A Fistful of Donna

You make sure her wrists are securely tied with the golden lasso. "Ah the kid sister formerly known as Wonder Girl! Pleased to make your acquaintance. I didn't realize you were staying with Diana."

"I'm not. Just crashing here while I'm in town for a couple days."

You can definitely see the family resemblance; Donna’s face is like a slightly younger, softer version of Diana's. "I see. And where is Big Sis?"

"Outer space, some Justice League thing."

"And you weren't invited? How rude!" You drag her bound hands up over her head and pin them to the floor.

She shrugs, "I’m not currently on active status with the League. It's not like I haven't been to space before."

"I see. Quick question: does this lasso work the same as Wonder Woman's?" You study the lithe body underneath you. Her figure is a little more slender, her breasts maybe slightly smaller but still impressive, especially with her nipples pressing against the thin fabric of the shirt like that.

"Yes, they're essentially identical. Who the hell are you?" she tries to regain some control of the conversation.

“The one holding the other end of the lasso.” You’re fascinated by how similar and how different she and Diana are. They could easily be mistaken for one another from a distance, or by someone who hasn’t spent time with one of them. But up close there's a touch of Girl Next Door to Donna that’s a stark contrast to Wonder Woman's more regal bearing. “So does `Not On Active Duty’ mean you don’t have a League communicator? Or anything else that could be tracked?”

“I do have one but not with me. All I have right now is a normal old cell phone.” She points with her chin at the nightstand where her phone is charging. “So you’re her new boyfriend? New villain? New stalker?"

You feign being insulted. "You mean she never mentioned me? After everything we’ve been to one another? I'm crushed."

"I’m sorry you're disappointed,” she says in that same sardonic tone you’re used to hearing from Diana. “Tho if I'm being honest..." she gestures with her lasso-bound wrists, "she never talks about the men she sleeps with. At least not to me"

"No? Interesting. Do you think she's embarrassed? Or worried she'll set a bad example for her kid sister?"

"A bit of both, I'd say," she tries to shrug her shoulders, but with her arms pinned like that all she manages to do is thrust her breasts up a little more. You do not complain.