[Paradise Island, Hippolyta's Palace — Date Unknown, Late Evening]
Diana's consciousness surfaced slowly, like rising through dark water. She blinked against the familiar ceiling, the scent of salt air and old stone grounding her before thought caught up.
"This is my room."
She looked down. Her armor remained intact, her skin clean, no marks or bruises. The last thing she remembered—
A nightmare. It had to be.
She sat up and turned her head.
Jack Kadere sat in a chair near the window, watching her with that insufferable smile.
Not a dream.
Diana launched herself toward him—and a golden blur intercepted her, coiling around her torso and arms. The Lasso of Truth blazed hot against her skin, and her strength drained like water through sand. She collapsed to the floor, teeth gritted.
She twisted to see who held the rope.
Artemis. Silver armor gleaming. Face blank.
"Artemis—why?"
"I won't let you hurt my Master."
The word Master hit Diana harder than the Lasso's burn.
She turned her glare on Jack. "What did you do to her?"
He ignored the question. "Hippolyta and Antiope are still alive. So I'll ask again—will you forgive me?"
Diana's jaw tightened.
"I'm interested in you," he continued, as if discussing the weather. "A demigod with Kryptonian-level durability. I want to know what the difference is between a woman and a goddess. If you forgive me, perhaps we could date. See where it goes. In return, I'll help you kill Ares."
"Impossible."
Jack nodded, as though he'd expected nothing else. He stood, extended his hand toward Artemis.
She placed the Lasso of Truth in his palm without hesitation.
"You can leave," he said. "Don't let anyone disturb me."
Artemis hesitated, her gaze flickering toward Diana. Forgive me. Then she lowered her head, walked out, and closed the door behind her.
Jack turned the glowing rope over in his hands. "This is my first time playing with rope. I should have practiced with Helena first. So if I leave you with an unforgettable and painful trauma, do tell me—I'll be very smug about it."
"What are you going to do?"
"Use a more direct method to achieve my goal."
He flicked his wrist. The Lasso snapped outward, caught Diana around the waist, and yanked her onto the bed before she could react. She rolled, tried to kick free, but the golden coils pursued her with unnatural precision, looping around her thighs, pinning her wrists overhead in an intricate lattice she'd never seen before.
Even without the Lasso's power-draining properties, the bindings alone would have held her immobile.
Jack stripped off his shirt. Then his trousers.
Diana's eyes widened. "You—you want to force me to bear your children?"
He stared at her for a full second. Then he burst out laughing.
"Who said this is about children?"
"Don't try to fool me." Her cheeks flushed, but her voice stayed defiant. "I've read books from the outside world. Reproduction is the entire purpose. The time a man actually experiences pleasure is very short."
The art style of the conversation shifted so abruptly that Jack nearly choked.
He glanced at the glowing Lasso still wrapped around her. "The Lasso of Truth forces you to answer. And to answer honestly."
Diana's expression flickered with horrified realization.
Jack smiled. "This just became much more interesting."
---
The torchlight painted everything gold and amber—her skin, the rope, the fury in her eyes.
Jack stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at her. Diana lay spread across silk sheets that smelled of jasmine and old stone, the Lasso's intricate web holding her legs apart, her arms stretched overhead. Her breastplate had been stripped away, leaving only the thin underlayer of her tunic. It rose and fell with each sharp breath.
"First question," he said. "What exactly did those books teach you?"
Her jaw clenched. The Lasso pulsed.
"Reproduction. Diagrams. The—the mechanical process—" She forced the words through gritted teeth. "Positions designed for conception. The text said intercourse typically lasts three to seven minutes and serves primarily reproductive function."
Jack blinked. "Three to seven minutes."
"That was the scholarly consensus."
"Diana." He climbed onto the bed, settling his weight between her spread thighs. "Those books lied to you."
"I doubt—"
He pressed his palm flat against her stomach, just above her hip. Her breath hitched.
"Question two," he murmured, dragging his hand lower. "Have you ever touched yourself?"
The Lasso flared.
"Yes." Her face burned red. "I—on occasion—when I read certain passages that were—stop—"
"Describe the passages."
"You absolute—"
"Describe them."
"Tales of conquest," she spat. "Warriors claiming—claiming their prizes. The surrender of—of enemies—" Her voice cracked. "I hated myself each time."
Jack's fingers hooked into the waistband of her undergarments. "But you kept reading."
Silence. Then, dragged out by golden light: "Yes."
He tore the fabric away.
Diana's cunt was slick.
"Interesting," Jack said. "You're already wet."
"That's—a physical response—it means nothing—"
"I didn't ask." He traced one finger along her outer lips, and she shuddered despite herself. "Let me rephrase: do you want me to stop?"
The Lasso pulsed. Diana's mouth opened. Closed. Her whole body trembled with the effort of fighting it.
"No," she finally whispered, and the horror that crossed her face was exquisite.
Jack laughed softly. "Two thousand years of denial, and this is what your body decided?"
"I will kill you."
"You've mentioned." He slid two fingers inside her without warning.
"Ah—!" Diana's hips jerked. Her cunt clenched tight around him, hot and wet and impossibly smooth. He curled his fingers, searching, and her breath came faster—short, sharp gasps through clenched teeth.
"Question three," he said conversationally, pumping his fingers in a slow rhythm. "What does this feel like?"
"F-full—" The word escaped against her will. "I feel—stretched—your fingers are—nnh—rougher than mine—"
"Details."
"There's pressure—inside—when you—there—" Her back arched. "That spot—I didn't—the books never mentioned—"
Jack found the spongy ridge of her G-spot and pressed.
"Hnn—!" Diana's thighs strained against the rope. "What—what is—"
"Answer the question."
"It's—ah—building—I don't—I can't—" Her voice broke. "It feels like I'm falling—like something is gathering—I'm going to—"
He pulled his fingers out.
Diana whimpered. An involuntary, desperate sound that she clearly hated herself for making.
"We were just getting started," Jack said, unbuckling his belt. "I wanted to hear more of your academic commentary."
"I will rip your throat out with my teeth."
"Noted." His cock sprang free—thick, already hard, the tip glistening with pre-cum. Diana's eyes dropped to it despite herself, and he watched her expression shift. Confusion. Calculation. Something that might have been fear.
"That won't fit."
"It will."
"The anatomical diagrams suggested—"
"Forget the diagrams." He positioned himself at her entrance, rubbing the head of his cock along her soaked folds. Diana sucked in a breath. "Tell me what you feel."
"Heat." The Lasso dragged it out of her. "You're—hot—and the texture is—nnh—different from what I expected—"
He pushed the first inch inside.
"Ahh—" Diana's hands fisted above her head, straining against golden rope. Her cunt squeezed around him like a vise, impossibly tight, impossibly wet. "That's—you're—too much—"
"Am I?"
"It hurts—"
"Does it?"
Silence. The Lasso flickered. Her jaw worked.
"...not entirely pain," she finally admitted, and her voice cracked with humiliation. "It's—stretching—I feel every—every ridge of you—it's—"
He thrust deeper. Half his length disappeared into her.
"Hgk—!" Diana's head snapped back. Her inner walls clenched and rippled around him, fighting the intrusion even as her arousal slicked his shaft. "Stop—wait—I need—"
"You need what?"
"I need—" Her breath came in ragged gulps. "—time—to adjust—it's overwhelming—I've never—there's too much sensation—"
Jack pulled back slowly, watching his cock slide out of her—shining wet, pink lips clinging to him like they didn't want to let go. Then he drove forward again, burying himself to the hilt.
Diana screamed.
Not pain. Not exactly. The sound tore out of her throat raw and shocked and furious—because her body clenched around him like it had been waiting for this, and the Lasso wouldn't let her pretend otherwise.
"What do you feel?" Jack demanded, grinding his hips against hers.
"Full—gods—I feel full—you're so deep I can feel you in my—nngh—" She thrashed against the ropes, trying to buck him off, but every movement only drove him deeper. "I hate this—I hate you—"
"What else?"
"Pleasure—" The word came out like a curse. "I don't want it—but there's—ahh—when you move like that—"
He set a rhythm. Long, slow strokes that dragged his cock along every inch of her clenching walls. Diana's protests dissolved into broken sounds—half-sobs, half-moans, each one angrier than the last.
"According to your books," Jack said, slightly breathless himself, "this should have ended three minutes ago."
"Shut—nnh—shut up—"
"Tell me about the pressure. The gathering feeling you mentioned."
"It's building—" Her voice hitched. "—every time you—ah—every thrust—it's like—like lightning under my skin—I can't control—"
He snapped his hips forward, hard.
"Ahhn—!"
"Keep talking."
"My—my body is—responding—without my—hnn—permission—" Diana's cunt squeezed him rhythmically now, her arousal dripping down to soak the sheets beneath her. "The texts never mentioned—this—this intensity—I thought women barely felt—"
"Those books were written by men who'd never made a woman come." Jack reached down, found her clit with his thumb, and pressed.
Diana's entire body seized.
"Wh—what—"
"New question." He circled the swollen nub, rubbing in tight patterns while his cock continued its relentless pace. "Describe this."
"I—I can't—there aren't—" Her hips bucked against him involuntarily, chasing his touch. "The sensation is too—mnnh—concentrated—it's radiating—from that point—through my whole—"
"You're close."
"I don't know what that—"
"You're about to come." He fucked her harder, faster, his thumb working her clit without mercy. "Tell me when it happens. I want details."
"No—I refuse—I won't give you the satisf—AHHN—"
The Lasso blazed.
"I'm—coming—" Diana gasped, and her body proved it—her back arched off the bed, her cunt clamped down on him so tight he nearly came himself, and her legs shook uncontrollably against the golden bonds. "Gods—oh gods—it's—too much—I can't—HHNN—!"
She came screaming.
The contractions milked his cock in waves, her walls rippling and squeezing as pleasure ripped through her. Diana's eyes rolled back, her whole body trembling, and the sounds coming out of her throat were ruined—broken moans and desperate gasps that she would never have allowed herself to make if she had any choice.
Jack didn't stop.
He fucked her through it, drawing out the orgasm until tears streamed down her cheeks—whether from intensity or humiliation or both. Her cunt spasmed around him over and over, hypersensitive and overwhelmed, and every thrust made her sob.
"Stop—it's too—I can't take—"
"One more question." His voice had dropped, rougher now, his own control fraying. "Do you want me to finish inside you?"
Diana's face contorted. The Lasso pulled at her, golden light flaring.
"...yes," she whispered, and the self-loathing in her voice was so raw it made him groan.
He buried himself deep and came.
His cock pulsed inside her, rope after rope of cum flooding her cunt. Diana shuddered at the sensation—the heat, the fullness—and made a sound that might have been a moan or might have been a sob.
"I'm going to kill you," she managed, even as her walls twitched around him one last time.
"I know." Jack pressed a kiss to her jaw, almost gentle. "You've said that many times already."
---
Afterward, Jack withdrew the Lasso and stepped back.
Diana didn't hesitate. She surged upright, fist cocked—
"I'm going to kill you."
"I know. You've said that many times already."
He dressed leisurely, unconcerned.
"Before you strike," he said, fastening his belt, "consider whether you can kill me instantly in this room. If not—think about your clansmen."
Diana froze.
"I don't know how long I'll stay here. But every day, I'll give you one chance to challenge me. If you win, everyone on the island goes free." He smiled. "If you lose, you accompany me again. To, ah... continue trying for children?"
He laughed at his own joke.
"I challenge you now."
"I'm tired." He waved dismissively, taking the Lasso of Truth with him. "We start tomorrow."
He pushed open the door and walked out.
Artemis waited in the hallway, standing at attention.
"Take me to Hippolyta's chambers. I want to rest."
"Yes."
She led him through the torch-lit corridors. The queen's room wasn't far—they arrived within minutes. Jack surveyed the space: large bed, rich tapestries, the faint scent of jasmine and old incense.
"Acceptable." He nodded. "Bring me something to eat. And post watches—I want to know immediately if any strangers appear on the island."
"Yes." Artemis paused. "Diana... should she be confined?"
"No need. Explain the situation to the others." He lay down on the bed, stretching. "And sleep with me tonight."
Artemis went still.
Like... like with Diana?
"Unwilling?"
"No, my Master." The words came quickly. Too quickly.
"Then go."
She left.
---
Artemis handled her duties mechanically. Food was sent to the queen's chambers. Patrols were arranged. Guards were posted at the harbor and along the cliffs.
Then she returned to her own quarters.
A sword lay on the table.
The God-Slaying Sword.
It had been stored in the high tower alongside the Lasso of Truth. When she retrieved the Lasso earlier, she had taken this as well.
If Jack Kadere was a god—or something close to one—perhaps only this blade could end him.
Perhaps.
She stared at it for a long moment, then turned and walked back toward the queen's chambers.