The Chattel Girl

BY : tooshoes
Category: DC Verse Television > SuperGirl
Dragon prints: 1804
Disclaimer: I do not own Supergirl, nor the characters or any story elements from TV show. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter image:

“Every woman is a rebel and usually in wild revolt against herself” - Oscar Wild

Day One

My powers don’t return even after I leave the dojo. If anything, I feel weaker. I can't poop, so they only feed me liquids.

I feel like I’m on another world. My world. The entire complex is bathed in amber light, reminiscent of my life on Krypton.

“We probably seem cruel to you, Kara,” Alex says, “but allowing you to disregard your heritage, as you’ve been doing, would have been much crueler. You were never meant to be a hero. You were meant for something different, but this world has corrupted you. You need to go through hell to figure that out. You have been in revolt against yourself for so long, and you have a lot of unlearning to do. If you accept your destiny, your life will get so much easier. You’ll find being my chattel girl isn’t so bad. If you behave yourself, I can be your savior.”

“Okay,” I say, looking at the floor.

Alex and Hank smile reassuringly, and Alex demands: “Now take off that disgusting costume.”

I do as she demands and toss my clothes on the floor.

Hank pours a liquid over the costume and lights it on fire on the metallic floor in the hall of the DEO! We watch it burn like its destruction has some ritualistic meaning. It’s surreal.

I’m completely naked, and they lead me across the DEO. Every agent we pass boos at me and some curse. I would be crying, but my tear-ducts have run dry a while ago, and my pussy has run out of nectar – thankfully. I am sexless now. I am nothing.

Alex and Hank lead me to the prison area where they keep the Fort Rozz captives.

The angry men are collected in one cell, each handcuffed under the red lights, and they are standing side-by-side in a line.

They cheer when they see me, but they are not cheering for me. They are cheering the DEO for capturing me. There is nothing more degrading for Raoist men than to be captive while a chattel girl is free. They spit on me when I enter the room.

Alex sits on a chair and makes me bend over her knee like a child in front of the prisoners. She spanks my ass hard enough to leave handprints. While she strikes me, she declares in the Kryptonian language the rite of ownership – of me!

The captives clap without enthusiasm. We are part of a once proud race, and they are depressed to see a slave that is rightfully theirs serve the masters of the new world. The only thing they still have pride in is their traditions, and because Alex is paying respect to our traditions, they will respect her claim over me.

I could not feel more humiliated.

When my ass is bright red, Alex finally lets me stand again. Then she spits in my face.

Somehow, new tears flood my eyes, and I ask Alex why she is doing this to me.

She slaps me just for asking.

And the prisoners cheer.

“Damn, Kara, you stink,” she says, holding her nose. The prisoners laugh. Alex grabs me by the hair and drags me out of the room.

Alex and Hank drag me back across the DEO into a room with lines of showers.

They stare while I lather up and rinse off under the warm water.

“Clean your body, but you’ll never be able to wash away the shame,” Hank says, but he does not mean to insult me. He is reassuring me because shame is my natural state.

“It’s okay, now,” Alex adds, confusing me even more.

After I dry off with a towel, they force me to wear the traditional clothing of a chattel girl – a loose-fitting white robe resembling the clothes that all Kryptonian children wear, right down to the fluffy slippers. I feel so small and helpless, which is the point. A chattel girl is a perpetual child, dependent, guileless, obedient and vulnerable.

I am not allowed to grow from this. I am not allowed to exercise judgment or make choices.

If I act my age, they will just start over.

A chattel girl’s life is perpetual depravity and renewal of innocence. She is devoured by her master’s hunger, and sacrificed at her master’s whim, and then rebuilt by her master’s generosity.

And she is thankful for all her master wants and for all her master gives.

A chattel girl is the lowest of the low, but if she is obedient, her service can perform miracles. She could even bring peace to her world.

They are teaching me my path to happiness, and they will keep me on this path until I learn.

Then I can go home.

And do what, I don’t know, because I am not my own person. I cannot pretend, anymore.

For I am a chattel girl.


Day two

They stand in the prison cell, which has become my home the past few days. They watch as I sit on the cheap, twin bed and call the receptionist at CatCo using a speakerphone.

“Hello, Eve, I’m feeling sick,” I say.

I guess I sound believable because Miss Tessmacher sounds sympathetic. “Oh, bummer, Kara! You’re missing a lot of excitement around here. Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?”

“Oh, no, I think it’s just the flu,” I say, telling the lie I was ordered to tell.

“Don’t say ‘just the flu,’ like it’s nothing. The flu can turn bad fast! Get a lot of sleep, and don’t you dare come back until you feel better! Cat will be furious if you bring the flu into work with you!”

“I know. Thanks, Eve.”

I hang up. Alex and Hank both nod at me.

“Can I ever go back?” I whine.

“We’ll see,” Hank says, but I know he means no. I don't know why he even pretends. He walks out of the prison cell that has been my home for the last 34 hours.

Alex remains behind, and she sits on the bed beside me.

"Why would you even want to go back? You were in over your head, there," she says, then she strokes my hair and whispers in my ear. “Touch me like I’m touching you.”

“Okay,” I say, and I touch her hair.

“I want to kiss you,” she says, looking surprisingly affectionate.

“Okay,” I say.

She frowns and says, “Stop saying ‘okay,’ all the time. Say ‘yes.’”

I hesitate, then say, “Yes.”

“Yes what?” she demands, the affection gone now.

“Yes … please kiss me,” I say too late.

Alex sees the small hint of defiance in my eyes. She stands again and orders me to take off my clothes.

I cross my arms in front of my chest and shake my head, wanting Alex just to be my sister again.

Then she slaps me, and I cry yet again. I do it every time.

“Take off that fucking robe!” she almost screams.

Once again, I look up at her pathetically, and I give in as I always do. I open the robe and let it slide back onto the mattress.

Alex shoves me, and I fall onto the robe and the blankets.

She fucks me. Again. For the third time.

“Don’t you ever look at me that way again,” she growls as she slams into my body, and the bed creaks beneath us. “I’m doing this for your benefit, you ungrateful little bitch.”

“Yes,” I cry.


Day four.

Two days later, she calls me a bitch again while fucking me, and I don’t understand. I didn’t resist at all this time. I didn’t fight or even cry. I just let it happen. I wanted to make it easier for her.

But Alex doesn’t want it to be easier. She likes it when I resist. She likes it when I cry. She likes reminding me of how hopeless my situation is. She wants me broken beyond repair, but she can’t accept that pieces of me are shattered on the ground. I’m useless to her if I’m not fragile. She needs to keep breaking me.

Because I am wettest when I am ashamed. I’m more exciting when I’m in pain.  

Yesterday, when I laid still like a sack of flesh, she taught me a new kind of sex called fisting. She was gentle at first, but as soon as I was over the shock, she got much rougher.

Today, she turns me over and introduces me to anal sex. She says my anus has opened up enough, but it hasn't. My anus is still tiny, so it hurts and bleeds so much! My tears and moans and occasional screams only seem to excite her more.

I know there are cameras watching us, and it really bothers me at first, but Alex doesn’t seem to care. Instead, she forces me to pose for them.

“This is what you like, isn’t it?” She asks. “You love it when people watch, you Kryptonian slut!”



Day five.

Five days of abuse. Five days where Alex makes me beg and slaps me like a dog unless I kneel at her alter. Five days where I’m afraid to even think. My self-worth is at zero. I am what they say I am. My heart has turned off. I don’t resist Alex’s abuse, anymore. I look forward to it.

I sit in my cell, alone, feeling depressed. I shrink inside my pajamas, awaiting her command, but she calmly and kindly sits beside me on my bed, like we are merely sisters again.

She takes my hand in hers, and I pull it away defiantly.

She is my master, now. She doesn’t get to be my sister, too.

She’s has taken my virginity several times now. She has taken my hopes and my beliefs. Now it feels like she is mining my heart for anything else to take, and I won’t let her sneak her way back into my heart.

Because she is not my sister, anymore.

She doesn’t discipline me this time.

“Your training is over, Kara,” she tells me. “I’m sorry it has been so hard.”

I look at her stupidly. I don’t understand, but I don’t think she expects me to understand.

“We were foolish to try to change you for all of those years,” Alex says. “Mom thought you could fit in on Earth as a normal girl, but Kal-El was right. You will always be a chattel girl. It’s in your nature.”

Is Alex apologizing for treating me like an Earth girl? Is she apologizing for giving me hope?

She always finds a new way to make me cry.

But there is more to what she says. It is ironic having a trans-woman tell me that I can never be a normal girl, and the irony only makes her statement stronger. So much about us is different, but we have that one thing in common: we are both strangers in our own bodies.

Alex stands up and walks to the door of my cell. She looks back at me before finally opening the door.

Then our mom Eliza walks in, and I can’t look at her.

“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to shrink away. “Please, don’t look at me!”

But Eliza sits down beside me, whispering, “Shhh, it’s us who should be sorry. We should never have tried to change either of you. We were arrogant that a girl like you could ever fit into normal society. We might as well have tried to turn a carnivore into a vegan. You are unable to rise above your depraved nature. It’s not your fault. You need to be reined in, handled, and have your appetites sated. Alex has agreed to take on that burden. You should feel grateful to her.”

“Okay,” I say.

She looks sad at my lack of enthusiasm, so she puts her arms around me and gives me a hug.

I want to resist, but I lean into her, instead.

“Everything will be better, now,” she promises. “Just do as Alex instructs, and all of your suffering and wicked thoughts will go away. You can live the life you were intended to live. Won’t that be nice?”




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