Kodak moment

Wonder Woman is glaring at you like she’s trying to set your eyebrows on fire with just her eyes. (That’s not one of her powers, right?) You lock gaze with those eyes for a long moment, then let your eyes travel downward to her bare chest and shoulders, sleek and athletic but no less feminine for that. Her skin is flushed red with anger which you don’t mind one bit. Her exposed breasts are the most perfect you’ve ever seen: nearly porn star sized, but firm as a young cheerleader’s. The way she’s hanging from her wrists definitely doesn’t hurt. You’re pretty sure those nipples could cut glass.

Below that her bustier is a crumpled ring around her waist, her blue and white shorts covering her pelvis leaving her long, powerful legs exposed down to her red boots, toes barely touching the ground.

The most beautiful and powerful superheroine in the world. Your prisoner. Yours to play with.

“Let the officer go. You have me, you don’t need her.” Her tone is dangerously level, a calm front hiding the fury beneath.

“I make it a point to never throw away perfectly good women. Someday they may be scarce.” You suddenly realize what an opportunity you’re missing and pull out your phone. “Besides, bitch took a shot at me.”

You begin taking pictures of the captive Amazon, from the tips of her fingers down to the toes of her boots and everything in between. She rolls her baby blue eyes, annoyance momentarily pushing aside her anger. “She was only doing her job, and quite bravely at that...”

You stop photographing a moment to yank her bustier back up into place. “Gotta get some before pics,” you explain to your uncaring prisoner as you resume picture taking.

“There’s no need to traumatize the young woman” Diana continues, as if you hadn’t interrupted her.

You circle around her making sure you’ve got several good angles covered. “I figure as much time as cops spend traumatizing other people, it’s good for them to feel what that’s like once in awhile.”

“Is it all women you hate, or just those in positions of power?” her voice drips with condescension.

You stop in front of her and match her gaze. “It is possible I have some issues with authority figures in general. You would not be the first to raise that question. But I don’t hate women at all.”

“You don’t hate them, you just like **** them,” she snarls.

“Exactly!” you say gleefully as you once again pull down her bustier, freeing her boobies to bounce against her chest. “But that’s a fetish thing, not like a political statement or anything. I do it because it gives me pleasure, not out of anger.”

“But that’s…” the heroine pauses as you pull her costume down further, slowly easing it over her hips and well-rounded butt. “That’s actually worse,” the Amazon continues once the one-piece is reduced to a tangled ring around her ankles. “Anger I can understand, even when it’s unmerited or misdirected. But to not even care about the pain your victim’s are in?” She shakes her head as you step back to admire the view.

Wonder Woman dangles before you, naked except for her tiara, bracelets, and boots. Her stomach is tight and firm as an Olympic athlete’s, her waist narrow above hips far more womanly than most athletes could manage. Her long, powerful legs are spread just enough to give you a good view of her cleanly shaved pubic mound and pussy lips; her inner labia are visible, reddish and glistening.

Words can’t begin to capture her breathtaking beauty, which for you is only enhanced by her seething rage and powerlessness.

A moment passes before you realize she’s still talking, “Lack of empathy is what makes a true villain.”

You let out a long satisfied sigh, and go back to taking pictures. “Can’t really argue with that. But I have plenty of empathy for people I care about. And for animals, dogs mostly. Just not for strangers, particular those in positions of authority.” You walk around behind her again, getting some great shots of her naked ass, full and juicy, but also firm and rounded as an athlete’s.

“If that’s the case, appealing to your better nature is a fool’s errand,” she says as you move around back to her front. “So let’s try a different approach.” She stares at you until you look up from the phone and meet her gaze. “Let us go now or I will kill you,” she says in a voice cold enough to freeze ice. “I will twist your head around backwards until I snap your neck, leaving you to die slowly with no control over your body, and the last thing you will know in this world is the smell of your own shit as what used to be your body fouls itself.”

OK as threats go, that one's solid. And you don’t need the lasso to know she means every word of it. You suddenly remember the video of her breaking that Lord guy’s neck, and feel your sphincter tighten.

You hold eye contact for a moment, then raise your phone to take a picture of the seething anger on her face. It’s too late to back out now.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” you say as you crouch down before her until her hairless pussy is at your eye level. “But I think that threat would be a lot more intimidating coming from someone whose honeypot wasn’t currently having a Kodak moment,” you say as you resume photographing.