Enter her apartment

You’re only in the air for a few exhilarating seconds before Wonder Woman lands lightly on a 10th floor balcony, setting you down and releasing her hold on your belt.

“Next time…” you squeak, “let’s find a way to go flying that puts a little less pressure on my ballsack.” You remove your arm from around her shoulders and try to get your breathing back under control.

“Absolutely. Next time.” The Amazon deadpans. She opens the door into the apartment and you follow her inside, the end of the lasso still clenched in your hand, LadyCop Bailey slung over your shoulder.

The apartment is beautiful and elegant: high ceilings, open spaces, floor to ceiling windows, hardwood floors, high end finishings, that sort of thing. The furniture is rich without being opulent, as is the art on the walls. But the whole things feels somehow sterile, more like a magazine cover than a home.

“You don’t spend much time here, do you?” you ask as you deposit the sleeping policewoman on the couch.

“Not really,” she replies. “I reside primarily at the Themysciran embassy; I also have a room on the Justice League satellite.”

“Not into the whole Secret Identity thing?” You throw the end of the lasso over a wood beam that crosses the living room ceiling and pull on the rope, raising Diana’s arms well-toned arms over her head and doing amazing things to her naked breasts. “Why not?”

You pull the lasso tight until she’s standing on her toes, then tie it off. Wonder Woman watches you with a cool disdainful expression that she probably practices in front of a mirror. “I am who I am. I see no reason to hide it.”

Once you’re sure the knots are all secured, you walk over to the kitchen, open her fridge, and pull out an expensive looking bottle of champagne – like actually From The Champagne Region Of France. “Then why have the apartment at all?”

“It is sometimes nice to escape being a celebrity superhero princess, and just be a regular woman for a few hours.”

You dig a wine glass out of the cupboard and turn back to your prisoner. “And what do you do as Diana Prince? By the way: that’s the best alias could come up with? Princess Diana, Diana Prince?”

“I chose the name shortly after arriving in man’s world; it has served me well enough,” she says with a trace of defensiveness. “And what I do is not very much. That is the whole point of Diana Prince. She’s a homebody who dresses frumpily, wears large glasses, and doesn’t draw attention to herself. I go to museums, dinner, movies, that sort of thing.”

“I see.” You walk back over to her, working on the cork, then grab the end of the lasso again. “And was everything you just told me true and complete?”

“Yes all true…” She suddenly grits her teeth, actively fighting the lasso’s control for the first time, before blurting out “I also go on dates!”

A flush of embarrassment crosses her features with the involuntary admission. “You don’t say?”

“I made a dating profile as Diana Prince so I could meet people as just a regular woman.”

“OK cool, but… why?”

She looks more humiliated now than when you were feeling her up. “My relationship history hasn’t exactly been… smooth. Being Wonder Woman comes with a lot of what you would call baggage. The power. The notoriety. The responsibility. The image I try to present to the world is limiting in its own way. And I got tired of the press’ obsession with who I may or may not be seeing.” She pauses for a moment, and when she resumes you can’t tell if it’s the lasso compelling her or her own subconscious. “And sometimes you just need really to get laid, but superheroine princesses don’t get to have one night stands without them winding up on the front page!”