Now I’m unsure if keeping Diana’s privates immaculately shaved is best, or being hogtied with a strand of the Lasso of Truth and kept in her groomed but still hairy bush by a tight leather thong. Hands that can bend steel gently pressing him into her, his mouth worshippping her clit.
Well, not necessarily him.
That strand of the Lasso lets her do a lot of things on his scale. Her presence does get overwhelming but knowing Hephaestus let’s her get hold of useful things. Chastity. Collar. Plugs. Dildos for letting him fuck himself for her.
Diana really is beautiful on every scale, even her tongue and mouth. When he comes as she works his body in her mouth she knows it’s an act of worship. That doesn’t stop her from pretending wrath and disciplining him severely. She lectures him sternly, bound between her breasts, binding her own breasts hard around him. Her eyes are hard as he begs forgiveness for hours, soft as he sleeps, exhausted.
She thinks she can feel his chaste cock twitch against her breastbone as she masturbates furiously and loudly, slapping and clawing and pulling, breastt, nippls, thighs, pussy.
Later she holds his head in her mouth as she lets an Amazon service her, hands encompassing him.
Looking down on the world from twenty miles up, pinned by her foot.
The armor holds him in place. Superman notices. She tells him.