Arts by kennethwong115

love his art what happened to him?

Base +11, albertzeb -6

Could you please tell me where I can find his arts？love it

Base +5, pcman999 +5

WW vs Kal (AI generated)

Kal’s thrusts slowed, his breath ragged as clarity seeped back into his eyes. He blinked, his grip on Diana’s hips loosening slightly. His body still loomed over hers, **his cock still sheathed inside her—hot, pulsing. His mind was no longer clouded by crimson rage.
**But he remembered. Every thrust. Every orgasm he had wrenched from her. Every choked-back sob, every tear streaking her flushed cheeks. The way her body had betrayed her, convulsing around him in relentless, unwilling ecstasy. Diana lay beneath him, her bound body trembling, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The Lasso of Truth still coiled around her, its golden strands glowing faintly. Her lips, swollen from his kisses, parted slightly—waiting. Dreading. Would guilt crash over him? Would he recoil? Beg for forgiveness?
Kal exhaled slowly, looking down at her. No horror twisted his features. No disgust. Instead—fascination. His fingers traced the marks the lasso had left on her skin, the way it had bitten into her thighs, her waist. His thumb brushed over a bruise on her breast, and Diana flinched, a whimper escaping her before she could stifle it.
"You’re even more breathtaking when you’re broken," he murmured, voice low, almost reverent.
Diana swallowed. "Kal… please."
He cocked his head. "Please what?"
She didn’t answer. She didn’t even know. Please stop? Please let me go?

In the days that followed, sparring sessions became something else entirely. Now, every grapple, every hold, every pin was laced with something darker. Kal let her fight back—encouraged it, even. But the moment he had her beneath him, breathless, muscles straining, his grip would shift. A hand sliding up her thigh, a thumb brushing her lower lip.
"You’re holding back," he whispered once, as she twisted beneath him on the mat, her legs scissoring, trying to buck him off. His knee pressed between her thighs, and she froze. "Why? Because you are so eager of what happens when you lose?"
Diana’s breath hitched. "You’re not playing fair."
"And you’re not fighting like a warrior," he countered, leaning in until his lips grazed her ear. **"You’re fighting like a woman who knows what comes after."
She shuddered.

**The Cruelest Mercy: Affection After Defeat
Kal was not needlessly cruel. In fact, there was a terrifying tenderness to the way he handled her now. After he overpowered her—after he made her cum until her legs gave out—he would cradle her, stroking her hair, murmuring praise like she was something precious.
"You take me so well," he’d say, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "No other girls ever could."
And that was what unraveled her. Because in those moments, when his voice was soft and his hands gentle, she almost forgot that this was wrong.
When the Justice League asked why Diana no longer met Kal’s eyes—why she flinched at his touch—she lied. She told them it was nothing. And when Bruce’s sharp gaze lingered too long, when he asked if she needed help, she turned away. Because the truth was too humiliating to voice.

Diana shudders, her muscles fluttering around him. She expects—no, hopes—for disgust. For regret. For something to shatter the silence between them.
Instead, Kal exhales slowly, his fingers brushing her damp hair from her face. His gaze is not wild anymore—but something darker.
"Diana," he murmurs, and her name is a brand on his tongue. She braces herself for an apology, but it never comes.
Instead, he laughs—soft, almost reverent—as his hand slides between them, cupping her bruised breast. His thumb teases a stiff nipple. "I remember everything."
Kal does not untie her immediately. Instead, he lingers, studying her—every fluttering breath, every suppressed tremble. His fingers trace the deep grooves her own lasso left on her wrists, her waist, the swollen curve of her breasts. "Look at you," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat. "Still so perfect."
Diana doesn’t answer. She can’t. The weight of her realization is crushing. When he finally undoes the lasso, his touch is not hurried. It’s possessive. Every brush of his fingers is a reminder—this is what you are now.
She wants to fight. To stand, to rage at him. But her legs refuse to obey, trembling too violently to bear her weight. Kal watches, fascinated, as she collapses against him. "Shhh," he soothes, stroking her hair. "It’s all right. You don’t have to pretend anymore."

**Their sparring sessions change. Before, they had been matches of skill, strength, mutual respect. Now? Now, they are foreplay.
**Kal no longer fights to defeat her—he fights to feel her. To pin her beneath him, to watch her squirm and blush as his hands roam too freely, his grip lingering too long.
"You’re holding back," he murmurs against her ear, his hips grinding against hers as she strains beneath him.
She is. **Because Diana knows that struggling too hard only excites him more. That every desperate twist of her body is another excuse for him to force her submission. And Gods help her, she hates how easily he does it. **One swift motion, and her arms are trapped above her head. Another, and his knee presses between her thighs, spreading her before she can resist.
"Say it," he breathes, his teeth grazing the shell of her ear.
She shakes her head, jaw clenched.
Kal smirks, his free hand slipping beneath her armor, fingers circling her clit with devastating precision—
"Say it, Diana."
A cry tears from her lips, her hips bucking uncontrollably.
"Y-you’re stronger—!" "And?"
A second stroke—firmer, slower—and she breaks. "I—I can’t win!"
His grin is triumphant. "Good girl."

He let her come at him—allowed her to believe, for fleeting, delicious moments, that she still stood a chance. Her punches were sharp, her kicks strong, her eyes burning with defiance. And then—
A flicker of super-speed, a twist of his wrist, and her wrist was locked behind her back. She gasped, her body arching against his chest as he hauled her flush against him. His free hand traced the curve of her waist, teasing.
“Is this what you wanted, Diana?” he murmured against the shell of her ear. His fingers dipped lower, **skimming the leg opening of her panties before slipping beneath. “Is this why you keep coming back? To prove you’re still in control?”
His fingers curled, stroked, and her breath hitched, her thighs tensing.
“D-don’t—”
He chuckled, slow and deep, and pressed a kiss to the flushed skin of her throat. He could have had her writhing in seconds, could have sent her crashing into an orgasm with just the barest flick of the Lasso’s power. But restraint was part of the pleasure. He wanted to feel her resistance fray. So he teased her instead. Traced the sensitive dip of her hipbone, the curve of her inner thigh, the way her muscles clenched when his fingers brushed just there—She bit her lip, eyes clenched shut, but her body betrayed her. Already, her skin was flushed, her breathing ragged, her nipples pebbled beneath her sports bra.
“So stubborn,” he mused, nuzzling the delicate shell of her ear. “But your body knows the truth, doesn’t it?” His other hand slid up her ribs, palming her breast, thumb rolling over the stiff peak until she whimpered. She hated how easily he undid her. Kal drank it all in—the tremor in her thighs, the way her lashes fluttered when he pressed just a little harder, the way her breath hitched when his teeth grazed her pulse point. And then—
“You’re mine,” he breathed, and his fingers curled and vibrated.
She came with a broken cry, her knees buckling, her body sagging against his as waves of pleasure wracked her. He held her up effortlessly, cradling her close as she shuddered, his lips brushing her temple.
“Good girl.” The praise sent another shiver through her, one that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with the wrongness of how right it felt.
When she finally found her voice, it was ragged. “T-this isn’t…”
“Isn’t what? You?” He chuckled, scooping her into his arms. “Diana… we both know better now.”

She would come at him, righteous fury in her eyes—only for him to dismantle her. And oh, how she fought. She hated him. She loved him. **She hated that she loved him.
When she charged, he didn’t simply block. He caught her. One hand seized her wrist, the other snapping to her waist, fingers splaying possessively over the curve of her hip. The way her breath hitched—just for a fraction of a second—made his cock twitch. He could feel the tension in her, the way her body prepared to twist free… but he was faster. Always faster.
"Still trying to prove something?" he murmured. His grip tightened, pulling her flush against him, letting her feel the hard length of him pressed between her legs. She shuddered. Her knee jerked up, aiming for his ribs. He sidestepped, twisting her arm behind her back in one smooth motion, his free hand tangling in her hair. A sharp tug, and her throat arched, bared to him. Vulnerable. His mouth ghosted over her pulse point, feeling the frantic flutter.
**"Tell me to stop," he challenged, voice low. She swallowed. Silence. He chuckled.
His hands roamed. He pressed kisses to the spots that made her twitch—the dip of her spine, the inside of her wrist. Sometimes, he’d pause just to watch her expression when his fingers skimmed the sensitive skin beneath her breast, or when he traced lazy circles over her belly before dipping lower. She glared, but her lips trembled.
A shift of his hips, and she was pinned beneath him, his knee nudging her thighs apart. She tensed—but she didn’t close them. He smirked.
"Admit it," he breathed, dragging his thumb over her lower lip. "This is what you were made for."
She turned her face away, but her thighs quivered. The realization had settled into Kal’s bones like an immutable law: Diana would never be free of him. Not truly. Not after this. **He had broken her in the most intimate way—not just her body, but her pride. And yet, here she was, still coming back. Still fighting. Still letting him touch her in ways that should have made her scream in rage, not whimper in pleasure.
She hated that she couldn’t hate him. And he adored that about her.
He toyed with her mercilessly—whispering praise even as he forced another orgasm from her, lavishing affection on her trembling body while reinforcing her helplessness. **The way she gritted her teeth, refusing to sob even as tears streaked her cheeks… It was exquisite.
"You’re so beautiful like this," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. "Fury and surrender in equal measure."
She didn’t answer. But her body did, arching when his teeth grazed her nipple.

His lips curved as he watched her struggle to steady herself, her thighs still slick with the aftermath of their one sided sparring...
"You fight me," he murmured, "but your body knows, Diana." He walked up to her, trailed a fingertip down her breast, "It remembers what I do to it."
She turned her face away, her jaw tight, but the flush spreading across her cheeks. "Still so proud," he chuckled. "But look at you. Your skin burns where I touch you. Your breath comes faster when I hover this close." He leaned in, his lips ghosting over hers—so close she could feel the warmth, but not enough to grant her the comfort of contact. Diana’s breath caught. Her eyes flickered shut, lashes damp with unshed tears. "I—I don’t—"
"You don’t what?" he coaxed, his fingers sliding down to her waist, dragging teasing circles over the sensitive skin. "Deny it? The lasso already made you scream the truth, didn’t it?"
She whimpered, a soft, broken sound that sent a surge of possessive heat straight through him. "N-no—"
Kal smirked. She was adorable in her shame.
"Still trying to fight it?" He nipped at her earlobe, delighting in her shudder. "Good. Struggle all you want. Because every time you do—" His fingers thrust into her, curling just so, and she choked on a cry, back bowing. "—I win again."
She came with a sob, her body clenching around him. His finger. Her voice a fractured whisper. "P-please…" But even she didn’t know what she was begging for.

Diana’s wrists strained against the golden bonds... Every tug burned. Kal’s weight pressed her into the training mats—not the cold, unyielding stone of Themyscira, not the shattered pavement of a battlefield, but something softer. Something almost intimate. That was the worst part.
She had come here to prove something. To him. To herself. That she was not what he had made her in those red-kryptonite-fueled hours. Not a thing to be wrenched open, not a vessel for his sadistic amusement. And yet.
His knee parted her thighs with casual ease. His fingers traced the arc of her ribcage, skimming the swell of her bound breasts. "You take me so well."
"Stop," she hissed, but the word trembled. The lasso glowed, a pulse of golden light syncing with the sudden clench of her body as his hips rolled into hers. Her back arched..Diana’s breath hitched. She had trained for centuries.... She had fought gods, demons... But this? This was different. A seductive war. **A slow unraveling where every protest sounded like a moan, where every struggle only pressed her tighter against him.
"You came back," he murmured, fingers threading through her hair. Not pulling. Just… holding. Like he owned it. "You keep coming back. Do you even know why?"
She twisted, teeth bared. "To PROVE you wrong."
**"Prove what?" His lips brushed her ear. "That you aren’t the most FUCKABLE woman in the League?"
The word stabbed. Fuckable. Vulgar. Reductive. And yet—
**Her armor. Her symbols. The way men’s eyes had always lingered on the curve of her bodice, the way her enemies had sneered about her fighting in a "battle-skirt", a "bathing suit". Had she spent centuries denying that gaze only to end up here—bound, breathless, burning under it?
"Say it," Kal coaxed, his fingers trailing lower, over the lasso’s unforgiving bite. "Tell me I’m wrong."
Diana tried. The lasso flared. The orgasm ripped through her like lightning.
When she came back to herself, she was cradled against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath her cheek. His thumb wiped away a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. "You’re thinking too hard," he murmured. "Athena’s wisdom won’t save you here."
"It’s—" Diana’s voice cracked. "It’s not my purpose to be—" The word clogged her throat.
"Fuckable?" Kal finished, nudging her chin up. "Then why do you make it so easy for me?" Her lashes fluttered. The lasso hummed. "You crafted this," he continued, knuckles grazing the slope of her breast where the lasso cinched tight. "Every inch of you. The gods didn’t sculpt a warrior—they sculpted a conquest. And you know it."
I—" Her breath caught. "I am more than this."
Kal smiled. Not unkindly. "Prove it."
And when she couldn’t—when her body bowed and her words failed—he kissed her forehead like a blessing.

Why do you still wear the lasso?
Diana’s breath came in ragged gasps, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of forced pleasure. Kal loomed over her, His fingers traced the curve of her bruised hip, "There you go again," he murmured, voice thick with amusement. "Thinking instead of feeling."
She swallowed, throat dry. "I am an Amazon. Thinking is what I do."
"Mmm." His thumb brushed her lower lip, "But right now, you’re not thinking—you’re fretting. You’re gnawing on that pretty little mind of yours, wondering how you lost. Again." He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "But the truth is, Diana, you didn’t lose. You surrendered."
**Her nostrils flared. "I did no such—"
**"You came back." The words were a purr, a trap. "You chose to spar with me, alone. You knew exactly what would happen."
**A shudder ran through her. "You twist my intentions."
"Do I?" His hand slid down her abdomen, fingers skimming the edge of the lasso where it cinched her waist. **"Then tell me—why do you still wear the lasso when you come to me? Why not leave it in Themyscira? Unless…" He grinned. **"You LIKE the way I use it."
She flinched. "No."
"No?" His grip tightened, the magic of the lasso flaring. Heat coiled low in her belly. "Say it. Say you like it."
Her teeth clenched. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. "I will not."
"Liar." He thrust into her again, just once—just enough to make her back arch, her breath hitching as another orgasm ripped through her.
"Fuckable," he whispered, savoring the word like a favorite sin. "That’s what you are. That’s what I made you. That’s your purpose now."
Her voice cracked. "No—!"
"Then why do you keep coming back?"
Silence. Had she allowed this? Had she wanted to prove him wrong so badly that she’d handed him the very thing he needed to break her?
**"You mistake endurance for submission," she whispered, meeting his gaze at last. "I come back because I love you."
Kal stilled.
"And love is not surrender," she continued, voice trembling but resolute. "Love is faith. Faith that the man I fell for still exists beneath this… this monster you’ve let yourself become."
For a heartbeat, she saw it—a flicker in his gaze, something old and aching. Then it vanished.
"Funny," he mused, tilting her chin up. "Because the monster is the only one who truly sees you."
His lips captured hers before she could protest, swallowing her whimper.

Say the word FUCKABLE
Kal leaned down, his breath hot against her ear. “You were sculpted for this, Diana.” His fingers traced the swell of her breast, pinched a nipple already stiff from forced arousal. “Every curve of you—every gasp, every shudder—designed.”
She shook her head, but the motion was weak, the argument dead before it could form. Liar. The word burned in her throat, but she couldn’t voice it.
“Still fighting?” Kal chuckled, slowing his pace just enough to let her breathe. “Even now?” His palm smoothed over her hip. “You keep coming back. Sparring.” He snorted. “We both know what you’re really here for.”
Her lips parted—to protest, to reason—but all that escaped was a whimper as he dragged her up against him, her back flush to his chest. His hand slid down her belly, fingers dipping between her thighs. **“Then tell me, Princess—why do you drip for me?”
**“Y-You twist everything,” she choked out. “My strength. My love. Even my tools—” She shuddered as the rope pulsed, another orgasm wracking her before she could finish.
Kal watched, rapt, as she convulsed in his arms. “Tools?” He clicked his tongue. “The lasso doesn’t lie, Diana. It shows truth.” His grip tightened in her hair. “And the truth is, you’ve never been fucked like this. Never been taken like this.”
Diana gritted her teeth. He was wrong. He had to be. She was a warrior. A diplomat. A princess. Not—
“Say it.” His voice dropped, dangerous. “Say the word.”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Fuckable.
The lasso glowed.
Her lips moved without permission. “F-Fu—ngh!” She jerked against him, a sob breaking free. “I won’t!”
Kal sighed, almost disappointed. Then his hips snapped forward, brutal. The lasso flared. Her back arched, a scream tearing from her throat as pleasure detonated inside her, wave after wave, until her vision whited out. When she came back to herself, she was limp in his arms, sweat-slick and shaking.
Kal nuzzled her temple. “You are more than this,” he murmured, so gently it ached. “But this—” His hand splayed over her stomach. “This is part of you, too. And it’s beautiful.”
"Then prove it," Kal murmured, fingers tracing the bite marks on her shoulder, following the curve of the lasso as it cinched around her ribs. His thumb pressed just beneath her breast, feeling her heartbeat. **"If you love me, you won’t deny what you are."
Diana's lips trembled. The word—that word—clung to her tongue like a curse. "You twist everything," she breathed. "I am not... I was not made for—"
"Fuckable," he supplied, smooth as a blade sliding home. "Say it."
Fuckable. The word lodged in her throat like a blade. She couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t. But the lasso pulsed, and suddenly, her lips were moving against her will—
**"I-I am not—" Her voice splintered. "Not just fuckable—"
Kal’s eyes lit with triumph. "Say it again."
She choked, the syllables dragged from her like a confession. "F-Fuckable."
"Good girl." He rewarded her with a thrust so deep, she sobbed. "Now tell me—what else are you?"
"I am endurance," she panted. "I am defiance. I am the woman who loves you—even now. Especially now." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Because this is not you. You say you perfect me? Then know this: I do not fight you because I hate you. I fight you because I remember you." She lifted her chin, her gaze unbroken. "The man who would never call me 'fuckable'."
Silence. And in that fleeting second, Diana saw him. Truly saw him.
Then his knee shoved her thighs apart again, his mouth crashing down on hers—
"You’re right," he growled against her lips. "I wouldn’t call you that." His teeth scraped her pulse. "I’d show you."
“You’re thinking too hard,” Kal murmured, “Debating, always debating. As if words could change what your body knows is true.”
She flinched when his palm cupped her breast—not cruelly, but with a familiarity that stung worse than violence. “I am more than this,” she said, voice low.
“Prove it.”
She jerked against the lasso’s bindings, but they only tightened in response, the magic flaring bright. A shudder ran through her as another wave of forced ecstasy threatened at the edges of her awareness, waiting for his next command.
**“You keep demanding I say it,” Diana whispered, her throat raw. “That I—that I like it. That I’m…” She swallowed, the word clotting on her tongue like blood.
“Fuckable,” Kal supplied, thrusting his hips against hers just enough to make her gasp. “Say it. Fuckable.”
Her nails dug into her own palms. “No.”
“Look at yourself.” His hand slid between her thighs. “Your armor, your lasso, the way you move—every part of you invites this. Why else would the gods bless you with Aphrodite’s beauty if not to be taken?”
“No,” she said again, but weaker this time, her body betraying her with every ragged breath.
Kal’s lips brushed her temple. “You love me,” he murmured. “So tell me—what’s worse? That I make you feel this way, or that part of you wants to?”
She had come to prove him wrong. And yet, here she was, bound and trembling, every argument dissolving into helpless sensation.
**“If I am… that,” she managed, voice breaking, “then what does that make you?” A desperate counterstrike—the only one she had left. "A conqueror? A monster? Or just a coward who hides behind kryptonite to justify his own cruelty? You say the gods made me for this, Then what does it say that it took red kryptonite to make you act on it?
A beat of silence. Then, to her shock, Kal threw his head back and laughed, “Gods, I adore you,” he breathed, his fingers tangling in her hair. “Even like this, you fight.”
Her chest ached. That tone—it was fond. Almost reverent. As if her defiance only made her more beautiful to him.
Diana lay sprawled beneath Kal, her wrists pinned above her head. The Lasso of Truth snaked around her body in intricate loops, its glow pulsing with every ragged breath she took.
“Fuckable.”
She flinched. Kal’s smirk deepened. “Say it,” he murmured, his voice a velvet threat. “Say what you are.” Diana swallowed. Her throat ached from stifled cries, from the sobs she refused to release.
“I… am not.” Her voice was barely audible.
Kal chuckled. He shifted, rolling his cock inside her just enough to make her gasp. “Liar,” he whispered, watching her writhe. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Each orgasm left her more hollow, as if her very essence was being siphoned away—drained not just by his relentless thrusts, but by the way he dismantled her, piece by piece.
His hand slid down, fingers curling possessively around her throat. Not squeezing. Just holding. **"You claim you're more, yet here you are. Again. Struggling. Crying. Cumming."
She squeezed her eyes shut. I came to prove him wrong. And yet—
"You're right," she choked out.
Kal stilled. His grip tightened, just slightly. "Oh?"
Diana forced her gaze to meet his. "You are stronger than me."
A slow, cruel smile spread across his face. "I know."
"But strength alone doesn’t define purpose." Her breath hitched as he rocked against her, dragging another unwilling shudder from her body.

As your boyfriend, shouldn’t it be my DUTY to make you as sensual and FUCKABLE as you can be? (centre your whole story as well as their dialogues around this point)
**"As your boyfriend," Kal purred, his lips brushing her ear, "shouldn’t it be my duty to make you as sensual and fuckable as you can be?"
Diana recoiled at the word. Fuckable. A term that stripped her of everything...
And yet.
Do I wear the lasso knowing he will use it? Do I tighten my bodice knowing he will tear it?
"I am not—" Her voice cracked.
"Not what?"
"An object," she hissed.
Kal chuckled. His fingers trailed down her side, tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her hip. **"No. You’re better than an object. You feel. You resist. You love."** He pressed closer, his breath hot against her lips. "That’s what makes it so intoxicating."
Diana shuddered.
"Say it," he murmured, dragging his teeth along her jaw. "One word. Just one."
She clenched her fists. "No."
But the Lasso flared. The magic coiled around her, unspooling every suppressed thought, every hidden flicker of desire she had buried beneath duty and denial. The way his hands felt, even when they hurt. The way his praise made her weak, The way she had, once—just once—imagined his mouth between her thighs without coercion... Her vision blurred.
"No," she gasped. "I crave—" You. As you were. As I loved you.
But he was no longer that man. And worse? Maybe he never had been.
**She could not outthink him, even with Athena’s wisdom—because wisdom was useless against a man who enjoyed her resistance as much as her submission.
"You’ll come back," Kal murmured, stroking her hair as she lay boneless in his arms. "You always do."
And he was right. Because this was no longer about proving him wrong. It was about proving herself right. That she was still Diana. That even broken, even bound, even fuckable— She would not stop fighting.

YOU LACE your BODICE TIGHT so every breath you take in battle makes your BREASTS STRAIN against it
The lasso’s power flared, She bit down on a whimper.
"I—" Her voice was raw. "My armor—"
"Is ceremonial," Kal cut in, his mouth brushing her ear. "A display. A tease. You clothe yourself in gold and crimson— **You lace your bodice tight so every breath you take in battle makes your breasts strain against it. You think I’ve never noticed the way men’s eyes follow you? The way they want?" His teeth scraped her pulse point. "You don’t dress for war, Diana. You dress for conquest."
She shuddered, humiliation warring with unwanted pleasure. "That isn’t—"
"Because femininity is your strength," he purred. **"Because even in defiance, you invite. You challenge, knowing you’ll be overpowered. You revel in it."
"No!" The denial tore from her, but her body betrayed her, arching into his touch.
Kal chuckled. "Then why do you fight me with tears in your eyes instead of fury? Why does your voice shake when you say no?"
She swallowed. Athena’s wisdom coiled uselessly in her mind, unraveled by the sheer physicality of him. How could reason survive when every synapse in her body fired at his command?
**"Because," she whispered, tears spilling free, "you make me feel."
The admission hung between them. Kal stilled, his grip softening. For a fleeting second, she saw something flicker in his gaze—not the red-kryptonite ruthlessness, but the shadow of the man who once loved her. But then it was gone.
"Good," he growled, seizing her hips. "Then feel this."

"You wear the lasso like a bride wears her girdle," Kal murmured, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as his hips rolled against hers, slow and deliberate... to watch her unravel... "You see? The gods made you to be taken. Every curve, every gasp—even your struggles are designed to arouse." His thumb brushed her lower lip, swollen from begging. "Your wisdom, your strength… they only make it sweeter when I reduce you to this."
"You are wrong," she gasped, forcing her voice steady even as tears streaked her cheeks. "The lasso is not a chain for your pleasure. It is truth."
Kal’s smile was knife-sharp. "Then why does it obey me?"
Kal was already pulling her closer, his breath hot against her throat. "Admit it. You return to me because no one else can make you feel this alive."
"I return," she hissed, "because I will not let you become this monster!"
He laughed—"Monster? No, Diana. A monster would break you. I perfect you." His fingers slid between them, tracing the straining line of her bodice.

"You ache for it," he murmured, biting the shell of her ear. "For the pain. For the shame. **For the way it twists inside you until you can't tell where love ends and punishment begins." His thumb brushed the swell of her breast, circling a peaked nipple, slow, savoring her trembling. "This is what you are now, Diana. My ruin. My contradiction. A warrior who begs for surrender."
She gasped as his fingers slid lower, finding her wet, soaked, despite the defiance in her eyes. "Gods—"
"No gods here," he interrupted, pressing two fingers inside her with a deliberate thrust. "Just me. Just this."
Her hips jerked, "I hate you," she choked.
Kal laughed, dark and knowing. "And yet..." He curled his fingers, dragging a rough sound from her lips, "you take me deeper every time."

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(Short summary)Your last answer said: "Her voice was raw. "My armor—" "Is ceremonial," Kal cut in, his mouth brushing her ear. "A display. A tease. You clothe yourself in gold and crimson—the colors of power, of passion. You lace your bodice tight so every breath you take in battle makes your breasts strain against it. Then tell me—why do you still wear the lasso when you come to me? Why not leave it in Themyscira? Unless…" Kal grinned. "You like the way I use it." She flinched. "No." "No?" His grip tightened, the magic of the lasso flaring. Heat coiled low in her belly. "Say it. Say you like it." Her teeth clenched. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. "I will not." "Liar." He thrust into her again, just once—just enough to make her back arch, her breath hitching as another orgasm ripped through her. "Fuckable," he whispered. "That’s what you are. That’s what I made you. That’s your purpose now." Her voice cracked. "No—!" "Then why do you keep coming back?" Silence. Had she allowed this? Had she wanted to prove him wrong so badly that she’d handed him the very thing he needed to break her? Her armor was gone. Her lasso—her truth—was his now, turned against her. "You mistake endurance for submission," she whispered, meeting his gaze at last. "I come back because I love you." Kal chuckled. "Then why do you blush? why do you fight me with tears in your eyes instead of fury? Why does your voice shake when you say no?" "Because," she whispered, tears spilling free, "you make me feel." “You keep demanding I say it,” Diana whispered, her throat raw. “That I—that I like it. That I’m…” She swallowed, the word clotting on her tongue like blood. “Fuckable,” Kal supplied, thrusting his hips against hers just enough to make her gasp. “Say it. Fuckable.” Her nails dug into her own palms. “No.” She had come to prove him wrong. And yet, here she was, bound and trembling, every argument dissolving into helpless sensation.

“If I am… that,” she managed, voice breaking, “then what does that make you?” A desperate counterstrike—the only one she had left. "A conqueror? A monster? Or just a coward who hides behind kryptonite to justify his own cruelty? You say the gods made me for this, Then what does it say that it took red kryptonite to make you act on it?"
Kal listens, then smiles, "so you want me to act on it even in the past? You are daring me to do what I am doing right now, only to be without the red kryptonite's corruption? In short, you want to be raped by my own will, rather than by some external influence?"
"No," Diana gasped, "That isn’t what I meant—!"
"Then what did you mean?" Kal murmured, his lips brushing her ear. "You claim I am a coward for needing the red kryptonite to act.
A shudder wracked her body, The humiliation of it—of him dissecting her words like this, turning her own reasoning against her—burned hotter than the forced pleasure.

His fingers knotted in her hair, tilting her head back. "Then tell me, truthfully—why wear the Lasso when you come to spar? Why not armor yourself from head to toe? Why leave any part of yourself exposed to me if not to tempt, to invite?"
Her stomach clenched, her body betraying her as heat pooled between her thighs.
"I wear it because it is mine," she ground out, forcing the words through clenched teeth. "Because I refuse to fear you. Because I am not some trembling maiden who hides from the dark—I face it."
Kal’s smile was slow, feral. "Oh, Diana," he breathed. "You have no idea how much that turns me on." And then his mouth was on hers, swallowing her gasp, his kiss a brutal mockery of tenderness. When he pulled away, her lips were redder than before, bruised by his mouth. "You want to face the dark?" he murmured, biting the shell of her ear. "Then look at what you’ve awakened in me. Look at what you’ve allowed."
She squeezed her eyes shut—but the Lasso burned hotter, forcing them open again. Forcing her to see.
"Fuckable," Kal purred, his voice thick with delight as she flinched. "Say it. Let’s hear the mighty Wonder Woman admit it."
Diana’s nails dug into her own palms hard enough to draw blood. "I will not—!"
Another merciless thrust, another burst of magic—her back arched off the ground as a ragged cry tore from her throat. "Fuckable," he repeated, his hands roaming possessively over her trembling form. "Admit it. You are. For me. Only for me."
Tears spilled down her cheeks.

When you DRESS for battle, WHO do you imagine STRIPPING it from you?
"You—" She swallowed, the word fuckable rotting on her tongue like a blasphemy. Athena’s wisdom raged against the heat pooling between her thighs, against the way her traitorous hips arched ever so slightly into his. "You twist my words. I spoke of accountability, not… not desire."
Kal chuckled, "Accountability?" His grip on the Lasso tightened, and she gasped as another orgasm tore through her, abrupt and violent. **"You’re the one who keeps returning, princess. You’re the one who wears armor that gleams like an invitation, who lets me see the tears in your eyes when I push inside you—"
"Stop—!" Her voice cracked. She had faced gods and monsters, but nothing had prepared her for this—for the way he weaponized her love, her hope, even her own regalia against her.
"Why?" He pulled her hair, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Does the truth frighten you? Or is it the fact that you need it to frighten you?" His thumb swiped over her lower lip, smearing her glistening juice on it. **"Tell me, Diana. When you dress for battle, who do you imagine stripping it from you?"
My armor is for war, she wanted to scream. For honor. But the Lasso’s glow flared, and the magic dragged the answer from her like a confession:
"You."
The admission was a knife to her ribs. Kal’s grin widened.
**"And when you tightened your bodice this morning," he murmured, "did you wonder how long it would take me to rip it open again?"
She flinched. No. She hadn’t. Except—The Lasso hummed. —Except in the quiet of her chambers, when she’d caught her reflection, the way the fabric hugged her hips, the way the lasso rested against her thigh, accessible—
"You see?" Kal’s breath was hot against her neck as he rocked his cock into her slowly, deliberately, letting her feel every inch. "The gods didn’t just sculpt you to be fought for. They made you to be claimed."
Her nails dug into her palms. "No. I am— (fuckable, the Lasso hissed, and she choked)—I am a warrior. A queen. Not… not this."
"Then why," he whispered, "do you come harder when I call you princess than when I call you Diana?"
A sob lodged in her throat. He was dismantling her—piece by piece, truth by truth. She had come to prove her strength, and instead, he had unearthed every buried tremor of doubt, every flicker of shame.
Later, when the tremors had subsided and her body lay spent against his chest, his fingers traced idle patterns on her shoulder—
"You’re wrong about me," she whispered, the words ash in her mouth.
Kal smiled. "Am I?"
**"I love you," she said, pressing her forehead to his collarbone, hiding her tears in his skin. "That’s why I came. Not because I—" (The word clung, barbed and awful.) "—craved this. But because I believed you could be more... The man I love would never need a weapon to make me surrender," she said, lifting her gaze to his. "He would earn it."

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

Lobo's lesson
Diana of Themyscira lay sprawled across the shattered pavement, her golden lasso coiled around her like a serpent’s embrace. She was nude—her skin flushed a deep rose, her breathing ragged, her muscles trembling with the aftershocks of forced pleasure. Lobo stood over her, grinning. His gloved fingers trailed along her shivering ribs, pausing just beneath the swell of her breast.
"See that, Supes?" Lobo sneered, forcing her to arch off the ground as he flicked a calloused thumb over her nipple. "That right there? That’s sensitivity. The Princess here’s got layers you ain’t even touched yet."
Superman hovered above, his fists clenched, his jaw tight with barely contained rage. But there was something else in his eyes—something darker, something… conflicted.
Diana had always known she loved Kal-El deeply. But this? This was torture of a different kind. the way Lobo weaponized her love itself. Every time he forced her to scream, forced her to convulse in pleasure against her will, it was for Superman’s benefit. A demonstration. A twisted lesson in feminine potential.
“She loves you, Supes,” Lobo jeered, pressing a thumb against her clit, watching her hips jerk uncontrollably. “Look how wet she gets when you’re watching. Ain’t that sweet?”
Lobo’s fingers dipped lower, tracing the crease of her thigh, grinning as she bucked under his touch.
**"She’s got sweet spots you ain’t even found, Big Blue," he taunted, dragging a fingertip along her slit, gathering her slickness before smearing it across her cheek. "Look at her. Fuckin’ radiant like this. Bet she never let you see her drip like this, huh?"
Diana’s vision blurred. She wanted to fight, to scream, to kill him—but the lasso kept her pliant, kept her writhing. The humiliation wasn’t just in the nudity, not just in the exposure—it was in the performance. The way her body betrayed her, trembling, clenching, needing more.
And the whole time, Superman watched.

When it was finally over, when Lobo had tired of his little demonstration, Diana lay limp, her body glistening with sweat and her own arousal. The bastard had left her marked—finger-shaped bruises on her thighs, bite marks on her collarbone, her own fluids streaked across her stomach, her face.
Superman landed beside her, his cape flaring as he scooped her up in a bridal carry. The cool air against her bare skin made her shiver, but the warmth of his arms was worse—because she knew what he was seeing. Her swollen lips, her flushed chest, the way her legs trembled with overstimulation.

That night, in the sanctity of the Fortress of Solitude, Superman’s hands were gentle as he washed her—too gentle.
Diana kept her eyes closed, too ashamed to meet his gaze. But when his fingers traced the marks Lobo had left, when they lingered a little too long on the inside of her thigh—
She knew. The lesson had worked.

The ground beneath her was cold, Her limbs trembled, muscles failing her as she lay sprawled across the ruined battlefield, her bracelets cracked, her tiara askewed. Above her loomed the monstrous form of Lobo, his grin a jagged slash of feral amusement, his fingers coiled tight around the glowing length of her own lasso.
"You put up a fight, princess," Lobo chuckled, his voice dripping with mock praise, "but let's be real—this was always gonna end with you on your back."
Diana’s vision blurred, her body aching from the relentless beating she had endured. She had lost—And worse, she had failed him. Kal-El.
**Superman’s body was trapped in the wreckage of a collapsed building, held down by wreckage reinforced with Kryptonite chains. She could see him straining, veins bulging beneath his skin. His eyes were wide, frantic, locked onto her with a desperation she had never seen before.
"Don’t—" Diana tried to speak, but the words were weak, her throat raw from screaming.
Lobo kicked her onto her back with a boot to her ribs, then crouched down beside her, running a thick, calloused finger along the curve of her jaw. "Oh, don't worry, darling. This ain't about hurtin' ya. This is about education."
With a sharp tug, he wrenched her arms above her head, binding them in a brutal twist of her own lasso. The magic within the golden rope flared, reacting to his crude manipulation. Diana gasped as the coils constricted, cinching tight around her wrists, her biceps, snaking down her torso in intricate, suffocating loops. Shibari.
She knew the term, though she had never imagined it like this—Lobo worked with methodical cruelty, knotting the lasso around her thighs, her waist, even between her crotch. Her breath hitched as the coils tightened, lifting her hips off the ground, arching her back in a pose that left nothing to the imagination.
Diana clenched her teeth, but she couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped as his fingers traced the underside of her breast, testing, taunting.
**"Now let’s see what makes you tick," he murmured, flicking a thumb over her nipple.
She jerked—not just from the touch, but from the sudden jolt of the lasso’s power surging through her. The magic forced sensation upon her, amplified it, made every graze of his fingers like fire on her skin.
And then he squeezed. Diana screamed. Her body arched, muscles locking as pleasure—raw, violent, wrong—ripped through her. The lasso didn’t just bind her; it controlled her, forced her body to respond...
Lobo laughed. "There it is. That’s the real you, ain’t it?"
She thrashed, but the ropes held her mercilessly in place. His fingers danced lower, pressing between her thighs, and she hated how slick she already was—
"Look at him," Lobo growled, forcing her chin toward Kal. "Look at your man while I show him what you really are."
Kal’s expression was a storm of fury and horror. "STOP!" he roared, veins standing out on his neck.
Lobo ignored him, dragging a claw down Diana’s stomach. "Gotta say, Supes, you’ve been wastin’ this masterpiece. Aphrodite’s blessing ain’t just for show."
His fingers found her clit. He flicks.
Diana bucked, a strangled sob tearing from her lips as the lasso flared, amplifying the sensation beyond endurance. Her vision whited out, her body convulsing as she came, hard and involuntary, her back bowing off the ground. And Lobo didn’t stop. Again. Again. Again.
Over and over, his touch and the lasso’s magic forced orgasms from her in rapid, brutal succession. **He narrated each one like a lesson, pointing out the way her nipples hardened, the way her thighs trembled, the way her breath hitched just so before she shattered.
"See that, Superman? **That little flutter right before she breaks? That’s your cue," Lobo taunted. "And this—" He swiped his fingers through her arousal, then smeared it across her cheek. "—this is how you make her beautiful."
Diana could barely think—could barely remember who she was beyond the all-consuming shame. Her skin burned, her body wracked with aftershocks, her mind drowning in humiliation.
But worst of all? The way Kal was looking at her. Something in his gaze had changed. She saw it—the flicker of arousal, the dilation of his pupils as he watched her, flushed and exposed and his. And in that moment, she knew nothing would ever be the same.

By the time Kal broke free, Diana was barely conscious. Her body was limp, trembling, her skin glistening with sweat and other things. The last thing she felt were his arms around her, lifting her in a bridal carry—exposing her to the world.
She wanted to hide. To vanish. But she couldn’t move.
And as Kal cradled her against his chest, his grip tightening just a little too possessively, she realized with sickening certainty—
He liked what he saw.

Lobo—the ruthless Czarnian bounty hunter—does not simply fight his enemies. He breaks them. And when he sets his sights on Wonder Woman, he does so with a sadistic glee reserved for those he deems worthy of suffering.
He does not kill her. That would be too easy.
Instead, he strips her—binds her in her own lasso, contorting her body in intricate Shibari knots, ensuring every curve, every tremor, is exposed. He leers as he forces the magic of the Lasso of Truth to work against her... Orgasm after orgasm. Fifty times. Each one a violation. Each one a confession wrung from trembling lips.
And Superman watches. Helpless. Horrified. And undeniably aroused.
By the time Lobo is done, Diana is nothing more than a shuddering, slick mess, her thighs glazed with her own arousal, her skin glistening with sweat. Bruises bloom along her hips where Lobo’s fingers dug in too hard... When Kal finally carries her away—his cape draped over her like a fragile veil—she does not speak. But her body tells the whole story. She is ruined. And worse—she blames herself.

RAPE me if you can
"Fight me."
Kal freezes. "What?"
"Spar with me. Maybe even... rape me again." Her voice cracks. "Make me immune to this. To my memory."
"No! I would never—"
But she’s already trembling, already raising her sword—shaking, weak, but still lethal. **"Rape me if you can. Or I will kill you right now."
Her body is barely standing. Her thighs are still wet.
Kal knows what she’s asking. **She wants to be broken again—but this time, on her own terms.
Diana strikes first. A warrior even in ruin, her sword arcs toward him with exhausted precision. Kal dodges, but barely—she is slow, unsteady, but her instincts are razor-sharp. He cannot outfight her. Not with skill alone. So he uses strength.
His fist crashes into her ribs. Not hard enough to shatter bone, but enough to knock the air from her lungs. She staggers, gasping—and in that moment, he lunges, pinning her to the ground.
**Her body is slick, fever-hot, her muscles quivering under his grip. Her breasts, now free from any restraint, sway with every ragged breath. Kal’s throat tightens. "Diana—stop this."
"I can’t!" she snarls, thrashing. "Not until I learn to withstand it!"
Her knee jerks up—aiming for his groin. He slams her down again. **This time, she bounces. The impact rattles her, knocks the fight out of her just long enough for him to press his advantage.
His fingers circle her clit. She shrieks.
he teases her—gentle at first, then firmer—until her body, already oversensitized, betrays her all over again. Her back arches. Her hips buck. And then—
"Ah—!!" The first orgasm rocks through her like a seizure. She sobs.
Kal does not stop. She comes again. And again.
By the fifth, she is squirming, her legs kicking weakly, her fists pounding against his chest. By the tenth, her thighs are soaked, her juices dripping down onto the ruins beneath her. **By the fifteenth, she is begging—not for mercy, but for forgiveness.
"Kal... please... I... I can’t..."
Her body convulses, her eyes rolling back. And then—finally—she collapses. Unconscious. Spent. Utterly defeated.
Kal lifts her gently, cradling her limp body against his chest. She is still naked. Still flushed. Still wet. **The juices smear against his uniform as he walks, her head lolling against his shoulder, her breasts pressed against him with every step. And all he can think about is the way she moaned. The way her body clenched... **The way—despite everything—she still trusted him enough to let him do this. He should feel guilty.
But as he flies toward the Fortress of Solitude, his grip tightens. Because somewhere deep down… He wants to do it again.

Diana’s sword trembled—The edge of the blade wavered inches from Kal’s throat, **yet she might as well have been holding a feather for how threatening it truly was. Her body, still flushed, still slick, still trembling from the aftershocks of Lobo’s “tutoring,” betrayed her. Every breath made her breasts rise and fall with a tantalizing rhythm, her nipples peaked from the chill of the battlefield’s wreckage—or perhaps from something far more damning.
Kal swallowed. His own body betrayed him too.
Fight me. The words hung between them. She wasn’t asking. She was demanding—no, begging—to be broken again. Because that was the only way she knew how to fight back.
Her knees wobbled as she adjusted her stance, her thighs glistening.
“Diana,” Kal murmured, his hands raised. “This won’t help.”
**Her laugh was a cracked, hollow thing. “Neither did watching.”
She lunged. **Even exhausted, even humiliated beyond measure, Diana of Themyscira was still one of the finest warriors in the world. The blade flashed, slicing the air where Kal’s throat had been a millisecond before. He barely dodged, feeling the wind of its passage graze his skin. But her body wasn’t keeping up with her will. Every movement was slower than usual, her muscles quivering from overstimulation, her balance compromised by the lingering tremors in her thighs. Yet she pressed forward, her strikes precise despite the exhaustion. Kal didn’t want to fight. **But she needed him to.
**Her breasts swayed with each motion, unfettered.. Normally, the distraction would have been negligible to someone like him. But now—now, after watching—he couldn’t unsee it. Couldn’t unhear the way she had screamed when Lobo had—
His hesitation cost him. Her fist connected with his jaw, sending him skidding backward. The taste of copper bloomed in his mouth. Diana didn’t let up, closing the distance, **her naked form a paradox of lethal grace and brutal vulnerability(how vulnerable does it make her?). Another swing. Another near-miss. She was fast, but not fast enough. Kal hated what he had to do next.
He stopped dodging. When she came at him again, he caught her wrist, twisted, and—THUD.
Diana hit the ground, the impact shuddering through her, her breath knocked loose. The sword clattered away. She gasped, rolling onto her back instinctively—Her legs parted slightly, the heat between them still radiating visibly. Kal loomed over her, his shadow swallowing her whole. She tried to push up—
SMACK.
**His palm flattened against her sternum, her heaving breasts, pinning her effortlessly.
“Enough,” he growled.
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Not from pain, but from the realization: She couldn’t budge him... She thrashed. Bucked. Twisted. But he held her down. That was when the real humiliation began.
**Fingers splayed over her abdomen, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her breath. His other hand drifted lower—
No.
Diana’s eyes widened.
“Kal—”
**His thumb skimmed her clit. She jolted, a choked sound escaping her as her back arched off the ground. The touch was featherlight, barely there—but after the storm Lobo had wrung from her body, it was enough to send wildfire through her nerves.
“STOP!” she snarled, her voice breaking.
He didn’t. Again, the pad of his thumb circled, deliberate, relentless. Not rough. Not violent. Just firm.
“You said to make you immune,” he murmured. His voice was thick. “This is the only way.”
A lie. A justification.
Her hips jerked. She tried to clamp her thighs shut—but his knee kept them parted. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps. "Y-you… bastard…" she hissed.
Kal said nothing. **His fingers worked her with calculated patience, pressing just enough to tease rather than ravage. **He could feel her body fighting it, resisting, even as arousal pooled anew between her thighs. Her thighs trembled. Her nipples hardened. Her lips—Gods damn her—parted...
The first orgasm hit her like a punch. She screamed, her fists slamming into the ground, her spine bowing as pleasure flayed her from the inside out. Just like the brutal, forced eruption Lobo had subjected her to—
Kal watched, transfixed, as her thighs quivered, as her love juices slicked his fingers, as her chest heaved with ragged breaths.
One. Then another. Then another.
By the fifth, Diana was sobbing.
**Not from pain. From shame. Her body would not stop.
Her hips lifted helplessly into his touch, her muscles seizing with each fresh wave. **She was a warrior, a princess, and yet—
"P-please…" she begged, her voice barely audible.
Kal didn’t relent.
Not until she collapsed, boneless, her thighs still twitching, her body glazed in sweat and slickness.
Only then did he lift her, cradling her against his chest. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her breath uneven, her body limp.
Her body was still flushed when he laid her down in the Fortress of Solitude. The cold air made her shiver, her nipples pebbling, her skin prickling with goosebumps. Kal draped a blanket over her—but it did little to hide the marks. The bite bruises. The finger-shaped welts. The slickness between her thighs.
Diana didn’t stir. For now, exhaustion had claimed her. But when she awoke—
Kal ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. **What have I done? And worse—Would I do it again?
Diana would wake with fire in her veins. With hatred. With humiliation.
But also with the lingering, sickening knowledge that her body had answered to Kal’s touch just as helplessly as it had to Lobo’s.

the tip of her blade glinting despite the filth and blood streaked across her bare skin. Her body was a canvas of bruises, bite marks, and the glistening remnants of Lobo’s cruelty—love juice smeared across her cheek, her thighs, the curves of her breasts trembling with each ragged breath.
“Diana,” Kal said, his voice low, careful. “This isn’t training. This is—”
Her sword flashed.
Superman dodged—the blade grazed his forearm, drawing a thin line of crimson. Diana’s eyes widened... something flickered in her gaze: shame. Shame that she had struck him. **Shame that she had failed to cut deeper.
She lunged again, this time a sweeping slash aimed at his ribs. He caught her wrist, his grip firm but not crushing.
“You don’t mean this,” he murmured.
Her free hand snapped forward, knuckles cracking against his jaw. The force was nothing to him, but the desperation behind it—raw, wounded—made his chest ache. Diana wasn’t trying to win. She was trying to break. **And if she couldn’t break herself, she needed him to do it.
She fought like a storm unraveling. Each strike was sharp, precise—Amazonian instincts drilled into her bones—but her body, still trembling from Lobo’s torture, betrayed her. When she pivoted to deliver a spinning kick, her thighs quivered, her hips stuttered, **and Superman saw the slickness between her legs glisten under the dim light. He sidestepped, catching her ankle. Diana snarled, twisting mid-air to wrench free, but her strength was flagging. Her muscles, still singing from forced pleasure, couldn’t keep up with her pride. **She landed hard on one knee, sweat dripping between her bare breasts. They heaved with her breaths, swaying with every ragged inhale—taunting, hypnotic. Kal’s jaw clenched. Lobo had done this. Shown him this. Taught him how Diana’s body could be played like an instrument, how her back arched when fingers circled her clit just so, how her thighs trembled before another orgasm ripped through her.
And now, as she pushed herself upright, teeth bared, Kal saw it: the cruel irony of her demand. She wanted him to dominate her. To ruin her. To make the next violation feel like nothing.
But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
(Or could he?)
**“If I give you what you want,” Kal said slowly, “will you stop?”
Diana’s lips parted. For the first time, uncertainty flickered in her eyes.
Then she spat blood onto the rubble and raised her fists. “Prove you can.”
Superman exhaled. Then he moved. A blur of red and blue—a single, controlled impact—and Diana gasped as his shoulder drove into her sternum.. The air rushed from her lungs as they crashed through a half-collapsed wall, landing in a tangle of limbs and dust.
**She writhed beneath him, her elbow jamming toward his throat. He caught it, pinning her wrists above her head. The position forced her back to arch, her breasts pressing against his chest. Diana bucked, hips grinding against his instinctively, then froze—horrified by the slick warmth he could feel even through his suit. “No,” she whispered.
But her body remembered.
Kal’s gut tightened. **Lobo’s voice echoed in his mind: (”See how easy she is to rile up? Just a little friction, a few circles right—”) He swallowed hard.
Diana saw the conflict in his eyes. “Don’t you dare pity me,” she hissed.
And then she kicked. **Her heel cracked against his ribs, sending him rolling off her. She scrambled upright, but her legs gave out, sending her crashing to her knees. Kal was on her before she could rise again. This time, he didn’t hold back.
**One hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back. The other slid between her thighs. Diana screamed.
Not in pain. **In furious, humiliated recognition.
His fingers were gentler than Lobo’s. That only made it worse.
He didn’t taunt her.. as her hips jerked against his palm. **Just worked her ruthlessly, efficiently—circling her clit, slipping inside her, coaxing out the pleasure she had begged him to weaponize.
“Stop—ah!—fighting it,” he growled, his breath hot against her ear.
She sobbed. Her body caved first. The orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her back bowing, her thighs clamping around his wrist. **Her scream dissolved into a shuddering moan, her breasts bouncing as her whole frame convulsed.
Kal didn’t let up.
A second climax wrung another broken cry from her throat.
A third left her gasping, her nails scraping weakly at his forearm.
**By the fifth, she had gone limp, her head lolling against his shoulder, her body twitching with oversensitivity.
The ground beneath her was soaked.
**Superman exhaled shakily, withdrawing his fingers—glistening, dripping—and stared at the mess he’d made of her.
Diana’s eyes were half-lidded, her lips parted, her face still streaked with tears and slickness. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.
He lifted her carefully, cradling her against his chest. **Her body was frighteningly pliant, her skin fever-hot. The walk back was silent. Diana didn’t protest. Didn’t demand he put her down. Just shuddered when the cold air brushed her bare flesh, making her nipples peak, her thighs tighten reflexively around nothing.
**Kal kept his gaze ahead, but his fingers tensed against her hip—against the bite mark there. Lobo’s brand.

Last edited on 30 December 2025, 07:59.

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