear the smile in her voice.
She felt Frank slump against her as the exertion caught up with him. His raspy breath came in short pants. Diana held him close, letting him rest and regain his strength before attempting the arduous return trip to his wheeled seat. After long moments, his wheezing gasps eased. Diana shifted position to hook her arms under his again, supporting his weight for the journey back.
She began ushering him along in halting steps, murmuring encouragement as they shuffled toward the waiting wheelchair. Though the process was laborious, requiring all her patience, Diana focused on the joy of helping Frank retain a small shred of independence for a little while longer. Her role was to preserve his dignity while compensating for his weakness—a purpose she fulfilled with sincere devotion.
Diana tried to distract herself as they went, repeating a silent mantra while she walked. Just a little longer, hold on just a little longer. She focused on taking small, measured steps, keeping her thighs pressed together. The growing urge from her bladder threatened to overwhelm her poise, but she clung to her inner reserves of discipline and patience. This was merely another trial to endure.
At the doorway, Diana halted and pivoted Frank around, easing him back down into his waiting wheelchair. She tucked the blanket over his lap and knelt to adjust his feet on the rests before coming to stand once more. Her every motion was efficient yet graceful, betraying none of the increasing desperation pulsing through her lower body. She eyed the open toilet longingly but did not move without permission.
Frank was quiet for a moment, as if mulling his decision over. Then he gave a dismissive grunt.
“Two squirts. And be quick about it.”
Equal parts relief and humiliation washed over Diana at his brusque command. “Thank you, Frank,” she responded, keeping her voice low and deferential.
Diana wasted no time hiking up her sheer nightgown and positioning herself astride the gaping toilet bowl. Not allowed to use the seat ring, she maintained a deep squat, much like the one she had held in the bedroom earlier. Her tired leg muscles screamed as she adopted the position, powerful thighs trembling. Yet she made sure to spread her legs wide, granting him an intimate view of her dark triangle.
She tried to tune out the reality of voiding herself mere feet away from her husband’s scrutiny, but the sound of his breathing seemed unnaturally loud in the small space, punctuating the intimacy of the moment. Her full bladder ached, throbbing with desperate urgency. Relaxing her core, she felt her urethra open and release a broad torrent.
The tinkling splash of her urine hitting the toilet water echoed off the porcelain, mingling with her husband’s waste already in the unflushed bowl. For a split second, a powerful wave of relief washed over her that was almost orgasmic in its intensity. Her breath hitched and she had to consciously temper the force of her stream, limiting it to the meager amount Frank had permitted. Almost as soon as she had relaxed, she pinched those same muscles down to cut the urine mid-flow. One squirt.
Diana’s teeth ground together behind closed lips as she resisted every instinct screaming for her to fully empty her aching bladder. But she had been permitted only two small releases, and she would not defy Frank’s explicit command, no matter how her inner muscles spasmed in protest.
Taking a measured breath, she steeled herself and relaxed just enough to let a second short burst free. She watched between her toned thighs as a delicate arc of golden liquid poured forth before hitting the basin with a tinkling splash. Diana focused on keeping her stream controlled, though her body begged for a more fulsome release. She counted silently as the scant offering trickled forth, knowing Frank was monitoring her as well. Again she halted the stream quickly, allowing herself only the smallest measure of relief before ceasing the jet. She clenched her pelvic muscles tight, preventing any further leakage.
Her crystal blue eyes closed as she fought to restrain the powerful urge still throbbing within her. It had taken all her discipline to pinch closed her urethra once more, trapping the remainder of urine inside her strained bladder. The abrupt stop left her abdomen clenched in distress, the pressure within still urgent and unfulfilled.
Her nostrils flared as she inhaled deeply, reasserting control over her body’s functions through willpower alone. The intestinal smell of her urine rose to mingle with the other earthy odors permeating the stuffy room.
When she reopened her eyes, she found Frank watching her intently. His rheumy eyes bored into hers, seeming to relish her discomfort. Diana’s cheeks burned under his scrutiny but she remained still, legs quaking from the prolonged squat.
“Finished?” Frank asked after a tense pause.
“Yes,” Diana responded softly, though in truth her bladder still felt swollen and heavy, painfully unvoided. She longed to empty its contents fully over the waiting bowl. But bound by duty and devotion, she denied her body’s most basic needs to comply with Frank’s desires.
Diana suppressed a shudder as she maintained composure on unsteady legs. Her thighs trembled from holding the strained position, powerful muscles burning with fatigue. She could feel the last drops of urine clinging to her dark curls, dampening the folds of her womanhood. Yet she dared not try to wipe herself without permission, leaving the moisture to dry on her skin under the sheer fabric still bunched around her waist.
Still crouched so intimately over the toilet, Diana reached behind her and grasped the flush handle, sending both her husband’s bladderful and the meager contents of her own release swirling down the drain with a muted rush. She rose swiftly back up to stand tall before Frank, the hem of her negligee falling back around her thighs. An ache radiated through her legs and lower back from maintaining such prolonged strained positions this morning, but she paid it no mind. Physical discomforts were fleeting. The true pains lay elsewhere.
With quiet resignation, Diana straightened and smoothed her sheer nightgown back down over her still-damp loins. The thin blue fabric clung to her skin, tracing her feminine contours. She kept her thighs pressed together as she shuffled back over to Frank in small steps, trying not to further aggravate her aching bladder.
Though outwardly poised, inside she seethed at the callous way Frank exploited her vulnerability. It was a bitter reminder of the control he exerted over even her most intimate bodily functions. The entire experience left her feeling exposed and self-conscious under Frank’s penetrating gaze. But as always, she buried her indignation, focusing solely on being the obedient, dutiful wife he demanded.
“Let’s get you ready for the trip to the kitchen then,” Diana murmured, turning her attention away from herself and back to her husband.
After washing her hands, Diana knelt before him to massage some life into his legs and feet, hoping to stimulate circulation and ease the stiffness in his joints before their meal. She pressed her thumbs firmly along the taut cords of his calves, feeling them loosen under her ministering touch. His skin was mottled with age spots and varicose veins, and she handled him with the utmost care, cognizant of his fragility. Frank’s eyes drifted closed, tension slowly leaving his weary body as she worked. A faint moan escaped his lips when her fingers found a particularly tight knot above his ankle and coaxed it to release.
Though still discomforted by her incomplete relief, Diana’s crystal gaze softened as she tucked the quilt around Frank’s legs. Her own needs seemed trivial when compared to his extensive requirements. She would gladly endure any hardship or indignity if it eased his pain or brought him comfort. Yes, she thought, their marriage walked a winding path, but her commitment never faltered. She would continue nurturing this delicate flame between them, no matter the cost. She would walk through fire and worse for the sake of this man—her beloved husband. Duty and love bound them together, transcending their improbable union of age and eternal youth.
In light of her epiphany, Diana was suddenly awash with a need to make amends for her deficient behavior this morning. She had allowed fleeting doubts and frustrations to cloud her devotion. Now she was determined to redouble her efforts to please Frank, to lavish him with the care and adoration he deserved. But first, she owed him a sincere apology. Though she strove to uphold her wifely duties to perfection, she was deeply troubled knowing her actions had caused him any distress. Her crystal blue eyes swam with remorse as she leaned down and met Frank’s rheumy gaze.
“Frank, I need to apologize for my thoughtless behavior this morning,” Diana began, her melodic voice laden with contrition. “In my eagerness to serve you, I overlooked critical details that disrupted your comfort. I will be more mindful going forward. But if ever I fail you again, please know it is never intentional, my love. Your well-being guides my every choice.”
“Interesting. And what are those ‘details’ you speak of, woman? Explain yourself! And speak in complete sentences. Do not presume,” Frank admonished.
Diana paused, gathering her thoughts before responding to Frank’s demand for clarification. She chose her words with care, hoping to appease him.
“I apologize for my lack of clarity, Frank. Let me explain in full,” she began, meeting his eyes. “I was referring to two moments this morning where my actions unintentionally disrupted your comfort. The first was when I called out to announce breakfast before you were fully ready to rise. I should have been more considerate of your need for uninterrupted sleep rather than letting my eagerness to serve you dictate my timing.”
Diana’s shoulders slumped, her shame palpable as she continued. “The second lapse in judgment was presuming I could assist with your morning bodily needs without first asking your permission. I let my wifely duties overrule proper deference to your authority over your own body. To initiate such an intimate act without your consent was inexcusably presumptuous.” Tears glistened in her eyes, but she blinked them back, determined to maintain composure as she bared the depths of her remorse.
“Furthermore, I clearly failed in my responsibility to properly cleanse you afterward. My hasty and inadequate efforts only added insult to injury. You deserved my full attention and care in that vulnerable moment. Please accept my sincere apologies for these missteps.”
She inhaled slowly before adding in heartfelt tones, “I cherish our marriage, Frank, and aim to be the best wife possible. I know words alone cannot undo the distress I have caused you. But I vow to correct these shameful lapses through future actions. From now on, I will be more thoughtful of your needs and temper my enthusiasm to serve until I am certain it aligns with your wishes.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You deserve nothing less than a wife who cherishes your comfort above all else, who shows you the utmost respect and care, especially in our most intimate moments.”
Kneeling there on the cold bathroom tiles, Diana embodied the essence of servitude—an icon of female power willingly prostrating herself in remorse before her ailing husband. The dichotomy was stark, yet she leaned into it fully, letting go of any discordant doubts. Her crystal gaze remained lowered, awaiting Frank’s response with patience and grace.
Inside, turmoil roiled beneath her contrite veneer. Each carefully structured declaration of fault sat like ash on her tongue. Her Amazonian spirit railed against debasing herself this way, against ceding her power to the whims of this entitled mortal man. But she understood too well the precarious pillars supporting their union. Complete submission was the price she paid for their improbable bond. And so she buried her pride, speaking the words Frank demanded, even as they silently choked the breath from her lungs. She focused only on being the woman he required, smothering all traces of rebellion until hardly an ember remained.
“Does that help explain my errors clearly, my husband?” Diana asked softly when he did not immediately respond, her tone gentle yet deferential. “Please know I am fully committed to improving where I fall short in fulfilling my wifely duties. Your guidance means everything to me.”
Diana lifted her shimmering eyes back to his, sincerity etched on every delicate feature. She had laid herself bare, confessed her failings without reservation. Now, she must trust that her honesty and contrition were enough to redeem herself in his eyes. That perhaps this moment of vulnerability might strengthen the pillars of their union and guide them toward a more fruitful relationship.
Frank’s reaction was merely a satisfied smirk of his wrinkled lips at her self-effacing words. Diana’s chest tightened at the gleam of smug power in his rheumy eyes, even as she schooled her own features into neutrality.
“Well then, I’m sure you’ll understand my need to punish you for those transgressions, Diana?” Frank said.
Diana tensed at his words, though she kept her expression neutral. Though her minor failings had been honest oversights, she did not protest or make excuses. As Frank’s wife, it was her duty to obediently accept whatever discipline he deemed necessary. She knew well that Frank’s rigid rules allowed no leniency, and she also knew exactly how that punishment would be meted out.
“Yes, my husband. I accept and obey,” she responded, her melodic voice betraying none of the apprehension swirling within.
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