The lasso glowed softly at Diana’s side, every strand of golden light humming with the promise of truth. She held it loosely in one hand, eyes never leaving her wife’s.

Her wife stood in the center of the dimly lit chamber robes cast aside, heart racing, she met Diana’s gaze, lips parting in a steady, unspoken plea.

Diana knelt, bringing the lasso’s end to her wife’s feet, and waited.

A single nod, fierce with trust, was enough.

With infinite care, Diana wound the lasso around her wife’s ankles, its warmth pulsing up each coil. She moved upward, binding knees, thighs, waist—every loop an affirmation of safety and surrender. The lasso’s magical glow traced patterns over skin and silk, ensuring each knot held firm yet gentle.

When Diana finally stood, the room was still except for their breathing. Her wife’s eyes shone with anticipation and love—no fear here, only the exquisite thrill of surrendering to the one person she trusted above all.

Diana’s voice was a whisper. “Are you sure?”