Diana had endured your relentless, clumsy advances for months. Each sultry compliment, each lingering stare, each senusal, pathetic text message was a grain of sand in an hourglass of her patience. Today, the last grain fell.

You arrived at the secluded spot, smugness practically radiating from you. Diana—Wonder Woman—watched from the shadows, her expression unreadable. She had promised a date. A lie, of course. But a necessary one.

When she stepped into the clearing, your smirk was painfully wide. She didn’t return it. In one fluid motion, the Lasso of Truth was in her hands, its golden coils glowing with a soft, relentless light. “Let's,” she said, her voice cool. “play a game.”

Before you could process the words, she was upon you. You were strong, but she was an Amazon. With effortless precision, she pinned you, the rough bark of a tree at his back. The lasso snaked around your wrists, binding them above your head with a firm, unbreakable knot. The divine warmth of it seeped into your skin.

Then Diana straddled you, one knee on either side of your hips, settling her weight atop you. The position was intimate, dominating. She leaned in close, her blue eyes holding yours, her black hair a curtain around them. You could feel the powerful lines of her thighs, the heat of her body through her armor. “You will tell me the truth,” she stated, the command in her voice as tangible as the lasso. The magic pulsed, compelling honesty. "And at every answer... I'll take off one layer of clothes, first from you, then from me."

She began, her tone low and deliberate. “What is it you truly desire when you look at me?”

The lasso glowed brighter. You would have to answer. Not with the practiced, flattering lines you always used, but with the raw, unfiltered truth. She saw the struggle in your eyes, the fight against the compulsion, and a cold, satisfied feeling settled in her chest.

Good, she thought, watching your resolve crumble, as she started taking off your shirt. Let them squirm. Let them feel the weight of their own unwanted longing. They will confess every shallow fantasy, every misguided thought. And when they are laid bare, humiliated by your own honesty, you will finally understand.

She leaned closer, her lips almost brushing your ear. “Tell me,” she whispered fingers slowly lifting your shirt off your shoulders, the promise of more sensual, probing questions hanging in the air between them. This was her plan. To strip your infatuation down to its embarrassing core, question by intimate question, until nothing was left but a stark, uncomfortable truth you could no longer ignore.

And only then would she let him go.