Throughout the entire dressing process, Diana was nothing more than a silent, heavy puppet.
In the agonizing days that followed, Duke Darren took on the role of a sadistic, strict coach, subjecting her to a relentless barrage of aristocratic "training." He taught her how to walk—not with the free, ground-eating, powerful gait of an Amazonian warrior, but with an affected, deliberate, geisha-like stride. The crippling six-inch stilettos forced her to place one foot carefully in front of the other, making her thick, corseted hips sway with a heavy, obscene exaggeration. He dictated exactly how a submissive woman should be "graceful" and "dignified," entirely dependent on short, restricted movements.
At the massive dining table, Darren meticulously re-taught her how to use delicate silverware, treating her like an ignorant child, scolding her on the precise angle to hold a soup spoon versus a salad fork. Whenever she made a microscopic error, he would sneer, his dark eyes flashing, and ruthlessly correct her.
But for Diana, the most psychologically devastating task was the daily makeup routine.
Every morning, the maids applied thick, suffocating foundation to pale her sun-kissed skin, glued on heavy, fluttering false eyelashes that obstructed her vision, and painted her lips a glossy, slottish, bright crimson. Each time she stared into the gilded mirror, it felt like she was burying her true self alive. The heavy cosmetics were a mask, concealing the brave, invincible Wonder Woman beneath the painted face of a high-class whore.
At night, as darkness enveloped the opulent chateau, the true horror began.
A cold, sadistic glint flashed in Duke Darren's eyes. He stood in the center of the master bedroom, facing the bound Wonder Woman. Her hands, legs, and body were already tightly encased by her corrupted artifacts.
"Your performance at dinner today truly disappointed me, Princess," Darren said coldly. He raised a hand and began chanting a dark, ancient spell.
As his guttural incantation echoed off the velvet walls, Wonder Woman's artifacts began to emit a corrupt, purple glow. Then, they slowly, violently began to contract.
The black stilettos tightened like a medieval iron maiden binding her feet. Each time she attempted to shift her weight, the spiked heels locked tighter, forcing her arches higher. She could feel her toes turning white from the immense, crushing pressure, the bones creaking almost to the point of fracture.
Simultaneously, the steel-boned corset cinched inward. Her heavy breasts surged upward as her ribs were brutally compressed. Each breath became a desperate, burning struggle. Her internal organs felt crammed to their absolute biological limit, her entire torso gripped and crushed by an invisible giant's hand.
As Darren's incantation grew faster and louder, the sheer gloves, the tight stockings, the stilettos, the corset, and the mind-controlling golden tiara all shrank simultaneously, inflicting an unprecedented, multi-layered agony. Hot tears welled in her azure eyes, spilling over her thick false lashes and ruining her heavy makeup, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a scream. She bit her glossy red lip so tightly that a drop of divine blood welled up, silencing her own whimpers. The pain seemed endless, her flawless body relentlessly squeezed and drained like a crushed fruit.
Eventually, the relentless training and nightly torture broke her.
Every evening at dusk, like a perfectly conditioned animal, Diana would listen for Darren's footsteps. No matter what degrading task she was performing, she would immediately stop, drop to her knees in her crippling heels, and prostrate her corseted body onto the carpet at the bedroom door.
"Master, welcome home," she would whisper, bowing her tiara-clad head respectfully to his polished shoes.
Darren nodded in deep satisfaction. He strolled casually into the bedroom, unbuckling his belt, and looked down at her submissive form. "My little bitch. Are you ready to receive your Master's favor?"
"Yes, Master. Please... allow me to serve you," Wonder Woman answered devoutly, the magical tiara forcing a heavy, wet throb between her thighs at the prospect of pleasing him.
Carefully, her massive breasts heaving against the tight silk of her gown, she crawled forward on her knees. Her silk-gloved hands trembled as she reached up, unzipped his trousers, and pulled out his already hard, thick penis. She leaned in, taking the heavy, pulsing head into her painted mouth. She began to carefully lick and suck the shaft, the quiet room filling with loud, lewd, wet slurping sounds.
Darren sighed, his hips rolling forward comfortably as he stroked her intricately braided black hair with one hand. "Good girl. Not bad. It looks like your daily practice has finally paid off."
Hearing the degrading praise, Wonder Woman swallowed hard and sucked even more vigorously. She had learned how to suppress her Amazonian gag reflex, relaxing her throat completely to let the thick, veiny cock penetrate deep into her esophagus. Even when the massive girth bruised the back of her throat and brought tears to her eyes, she gritted her teeth around the base, enduring the deepthroating until Darren let out a guttural groan. He grabbed the back of her head, thrusting brutally into her mouth as he ejaculated.
Thick, boiling semen shot against the back of her throat. Diana dutifully swallowed every drop of his thick load, her red lips slick with his cum and pre-cum.
Afterwards, she humbly lay prostrate between Darren's legs, thoroughly exhausted and leaking from her own untouched, aching pussy. She allowed her Master to caress and kiss her all over, not daring to flinch even when he maliciously slapped her heavy breasts and corseted ass, leaving bright red handprints on her pale skin. She offered zero resistance. She couldn't escape.
Gradually, the venom took hold. She was fully accepting her new identity: a mindless plaything, a dripping sex slave existing solely to empty her Master's balls. At Darren's command, she was ready to offer every hole, enduring any humiliation and insult just to avoid the excruciating shrinking spell. She did her best to learn his twisted "female virtues," weaponizing the divine beauty bestowed upon her by Aphrodite to keep him pleased and satisfied.
Despite the luxurious furnishings and the sumptuous (though highly restricted) food in the chateau, every single day was an endless, grinding torment. Duke Darren continued his "training" relentlessly, pushing her body and mind to the absolute brink of collapse.
And tragically, Wonder Woman's physical biology was fundamentally changing.
Deprived of the massive caloric intake required by a demigod warrior, entirely restricted from any form of exercise, and constantly crushed by the magical tightlacing corset, her legendary Amazonian muscles began to atrophy.
The thick, powerful thighs that could once crush boulders softened and shrank within the sheer nylon stockings. Her broad, muscular shoulders narrowed, and her formidable biceps melted away beneath the silk gloves, leaving her arms slender and weak. Her figure became increasingly frail, her waist permanently locked into a terrifying, deformed hourglass shape.
Duke Darren stood before her dressing mirror, surveying her naked, shivering form with absolute, twisted satisfaction. The once-mighty Goddess of Truth was gone. In her place stood a fragile, bound, and physically weak young lady from a bygone aristocratic era, incapable of lifting a sword, let alone fighting back.
Inside the dark walls of the castle, Darren grew increasingly obsessed with his broken, beautiful masterpiece.