Wonder Woman Domesticated Ch. 01

Her diligent hands moved with purpose, whisking eggs with practiced ease, flipping pancakes with a deft twist of the wrist. In between flipping bacon and stirring pans, she mentally rehearsed each key point of her presentation, her attention divided but focused. Anxiety churned in her gut as she questioned whether she had prepared enough, whether it would be good enough... But she knew she could not afford to get distracted from her primary task. Every detail, every dish, every taste had to be perfect, just as her husband demanded.

Her clear blue eyes flickered back to the clock on the wall, their vibrant hue dulling with a hint of worry. Her movements became more urgent, her practiced hand slicing through vegetables with precision born from countless hours spent honing her culinary skills. The indulgent dance of flavors and textures was a ritual she had perfected, a humble offering to satisfy Frank's palate. Likewise, the fragrant aromas that wafted through the air were designed to tempt his appetite, evoking a sense of home and comfort.

One by one, the dishes filled the counter, their aromas mingling in a symphony of delicious scents. Varying shades of yellow and brown adorned the china--golden-fried eggs, glistening with a delicate sheen of butter, a mosaic of crispy bacon strips forming an intricate pattern. Toast, perfectly browned and imbued with a subtle aroma of warmth, accompanied the feast. She prepared Frank's precise portion sizes, his favorite notations of sugary sweetness and greasy delight. The spectrum of his colorful plate shimmered before her scrutinizing eyes as she worked, ensuring the food was visually captivating as well as tasteful. A plate of fluffy pancakes awaited their golden finish, while a platter of the spicy vegetable omelet was ready to be served. Each dish was created with delicate care and love, for Diana poured her heart into every aspect of her duties as a wife.

Her work presentation, however, constantly tugged at the edges of her thoughts, diverting her focus. Even as she tenderly stacked fluffy pancakes, arranged fruit slices in a meticulous, symmetrical display, and garnished the steaming eggs, she fretted about potential missteps, envisioning each spoonful being met with a sour note. With a final flourish, Diana placed the last pancake on the pile, her tender fingers tinged with a dusting of powdered sugar. Taking a quick glance at the clock, she urged herself to move faster.

The alluring smells of her husband's breakfast wafted through the air, the vibrant aroma of the masterfully prepared dishes teasing her senses and making her stomach growl. Yet, Diana did not dare reach out for a taste. Instead, she merely inhaled the delicious scents, savoring them the only way she was allowed. She longed to taste the food she had created with such care, to savor the flavors dancing on her tongue, but there would be no indulgence for her. She would not have the pleasure of tasting the fruits of her labor. Her own meager meal sat relegated to that lonely corner of the counter, a sad reminder of the sacrifices she made on a daily basis.

The cold, plain can of dog food mocked her with its simplicity. It was a cruel and unappetizing contrast to the colorful feast she had prepared for her husband. Diana averted her gaze. Despite her empty belly, she did not look forward to partaking in that unsavory meal, but it was part of Frank's strict rules regarding her diet, and she adhered to those rules with the same conviction as she did everything else.

Her soft-soled feet padded across the cool kitchen tiles as she set the table with meticulous care, arranging each dish with impeccable precision in swift, graceful motions. The plate of pancakes, fluffy and golden, beckoned with tantalizing sweetness. The eggs, perfectly cooked and buttered, were a canvas of colors and flavors. And the sizzling bacon, crisp and aromatic, begged to be devoured. She poured the freshly brewed coffee into a delicate cup, steam curling upward in tempting streamers, and set it down beside the feast.

As the plates sat arranged with artistic flair, Diana's belly again grumbled with its demands. But her own hunger was unimportant. Suppressing her needs, Diana flitted about the table, arranging the silverware and napkins in meticulous order. She kept her thoughts focused on the tasks at hand, banishing the residual headache that lingered in her temples. The more she poured herself into these mundane responsibilities, the greater the semblance of fulfillment she found. In this eternal morning routine, the world became a small bubble where her submission to Frank's desires provided its own measure of contentment, albeit a complex one.

A gentle sigh escaped her lips as she surveyed the colorful masterpiece before her. The elegant presentation beckoned for Frank's attention. In a final stroke of her personal narrative, Diana deposited the cold metal can on her allocated side of the table, a stark contrast to the vibrant feast in front of her husband's seat. Her own minuscule meal felt like cruel punishment, a reminder of the boundaries she willingly accepted to be the woman she thought she could mold herself to be--a perfect wife to an imperfect man, striving to curate a life together where differences coexisted in surprising harmony.

The table was a tableau of Diana's love and dedication--of her willingness to sacrifice her own needs for his. She stood there in the kitchen, bathed in morning light, ready to serve the man she loved, her eyes burning with unwavering devotion and a deep longing for recognition.

Taking her assigned place to the side of the table, her statuesque form stood at attention, her posture poised and serene, a picture of controlled elegance ready to welcome her husband with a personal touch. Diana took a deep breath, the warming scent of her own creation enveloping her. With a sense of accomplishment, Diana called out in her melodious voice, maintaining the respectful tone she always adopted.

"Breakfast is ready, my love!"

Her timbre carried through the quiet house, a gentle entreaty for Frank to join her. But deep down, she knew it was more than breakfast she was offering. It was her unwavering dedication, her commitment to love and cherish him until the end of their days.

Diana's shoulders tightened with anticipation. Time was of the essence, and the demands of her office work loomed ever closer. As she waited for the footsteps of her beloved to draw near, she suppressed the quiet stirrings of her own desires, burying them beneath a facade of selflessness and unwavering dedication.

With an upright posture and her eyes fixed on the open kitchen door, she waited patiently, standing at attention like a loyal soldier ready for duty. The pressing need for haste pulsed through her veins, urging her to hurry through her chores and make herself presentable for work. Time was not her ally, but she yearned to prove to Frank, and to herself, that she could excel in all aspects of her life. In that moment, Diana embodied the essence of her role as a wife, her graceful posture and eager anticipation a monument to her devotion. Her inner warrior, fierce and powerful, had once more bowed before her frail husband's mortal needs, placing them far above her own.