The worst part was getting used to being on her knees.
Ever since Hypnox told Diana her strength was in her bracers and her free will was in her tiara—and then placed those artifacts before her eyes, just out of reach—she’d been able to feel herself growing weaker and weaker with each day.
At first, she had struggled not to believe him, to focus only on her need to escape and free the others that he’d captured. After all, they were only hypnotic suggestions he’d planted deep in her mind, she must overcome them in the name of justice and truth…
But on the second day of her bondage, Hypnox had returned and given her some new truths. And now, Diana couldn’t stop repeating them to herself as she knelt there, barely covered by the ragged remains of her uniform.
“It is good to be bound.”
“It is hot to be powerless.”
“It is right to be a slave.”
She tried not to believe Hypnox’s voice in her head; tried not to confuse it with her own. But it was a fight she could feel herself losing.
On the second day, Hypnox came and lifted Diana’s chin in his gloved hand. He stroked her cheek possessively. She found herself unable to snarl at him, unable to grit her teeth and marshal all her power to resist his glowing, spiralling eyes. Instead, she fell, as though her mind had simply been awaiting his signal to slip back into the delicious haze of deep trance.
And, when she awoke, the feel of the ropes against her bare skin lit a fire between her legs.
“I want to be bound.”
“Being powerless is so arousing.”
“I need only serve Lord Hypnox.”
She tried to remind herself that these words, these thoughts, weren’t true. Didn’t belong to her. Had come from outside, unwanted.
But it was so much harder with each passing hour.
Diana tried to stay very still, to not let the friction of the ropes around her wrists and ankles drive her crazy with pleasure. But by the next day she was squirming in her bonds and rubbing her slick, naked thighs together. Lips parted, panting, ashamed that she’d surrendered her dignity, she clung to the last shred of hope that truth and justice would see her through to freedom.
But then Hypnox returned again. He slipped the shattered breastplate from her chest and fingered her stiff, pink nipple. Diana moaned—she couldn’t help herself. Without prompting, she looked up to meet his gaze, and his iron will penetrated her soft and malleable mind. She sighed in relief; the past night had been an endless dream about surrendering to Hypnox’s irresistible power.
Diana awoke to find herself chanting. Her legs were unbound, for she was straddling her Lord’s naked body. He held her hips and thrust into her, groaning in ecstasy as she rode him. She could imagine nothing more, nothing better, than this: fucking her Lord Hypnox, pleasing her Lord Hypnox, serving her Lord Hypnox.
From her mouth, between panting breaths and moans of delight, came the only truths Diana knew anymore:
“There is no justice.”
“There is no freedom.”
“There is no truth.”
“Only my Lord’s words.”
“Only my Lord’s will.”
“I am only my Lord’s obedient slave.”
(h/t to mistresana19 on Tumblr for suggesting the image!)