Wonder Woman lay stunned on the floor, shamed and confused beyond measure at her current situation. Why was she in a men's prison? Why couldn't she stop fouling herself? Where was her Superheroine skill and fighting spirit? Why, oh why, had she been enjoying masturbating in front of this appreciative audience. Where was her self-control? Straining her addled mind for any form of helpful response proved completely fruitless, and instead wailed in despair at her changed circumstances. She retained just enough self-awareness to remember being a virtuous and all-conquering demigoddess, so to find herself in this pitiable situation, was simply soul-destroying.
She was stirred into action by the renewed pain underneath her - her guards had courteously managed to throw her right on top of the baton, and as she regained more of a level of consciousness, the pain it poured into meant she had to react - and fast.
But any reaction Wonder Woman could make was drastically reduced. She tried to sit straight up, but the weight in her chest was far too much for her - when her master had ordered her to walk she found herself just about able to do it; her subconscious overriding the inevitable torment surging through her enfeebled lower back. But now, trying only to help herself, she couldn't begin to raise herself, and she could only howl in renewed despair. Instead she tried to push herself up with her enfeebled arms; but having fallen on her chest, she couldn't even begin to reach the floor. Renewed agony coursed through her body; and she whimpered in confusion and despair.
Eventually she remembered the paddle still clutched in her right hand. Maybe she could use it to help herself somehow. Her tiny brain eventually thought of something, that would cause her renewed pain and humiliation, but may at least get her near enough to one of the bunks to lift herself forward. She used her knees to shift as much work as possible onto her left udder, inflicting greater pain upon herself from the brutal crocodile clip, giving a fraction more freedom to her right. She managed to shift her paddle between her lower torso and her huge breast, and lever it forward a precious couple of inches, her bell scraping across the floor.
Wonder Woman then precariously managed to shift the paddle behind her back into her left hand, shift her weight onto her right orb, and repeat the process.
It took 47 agonising iterations before she was finally able to grasp the steel frame at the bottom of the left hand bed. She dragged herself forward another couple of precious but indescribably painful inches. It took all the effort she could muster to then use this point of leverage to push herself up to her knees, which in her reduced state felt like a huge triumph. She dropped the paddle in relief and inadvertently put her hands to her hips in this small victory - that drew another catastrophically messy response, and reduced herself to another whimpering defeat at this fresh humiliation. Confusion, humiliation, and despair poured unhindered through her ravaged mind, completely lost as to what was wrong with her, and unable to think of anything she could do to change her situation for the better. The once-dominant superheroine was fully reduced to a defeated whimpering wreck.
Torment in her aching nipples drew her out of her current stupor, and she remembered the brutal implements of shame and torture that had been so brutally applied to her ravaged teats. She reached forward desperately, the chance to remove the cursed bells, if only she could open the brutal crocodile clips...
She couldn't reach them! Her huge breasts were too large for her to even reach her own nipples - her spindly arms only made it three-quarters of the way. Were her fingers any stronger, she could maybe have worked her flesh nearer to herself to try to gain some purchase - but any attempt to grasp her soft flesh was utterly fruitless, instead only accelerating the flow of bloody milk leaking out of herself. Mindlessly, she shook her udders in desperation, for an incredibly foolish moment believing that she may be able to shake them loose - gaining herself nothing other than fresh agony as it helped the brutal teeth bite even deeper, and seeing her succomb into fresh helpless tears.
Wonder Woman somehow found it within herself to haul herself onto the bed, and sit down, slumped heavily upon herself. She sat there, leaning precariously forward onto her huge breasts, trying to figure out what to do next. Next, the despairing Wonder Woman tried to remove her humiliating bonnet, but found that it had been tied far too securely for her fragile fingers. Similarly, her precarious and comically mis-labelled heels were far too much for her. Could she do nothing to improve her situation? Could she not even undress herself?
She remembered the last item of clothing, the one she was most ashamed of - her stinking and very full diaper. Somehow sitting in her own mess felt even worse than walking or kneeling in it. She reached down, and with huge relief found that she could actually manage to unclip the velcro on both sides of herself. A fresh wave of nausea gripped her at the renewed stench that came from herself. She looked down between her huge beach balls, and quickly looked away at the glimpse of disgusting mess that she saw down there.
She staggered to her feet and waddled to the simple porcelain latrine that was just a few steps away at the back of the cell; each shuddering step leaving a fresh shameful puddle. She eventually managed to haul her aching body in place, and tried to lower herself onto the bowl, focused more on trying to cleanse herself, than needing to actually use it, there seemed nothing left to give...
...And missed. Her training denying her the opportunity even to use the toilet unaided had kicked in at the crucial moment; instead she sat down too soon and too rapidly; bouncing her tailbone agonisingly off the front of the toilet, catapulting her forward to splash her huge breasts onto the filthy floor. Fresh uncertainty gripped her heart - what had she just done. She shook her head uncertainly, trying and failing to focus on her situation.
She had been fortunate enough to land within reach of the opposite bed, and, insufficient muscles shuddering in strain, managed to haul herself uncertainly to her feet; and tried one more time, this time backing away uncertainly until she felt the porcelain properly underneath her.
But she didn't make it. Ludicrously top heavy on top of spindly legs and stillettoed heels, her feet of clay betrayed her, and she slipped on one of her fresh puddles of shame, falling backwards to this time smack her head on the porcelain; leaving her groggily lying flat on her back in a pool of her own filth.
She couldn't get up - she was imprisoned by her fragile body and the weight of her huge bosom.
And she sobbed bitterly, knowing there was nothing that she could do until she receives a visitor.
Next Chapters
Or add your own