Adult-FanFiction.org : Comics

The Chattel Girl	By : tooshoes Category: DC Verse Television > SuperGirl Views: 6108 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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 List
- 15
- 16
- 17
Chapter image 1:  https://www.mediafire.com/view/x0lq6tqhy6mbwx2/BratNiedzwiedz_SG16.jpg/file
Cat’s office clears out. Everyone has a job to do.
She sends Winn off to create yet another costume for me. Cat decided that I should have an endless wardrobe of costumes, or at least it should seem that way. That will set me apart from other superheroes, who wear their costumes like uniforms.
But my costumes must be salacious, and they must identify me as Supergirl with the “C” symbol, or the red cape, or at minimum a blue & red color scheme. Branding is important. Otherwise, she’s leaving it entirely up to Winn, who has proven he has the right vision.
Winn eagerly takes on the role of my costume designer, but I feel like he could be better used for his many other skills. I hope he doesn’t resent his new role someday.
Cat sends Eve back to her desk to handle the barrage of calls between Catco and the city.
And me? I’m supposed to take a bath, relax, and wait for further orders.
I’m reluctant to laze around while people work hard on my behalf, but when I see the hot tub Cat has set up in her private bathroom in CatCo, I jump right in. Seriously, Cat built up the back of her office like a second home – and a fancy one at that. I won’t begrudge her indulgences, especially since she’s letting me partake in them!
Soaking in the hot tub feels like a dream, but it’s not private.
After I lay in the hot tub for five minutes, my one-track mind returns to the yard beside the school, and I touch myself. I imagine letting the boys finish what they had started. I don’t even know why I stopped it. Now, I can’t help but wet my lips thinking of Carter’s cock in my mouth. I can’t forget how I cried his name while he ate my pussy. I’m not proud of that, but my body is revving up again all the same.
And then Cat enters the bathroom!
Of course, I’m humiliated and humbled and my heart races faster. And of course, I don’t stop what I’m doing; my brakes are defective.
But I’m not fantasizing about the Carter, now; I’m watching his mother while I touch myself!
She doesn’t look away, and she doesn’t say a word. She looks me right in the eye while she takes off her clothes and climbs in the tub across from me. She touches herself with routine detachment while my lechery is on full display; my shame is her idle entertainment.
Her casual interest drives me crazy!
Cat had sexual power over me even before my sexuality awakened. Her confidence shatters mine. Her self-control makes me lose control. When she dressed me down, I would undress her in my mind. Many times she would walk by my desk, and I’d peek through her clothes as she passed. Rarely, she’d drop a compliment my way, but when she did, I would be wet for hours! I never confessed it, not even to myself, but now I don’t need to; my feelings are plain for anyone to see, including Cat.
Then I imagine Cat and Carter fucking me at the same time, and my body shakes with a mini orgasm.
i can’t take it!
Cat sits in the tub with me, confident, casual, and naked. Her breasts are real and perfect. Her abs are all muscle and perfect. The cute blonde tuft between her legs is perfect. She tickles that tuft with her fingertips. Her face shows no emotion, except one raised lip, betraying her amusement. It drives me crazy!
She’s perfect.
I imagine her on top of me, and I’m careening towards beautiful humiliation.
Then I don’t have to imagine.
Cat rises in the tub, then she descends on top of me. She straddles my left leg and brushes her blonde tuft against my thigh, while her fingers find my pussy.
I gasp in surprise! I thought about this moment many times, but I can’t believe it is happening now!
Cat sucks on my nipples, and then she pulls me down in the water until we are face to face. Our breasts press against each other’s, and our pussies grind frustratingly close, rubbing instead against our inner thighs. She looks in my eyes, probing, and I wilt under her stare. Then she holds my head with both hands and kisses me hard on the lips.
“Oh Cat!” I cry out when she allows me a single breath, and then I kiss her back, while tremors shake my body.
I try to touch her with my hands, but she forces my hands away aggressively. She needs total control and access to everything, so I give in. I put myself at her mercy. She pushes my body down into the tub until my head is barely above water. She stares me down, dominating me, while her expert fingers work on my erogenous zones underwater. I feel like I’m sinking, falling, then disappearing into her eyes until my eyelids close shut. She won’t let me touch her, so I touch myself. First, I touch my lips, then my belly, then my thighs and finally my tits, when she aggressively attacks my pussy. My mouth opens wide, repeating, “Oh! Oh!” when Cat pushes me over the top, and then again, and then again, and then slowly brings me down to earth.
At last, she climbs off me and waits patiently while I recover my senses.
I tingle all over, and I look at her. She never lost that air of confidence and power. She looks like a goddess to me.
She looks like Alex looked after she raped me for the first time.
I don’t say a word for a long time, trying to wrap my head around that shocking revelation.
Cat doesn’t break the silence. Instead, she rubs soap onto her arms as though taking a bath was her intention all along.
I lay still in the bubbling water, soaking everything in.
My embarrassment and humiliation continue after my sexual excitement fades.
It's amazing and terrible that something can feel so right at one moment, and then so wrong the next.
“I’m sorry I was so selfish and gross,” I apologize.
“Oh please! Give yourself some credit; banging you is not a chore! I could see that you needed another good fuck, and I hope this one clears your head for a while. I’m a big fan of getting that crap out of your system, even if you need to do it all over again in an hour,” Cat says without judgment. Then she smiles, “And if you are wondering what I get out of this: when I go home tonight, now I can tell Carter that I banged you, too.”
That surprises me so much I start laughing. And then when I see how serious she looks, my laughter won’t stop, and pretty soon, my face is red and tears spill from my eyes before I finally relax again.
Cat smiles. “You don’t have any emotional self-control, do you?”
Now, laughing is the last thing I want to do. My family made the same observation many times with contempt.
I can’t ignore her observation. It hurts even if she didn’t mean to hurt me.
I ask, “Why did you come in here? I thought you had a lot of work to do.”
“Yes, I’m swamped,” she agrees. “But nothing I do matters if you and I are not on the same side. I was losing you out there. You second-guessed me.”
I nod. “I just want to understand why.”
“Why what?”
“Why everything! Why aren’t people mad at me? Why did we torture that little girl who just loves her kitten? Why would you let Carter have his way with me? He is so young.”
“Boys are different from girls,” Cat explains dismissively. “It may be a double standard, but it’s an accurate one. In society’s eyes, he is lucky, not abused, and banging you will only earn him more respect. You might be the most powerful girl in the world, but I knew he had the edge in the power dynamic. Trust me, I know what I’m doing. The public is fine with you banging my son or all the boys in National City, for that matter.”
“But why?” I ask, desperate to understand. “I keep doing these things, and I can’t stop myself, but everyone puts up with me.”
"They aren’t ‘putting up with you,’ as you say. They are fascinated with you and the ruckus you inspire. You aren't the hero they expected. Frankly, you would make a terrible crime fighter, but you are amazing as a force of nature. That is something National City once believed in, and you make them believe again. I’m not a lesbian, but I can’t deny that you turned me on when I walked in here. My excuse? You are not just any other girl. You are a super-girl. You are super in your powers and super in your weaknesses, and all of that fascinates us. But that’s not enough for everyone. When confronting a force of nature, some people need to be told how to respond to it. You don't think this is an accident, do you? You don't think that you just showed up and everyone loves you for no reason? You owe a lot of that to me." Cat claims.
“I do?”
“You saved a plane and then you acted like a slut. You had a few big moments, and you created a lot of confusion. But I gave that confusion meaning. I created a new reality. I turned you into a superhero and a goddess! I turned you into a movement!” she continues brazenly.
“A movement?” I continue to be puzzled.
Cat sighs, disappointed in my lack of vision. “Let me tell you where you came from and where you are going:
“When you first graced my office with your presence a few months ago, I wasn’t impressed. You were an emotional mess and you would cower when confronted; you still do! You barely graduated from a special needs school. You were completely ignorant about urban life. You could barely read and couldn’t converse about the news or even popular entertainment. You weren’t even on Facebook, for Pete's sake, until Winn pushed you into it! You were lost, and I doubted you’d ever find yourself without a lot of help. You were physically weak and sexually repressed – as hard as that is to believe now!”
I feel smaller with every insult. I ask, “Why did you hire me, then?”
“Well, you had all of the qualities I look for in an assistant. You are a glutton for punishment, have a good heart, and a strong desire to improve yourself. You are a pretty face to sit in front of my office and greet people. You were intriguingly good at guessing what I wanted. And you had some intangible appeal. Everyone seemed to like you. I knew there was something special about you, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. So I gave you a chance.
“Then, day by day, that special something grew stronger and stronger. And then, finally, you saved that plane!
She continues, “I knew that girl on the wing of the plane was you when I first saw the pictures. I tried to deny it. I convinced myself that I was hallucinating. I recognized you as a force of nature even then, but I didn’t trust my instincts. I couldn't believe that such power could be in someone so meek. Then Winn handed those photos to me after you were kidnapped, and I kicked myself for being so willfully blind!”
I interrupt Cat. “But what happened after that? I was gone for a week, and when I came back, it was like the world changed.”
“The world DID change,” Cat agrees. “That much was inevitable. The government hates change, so it kidnapped you to prevent it, but the change had already begun. National City is desperate for a hero and desperate to be what it once was. The city had lost its identity. The federal government, Metropolis, and its favorite hero have been ganging up on National City for years, flexing their muscles. You sparked hope, and the powers in this world tried to snuff that out. But when the DEO took you away, our city fought back. Riots broke out!
“Superman and the President countered with disinformation, justifying your capture. They denounced chattel girls as a ‘deplorable blight upon Krypton and Earth,’ and warned that treating you like a hero risked unraveling the fabric of our society as well. But their message backfired because for years they have described National City and Gotham as being overrun by deplorables. Using the same word for you ties you and the cities together. The president doubled down on his offense when he contrasted you to Superman, who had single-handedly eliminated crime in Metropolis and in the process turned it into an intolerant, puritanical dystopia. Such comparisons only emboldened National City’s revolt. Finally, Superman decided to prove his dominance by crushing the demonstrations. The city folk fled to their homes in despair.
“But we didn’t despair here at CatCo! We countered the propaganda from Superman and the government with a more progressive view, emphasizing your brave rescue and portraying you as the antidote to the intolerant, oppressive forces that have systematically taken over the country for a generation, one city at a time.
“Then we rescued you, bonding you and CatCo together forever in this moment in history! We have started a movement, and you embody that movement. We are heroes for saving their hero, and every time you take off your clothes and we broadcast it, our city breaks free of their tyranny! Everything you do will be seen in that light. Breaking the rules only makes you more of a hero. Your heroism is not about saving that plane, anymore. It’s not even about your powers. Your heroism is about you being a chattel girl! Superman and the president don’t get that, so they foolishly make you stronger by insulting you.”
“Wow, that all happened in a week?” I say, amazed and excited, but afraid that this will all come crashing down around me. “But what if they are right, and I really am bad for society?”
“No, America needs a break from them -- from Superman, Metropolis and the rulers of this country. They want to eradicate sex from our lives, but they can't even control it in themselves. They are hypocrites. Everything they hate about you, we love. It's not a logical idea, but it's a powerful one, because it helps us take off our blinders.
"On Krypton, the society separated out the chattel girls and made them into scapegoats. They demonized them. They brought their philosophies to Earth. But here, every girl is part chattel girl, and so every girl is part scapegoat. We are all part slut, and we have a proud history of famous sluts, many of whom were powerful women in charge of their sexuality and femininity, and we honor them all, like the goddesses before them. First, there was Helen of Troy. Then Cleopatra. Lady Godiva. Marilyn Monroe. Bettie Page. Strippers and porn stars invade the world every day. Sluts are commonplace, inspiring fashion, and bringing passion to our bedrooms. They raise our daughters and educate our sons through magazines, cell phones and the internet. Krypton was foolish to demonize chattel girls! Repressing a child's sexual fantasies makes the child more misogynistic, not less. Slut-shaming, body shaming and victim-blaming depresses a girl’s self-worth. It is worse today than it ever was, and looking to Krypton’s fucked up society for answers is idiotic. So Krypton created a big problem for our world, but they also gave us the solution in you.
“Change doesn’t happen slowly. It takes a revolution, and CatCo has been calling for a revolution for years. As if answer to a prayer, you appeared, our very own hero, giving us hope and taking our city by storm. Yes, you, our meek, timid, slutty Supergirl, will lead the way!”
I sit quietly in awe as Cat delivers her pitch. I wish she told me this before. I have been losing my mind in shame and doubt and guilt, afraid that my addiction was poison to myself and the people around me. Such were the lessons I learned on Krypton and at the Danvers home. I never considered that my weaknesses might also be a power that can be used for good, and I’m almost afraid to embrace that possibility. It feels too good to be true.
“So … what should I do when …?” I ask, overwhelmed and unable to explain myself.
“When your hormones kick in and you don’t trust yourself?” Cat finishes my question knowingly. “Keep doing what you’ve been doing, and you’ll be fine. You have a good heart, and you are much more likely to hurt yourself than anyone else, so that’s what you should be careful of. If you break a law, don’t worry, we can fix that. We’ll be breaking lots of laws. If someone tweets shit about you, we’ll return fire tenfold. But when you need advice or a shoulder to cry on, come to me. We are in this together, Kara.”
“Okay,” I reply, comforted, but I don’t know if I’ll ever feel comfortable crying in front of Cat.
Then, suddenly, the bathroom door opens, and we both gasp in surprise when Winn walks in.
Then Winn gasps, too. He averts his eyes and apologizes. “I’m … I’m so sorry, Cat. I didn’t know you would be taking a bath with Kara.”
I giggle, amused that someone else was caught naked.
“Don’t you knock?” Cat snaps at Winn with a frown, but then she shrugs. “Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s a new world, we might as well get used to it. Your intrepid, young heroine has shown us the way, so look if you want to, I won’t sue.”
Winn is doubtful, but after that, to not look would seem rude, so Winn watches as she confidently rises out of the tub. He is rightly impressed by the athletic and trim body of this 45-year-old milf.
I climb out of the tub after her. She slips into a bathrobe while I dry off with a towel.
Nobody says anything for a few seconds, so Cat asks in a bored tone, “I assume you barged in here because you’ve finished your latest assignment.”
Winn nods.
Cat snaps her fingers. “Let’s see it.”
Winn hands me two shoes and spreads the new costume on the vanity, and Cat and I glance at each other in surprise.
The shoes are ordinary ruby-colored pumps covered in red rose petals. Alongside he lays a blue, satin napkin, a matching scarf, and a gold necklace with the chattel symbol – the same necklace that agent Eldridge gave me before drugging me at the DEO! I’m sure of it!
I put the shoes on the floor and my feet slide right in. Then I point at the napkin and scarf. “What do I do with those?”
“Show us,” Cat looks at Winn, commanding.
Winn nods. He takes the napkin and ties it around my hips like a tiny sarong. He shows off Boy Scout skills when making a quick-release knot on my left hip. The sarong hangs on my right hip like half of a miniskirt. Then he attaches the necklace around my neck, and the pendant hangs between my breasts. He puts the scarf in my hand and steps back and gestures, “voila!”
I look in the mirrors above the vanity and behind me. My upper body is completely bare, except for the necklace. The sarong doesn’t cover my pussy at all. It doesn’t even cover the crack of my ass. If anything, it frames my pussy, drawing eyes to it.
“And what do I do with this?” I ask, indicating the five-foot-long blue sheet of satin.
“It’s a scarf!” Winn replies as if I couldn’t tell. He takes the scarf and demonstrates on my body: “It can be anything you want it to be. You can wrap it around your neck. You can wrap it around your chest or your waist. You can cover your arms and shoulders, or you can make it a rope and wear it like a snake. Without it, you are naked. With it, you create fashion.”
I smile when I look in the mirror. Everything he does with the scarf looks amazing, but it looks more like a stripper’s prop than part of a costume.
Cat needs more convincing, too. “Explain it,” she insists.
“Well, I thought I pushed the limits with her other costumes, but in fact, they were all teases. The miniskirts fluttered, giving only glimpses. The fishnet and sheer materials hid just enough to be frustrating. You told me that you wanted a more honest costume – a revelation and a revolution,” Winn says, echoing Cat’s tempo. “So here it is – her body unfiltered. This costume is not a tease. This costume is in-your-face, and nobody will be calling for her to take anything off. But the scarf is my favorite part. The blue is the perfect complement to her body and hair. Kara can be playful with it, show her body off, or hide her body if she wants to. It puts her in charge of what people can see and what they can’t.”
Now that he has explained it, I love the scarf, and I strike a pose for Winn. I take the scarf and wrap it around my face, covering my lips and making it look like I’m wearing a veil, and I laugh at the ironic pretense of modesty. “Do you think this will make people beg to see my mouth?” I joke.
Winn laughs but he is staring at my nipples as if for the first time.
I laugh, too, and say, “Well, maybe not.”
Cat is not distracted by our nonsense. She steps around me with thoughtful eyes, imagining and calculating. Then her lips perk up into a smile, and she says, “This is perfect, Winn! It is exactly the message we want to send, and the city is ready for it. But I have one minor problem with it…”
***
Flying is exhilarating! Flying over a crowded city wearing almost nothing, and with the mayor’s permission, is an exhibitionist’s dream!
What a way to introduce myself to the pedestrians and commuters on the busy streets!
Cat made one change to my costume for this special flight around the city – she swapped out the 5-foot blue scarf for a ten-foot scarf with the words “CU @ Mooney’s @ 6PM” embroidered across the length. I hold the scarf in my right hand, arm outstretched, and the message flutters behind me while I fly.
The time and place is also being broadcast via television, social media and even cell phone notifications meant for emergency broadcasts. This is what public indecency gets you these days if you are a superhero.
But seeing something on a cell phone or TV screen does not personally connect me with my city.
I glide as low as I can above the people at twenty miles-per-hour. If I fly any lower, someone could jump up and grab me. If I fly faster, I’m afraid the wind will blow my sarong and shoes away.
I smile a genuinely happy smile and wave at the people below.
Most people wave back. Some jump up and down, trying to get my attention. Some are shy or don’t want to call attention to themselves, but I can tell they are silently supportive. I'm developing a sixth sense for knowing who likes me. Almost nobody ignores me. Some yell, some catcall, and some give me the finger. I can’t please everyone, and that used to bother me, but I’m okay with that, now. I’m growing a thicker skin.
The children are the best! They run on the street below like they are running in a race, and they want to catch me. I’m tempted to stop and meet them, but then I remember what happened after I rescued the kitten, and I don’t trust myself. I don’t know what is forbidden for me anymore, or even what is likely to turn me on. I also don't know what is forbidden for the children or if they are even capable of being turned on. I was a sex object at their ages, often touched and always controlled, but I don't wish my destiny on them. I exercise rare self-control. I wave at the children, blow them a kiss, and call out, “See you tonight!”
I love this feeling! I spent my whole life feeling like I couldn’t be anything special. Everyone treated me with contempt for as long as I can remember. I never felt appreciated or loved. Now, I feel like the whole city is behind me.
I know it is an illusion. None of these people know me, and I don’t know them. But one day we will know each other, and my relationship with the city is starting from a good place.
All of this attention is making me wet again, and I’m sure the people looking up at me can tell. After the incident near the school, a new nickname for me is trending: the Energizer Bunny. The meme going around is that I keep cumming and cumming. But they still wave up at me, anyway. Neither my naked body nor my naked feelings offend them. I’ve become an open book with open legs. I want to understand them as much as they understand me.
I want to understand why they see me as a hero. I want to understand why they are eager to break the rules with me.
Do they want me to lead them? I have never been a leader. I’m an a follower. I follow where Cat directs, or I become what Winn desires, or I follow my bottomless libido.
I don’t know what Cat has planned for the big event at 6 PM. I know it will be outrageous, but what is more outrageous than what I’ve already done?
At some point, National City will become tired of my insatiable sexuality. They will want a real hero, a leader, and that is a lot of responsibility! I am living a wet dream right now, but one day, the city will expect me to rise above my chattel girl origins. I cannot be a superheroine merely by making sexy headlines. I will need to save many planes and kittens in distress, and my attempts will not always be successful. I don’t think I’m ready for that. I’m not brave. I’m not strong where it counts. One day, the city will see that, and what will they think of me then?
Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll get over myself and become the hero and leader they need.
***
I get back to my home base (the balcony) later than I hoped.
Winn is waiting for me with a huge bowl full of cut fruits.
“You're my hero, Winn!” I cry joyfully as I grab a chunk of pineapple. “I didn’t even know I was hungry until right now!”
Winn smiles. “You haven’t eaten anything since this morning, Kara, which is very unlike you!”
“Mmmm, I’ve been busy. This is so good!” I mumble, and for a brief moment, I shiver and have an orgasm. Then I laugh. Even food can make me cum now. I don’t know if I’m in heaven or having a nightmare, because my body is out of control!
“Well, eat fast,” Winn says, bringing me back to the moment. “You are due at the park in twenty minutes!”
“I’m sorry I’m late, Winn,” I say, feeling bad for stressing him out. “I didn’t know how good it would feel to fly around the city and see everyone.”
He kisses me quickly on the lips, and then he takes the advertisement from my hand and puts the blue scarf in its place. He smiles, seeing his costume again the way he designed it.
“The weather forecast has changed, but our plan hasn’t,” he tells me. “Today’s baseball game will be postponed because of rain. Can you feel the weather changing? They expect downpours in about an hour. But we don't need more than an hour. Cat thinks you should go to the park early, maybe in ten minutes. I should leave right now, or I’ll miss everything.”
“Oh,” I say, wishing I had more time with him, and then I have an idea. “I know! I’ll carry you there!”
Winn laughs and steps back in horror. “Oh, no, no! I’m deathly afraid of heights.”
I laugh, too, and then I ask hopefully, “Okay. Will you come back here afterward?”
“If you want me to,” Winn replies, and it strikes me that he doesn’t think that I will want to see him.
Now I feel guilty. I’ve put him through so much, forcing him to be patient while I have sex with everyone in sight, and then taking our relationship for granted. No wonder he feels insecure!
I put my arms around him and kiss him tenderly. Then I whisper in his ear, “Of course I’ll want to see you tonight. I’m sorry I go crazy, like, all the time, and I’m such a horrible girlfriend, but you are the only person who loved me from the start, and you are the only person I’m truly in love with!”
He smiles, reassured, and I smile back.
Then he hurries to the elevator, while I devour the rest of his fruit.
Today has been just too much, and I know the day will only get crazier.
I eat slower, not wanting this moment to end.
I think back to where I was twenty-four hours ago. I think back to where I was two weeks ago.
I’m a different person living in a different world. Everything I thought about myself and the people around me and society itself has turned out to be wrong.
Flying over the city a moment ago was wonderful, but it was like a dream. It didn’t feel real. The people below seemed like computer-generated characters in a video game, playing their roles on auto-pilot.
In a few minutes, it will be completely different. They will get to know me, and I’ll get to know them. I don’t know if I have what it takes to deal with reality right now. I’m afraid that when they see the real me, they will realize that I’m not a hero or a force of nature. I’m just a pretty girl with fucked up hormones, a few special talents, and a little slow in the head.
I don’t believe in myself.
But Winn does. And Cat does. And everyone takes me seriously, for good or bad, including the government, my family, and the entire city.
Maybe Cat is right: I have the power to make this dream I’m living into something real. I am the centerpiece of a movement. I am the melody of a chorus. I am the voice of the voiceless. I am the embodiment of their desire.
Why is that so hard to believe?
I eat the last apple slice in the bowl, and now it is empty. I feel my tummy with my fingers, worried that I ate so much that I will feel a bulge. I feel that if my body shows any imperfection, the jig is up – reality will flip back to what it was before. But my belly is still perfectly flat. I was worried for nothing.
So I smile. I wash my hands and my face of the sticky remains, and I take to the sky again.
I’m ready to put myself at the mercy of the city.
***
Storm clouds block the sunlight, so the sky is much darker now than when I circled the city fifteen minutes ago. But the darkness helps me find my way because Mooney Park is now lit up with a powerful array of lights.
The time is five minutes to six, but every seat in the park is already taken, and excess attendance is swarming the field. Most of the baseball diamond is taken by a large stage on wheels usually rolled out for concerts. Security has roped off a section near the dugout on the first base side, but otherwise, the park is packed with people eager to see me.
I fly over the ballpark, getting everyone’s attention, and then I drop down under the lights. I make one pass, circling the seats and waving at the people below. Everyone waves back. Nobody flips me the bird this time; only friendly faces came to my coming-out party.
I land lightly near a flag pole at the edge of the stage, all alone and nearly naked.
I’m startled by a loud, deep voice over the loudspeakers, saying. “Arriving now, the hero we’ve been waiting for and the girl who will change everything: Supergirl!”
Between the flag pole and the introduction, I feel like I’m being introduced at the largest strip club in the world.
I had thought someone would be here to meet me, but I am all alone.
I feel tiny on the large stage, but the park’s video screen is large for a minor league ballpark, and a few smaller screens are set up in the outfield. Everyone can see me, but only a few can have the best view, so they pack themselves in around the stage.
I walk along the edge, smiling and waving, letting them get a good look at me while I get a good look at them.
Attendees dressed for the occasion, or in some cases, undressed.
Bourbon Street at Mardi Gras doesn’t hold a candle to this event. Women and girls are not just flashing their tits; anything goes. Indecent exposure is everywhere, but the police let it slide.
Some wear handmade costumes resembling the costumes they saw me wearing on television or on PussyCats. Many others grabbed whatever napkins and scarves they had around the house to resemble my latest costume. No special skills are necessary. Some forward-thinking girls use umbrellas instead of scarves. And a few others cosplay with outfits of their own designs, like they are coming out at a superheroine pride parade. No rules apply.
I notice, of course, that the men and boys are not celebrating the same way. This is not like a nude beach. I have brought out the exhibitionism of the girls and the voyeurism in the boys. I can’t pretend to know if that is a good or a bad thing.
Many of the beautiful women of National City take this occasion to show off their bodies.
But ordinary women show up in costume as well. I wave and smile at a mother and her pre-teen daughter, who are both similarly nude except for the napkin sarongs. The mother is fit, but she has stretch marks and sagging boobs. Her pre-pubescent daughter doesn’t have boobs at all, but she wears a beautiful, innocent smile, and not much else. She waves and smiles back at me like I’m a rock star, and I realize that she isn’t doing this for the thrills. She didn’t grow up with these feelings, as I had. She is embracing the movement, and I wonder what her mother lets her know about my sexual escapades. Is it possible that the girl doesn’t know? Or maybe my sexuality is what makes me a rock star to her. Maybe she wants to be like me when she grows up. Maybe she wants to be like me right now.
I hope that’s a good thing. I hope her mom is right to use me as a role model and highlight me in her daughter's sexual education.
Nobody came here uninformed, yet at least a third of the crowd are children and teens. Many aren't even capable of being aroused, and others are feeling that way for the first time.
I look at all of the children and I recognize several of the boys and girls from earlier today, including seven-year-old Wendy who is here with her dad and making their way to the front. She’s wearing the same blouse and shorts she wore under the tree, so I recognize her immediately.
Not far away, I find Carter separated from the crowd at the edge of the stage. CatCo’s news cameras are pointed at Carter and the other boy who nearly fucked me from both ends just six hours ago. I feel bad for not knowing the other boy’s name. I need to change that, later. Both boys are only wearing t-shirts and shoes and nothing else. Their cocks hang out, as plain as the noses on their faces.
I’m delighted to see boys joining the revolution!
I grab my scarf and wave it in the air and call out, “Good for you, Carter!”
Carter and the other boy look up and wave back. Both of their little cocks were flaccid a moment ago while they were being interviewed, but their cocks leap to attention at the sight of me.
"I've got something for you!" Carter yells, pointing at his cock.
"I can't wait!" I yell back.
Neither of us can hide our feelings. I like that boys share my gift and my curse – our naked bodies can’t hide our feelings. That’s why people wear clothes, but maybe that’s changing. We don’t feel the need to hide our hunger from ourselves or from each other, anymore. Why did I stop short earlier and fly away? We were so close! We have both wanted to do this for a long time, and I feel like a fool for ever resisting. I want to go over there and finish what we started in front of this enormous audience. Nobody would complain. I'll bet they'd even cheer us on! It’s that kind of day.
But Cat has something else planned, so I will exercise what little willpower I have and find out what that is.
And speak of the devil, there she is, approaching the stage with an escort of security guards.
I feel antsy. I’m hot. I’m bad. I can’t stay still. I play with the scarf like a dancer while Cat slowly approaches. The crowd cheers my amateurish antics.
Finally, Cat stands atop the stage and beacons me towards the microphone in the center.
I skip over like a child. This is the most fun I can remember having -- ever!
Cat takes the microphone and tests it. “Hello … hello … testing…”
Then she smiles at the crowd and says, “I am Cat Grant, and I know you all recognize our featured guest. You have seen her everywhere today, on television, and on every other kind of media, and then you hit rewind just to see her again …” Cat pauses while people laugh. “Now it’s time for you to meet her in person. I have known her as Kara Danvers for months, and I can promise you that she is just as genuine and sweet and naughty as she appears. But she is so much more than I had ever known. We call her Supergirl, but that does not only describe her powers; it also describes her weaknesses. She has been slut-shamed, body-shamed, and victim-blamed throughout her life. She was abused on Krypton, and then abused again on Earth. It’s little wonder that she suffers from self-esteem issues. Her heart and spirit were broken many times, but that never changes her, because she is special. She is a chattel girl. She endures the abuse time and again and comes back with a child-like innocence and openness. Maybe that’s why our children adore her and why she tugs at my heartstrings. She looks so small and thin and meek, we couldn’t recognize her as someone of significance. But she changed her life and ours ten days ago when she saved a plane from certain disaster. She has the heart of a true hero, the kind we all want to believe in, and the kind of passion we need to fuel our revolution. I can tell you that this past week was a very difficult time for her, but perhaps it’s better if she tells the story. She is an inspiration to me, and you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t feel the same, so without further ado, I’ll hand the microphone to Supergirl. Please give her a round of applause, because believe it or not, she can be quite shy around crowds.”
Chapter image 2:  https://www.mediafire.com/view/loyszwdbwzz2c3h/BratNiedzwiedz_SG17_modified.jpg/file
Then she hands me the microphone, and I’m caught flat-footed. She never told me what to say, and I never talked to a room full of people before, and now I’m talking to a stadium full! But the crowd is cheering, and they won’t stop cheering until I start talking. I don’t know what to say until I remember a meme that was going around social media all day, and I giggle. Finally, I find my voice, and I say into the microphone, “Hi, guys, I am the Energizer Bunny.”
The crowd erupts with laughter and more applause.
I hop around the stage like a bunny. My boobs bounce like they are on springs, and I crack up.
But as the crowd quiets down, I struggle to say anything else. I can make jokes about myself all day long, but they are here to meet a hero. I don’t feel like a hero. I feel like an imposter. I never wanted their admiration, but I desperately want their approval.
I can’t hide my feelings. I choke up. I can barely talk, but I finally say, “I am Supergirl, but you can call me Kara, and I love all of you.”
I sound too serious, and my eyes fill with tears.
Nobody responds for a moment. Maybe they are unsure about their feelings, too.
I feel very vulnerable.
Finally, a man yells out, “We love you, too!” drawing out an eruption of cheers.
I put my hand over my heart and cry and smile freely.
They cheer again for almost a minute. I take my scarf and hug it to my breast, imagining that I am hugging them, and they get the message.
Finally, their cheers stop, and I’m ready to speak for real.
“You have embraced me, a chattel girl, and you can’t know how much that means to me! I can’t say I’m proud to be a chattel girl, but I’m trying, and you are making it easier for me to be me. Cat Grant, over there, tells me that I make it easier for you to be you, too. So please be my heroes, and I’ll try to be yours. I wish I could be someone you could respect. I don’t want to disappoint you, but I’m afraid that I will, and I will have to beg your forgiveness,” I say, hating how I sound. I can see that my fans are uncomfortable, too, with my downbeat attitude, so I try to win them back. “But enough about me, what about you? What do you like?”
That was a dumb question; how does a crowd talk about itself? They came here for me, and I can’t change that.
Then I have a crazy idea, fraught with danger, but it will tell them more about me, and it will tell me more about them.
I say excitedly, “Oh, I know, let’s play truth or dare. Well, something like that game, anyway. I'll point at someone, and they get to choose whether I must tell the truth or do a dare. Then I'll point at someone else, and they get to ask me a question or give me a command ... Does that sound like fun?”
The crowd laughs their approval.
After all, I’m the only one paying out.
Maybe they'll ask me about myself and what I want in life. Maybe they'll ask me to perform some super-feats. That is not where my mind is at, but I'll go wherever they lead me.
I look around and find someone who reminds me of myself, the way I used to be not too long ago. She is pretty, and she dresses in a Supergirl costume with dark tights and rigid fabrics, afraid to show her body. I point at her. “You, the blonde Supergirl with the dark tights. What should I do, a truth or a dare?”
She looks around, sure that I must be pointing at someone else, but everyone is looking at her, and nobody else is wearing tights. So she blushes and does not dare to dare me. “Truth.”
I smile at her, and then I find Carter. I want for us to know each other in a different way. I point at him.
I’m surprised that he has a question ready. “Does all of your grool mean that you are super-horny?”
It’s the same question he asked rhetorically last night on PussyCats. I guess the question really is important to him.
It's a very personal question, but I opened the door to that. The subject of the question seems gross to me, but judging from the crowd reaction, he is not the only person excited by my bodily secretions.
And maybe that is because they all suspect, like Carter, that when I'm very wet, I'm very horny. And I usually am. But sometimes I'm just confused.
To prove that no question is out of bounds, I try to finally give him an answer. “You know when your dick is hard for no reason? That 'grool' means the same thing for me.”
I can’t tell if he likes my answer or not, but I move on to the next challenge.
I point at the woman who brought her hero-worshiping pre-teen daughter with her. I feel sure that she will want honest answers to honest questions. Instead, she quickly challenges me with, “Dare!”
“Oh!” I respond. I’m not shy about dares, but I’m afraid the game will end too quickly that way, so I look for someone who probably won’t escalate things too fast. I point at a business man who looks too proper for this setting.
He is surprised, and he thinks for a moment while people in the crowd loudly make suggestions. Finally, he yells out, “Take it all off!”
Half of the crowd laughs. Most people would say that I am already naked.
But the dare gets me excited, anyway, because I know where it leads.
I know what to do.
I find the flag pole at the edge of the stage and hang on it with one hand like a stripper. The crowd whistles and cheers. I wave the scarf in the air, and then I toss it into the crowd, where a sudden gust of wind sends it to the edge of the stadium. I smile when many hands grab for it. Then I pull on the knot on my left hip. The sarong falls off my hips, and the wind catches that, too, like a kite. I am more careful when kicking off my shoes, because the heels could take out an eye, but the crowd is ready and fights for the shoes like ducks chasing breadcrumbs.
I keep my necklace because it is special. It symbolizes my escape from my destiny. Nobody insists that I take that off.
I’m ready for my next challenge.
I close my eyes and spin myself around the pole, lifting one leg so everyone can see how wet I am. Then I point aimlessly into the crowd and open my eyes.
I hear the challenge before I can even see who I’ve chosen. “Truth,” says a deep voice, but I don’t know or care who said it.
“Okay, truth,” I repeat as if disappointed. I close my eyes, spin around and point again, except this time when I open my eyes I see who I’ve chosen. It’s James Olsen who had maneuvered near the stage with his camera for a good shot. He got an excellent shot of me pointing at him.
I hesitate, but refusing him would be too awkward. “What would you like to know, James?” I ask.
He is not happy to be in this position, but he does have a question. “What do you think of Superman?”
The crowd goes completely quiet, and I step away from the pole. I don’t want to answer that question, and I don’t think anyone will blame me if I refuse, but I also don’t want people to think that I’m afraid. Finally, I look down and reply, “It hurts when I think about him. He has always been a part of my life, but I don’t want him to be a part of my life, anymore.”
The crowd claps in response, but it sounds more like sympathy than enthusiasm for what I said.
I hate that.
I skip to the middle of the stage, pretending that James hadn’t just brought me down. I want the next challenge to be a dare, so I point at an excited boy in the front row.
And my instincts were right: “Dare!”
Now, who to pick?
I want to get my thoughts as far away from Superman as possible. Initially, I look for someone who will ask me for the most outrageous request possible. Something humiliating.
But then I see Wendy who has been standing there all along, jumping up and down for my attention. Just seeing her makes me smile again. She reminds me of myself at her age, not how I was but how I wish I had been. So I point at her.
She jumps gleefully.
I walk up to her and ask, “What do you dare me to do, Wendy?”
“I dare you to kiss me!” she replies immediately.
The crowd laughs at the dare, but I don’t. I remember when she kissed me earlier today. The kiss was innocent for her, but it was wildly inappropriate for me to involve a seven-year-old girl with my misbehavior. Revisiting that moment feels dangerous. I don't trust her, and I don't trust myself.
I look for Cat for some guidance on what to do, but she has long since left the stage.
“Well?” Wendy asks impatiently. “Can I kiss you?”
“Okay,” I say, and I force a smile. “Of course.”
The stage is too high for us to kiss each other from where we are, so her father lifts her onto the stage.
I lean down to touch my lips to hers.
But she shakes her head and says, “Not like that! I want to kiss you like I did under the tree.”
I hesitate, remembering how I was when she kissed me earlier. “We can’t kiss like that here, Wendy,” I whisper.
Wendy rolls her eyes. “Sure we can! You just need to lie down!”
Wendy is almost a foot shorter than me, but she is much more confident.
And that makes me wetter.
“Okay,” I give in. I sit down on the stage and lay back with my knees bent and feet flat on the ground.
Wendy knows what she wants and doesn’t wait for permission. She reaches down and spreads my legs. Now, I’m just like I was under the tree.
My pussy is dripping wet and blooming in front of the crowd and the cameras.
“There, that’s better”, Wendy says, finally happy. She kneels down beside me. She kisses me, holding my head with her hands. Despite my extremely compromised position, I try to make the kiss as innocent as possible, but Wendy dominates me.
Her lips are soft and delicious. She tastes like strawberries, and she kisses with such passion that I forget her age!
I touch her face with my left hand and my pussy with my right, rubbing my clit.
My nectar drips onto the stage, and a murmur rises from the crowd.
Have I gone too far?
Of course, I have!
Wendy sits up and shakes her head, disappointed. “It’s not the same.”
I frown, needing her approval. “I’m sorry, but a lot was going on under that tree.”
“Exactly! It is not the same!” she complains. Then she stands up, pulls up her sleeves and stands over me. “But I know what to do. Just stay still.”
“Okay,” I breathe. My legs instinctively open wider, anticipating what this young minx has in mind.
She kneels between my legs and plunges her whole hand into my pussy!
I gasp and try to sit up, but she pushes me back with surprising strength and climbs on top of me. I struggle for a moment, but she grabs my head, presses her lips to mine while rubbing my pussy with her thigh.
I gasp again. She knows what she is doing.
I give in. I am tamed. I kiss her back.
I know how this looks. A seven-year-old girl is fucking me in front of thousands of people. It’s so very wrong. It’s humiliating. It’s outrageous. It’s irresistible.
Nobody tries to stop it. Nobody boos. Cameras are rolling, and I’m at her mercy.
She’s not done.
She climbs down my body. She sucks on my nipples while rubbing my clit with her hand. I throw my head back and moan. She plunges her entire hand into my pussy again, and I rub my clit. I rock my hips and reach out with my legs.
This is so fucking wrong! But she’s calling the shots!
I’m going to cum, soon, mastered by a second grader!
I’m almost there!
Then she touches my asshole with her finger, and I shiver.
My asshole hasn’t fully healed since Alex ripped it open in the DEO, to demonstrate her power over me. The memory makes me anxious.
Suddenly, I feel very vulnerable, and my humiliation is too much. I don’t know why it matters, but I try to slam on the brakes.
“Not there, Wendy,” I moan and try to push her hand away.
But her hand won’t move, so I stop resisting. I can’t even confront a little girl! My asshole is very small and tight. I hope she gives up.
But she keeps trying, and now her finger does slip inside!
“Please don’t!” I beg, and tears fall from my eyes. All I can think of is being raped again, this time by a tiny girl!
I try to push her hand away, but somehow she overpowers me and pushes her finger all the way in. She pumps it in and out.
I panic! I yell, “No!” I flail my legs and finally catch her with my thigh, pushing her almost over the edge of the stage.
I sit up in a fetal position and cry.
“Sorry!” I say between whimpers to Wendy and to the crowd. How humiliating!
Wendy sits in front of me, looking confused, and then I see her father jump onto the stage and run right at me.
I barely have time to look up, and his huge hands surround my throat. He lifts me off the stage like I’m a rag doll and I can’t breathe.
“I’ll teach you some manners,” he spits. “Since when does a chattel girl refuse a Valeronian?”
“A what?” I try to say, but only a whisper comes out.
He can see the terror in my eyes. If they are Valeronians, then they are just as strong as Kryptonians, except that he is three times my size, and I’m still recovering my powers.
I strike at his hands and try to kick him, but my efforts are pathetic.
“Daddy! Don’t hurt her!” Wendy begs. “I got her wet for you! We can keep her, can’t we?”
I feel my vision slipping away, but I glimpse the crowd first. They look as shocked as I feel. How can they be anything but dismayed at the weakness of my character and my body?
They are booing.
I don’t know if they are booing me or the Valeronian.
I might never find out. I’m struggling just to stay conscious.
I don’t want to die like this!
A death fitting for a chattel girl.
I feel the stage shake through the hand at my throat, and I look up.
It’s Superman. He lands beside the giant Valeronian, and I feel the grip around my neck loosen enough for me to steal a breath.
“Remember our deal, Vartox,” Superman says. “I said destroy her, not kill her.”
“Relax, Kryptonian. She means nothing to you, but she's like gold to me,” Vartox replies, and then he glares at me so hard that I wish I HAD lost consciousness. “I’m just teaching her a lesson. You know the law; chattel girls are not allowed to speak back or refuse any request. She did both.”
Superman nods. “She hasn’t lived under the law for a long time, but it is written in her bones. It hurts her more to break the law than any punishment you can give her.”
Vartox lowers me to the ground in front of Superman. I’m so weak that I can barely stand, but I lean against Vartox and rest my head against his chest as if for protection. I would rather feel his hands around my throat than be in Superman’s presence.
Superman and Vartox glance at each other and laugh.
“Do it now,” Superman says. “Do it here. She must be destroyed in public.”
“Are you sure we haven’t already done enough?” Vartox replies. “She’s pathetic, defeated and disgraced. Nobody can call her a hero, now.”
Superman shakes his head. “You don’t understand how things work on Earth. When you have a subjugated people, they find strength in weakness. Her immorality is their freedom. Her tears strengthen their hearts. Destruction must be total, or they will raise her again from the ashes. There must be nothing left of her to admire.”
Vartox shakes his head. “I don't know who is crazier, you or them.”
Superman sneers. “I cannot be part of this. It would look bad back home,” he says, then he turns and walks to the other side of the stage.
“I understand,” Vartox says. Then he turns to his daughter and says, “Okay, honey, you can have her, but we need to break her, first.”
“Yippee!” Wendy says, jumping up and down playfully.
Vartox grabs my shoulders and holds me in front of him. “Look at me, so-called Supergirl.”
I rock my head back and look up. He is so tall, just to look in his eyes strains my neck.
“You have been a very bad girl,” he says. “Tell my daughter you are sorry for pushing her.”
I look at Wendy, and I cover my mouth, feeling as small as I felt two days ago when I was reduced to Alex’s play toy. Except now I’ll be the play toy of a child. Wendy stands in front of me impatiently but full of confidence as she waits for my apology. Vardox nudges me, and I blabber out tearfully, “I’m sorry, Wendy. I … I’m a horrible person.”
Wendy shrugs. “Oh, it’s okay, Supergirl. Just don’t ever do it again. I still think you are super cute, though.”
“Hold on to her,” Vartox says, and then he pushes me towards his daughter. I stumble backward and fall into her little arms.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Wendy says cheerfully as she hugs me from behind. She kisses my hair and squeezes my boobs. Then she grabs my arms forcefully and whispers in my ear. “I think daddy likes you.”
My heart almost stops. I know what it means when a Valeronian male likes a chattel girl. I feel an adrenaline rush. I try to fly away, but this tiny Valeronian girl is stronger than I am. So I stop fighting. If I could escape, where would I go? They would catch me. Besides, how can I run away from my fate? How can I fight my nature?
So I stay and cry, and Wendy keeps petting my face and kissing me, while her father lowers his pants.
I don't want to look.
But I can't resist.
His cock is as big as my forearm, and he's not even fully erect yet!
I scream in terror! I slip out of Wendy's grasp and somehow find the power of flight again.
But before I can get away, he grabs my ankles. His hands are so huge they swallow my feet whole within them. He throws me back onto the ground and pulls my legs apart like I'm a wishbone, and I feel sure that he can break me just as easily!
Now his cock is even bigger, and all I can do is look at it and weep.
“You are very small for a Kryptonian, even for a chattel girl,” the giant observes. “Let’s see if you are worth my time,” he warns.
He’s never going to fit inside of me! He’s going to rip me apart!
Chapter image 3:  https://www.mediafire.com/view/hh08ewfkbopjkm4/BratNiedzwiedz_SG18.jpg/file
I scurry back into Wendy's arms, crying and begging for her help.
But the giant grabs my hips from behind and lifts my ass in the air. His daughter holds me tight while Vartox rubs his cock against my pussy, making me wetter, and making him bigger.
Cravenly, I cry out to the crowd, begging, “Help me! Please! Anyone! I don’t want to die!”
“Shh. Shh,” Wendy consoles me lovingly while she holds me up, cradling my head against her flat chest. “Don’t be silly. We’re not going to kill you. But it will hurt, I think.”
I get a taste of the pain only a moment later, when Vartox presses the bulb of his penis against my pussy, and it’s as big as a baby’s head!
I cling to Wendy’s body and her affection. I scream into her chest, and she strokes my face.
While her father retreats from my pussy for a brief, precious moment, and then he forces the bulb in completely.
It hurts so much, I can’t even scream! My arms hang loose in the air shaking like I’m having a seizure!
“I think you are hurting her, Daddy,” Wendy says the obvious.
“Don’t worry, honey, she’s exaggerating!” Vartox accuses. “She is stubborn, but she’ll learn to like it. They always do.”
Like this? That's crazy! I can already see blood dripping from my pussy. “I can’t!” I mewl, and then repeat. “Please, I can’t!”
“Do you need me to touch you more?” Wendy asks, trying to be helpful.
She reaches under my body and rubs my tits, as if a little booby play would make any difference.
But the next time Vartox thrusts, I’m a little wetter, and he goes a little deeper, and the pain is more bearable.
I hold to Wendy desperately. She fondles my nipples, distracting me from the fear and pain.
Wendy says cheerfully. “See? All better now?”
It's a crazy thing to ask, but the more she touches me, the better I feel. I cling to her goodwill. She is my only hope now.
I don’t want to think about how often Vartox has raped chattel girls on Krypton, or why his daughter seems to know my feelings better than I do.
But I belong to them, now. I am Wendy’s pet and Vartox’s sex slave. It makes sense. It's the life I was born into. I was never meant to be a hero. I need to make peace with it.
He thrusts again, and I can’t breathe for a moment, because he hits my cervix, but then he thrusts again and somehow he goes even deeper.
Then he pulls all the way out to change his grip on my hips, and my pussy aches horribly. Now it hurts more when he pulls out than when he is inside of me. I finger my clit. I need to get wetter, but soon even my super-pussy will finally run dry.
When Vartox plunges back inside, I sigh in relief. With each thrust, a little “oh!” escapes my lips.
Then Vartox grabs my hair and he lifts me out of Wendy’s embrace. I’m hanging in mid-air, with his cock holding me up at one end, and my hair at the other.
My arms flail, trying to find Wendy again, but I find someone else instead.
I open my eyes to find that Superman has taken Wendy’s place. His pants are down around his knees, and his cock is aiming straight at my mouth.
I try to swat him away, but he grabs my head and presses his cock against my lips.
Vartox never stops fucking my pussy, and now my former baby cousin wants to fuck my face.
Wendy appears beside Superman, and she says, “It’s not so bad, is it? This is exciting! I can’t wait until I’m old enough to do this! Just open your mouth!”
I look at her encouraging, eager eyes, and I do as she demands.
Superman’s cock slides between my lips, and Wendy claps in glee.
Vartox lifts my ass higher while he pumps harder, going as deep as he can go, and it still hurts like hell, but I want the pain, now. It’s the only thing that stops the shame.
Superman lowers the front of my body, so my neck must bend to accept him. Now, when he thrusts, his cock reaches all the way into my throat, like I’m swallowing swords. I hold onto his leg for support.
This can’t go on! I need to cum! I need for them to cum! I can’t breathe with Superman thrusting in my throat, and my pussy can’t survive much longer without lubrication, and I can’t survive this humiliation without the sweet release of momentary nirvana.
Chapter image 4:  https://www.mediafire.com/view/1j4oznrqusnl1a0/BratNiedzwiedz_SG19_modified.jpg/file
Vartox cums first. His gigantic cock and gigantic balls release a gigantic load inside of me.
Vartox drops my hips, and my knees crash on the ground, pulling me away from Superman long enough to steal a breath, but then Superman grabs my hair and thrusts his cock back into my mouth.
I crawl towards Superman to kneel in a more comfortable position, but he only needs a few more thrusts, and then he explodes into my throat, shooting his load straight to my stomach, and an after-shock squirts more cum into my mouth and onto my face.
Finally, he lets me go, and I fall to the ground. I'm a cream pie at both ends. I gasp and cough before I can finally breathe again. Then I curl up on the ground in a fetal position. They didn’t finish me off, so I touch myself, needing that sweet release again, but it’s too late. I can’t cum now. I have to look at the world with my eyes wide open.
I see a flash of light. I hear a crack of thunder. I feel drops of rain and gusty wind.
I see the crowd. It is smaller now, but those that remain are entranced. Some look confused. Some look depressed. Some look excited, as though this event went exactly as they hoped.
Superman pulls up his pants and invites the media onto the stage to get close-ups of me, broken on the ground.
James Olsen, Superman’s pal, gets the first shot. He stands over me with his giant Canon camera, waiting for me to cry so he can capture my tears.
I don’t have any tears left, and even my pussy has run dry. Instead, I’m covered from top to bottom in cum. I can't catch my breath.
Do you still want to know what I think of Superman, James?
Superman finds the microphone and announces to the crowd, “National City, witness your hero! You are all fools to put this imposter onto a pedestal! She is weak, cowardly, immoral and stupid! But she gives a great blowjob, I have to give her that! Come up here and meet your hero! Or fuck her! She doesn’t care which!”
I just lay there. His insults role off me, because he only repeats what I already think of myself.
It can’t get any worse than this.
And then it does.
Small explosions strike all at once around the stage, spraying green gas everywhere, making me choke. Then darts fall from the sky. One of the darts pierces my thigh. Then something much bigger hits me in the back, and I tumble over the edge of the stage and land with a tremendous thud. The concussion hurts so bad, I pass in and out of consciousness, but I’m awake long enough to see what happens next.
DEO agents swarm the stage. Alex grabs me and drags my limp, naked body away from the stage and towards the dugout, far from the Kryptonite gas.
She checks my bruises and bones for serious damage, and then she stands up. “This serves you right, but you’ll be fine. We’ve taken care of Superman. The Valeronians aren’t affected by Kryptonite, but we’ll have them under control soon, too,” she says reassuringly before poking me with something. “Don’t move! I’ll be right back. You are more trouble than you are worth, Kara, but remember – you are mine!”
I cry yet again. This never ends.
But as soon as Alex leaves my side to join the fight, someone else is standing over me. I can’t see him. My vision fails me.
He rolls me into his arms and stealthily steals me away.
“I’m sorry,” I tell my captor again and again while squeezing my arms tightly to my chest defensively.
Then I feel the necklace still hanging between my breasts. The delicate thing somehow survived it all. I grab the pendant in my hand and cling to it.
Then my consciousness slips away and I sleep.
- 15
- 16
- 17
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Chattel Girl