Wonder Woman: A Night at the Museum
Posted: Wed Oct 22, 2025 8:13 am
Just something I've been working on for a while.
Chapter 1
“Just in time for some fun, right Hank?” The whisper was a slither of sound in the museum’s oppressive quiet.
“You really think this could work?” Hank’s reply was a low thrum of nervous energy.
“Yup… if we do it like we planned.”
They had been planning it for weeks. Two security guards whose greatest thrill was watching the new exhibit’s pièce de résistance: Wonder Woman, in all her sculpted glory, standing in a beam of soft light. But tonight, the museum was closed for a private cleaning. And they weren’t here to clean.
Hank moved first, a blur of navy uniform. The pre-soaked rag, clutched in his meaty hand, slapped over Diana’s mouth and nose from behind. A sickly-sweet chemical scent, cloying and invasive, flooded her senses. Her Amazonian instincts screamed, muscles coiling to throw the attacker over her shoulder. But a sliver of strategy cut through the alarm. A direct fight in the confined space was a risk. Her best chance was feigned weakness, to let them believe their plan was working, to wait for a moment of unguarded arrogance.
She let her body go limp, a calculated sag against Hank’s bulky frame. A soft, surprised gasp was all she allowed herself. The chloroform’s effect was a strange, swimming warmth, not a knockout blow but a heavy blanket draped over her heightened senses, making the world tilt on its axis. A peculiar, unbidden heat began to unspool low in her belly, a traitorous thrum that was entirely unfamiliar.
“Got her!” Hank grunted, his free hand clawing at the gleaming lasso at her hip. He fumbled with the ornate clasp, his fingers brushing against the warm metal of her belt. As it came loose and clattered to the marble floor, a palpable shift occurred. It wasn’t a loss of strength, but a containment. Her divine power, a constant hum in her veins, was suddenly muted, boxed in by mere mortal flesh. The sensation was deeply unnerving, a cage she could feel but not see.
JV was on her then, his hands greedy. “Told you it’d work.” One calloused palm cupped her breast, squeezing the firm globe through the star-spangled bustier. The thin material strained, and the eagle emblem seemed to dig into her skin. The pressure was rough, a shock of sensation that somehow fed the strange warmth spreading through her. His other hand slid down the curve of her hip, palming the tight swell of her ass before dipping between her legs. The thin blue shorts offered no barrier. His fingers found the distinct outline of her vulva, pressing insistently against the dampening fabric. A jolt, sharp and electric, shot through her. It wasn’t pain. It was a bolt of pure, undiluted sensation that made her thighs tremble.
Damn the chloroform, she thought, her mind hazy. What was in that concoction?
Hank, emboldened, drove a fist into her taut stomach. The air left her lungs in a whoosh, not from pain, but from sheer surprise. She doubled over, gasping, and that was their opening. They manhandled her the few feet to the curator’s prep table in the adjacent kitchenette, bending her torso over its cool, polished surface. The edge dug into her hips.
Hank wrenched her arms behind her back, pinning her wrists together in one impossibly strong grip. The pose arched her back, thrusting her rear into the air, a perfect, helpless offering. The star-spangled shorts stretched impossibly taut across the full mounds of her ass.
“Look at that,” JV breathed, his voice thick. “A real wonder.”
Hank’s free hand came down on her right cheek in a sharp, stinging slap. The sound cracked through the room. A bloom of heat spread under her skin, a sensation so vivid and shocking it blurred the line between violation and thrill. He did it again, on the other side, then rubbed the aching flesh with a coarse palm before sliding that same hand between her legs from behind. He cupped her entire sex through the shorts, his fingers tracing the swollen lips, applying a firm, grinding pressure that made her hips buck involuntarily against the table. A deep, guttural sound, something raw and animal, escaped her throat. She hated it. She craved more.
“She’s ready,” Hank growled, his own breathing ragged.
That’s when JV moved in front of her. She saw the hungry look in his eyes, the flash of pale skin as he freed his erection. It was thick and rigid, jutting out toward her face. The musky, masculine scent of him filled her air, overwhelming the last traces of chemical sweetness. Her strategy, her plan to wait, evaporated in the furnace of this alien, overwhelming need. This was no longer a battle to win. It was a sensation to be consumed by.
He gripped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her dark hair. Not with brutality, but with a firm purpose that brooked no resistance. She didn’t give him any. As he guided himself toward her lips, her own parted, a silent acquiescence. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a wild drumbeat matching the throbbing between her legs.
The broad, smooth head of his cock pushed past her lips, across her tongue. She tasted salt and skin. He pushed deeper, and her body instinctively relaxed its throat, a surrender she had never known herself capable of. He filled her mouth, her throat, a deep, stretching invasion that should have been a violation but instead felt like a completion. Her jaw ached beautifully. Her eyes watered. A choked, muffled sound vibrated around him, a sound of pure, overwhelmed sensation.
He began to move, a slow, shallow rhythm at first. Diana’s world narrowed to this: the weight of Hank on her back, the stinging warmth in her ass, the relentless, thrilling fullness in her mouth, and the throbbing, empty ache at her core that begged for its own attention. Her carefully constructed plan was ashes. All that remained was feeling.
Chapter 2
JV’s grip in her hair was an unyielding command, a tight fistful of dark silk that anchored her to the moment. He pulled her head back, and the world tilted, the sterile kitchenette lights swimming above her. The thick, salty taste of him filled her mouth again as he pushed forward, and her throat opened on a deep, instinctual level she never knew she possessed. A slick, warm passage welcoming an invader.
He set a brutal pace, his hips pistoning, forcing her head forward until her nose crushed against the coarse fabric of his uniform pants, then yanking her back by the hair to the very tip before plunging deep again. Each thrust was a claim, a rhythm that pounded against the last vestiges of her strategic mind. A wet, rhythmic sound, vulgar and intoxicating, filled the space between Hank’s ragged breaths. Her jaw ached with a delicious strain, a testament to his size and the force of his use of her.
Behind her, Hank was a mountain of relentless sensation. His thick fingers, calloused and strong from a lifetime of manual labor, didn’t just spank her; they mapped her. One broad palm came down on her left cheek, a sharp, stinging impact that made her gasp around JV’s cock. The sound was a sharp crack that seemed to hang in the air. Before the sensation could fade, he was rubbing the heated skin, his touch almost apologetic before shifting into something far more intimate.
His hand slid between her legs, his fingers finding the soaked center of her thin shorts. The material was plastered to her, transparent with her own arousal. He didn’t just touch her; he explored her. His middle finger found the swollen nub of her clit through the fabric and pressed down with a firm, circular pressure that made her back arch violently. A muffled, desperate cry was torn from her throat, the vibration earning a guttural groan from JV.
“Fuck yeah, Hank. She’s dripping for us,” JV grunted, his thrusts becoming less controlled, more frantic. “Her fucking mouth is incredible.”
Hank’s response was a low, possessive rumble against her back. “Just getting started.”
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her star-spangled shorts and, with a grunt of effort, tore them down to her knees. The cool air of the room hit her exposed, heated skin, making her shudder. A sudden vulnerability, a baring that was as terrifying as it was thrilling. His rough hand returned to her bare flesh, his palm searing against her ass before sliding between her thighs from behind.
This time, there was no barrier. His fingers, slick from her own juices, parted her folds with an intimate knowledge that belied their violence. He traced her slit, a slow, maddening journey that made her hips buck backward, seeking more. A silent, shameless plea. He found her entrance, and one thick finger pushed inside her, a slow, stretching invasion that had her seeing stars behind her closed eyelids. She was impossibly tight, her inner muscles clenching around the intrusion, a reflex that felt less like rejection and more like a hungry pull.
The dual penetration was unraveling her. JV filled her throat, a constant, stretching presence that triggered a primal part of her brain, while Hank’s finger worked in and out of her core, curling slightly, searching. He found a spot deep inside that made her entire body jolt. A spot that sent electric currents straight to her toes.
This is not strategy. This is surrender. The thought was a distant echo, drowned out by the roaring need in her blood. The chloroform’s strange chemistry sang in her veins, amplifying every touch, every sound, every taste into something transcendent and obscene. Her own hands, still pinned uselessly behind her back by Hank’s iron grip, clenched and unclenched, a physical manifestation of the tension coiling tighter and tighter within her.
JV’s pace became erratic. His grunts grew sharper, more urgent. “Gonna come,” he warned, his voice strangled.
Hank’s response was immediate. He removed his finger, the sudden emptiness a shocking loss, and replaced it with the blunt, broad head of his own cock. He pressed against her entrance, a promise of what was to come. The pressure was immense, stretching her in a way his finger only hinted at.
JV’s grip on her hair tightened to the point of pain as he drove himself deep one last time and held there. His body went rigid. A hot, pulsing release flooded the back of her throat, a bitter, musky taste that was entirely and utterly male. She had no choice but to swallow, her throat working around him reflexively, taking every last drop. The act felt profoundly degrading and, to her horror, deeply satisfying.
As JV sighed and slid his softening cock from her bruised lips, he looked down at her with a dazed, triumphant smile. Hank didn’t wait for a change of guard. With JV’s release as his cue, he pushed forward, burying himself inside her in one smooth, powerful thrust.
Diana’s scream wasn’t one of pain. It was a raw, unfiltered sound of being utterly and completely filled. He was so much larger than his finger, stretching her to a breathless brink. He held still for a moment, letting her feel every inch of him, a groaning appreciation rumbling in his chest.
“Goddamn, JV,” Hank breathed, his voice thick with awe. “You feel that? She’s like a fucking vise.”
He began to move, and the world truly fell away. There was only the slam of his hips against her ass, the slick sound of their joining, and the overwhelming sensation of being taken, used, and enjoyed. Her feigned weakness was gone, burned away in the fire of this shocking, undeniable pleasure. Her body moved with his, meeting his thrusts, her inner muscles clutching at him, pulling him deeper.
JV, watching from the front, ran a thumb over her slick, swollen lips. “Look at her. Our little wonder can’t get enough.”
Hank’s rhythm was starting to fracture, his control slipping. “Your turn’s coming. I’m not… I’m not gonna last.”
“Then don’t,” JV said, his eyes locked on Diana’s face. “Fill her up. Let’s see how an Amazon takes it.”
Chapter 3
JV watched Hank’s thick cock slide from Diana’s glistening, bruised lips. A string of saliva and spend connected them for a second before snapping. Her head lolled forward, her breathing a ragged, open-mouthed pant. Her eyes were glazed, unfocused, seeing nothing but the sensation humming through her body.
“My turn,” JV said, his voice a low crack of command that cut through Hank’s post-climax haze.
Hank, still buried to the hilt inside Diana, nodded, his own breathing heavy. With a grunt, he pulled out of her warmth, a groan rumbling from them both at the sudden emptiness. He moved to the side, his hand finding the base of her spine to keep her arched over the table. The loss of him was a physical ache, a hollow need that made her hips twitch backward, searching for the fullness she’d just lost.
JV didn’t waste a second. He circled the table, his lean frame moving with a predator’s grace. He grabbed Diana’s wrists where Hank had pinned them. His grip was different—not just strong, but precise, his calloused fingers locking around her slender bones with an almost cruel efficiency. He pulled her arms back, stretching her torso taut, her breasts straining against the confining bustier. Her back arched into a deeper, more vulnerable curve, presenting her exposed sex and the reddened skin of her ass to the cool air.
Hank moved to the front, his broad hands framing her face. He tilted her head up. Her eyes, dark and dazed, finally found focus on him. There was no fight in them. Only a deep, liquid hunger. He traced her lower lip with his thumb, smearing the wetness there. “Open,” he commanded, his voice rough.
Her lips parted without hesitation. This time, it was Hank who fed his cock into her mouth. It was still slick from her, from him, a familiar taste that was no longer an invasion but an expectation. He filled her, the stretch of her jaw a welcomed, familiar pain. He didn’t thrust wildly like JV had. He pushed deep and held, letting her feel the weight of him on her tongue, the solid reality of his possession.
And JV, holding her wrists, watched. He watched the powerful muscles in her back tremble. He saw the way her hips made small, involuntary circles against the edge of the table, a silent plea for friction. The resistance he’d been primed to combat was simply… gone. Melted away under the chemical fire and the relentless mastery of their hands and cocks.
A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. He didn’t need to hold her. He loosened his grip, one finger at a time, ready to clamp down at the first sign of struggle.
It never came.
Her arms didn’t snap back. They remained exactly as he had positioned them, held in place by her own will. Her hands hung in the air, wrists crossed, a picture of perfect, voluntary submission. A silent, stunning surrender.
JV brought his hands away, holding them up in a gesture of mock surrender to the empty room. “Look at that, Hank. She doesn’t want to go anywhere.”
He placed his hands on her ass instead, his touch claiming, appreciating. He kneaded the warm, firm flesh, the skin flushed a warm pink from Hank’s earlier attention. He traced the damp cleft between her legs, his fingers coming away glistening. She was soaked, her arousal a blatant, fragrant truth. He slid two fingers inside her, and her response was immediate and visceral. A deep, muffled moan vibrated around Hank’s cock, and her inner muscles clenched around JV’s fingers in a rhythmic, pulsing grip.
This was no longer a captive being exploited. This was a woman being serviced, and servicing them in return. The realization was a lightning bolt of pure, decadent power.
He removed his fingers and positioned himself at her entrance. He didn’t slam into her. He pushed forward with a slow, inexorable pressure, savoring the incredible tightness, the hot, silken clench of her body yielding to him. He filled the aching void Hank had left, a different shape, a different angle, but the same breathtaking fullness. Her cry was swallowed by Hank’s flesh, a desperate, grateful sound.
JV set a deliberate, deep rhythm. Each thrust was a measured claim, pushing her body forward into Hank’s. Hank, in turn, began to move in her mouth, a shallow, rocking motion that kept her gag reflex at bay while still granting her the fullness she now craved. The two men found a syncopated rhythm, using her body as the conduit between them.
Diana was lost in the current. Her world had dissolved into a whirlpool of sensation. The stretch of her mouth, the deep, probing thrusts in her core, the coarse feel of uniform fabric against her cheek, the musky scent of their sweat and her own arousal—it was a symphony of depravity, and she was its most willing instrument. Her own pleasure was a coiling spring in her belly, tightening with every stroke, every grunt from the men above her.
JV’s hands roamed her body, tracing the powerful lines of her back, gripping her hips to pull her harder onto him. He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, and his mouth found the shell of her ear. “That’s it, princess,” he growled, his breath hot. “Take it. You were made for this. To be used. To be fucked.”
The vulgar words, instead of offending, sent another shock of heat through her. Her submission was complete, her Amazonian pride a distant memory, overwritten by a more immediate, more primal need.
Hank felt the change in her, the way her throat relaxed further, the way her tongue moved against him with a purpose that was far from passive. He looked down at her face, at the tears of overwhelming sensation tracing paths through the smudges on her cheeks, and saw not a warrior, but a creature of pure need. “She’s loving it,” he grunted, his own hips stuttering. “She’s fucking sucking me back.”
JV drove into her, harder, faster, the table legs scraping against the floor with their force. “Then give it to her. Fill that pretty mouth again. I’m getting close.”
The permission was all Hank needed. His control shattered. His thrusts into her mouth became deeper, more urgent. The grip on her hair tightened, and with a guttural roar, he spilled himself down her throat. Diana drank him down greedily, her body convulsing around JV as her own climax finally, shatteringly, tore through her. It was a silent scream of pleasure, her internal muscles milking JV in violent, irresistible waves.
Feeling her climax, JV buried himself to the hilt, his own release pumping into her in hot, pulsing jets. He stayed there, pressed against her, as the last tremors wracked her powerful frame.
For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing. Hank softened and slipped from her lips. JV slowly pulled out, a wet, parting sound in the quiet room.
Diana remained as they left her, bent over the table, arms still held behind her in that pose of beautiful submission, utterly spent. A slow trickle of evidence dripped down her inner thigh.
JV looked at Hank, a wild, triumphant light in his eyes. He ran a hand possessively over Diana’s trembling flank. “See? No holding needed. She’s exactly where she wants to be.”
Hank wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a slow grin spreading across his face. “So… what’s next for our willing little wonder?”
Chapter 4
JV’s slow grin mirrored Hank’s, a silent agreement passing between them. His eyes, bright with triumph, scanned Diana’s spent form. “What’s next?” he echoed, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “We secure our investment.”
Hank’s brow furrowed momentarily before his gaze fell to the glimmering coil of the Lasso of Truth, discarded and forgotten on the cold marble floor. A deeper understanding dawned. “Oh. Right.”
JV moved first, retrieving the divine artifact. It felt unnaturally warm in his hand, humming with a latent energy that tingled up his arm. He approached Diana, who remained bent over the table, her breathing just beginning to steady. He ran the soft, golden rope over the curve of her shoulder. She flinched at the touch, a fresh shiver coursing through her. The lasso’s power was a distant song, a reminder of a self that felt galaxies away.
“Arms forward, princess,” JV commanded, his tone leaving no room for debate.
A flicker of her old defiance sparked, but it was immediately doused by a surge of something else—a dark, curious hunger to see what they would do, to feel what they would make her feel. With a soft, shuddering exhale, she complied, bringing her arms around from behind her back and resting them on the table in front of her. The posture pushed her breasts together, the tight bustier straining even more.
JV worked with a swift, practiced efficiency, looping the lasso around her wrists and pulling the binding tight. He wove the remaining length through the table’s sturdy leg, knotting it with a secure finality. The golden rope glowed faintly against her skin, a beautiful, humiliating leash. She was tethered, not just by rope, but by her own unraveling consent.
Hank stepped in, his large hands settling on her hips. “Now for the main event.” His palm connected with her right ass cheek in a sharp, stinging slap. The sound was a gunshot in the quiet room. A bright, hot bloom of pain blossomed on her skin. Before she could process it, another slap landed on the left, perfectly symmetrical. The shock of it was a cleanse, a brutal focus that wiped her mind of everything but the sensation.
He began a rhythm, alternating sides, each impact a little harder, each sting layering over the last until her entire rear was a map of throbbing, heated flesh. She gasped into the cool table surface, her body jolting with each strike. But the gasps soon morphed. A soft, broken sound escaped her on the fifth slap. On the seventh, it was a muffled moan.
“You hear that?” Hank grunted, pausing to rub the scalding skin, his touch almost soothing before digging in with a possessive grip. “She’s moaning for it.”
“She’s just getting warmed up,” JV said, his voice close. He had positioned himself beside her head, unbuckling his pants. “Aren’t you, Diana? You want more.”
It wasn’t a question she had to answer. Her body answered for her. She pushed her hips back, a subtle, unmistakable arch into the empty air, a silent plea for the spanking to continue, for the pain to tip over into something else entirely.
Hank obliged with a final, resounding crack that made her vision blur. “God, she’s ready. So fucking hot to the touch.”
JV guided himself to her lips. “Clean me up. Get me ready for what’s next.”
She turned her head, opening her mouth without hesitation. She took him in, the taste of herself and him a familiar, intoxicating mix now. She worked him with a newfound purpose, her tongue swirling around the head, sucking gently, wanting to please, to earn whatever came next. Her muffled whimpers around his length were not of protest, but of anticipation.
Hank watched, his own arousal surging again at the depraved sight. He spat into his hand, the sound crude and visceral, and slicked his fingers. He traced the tight, clenched pucker between her burning ass cheeks. She froze for a fraction of a second, a tremor of primal fear racing through her. This was new. This was a final frontier.
JV pulled himself from her mouth with a wet pop. “Tell him, Diana. Tell him what you want.”
The words were forced from her, not by the lasso’s power of truth, but by a truth far more compelling. “Please,” she breathed, the word ragged and raw. “Please… there.”
Hank needed no further invitation. He pressed the blunt tip of a thick, wet finger against her. “Relax for me, wonder girl.” He applied steady, unrelenting pressure. A sharp, burning stretch, an impossible fullness. She cried out, her knuckles turning white against the table, her back bowing. He pushed slowly, inexorably, until his finger was buried to the knuckle inside her. She gasped, her body clenching around the intrusion, a vice of muscle and shock.
He held it there, letting her adjust to the feeling of being utterly filled in this new, forbidden way. Then he began to move it, a slow, corkscrew motion that tore another broken moan from her lips. The initial burn began to subside, replaced by a deep, radiating pressure that synced with the throbbing in her spanked flesh. It was a violation that felt like a revelation.
“Now me,” JV said, his voice thick. He positioned himself at her other entrance, still slick from her mouth. As Hank’s finger continued its slow work, JV pushed into her soaked, welcoming sex in one smooth, deep thrust.
The dual penetration was overwhelming, breathtaking. She was stretched to her absolute limit, filled in every possible way. JV set a deep, grinding rhythm, each thrust pushing her forward onto Hank’s finger. The sensations merged into a dizzying cyclone of pleasure-pain. She was the center of their world, the conduit for their hunger and her own shocking depravity.
“Fuck, she’s tight,” JV groaned, his hands gripping her lasso-bound wrists for leverage.
Hank added a second finger, stretching her further, the burn a bright counterpoint to the deep, rolling pleasure of JV’s cock. “Beg for it,” Hank growled, twisting his fingers. “Beg for us to really fuck you.”
The words tumbled from her, fueled by a desperation she no longer recognized. “Please! Please, fuck me! Use me! I need it… I need…” Her voice broke into a wordless cry as JV’s pace intensified, slamming into her, each impact driving her closer to the edge.
Hank withdrew his fingers, replacing them with the broad head of his own cock. He pressed against her tight ring of muscle. “This what you want, princess? You want us both?”
“Yes! Yes!” she screamed, her body pushing back against him, demanding it.
With a guttural groan, Hank pushed forward, burying himself in her ass in one agonizing, perfect thrust. The feeling of being completely taken, owned by both men, shattered her. Her climax ripped through her with the force of a tempest, a silent, open-mouthed scream as her body convulsed around them, milking them both.
They followed her over, JV spilling into her core with a shout, Hank emptying himself deep into her ass with a series of ragged grunts, his hips pressed flush against her burning skin.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their heavy breathing and the soft, weak whimpers coming from Diana. They remained like that, joined, spent.
JV was the first to move, pulling out slowly. Hank followed suit, both men staring at the beautiful, broken mess they’d made of the Amazon. Evidence of their possession dripped from her.
JV gently untied the lasso from the table leg but left it coiled loosely around her wrists. He leaned down, his lips near her ear. “You’re going to remember this,” he whispered, the lasso glowing faintly as he spoke, its power nudging the command deep into her psyche. “You’re going to remember the thrill. You’re going to crave it. And you will never, ever seek revenge.”
He stood up, looking at Hank. “Let’s go. Our shift’s almost over.”
Hank gave Diana’s flank one last, almost affectionate pat. “See you around, wonder girl.”
They turned to leave her there, tied and used, the lasso’s final command settling into her soul like a seed. As their footsteps echoed away, Diana slowly clenched her hands, the golden rope sliding between her fingers. A single, traitorous thought echoed in the vast, empty space they left behind.
When?
Chapter 1
“Just in time for some fun, right Hank?” The whisper was a slither of sound in the museum’s oppressive quiet.
“You really think this could work?” Hank’s reply was a low thrum of nervous energy.
“Yup… if we do it like we planned.”
They had been planning it for weeks. Two security guards whose greatest thrill was watching the new exhibit’s pièce de résistance: Wonder Woman, in all her sculpted glory, standing in a beam of soft light. But tonight, the museum was closed for a private cleaning. And they weren’t here to clean.
Hank moved first, a blur of navy uniform. The pre-soaked rag, clutched in his meaty hand, slapped over Diana’s mouth and nose from behind. A sickly-sweet chemical scent, cloying and invasive, flooded her senses. Her Amazonian instincts screamed, muscles coiling to throw the attacker over her shoulder. But a sliver of strategy cut through the alarm. A direct fight in the confined space was a risk. Her best chance was feigned weakness, to let them believe their plan was working, to wait for a moment of unguarded arrogance.
She let her body go limp, a calculated sag against Hank’s bulky frame. A soft, surprised gasp was all she allowed herself. The chloroform’s effect was a strange, swimming warmth, not a knockout blow but a heavy blanket draped over her heightened senses, making the world tilt on its axis. A peculiar, unbidden heat began to unspool low in her belly, a traitorous thrum that was entirely unfamiliar.
“Got her!” Hank grunted, his free hand clawing at the gleaming lasso at her hip. He fumbled with the ornate clasp, his fingers brushing against the warm metal of her belt. As it came loose and clattered to the marble floor, a palpable shift occurred. It wasn’t a loss of strength, but a containment. Her divine power, a constant hum in her veins, was suddenly muted, boxed in by mere mortal flesh. The sensation was deeply unnerving, a cage she could feel but not see.
JV was on her then, his hands greedy. “Told you it’d work.” One calloused palm cupped her breast, squeezing the firm globe through the star-spangled bustier. The thin material strained, and the eagle emblem seemed to dig into her skin. The pressure was rough, a shock of sensation that somehow fed the strange warmth spreading through her. His other hand slid down the curve of her hip, palming the tight swell of her ass before dipping between her legs. The thin blue shorts offered no barrier. His fingers found the distinct outline of her vulva, pressing insistently against the dampening fabric. A jolt, sharp and electric, shot through her. It wasn’t pain. It was a bolt of pure, undiluted sensation that made her thighs tremble.
Damn the chloroform, she thought, her mind hazy. What was in that concoction?
Hank, emboldened, drove a fist into her taut stomach. The air left her lungs in a whoosh, not from pain, but from sheer surprise. She doubled over, gasping, and that was their opening. They manhandled her the few feet to the curator’s prep table in the adjacent kitchenette, bending her torso over its cool, polished surface. The edge dug into her hips.
Hank wrenched her arms behind her back, pinning her wrists together in one impossibly strong grip. The pose arched her back, thrusting her rear into the air, a perfect, helpless offering. The star-spangled shorts stretched impossibly taut across the full mounds of her ass.
“Look at that,” JV breathed, his voice thick. “A real wonder.”
Hank’s free hand came down on her right cheek in a sharp, stinging slap. The sound cracked through the room. A bloom of heat spread under her skin, a sensation so vivid and shocking it blurred the line between violation and thrill. He did it again, on the other side, then rubbed the aching flesh with a coarse palm before sliding that same hand between her legs from behind. He cupped her entire sex through the shorts, his fingers tracing the swollen lips, applying a firm, grinding pressure that made her hips buck involuntarily against the table. A deep, guttural sound, something raw and animal, escaped her throat. She hated it. She craved more.
“She’s ready,” Hank growled, his own breathing ragged.
That’s when JV moved in front of her. She saw the hungry look in his eyes, the flash of pale skin as he freed his erection. It was thick and rigid, jutting out toward her face. The musky, masculine scent of him filled her air, overwhelming the last traces of chemical sweetness. Her strategy, her plan to wait, evaporated in the furnace of this alien, overwhelming need. This was no longer a battle to win. It was a sensation to be consumed by.
He gripped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her dark hair. Not with brutality, but with a firm purpose that brooked no resistance. She didn’t give him any. As he guided himself toward her lips, her own parted, a silent acquiescence. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a wild drumbeat matching the throbbing between her legs.
The broad, smooth head of his cock pushed past her lips, across her tongue. She tasted salt and skin. He pushed deeper, and her body instinctively relaxed its throat, a surrender she had never known herself capable of. He filled her mouth, her throat, a deep, stretching invasion that should have been a violation but instead felt like a completion. Her jaw ached beautifully. Her eyes watered. A choked, muffled sound vibrated around him, a sound of pure, overwhelmed sensation.
He began to move, a slow, shallow rhythm at first. Diana’s world narrowed to this: the weight of Hank on her back, the stinging warmth in her ass, the relentless, thrilling fullness in her mouth, and the throbbing, empty ache at her core that begged for its own attention. Her carefully constructed plan was ashes. All that remained was feeling.
Chapter 2
JV’s grip in her hair was an unyielding command, a tight fistful of dark silk that anchored her to the moment. He pulled her head back, and the world tilted, the sterile kitchenette lights swimming above her. The thick, salty taste of him filled her mouth again as he pushed forward, and her throat opened on a deep, instinctual level she never knew she possessed. A slick, warm passage welcoming an invader.
He set a brutal pace, his hips pistoning, forcing her head forward until her nose crushed against the coarse fabric of his uniform pants, then yanking her back by the hair to the very tip before plunging deep again. Each thrust was a claim, a rhythm that pounded against the last vestiges of her strategic mind. A wet, rhythmic sound, vulgar and intoxicating, filled the space between Hank’s ragged breaths. Her jaw ached with a delicious strain, a testament to his size and the force of his use of her.
Behind her, Hank was a mountain of relentless sensation. His thick fingers, calloused and strong from a lifetime of manual labor, didn’t just spank her; they mapped her. One broad palm came down on her left cheek, a sharp, stinging impact that made her gasp around JV’s cock. The sound was a sharp crack that seemed to hang in the air. Before the sensation could fade, he was rubbing the heated skin, his touch almost apologetic before shifting into something far more intimate.
His hand slid between her legs, his fingers finding the soaked center of her thin shorts. The material was plastered to her, transparent with her own arousal. He didn’t just touch her; he explored her. His middle finger found the swollen nub of her clit through the fabric and pressed down with a firm, circular pressure that made her back arch violently. A muffled, desperate cry was torn from her throat, the vibration earning a guttural groan from JV.
“Fuck yeah, Hank. She’s dripping for us,” JV grunted, his thrusts becoming less controlled, more frantic. “Her fucking mouth is incredible.”
Hank’s response was a low, possessive rumble against her back. “Just getting started.”
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her star-spangled shorts and, with a grunt of effort, tore them down to her knees. The cool air of the room hit her exposed, heated skin, making her shudder. A sudden vulnerability, a baring that was as terrifying as it was thrilling. His rough hand returned to her bare flesh, his palm searing against her ass before sliding between her thighs from behind.
This time, there was no barrier. His fingers, slick from her own juices, parted her folds with an intimate knowledge that belied their violence. He traced her slit, a slow, maddening journey that made her hips buck backward, seeking more. A silent, shameless plea. He found her entrance, and one thick finger pushed inside her, a slow, stretching invasion that had her seeing stars behind her closed eyelids. She was impossibly tight, her inner muscles clenching around the intrusion, a reflex that felt less like rejection and more like a hungry pull.
The dual penetration was unraveling her. JV filled her throat, a constant, stretching presence that triggered a primal part of her brain, while Hank’s finger worked in and out of her core, curling slightly, searching. He found a spot deep inside that made her entire body jolt. A spot that sent electric currents straight to her toes.
This is not strategy. This is surrender. The thought was a distant echo, drowned out by the roaring need in her blood. The chloroform’s strange chemistry sang in her veins, amplifying every touch, every sound, every taste into something transcendent and obscene. Her own hands, still pinned uselessly behind her back by Hank’s iron grip, clenched and unclenched, a physical manifestation of the tension coiling tighter and tighter within her.
JV’s pace became erratic. His grunts grew sharper, more urgent. “Gonna come,” he warned, his voice strangled.
Hank’s response was immediate. He removed his finger, the sudden emptiness a shocking loss, and replaced it with the blunt, broad head of his own cock. He pressed against her entrance, a promise of what was to come. The pressure was immense, stretching her in a way his finger only hinted at.
JV’s grip on her hair tightened to the point of pain as he drove himself deep one last time and held there. His body went rigid. A hot, pulsing release flooded the back of her throat, a bitter, musky taste that was entirely and utterly male. She had no choice but to swallow, her throat working around him reflexively, taking every last drop. The act felt profoundly degrading and, to her horror, deeply satisfying.
As JV sighed and slid his softening cock from her bruised lips, he looked down at her with a dazed, triumphant smile. Hank didn’t wait for a change of guard. With JV’s release as his cue, he pushed forward, burying himself inside her in one smooth, powerful thrust.
Diana’s scream wasn’t one of pain. It was a raw, unfiltered sound of being utterly and completely filled. He was so much larger than his finger, stretching her to a breathless brink. He held still for a moment, letting her feel every inch of him, a groaning appreciation rumbling in his chest.
“Goddamn, JV,” Hank breathed, his voice thick with awe. “You feel that? She’s like a fucking vise.”
He began to move, and the world truly fell away. There was only the slam of his hips against her ass, the slick sound of their joining, and the overwhelming sensation of being taken, used, and enjoyed. Her feigned weakness was gone, burned away in the fire of this shocking, undeniable pleasure. Her body moved with his, meeting his thrusts, her inner muscles clutching at him, pulling him deeper.
JV, watching from the front, ran a thumb over her slick, swollen lips. “Look at her. Our little wonder can’t get enough.”
Hank’s rhythm was starting to fracture, his control slipping. “Your turn’s coming. I’m not… I’m not gonna last.”
“Then don’t,” JV said, his eyes locked on Diana’s face. “Fill her up. Let’s see how an Amazon takes it.”
Chapter 3
JV watched Hank’s thick cock slide from Diana’s glistening, bruised lips. A string of saliva and spend connected them for a second before snapping. Her head lolled forward, her breathing a ragged, open-mouthed pant. Her eyes were glazed, unfocused, seeing nothing but the sensation humming through her body.
“My turn,” JV said, his voice a low crack of command that cut through Hank’s post-climax haze.
Hank, still buried to the hilt inside Diana, nodded, his own breathing heavy. With a grunt, he pulled out of her warmth, a groan rumbling from them both at the sudden emptiness. He moved to the side, his hand finding the base of her spine to keep her arched over the table. The loss of him was a physical ache, a hollow need that made her hips twitch backward, searching for the fullness she’d just lost.
JV didn’t waste a second. He circled the table, his lean frame moving with a predator’s grace. He grabbed Diana’s wrists where Hank had pinned them. His grip was different—not just strong, but precise, his calloused fingers locking around her slender bones with an almost cruel efficiency. He pulled her arms back, stretching her torso taut, her breasts straining against the confining bustier. Her back arched into a deeper, more vulnerable curve, presenting her exposed sex and the reddened skin of her ass to the cool air.
Hank moved to the front, his broad hands framing her face. He tilted her head up. Her eyes, dark and dazed, finally found focus on him. There was no fight in them. Only a deep, liquid hunger. He traced her lower lip with his thumb, smearing the wetness there. “Open,” he commanded, his voice rough.
Her lips parted without hesitation. This time, it was Hank who fed his cock into her mouth. It was still slick from her, from him, a familiar taste that was no longer an invasion but an expectation. He filled her, the stretch of her jaw a welcomed, familiar pain. He didn’t thrust wildly like JV had. He pushed deep and held, letting her feel the weight of him on her tongue, the solid reality of his possession.
And JV, holding her wrists, watched. He watched the powerful muscles in her back tremble. He saw the way her hips made small, involuntary circles against the edge of the table, a silent plea for friction. The resistance he’d been primed to combat was simply… gone. Melted away under the chemical fire and the relentless mastery of their hands and cocks.
A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. He didn’t need to hold her. He loosened his grip, one finger at a time, ready to clamp down at the first sign of struggle.
It never came.
Her arms didn’t snap back. They remained exactly as he had positioned them, held in place by her own will. Her hands hung in the air, wrists crossed, a picture of perfect, voluntary submission. A silent, stunning surrender.
JV brought his hands away, holding them up in a gesture of mock surrender to the empty room. “Look at that, Hank. She doesn’t want to go anywhere.”
He placed his hands on her ass instead, his touch claiming, appreciating. He kneaded the warm, firm flesh, the skin flushed a warm pink from Hank’s earlier attention. He traced the damp cleft between her legs, his fingers coming away glistening. She was soaked, her arousal a blatant, fragrant truth. He slid two fingers inside her, and her response was immediate and visceral. A deep, muffled moan vibrated around Hank’s cock, and her inner muscles clenched around JV’s fingers in a rhythmic, pulsing grip.
This was no longer a captive being exploited. This was a woman being serviced, and servicing them in return. The realization was a lightning bolt of pure, decadent power.
He removed his fingers and positioned himself at her entrance. He didn’t slam into her. He pushed forward with a slow, inexorable pressure, savoring the incredible tightness, the hot, silken clench of her body yielding to him. He filled the aching void Hank had left, a different shape, a different angle, but the same breathtaking fullness. Her cry was swallowed by Hank’s flesh, a desperate, grateful sound.
JV set a deliberate, deep rhythm. Each thrust was a measured claim, pushing her body forward into Hank’s. Hank, in turn, began to move in her mouth, a shallow, rocking motion that kept her gag reflex at bay while still granting her the fullness she now craved. The two men found a syncopated rhythm, using her body as the conduit between them.
Diana was lost in the current. Her world had dissolved into a whirlpool of sensation. The stretch of her mouth, the deep, probing thrusts in her core, the coarse feel of uniform fabric against her cheek, the musky scent of their sweat and her own arousal—it was a symphony of depravity, and she was its most willing instrument. Her own pleasure was a coiling spring in her belly, tightening with every stroke, every grunt from the men above her.
JV’s hands roamed her body, tracing the powerful lines of her back, gripping her hips to pull her harder onto him. He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, and his mouth found the shell of her ear. “That’s it, princess,” he growled, his breath hot. “Take it. You were made for this. To be used. To be fucked.”
The vulgar words, instead of offending, sent another shock of heat through her. Her submission was complete, her Amazonian pride a distant memory, overwritten by a more immediate, more primal need.
Hank felt the change in her, the way her throat relaxed further, the way her tongue moved against him with a purpose that was far from passive. He looked down at her face, at the tears of overwhelming sensation tracing paths through the smudges on her cheeks, and saw not a warrior, but a creature of pure need. “She’s loving it,” he grunted, his own hips stuttering. “She’s fucking sucking me back.”
JV drove into her, harder, faster, the table legs scraping against the floor with their force. “Then give it to her. Fill that pretty mouth again. I’m getting close.”
The permission was all Hank needed. His control shattered. His thrusts into her mouth became deeper, more urgent. The grip on her hair tightened, and with a guttural roar, he spilled himself down her throat. Diana drank him down greedily, her body convulsing around JV as her own climax finally, shatteringly, tore through her. It was a silent scream of pleasure, her internal muscles milking JV in violent, irresistible waves.
Feeling her climax, JV buried himself to the hilt, his own release pumping into her in hot, pulsing jets. He stayed there, pressed against her, as the last tremors wracked her powerful frame.
For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing. Hank softened and slipped from her lips. JV slowly pulled out, a wet, parting sound in the quiet room.
Diana remained as they left her, bent over the table, arms still held behind her in that pose of beautiful submission, utterly spent. A slow trickle of evidence dripped down her inner thigh.
JV looked at Hank, a wild, triumphant light in his eyes. He ran a hand possessively over Diana’s trembling flank. “See? No holding needed. She’s exactly where she wants to be.”
Hank wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a slow grin spreading across his face. “So… what’s next for our willing little wonder?”
Chapter 4
JV’s slow grin mirrored Hank’s, a silent agreement passing between them. His eyes, bright with triumph, scanned Diana’s spent form. “What’s next?” he echoed, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “We secure our investment.”
Hank’s brow furrowed momentarily before his gaze fell to the glimmering coil of the Lasso of Truth, discarded and forgotten on the cold marble floor. A deeper understanding dawned. “Oh. Right.”
JV moved first, retrieving the divine artifact. It felt unnaturally warm in his hand, humming with a latent energy that tingled up his arm. He approached Diana, who remained bent over the table, her breathing just beginning to steady. He ran the soft, golden rope over the curve of her shoulder. She flinched at the touch, a fresh shiver coursing through her. The lasso’s power was a distant song, a reminder of a self that felt galaxies away.
“Arms forward, princess,” JV commanded, his tone leaving no room for debate.
A flicker of her old defiance sparked, but it was immediately doused by a surge of something else—a dark, curious hunger to see what they would do, to feel what they would make her feel. With a soft, shuddering exhale, she complied, bringing her arms around from behind her back and resting them on the table in front of her. The posture pushed her breasts together, the tight bustier straining even more.
JV worked with a swift, practiced efficiency, looping the lasso around her wrists and pulling the binding tight. He wove the remaining length through the table’s sturdy leg, knotting it with a secure finality. The golden rope glowed faintly against her skin, a beautiful, humiliating leash. She was tethered, not just by rope, but by her own unraveling consent.
Hank stepped in, his large hands settling on her hips. “Now for the main event.” His palm connected with her right ass cheek in a sharp, stinging slap. The sound was a gunshot in the quiet room. A bright, hot bloom of pain blossomed on her skin. Before she could process it, another slap landed on the left, perfectly symmetrical. The shock of it was a cleanse, a brutal focus that wiped her mind of everything but the sensation.
He began a rhythm, alternating sides, each impact a little harder, each sting layering over the last until her entire rear was a map of throbbing, heated flesh. She gasped into the cool table surface, her body jolting with each strike. But the gasps soon morphed. A soft, broken sound escaped her on the fifth slap. On the seventh, it was a muffled moan.
“You hear that?” Hank grunted, pausing to rub the scalding skin, his touch almost soothing before digging in with a possessive grip. “She’s moaning for it.”
“She’s just getting warmed up,” JV said, his voice close. He had positioned himself beside her head, unbuckling his pants. “Aren’t you, Diana? You want more.”
It wasn’t a question she had to answer. Her body answered for her. She pushed her hips back, a subtle, unmistakable arch into the empty air, a silent plea for the spanking to continue, for the pain to tip over into something else entirely.
Hank obliged with a final, resounding crack that made her vision blur. “God, she’s ready. So fucking hot to the touch.”
JV guided himself to her lips. “Clean me up. Get me ready for what’s next.”
She turned her head, opening her mouth without hesitation. She took him in, the taste of herself and him a familiar, intoxicating mix now. She worked him with a newfound purpose, her tongue swirling around the head, sucking gently, wanting to please, to earn whatever came next. Her muffled whimpers around his length were not of protest, but of anticipation.
Hank watched, his own arousal surging again at the depraved sight. He spat into his hand, the sound crude and visceral, and slicked his fingers. He traced the tight, clenched pucker between her burning ass cheeks. She froze for a fraction of a second, a tremor of primal fear racing through her. This was new. This was a final frontier.
JV pulled himself from her mouth with a wet pop. “Tell him, Diana. Tell him what you want.”
The words were forced from her, not by the lasso’s power of truth, but by a truth far more compelling. “Please,” she breathed, the word ragged and raw. “Please… there.”
Hank needed no further invitation. He pressed the blunt tip of a thick, wet finger against her. “Relax for me, wonder girl.” He applied steady, unrelenting pressure. A sharp, burning stretch, an impossible fullness. She cried out, her knuckles turning white against the table, her back bowing. He pushed slowly, inexorably, until his finger was buried to the knuckle inside her. She gasped, her body clenching around the intrusion, a vice of muscle and shock.
He held it there, letting her adjust to the feeling of being utterly filled in this new, forbidden way. Then he began to move it, a slow, corkscrew motion that tore another broken moan from her lips. The initial burn began to subside, replaced by a deep, radiating pressure that synced with the throbbing in her spanked flesh. It was a violation that felt like a revelation.
“Now me,” JV said, his voice thick. He positioned himself at her other entrance, still slick from her mouth. As Hank’s finger continued its slow work, JV pushed into her soaked, welcoming sex in one smooth, deep thrust.
The dual penetration was overwhelming, breathtaking. She was stretched to her absolute limit, filled in every possible way. JV set a deep, grinding rhythm, each thrust pushing her forward onto Hank’s finger. The sensations merged into a dizzying cyclone of pleasure-pain. She was the center of their world, the conduit for their hunger and her own shocking depravity.
“Fuck, she’s tight,” JV groaned, his hands gripping her lasso-bound wrists for leverage.
Hank added a second finger, stretching her further, the burn a bright counterpoint to the deep, rolling pleasure of JV’s cock. “Beg for it,” Hank growled, twisting his fingers. “Beg for us to really fuck you.”
The words tumbled from her, fueled by a desperation she no longer recognized. “Please! Please, fuck me! Use me! I need it… I need…” Her voice broke into a wordless cry as JV’s pace intensified, slamming into her, each impact driving her closer to the edge.
Hank withdrew his fingers, replacing them with the broad head of his own cock. He pressed against her tight ring of muscle. “This what you want, princess? You want us both?”
“Yes! Yes!” she screamed, her body pushing back against him, demanding it.
With a guttural groan, Hank pushed forward, burying himself in her ass in one agonizing, perfect thrust. The feeling of being completely taken, owned by both men, shattered her. Her climax ripped through her with the force of a tempest, a silent, open-mouthed scream as her body convulsed around them, milking them both.
They followed her over, JV spilling into her core with a shout, Hank emptying himself deep into her ass with a series of ragged grunts, his hips pressed flush against her burning skin.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their heavy breathing and the soft, weak whimpers coming from Diana. They remained like that, joined, spent.
JV was the first to move, pulling out slowly. Hank followed suit, both men staring at the beautiful, broken mess they’d made of the Amazon. Evidence of their possession dripped from her.
JV gently untied the lasso from the table leg but left it coiled loosely around her wrists. He leaned down, his lips near her ear. “You’re going to remember this,” he whispered, the lasso glowing faintly as he spoke, its power nudging the command deep into her psyche. “You’re going to remember the thrill. You’re going to crave it. And you will never, ever seek revenge.”
He stood up, looking at Hank. “Let’s go. Our shift’s almost over.”
Hank gave Diana’s flank one last, almost affectionate pat. “See you around, wonder girl.”
They turned to leave her there, tied and used, the lasso’s final command settling into her soul like a seed. As their footsteps echoed away, Diana slowly clenched her hands, the golden rope sliding between her fingers. A single, traitorous thought echoed in the vast, empty space they left behind.
When?