Wonder Woman Domesticated Ch. 02

Wonder Woman Domesticated - A Day in the Life of Wonder Wife

Chapter 2 - Wakeup Call

Diana's heart sank as her call for breakfast remained unanswered. Silence echoed throughout the house, punctuating the passing minutes. A sense of urgency fluttered within her to hasten her steps--not only to ensure that Frank received the nourishment he needed but also to continue her preparations for work. As the seconds seemed to stretch, each one a taut thread of tension, Diana's brow furrowed with growing concern. The expectant smile she wore began to waver, replaced by a flicker of worry in her clear blue eyes. Fearing that the sound of her prompting voice might annoy him by flying out so soon again, she hesitated to repeat her call.

After another precious minute had slipped away, Diana resolved to uncover the cause of the delay. With a graceful pirouette, she pivoted on her heels and made her way back to the bedroom. The anticipation mounting within her added a subtle sway to her hips as if the rhythm of her steps matched the beating of her heart. Her movements were fluid, precise, economical. Her heart quickened with each powerful stride, the light fabric of her negligee swishing against her smooth, olive skin.

As she approached the bedroom, her mind filled with a whirlwind of emotions. Diana's hand hesitated, her heart heavy with a sudden wave of doubt as she stood before the closed door. Should she intrude on Frank's domain or retreat to the breakfast table and endure a bit more waiting? Their years together had acquainted her all too well with the fickle nature of his morning temperament. Whenever possible, it was a confrontation she sought to evade. Yet, driven by the need for haste, Diana steeled herself to proceed.

Her fingertips trembled for a moment, hovering just above the cool brass of the doorknob. The elegant façade of her poise and grace wavered as she grappled with her conflicting emotions. Doubt, a rare intruder in her disciplined mind, threatened to overpower her unyielding faith in her abilities to persevere.

Pushing her apprehensions aside, Diana steeled herself for what lay beyond the door. She closed her hand around the doorknob, its metallic chill imprinting on her skin. With a flick of her wrist, she turned it and eased the door open.

A sliver of golden sunlight spilled into the room, casting long, dancing shadows across their king-sized marital bed. The sight that met Diana's eyes made her halt in her tracks. Frank lay in a tangle of sheets, his weathered face softened in slumber while a faint snore rumbled from his chest. The vulnerability of the moment struck her--here was the man who often exuded authority and dominance, now in a state of unguarded repose. His lanky wisps of gray hair spread untamed in all directions, caught between his mottled scalp and the pillow supporting his head. The lines etched on his face by years of strife appeared harsher, more pronounced in the gentle illumination. The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, an echo of dreams unknown to her.

For a fleeting instant, Diana felt a swell of tenderness. She observed him as if seeing beyond the façade, as if the slumbering man before her held secrets and vulnerabilities not readily apparent. It was a side of Frank she rarely witnessed, a reminder that even the hardest individuals found solace in the vulnerability of sleep.

As she stood there in the bedroom, Diana's nose wrinkled. The air was thick and oppressive with the stench of Frank's unwashed body. It was a scent she had grown accustomed to, one that invaded her senses every day, but still, it never failed to make her yearn for fresh air. She longed to open a window, to let in the crispness of the outside world, but she knew that Frank would not approve. His frail lungs were sensitive to cool air, and any discomfort it might bring would be perceived as an offense against his delicate state.

A rattling sound brought her attention back to Frank. Her eyes sharpened, taking in her husband's disheveled appearance. For a moment, she observed every breath he took, every minute flutter of his lashes with an intensity that spoke of both concern and care. Beads of sweat trailed down his brow, his pallid skin glistening in the soft light that filtered through the curtains.

Diana's heart clenched in her chest as the reality of Frank's condition settled upon her with renewed weight. The intricacies of his well-being, once so easily dismissed, now unfolded before her in stark clarity. Her love for him wove itself into every unspoken fear, every furrow that etched itself into her brow. And yet, amid the concern that surged within her, Diana's inner voice rose with a resolute determination. She told herself that she needed to be strong for him, to gather the fragments of her worry and channel them into a force that would support him through the challenges that lay ahead. It was a silent affirmation, a pact she made with herself on a daily basis in the face of her beloved husband's vulnerability.

With cautious steps, Diana approached him. The gauzy hem of her negligee brushed against her toned thighs with every measured step, her infinite grace and beauty a stark contrast to the unkempt state of her husband. As she drew nearer, the strained but rhythmic sound of his breathing became more evident. Diana reached out, her touch as delicate as a whisper, her fingers brushing against his forehead to push aside the errant strands of greasy hair that clung to his damp skin. As she leaned down toward him, her voice was a tender, silken caress in his ear.

"Good morning, my love," she whispered, the sweet warmth of her breath mingling with the stagnant air that surrounded him.

* * *

Frank groaned as the sound of Diana's sweet voice pierced through his slumber, rousing him from his dreams. He shifted in bed, his frail body aching from the restless sleep that had plagued him throughout the night. The smoky haze of last night's cigarettes still clung to his mouth, adding a bitter taste to every breath he took. And yet, his first thought was for another smoke to start his day off. With a conscious effort, he forced his grainy eyes to blink open, bloodshot and tired, squinting against the soft glow of morning light that spilled into the room.

The sight that greeted him was one he had grown accustomed to over the years, though it never failed to take his breath away; the radiant beauty of his wonderful wife, her striking features etched with care and concern. Diana squatted beside their bed in a graceful, wide-legged stance, her face level with his own. Her clear blue eyes held a depth that seemed endless--windows into a soul that was both powerful and compassionate, unyielding and eternally gracious. Right now, those eyes sparkled with steadfast determination as she reached out to brush aside a stray wisp of greasy hair from his damp forehead, her touch as light as a feather. A grunt escaped Frank's lips in response, a rough acknowledgment from behind his nicotine-stained teeth.

"What do you want, woman? Why are you bothering me?" Frank grumbled, his voice gravelly with sleep and tainted with a thick layer of discontentment. Unperturbed by his grouchiness, Diana leaned in and pressed her lips against his forehead, planting a soft kiss on his damp skin.

"Good morning, my love," she whispered, her voice filled with warmth and tenderness. "I hope you had a restful night."

Frank caught a hint of her sweet scent and felt her silky hair brush his cheek as she settled back again, an unwavering guardian and devoted companion rolled into one. Despite his irritable nature, he couldn't disregard the emotions she stirred within him. This woman was one of a kind, and she was all his for the taking.

"Morning, already? Can't even manage a decent stretch of sleep around here," he mumbled, his drool-stained mouth twisting in a grimace as he clung to the fading tendrils of repose. "And as for my night, it was worse than ever, no thanks to your interruption just now."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Frank," she said, her tone a steady stream of genuine warmth and affection. "I know how much you value your sleep, especially after a night like that. It was never my intention to startle you..." Diana's full lips curled into a gentle smile as she leaned closer to him, her voice resonating like warm honey in his ears. "...but I wanted to let you know that breakfast is ready, my love," she said in hushed tones. "Perhaps that will brighten your mood."

Her delicate fingers brushed another strand of wiry hair from his forehead, her touch tender yet fleeting, as if she recognized the fine line between affection and intrusion during these early hours. Her sweet scent enveloped him as she leaned even closer, her caring words floating on her breath like delicate petals on the wind.

"I'm here to take care of you, Frank. Whatever you need, I will provide."

Frank scoffed at her attempt to rouse him from sleep before he was good and ready. He burrowed deeper into their tangled sheets and grumbled under his breath, "I'll eat when I feel like it, woman. Not when you come calling for me."

Undeterred, Diana persisted in nudging him awake with gentle words laced with patience and understanding, adding a hint of allure to her persuasion.

"I've prepared your favorite--fluffy pancakes with a side of fresh berries..." she coaxed, allowing her words to hang in the air for a moment before continuing, "...and there's bacon to go with your omelet--greasy and fried to a crisp, just the way you like it."

Frank's stomach growled at the mention of food but still he resisted rising from bed. He couldn't deny that breakfast sounded tempting--Diana's culinary skills were unmatched, and he knew how much effort she put into every meal, striving to cater to his tastes in a way that no one else ever had--but on this particular morning, other things beckoned to him even more strongly: Diana herself.

As she spoke to him in dulcet tones, her voice like a siren's song, Frank could not resist the pull of her nearness--an ethereal figure bathed in morning light and draped in wisps of sheer fabric that clung to her marvelous curves. His old eyes were repeatedly drawn to the enticing cleft formed by her ample mounds huddling together beneath her scant attire. If memory served him right, he had handpicked that blue negligee for her during one of their outings to the mall, and that decision certainly yielded no regrets from him now. With each subtle shift she made, the translucent fabric fluttered, offering glimpses of firm breasts straining against their delicate confines. At their peaks, dusky hints of nipples pressed upward, caught in the fabric, taut and erect.

He let his gaze linger on her captivating body, uncaring if she disapproved of his ogling. Indeed, having committed to the role of his wife, Diana bore the obligation to present herself for his visual gratification and contentment at all times. He had established that principle early on in their relationship and had remained resolute in his stance ever since. Come to think of it, she had yet to violate a single one of his core directives, at least deliberately. That spoke volumes of her deep respect for the boundaries he had set, and how far she was willing to go to please him at the cost of her own autonomy. Yet, from where he sat, there was always room to demand more from her...

With that inspiring thought in mind, Frank leaned over to the side of the bed to grant himself a better downward-viewing angle. His sluggish gaze wandered down Diana's body, lingering on her firm midsection, her flexing thighs, and the bright blue panties that clung to her loins between them. The provocative sight was a bit surprising to him. Could it be that Diana's open-legged stance and abbreviated nightgown had unveiled more than his ever-dignified wife had intended?

In any case, her intimate parts now lay exposed to his eyes with unforgiving clarity. The feminine bulge of her vulva pressed against the supple material of her panties, a few stray black hairs peeking out from around their edges. But even more intriguing to his hungry eyes was the darker spot in front of those delicate undergarments, revealing Diana's pent-up desires--a profound longing that he had forbidden her to indulge through another set of strict mandates. Exerting control over every aspect of Diana's life had become something of a personal pursuit for him, and he took great pleasure in witnessing her strong persona yield beneath his uncompromising authority.

Frank rested back on the bed, propped up on soft pillows to support his ailing frame. His eyes gleamed with lust-filled eagerness as he took in the view before him. Diana remained perched on her haunches, an image of poised restraint--a stillness that he found agreeable at this moment. Her posture exemplified controlled grace, her muscular arms finding repose on the mattress with a sense of vigilant relaxation. She regarded him with considerate eyes and a slight tilt of her head, watchful for any unforeseen occurrence that might require her attention. She seemed to grasp his preference for silence and maintained a hushed demeanor, demonstrating her boundless patience and keen ability to gauge the atmosphere of the room.

As Frank's gaze lingered upon her, he marveled at Diana's exquisite beauty. Her features seemed to have been chiseled by an artist's meticulous hand--elegant yet strong, she was an amalgamation of captivating contrasts; The soft curve of her lips held a mysterious allure, a promise of unspoken depths; Her brilliant blue eyes, like serene pools of introspection, locked onto his with a gentle intensity, as if searching for the nuances of his desires and needs; A cascade of raven-black hair framed her countenance, each strand catching the room's ambient light and weaving a golden halo around her head; Her skin, a canvas of porcelain, carried a warm undertone beneath its flawless surface, a reflection of a life brimming with purpose and vitality.

But it was more than just her physical form that captivated him--it was the intricate interplay of her persona, her poise, and her ability to convey emotions through every gesture, no matter how subtle or refined. For a split second, he could almost believe in the ancient tales, the ones that whispered of Diana being sculpted by the hands of the gods themselves from a humble mound of clay.

In the wake of her silence, Frank's gaze once again descended, inexorably drawn to the magnetic pull of her cleavage--a tempting expanse of soft flesh and graceful curves begging for his attention. Without preamble, his hand reached toward that alluring sight, slipping beneath the fabric of her gown to explore. His bony fingers traced the contours of one ample, firm breast, feeling its weight and heft before moving to the other. They were perfect in shape and suspension, each one larger than his hands, silky smooth and warm to the touch, and capped with stiff nipples long enough to grasp between his knuckles.

Rather than pulling away, Diana leaned into his touch, allowing him to savor the sensual attributes of her breasts without reservation. Yet, within the depths of her eyes, he discerned a blend of affectionate compliance and suppressed pride--not enough to meet his demands for complete submission.

He had taken care to communicate his fondness for such intimate moments, ensuring Diana understood his resolve and that the pleasure he sought was not to be denied. So, with a penetrating stare into her crystal blue eyes, he reinforced that desire anew in a way that left no room for ambiguity. Observing her response to his unspoken challenge, he noticed her stiffened posture and the subtle tightening of her features, but opted to give her a pass for the time being. There would be ample opportunity to address her inadequate behavior later.

As he kept fondling her breasts, Frank marveled at the paradox before him; Here was a woman of immense strength and capability, somehow ensnared by his own unpleasant appearance and demeanor, willingly surrendering her independence and power to become his devoted wife. How could a woman of such grace and beauty find contentment in catering to a man like him? A man who had grown bitter and irritable over the years, succumbing to ailments brought on by his own unhealthy habits. It was a mystery that seemed to defy all reason, explained perhaps in part by Diana's infinite compassion and resilience--qualities he had never possessed himself, nor truly understood.

As much as Frank enjoyed the fruits of Diana's commitment, he often found himself grappling with the reality of their unorthodox marriage. Not that he complained. His once pitiful existence had undergone a remarkable transformation since the arrival of Wonder Woman in his life, eclipsing all former years combined. Most days, he luxuriated in every moment spent in Diana's intimate company. Yet, her underlying motives continued to elude him. He could only assume that his unflattering 'Lost Puppy Syndrome' traits resonated in some profound way with Diana's caregiving and nurturing disposition. This connection seemed to spark a protective instinct within her, an intrinsic urge to provide the care and support he secretly craved. Without a doubt, Diana was a 'rescuer' at heart, always primed to extend her assistance and solace to those navigating their way through hardship or portraying themselves as helpless. Over three years of marriage, Frank had come to understand Diana's acute responsiveness to the emotional needs of others and the true depth of her commitment to alleviating their burdens. This dedication extended beyond her public identity to her personal realm as well, reflecting not only her iconic Wonder Woman persona but also her genuine character. All in all, Diana was a remarkable woman; powerful, self-sufficient, and endlessly resilient, with an unwavering determination, boundless empathy, and an inspiring capacity to embody both her iconic superheroine persona and her authentic, compassionate self.

Yet, there she knelt--a beacon of strength and beauty--beside their marital bed, assuming a posture of deference to his authority. The sight of her in that submissive stance stirred something primal within Frank--an emotion that merged desire with a profound sense of pride. To think that this remarkable woman, with all her might and beauty, had chosen him above myriad contenders, willingly embracing a role both intricate and conflicting, evoked within Frank a potent mix of yearning and self-assurance.

But perhaps he shouldn't sell himself short. It was quite possible that Diana's true drive to serve him stemmed from the commanding aura of his persona, an authority surpassing even her own, if he may say so himself. As if to put this hypothesis to the test, he reestablished eye contact with Diana and fixed her with a hard stare.

"Give me your panties," he commanded, the sharpness of his voice cutting through the oppressive silence. His words hung heavy in the air, causing an audible hitch in Diana's breath. A tremor danced across her fingers as she hesitated for a split second and then complied, reaching beneath the hem of her nightgown to hook her thumbs into the waistband of her delicate undergarment. The satiny fabric slipped from her curves as if reluctant to part from her warmth, the dampness of her skin creating a gentle friction that impeded its graceful descent. But off it came, leaving bare a wider expanse of smooth, creamy white skin than had previously been revealed. She closed her legs to slide the garment past her knees, and then spread them wide once more, gracefully lifting each foot in turn to step out of the leg holes. Throughout the process, she maintained her deep squat, resolute in the face of his groping hand which still lingered on her breasts. Her composure remained steadfast as she maneuvered out of her underwear--a poignant display of the remarkable control she held over her body. Holding up the lacy fabric by its strings, dainty and delicate, she let the damp underwear dangle from a slender finger, proffering it to Frank with an almost ceremonial elegance.