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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Chapter image: https://www.mediafire.com/view/pg4kavv0li74mvu/BratNiedzwiedz_SG09_sketch.gif/file
Insanely, we go back to our desks and try to continue working.
I’m looking blankly at the screen when Cat asks about her lettuce wrap that I never ordered.
Winn completely ignores his backlog of IT requests.
None of that seems to matter. Everyone is distracted by Cat’s urgent email entitled: “Operation Super-Girl,” wherein she tasks all reporters and personnel to drop whatever they are working on and turn their focus on the girl who saved the plane.
Winn and I steal glances at each other from five feet away. We exchange coded messages about my alter-ego while we pretend to work. We are frustrated by the charade.
Then Winn cancels the game. He moves his chair beside mine and whispers in my ear, “I have a costume I want you to try on.”
“What?” I say aloud, too startled to keep my voice down. Then I whisper back, thinking he is teasing, “I thought you only made clothes for your dolls.”
Winn shrugs. “Technically true … but regardless, I have a costume I’d love to see you in … at my home. I made it for you last night; I just didn't know it at the time,” Winn whispers eagerly, and it’s clear he wants to go there with me right now.
I look around and see that nobody is looking at us.
Even so, I feel cowardly. “We’ll get in trouble.”
“Not if we bring back pictures of the super-girl,” Winn assures with a grin.
“Oh,” I almost gasp. It’s an outrageous suggestion. But it’s also perfect.
Winn patiently waits for me to digest the implications.
Finally, I ask, “What does the costume look like?”
He takes that as a “yes,” and he grabs my hand, saying, “Come and see!”
***
Winn drives a ’99 black VW beetle, still in excellent shape. It looks cute but familiar on the outside. Inside, I can see Winn’s character everywhere. I see it in the nerdy toys, anime stickers and a fake white orchid beside the steering wheel. It’s an odd mix of feminity and Winn’s special brand of masculinity, and it makes me smile.
Winn only lives about five miles from CatCo, but mid-day traffic in National City is bumper-to-bumper traffic the whole way—a problem I rarely have to deal with since I don’t have a car.
I want to enjoy this moment and have some fun trying on costumes, but since we trapped in the car, Winn uses the time to get to know me better. I wish he wouldn’t, but I can hardly blame him. He had been sitting beside me for months, thinking I was just a shy girl from the suburbs, but his assumptions have been exploding one by one.
He thinks he knows about Krypton because Superman’s story was reported many times, but nobody alive knows Krypton like I do.
When I tell him I grew up on Krypton, he gets overly excited. He wants to know about its technology and culture. He had read books on the subject, including one written by my foster father, who wrote that Kryptonian society had done away with nepotism and favoritism, replacing it with recognition based on merit.
I don’t want to talk about Krypton because it’s a sore subject and I don’t like to speak ill of the dead. But Winn is a sympathetic listener. I’ve trusted him so far, and I want to keep trusting him. He needs to know the truth.
“Krypton was not the paradise you’ve read about,” I reveal. “Kal-El and my foster dad only knew the press releases, as Cat would call them, but living there was very different.”
Then I explain to Winn how genes on Krypton determine everything about a person, including privileges, expectations, and rights. Chattel girls were a failed genetic experiment millennia ago. We were barely considered people, so we had no rights. Things were done to us that Americans can barely imagine.
Winn can imagine, it seems, and he pulls the car over for a moment to give my life story full attention: “So … someone touched you?”
“Touched me?” I repeat, confused for a second by his euphemism. His worry seems so small, but I see the concern in his eyes, and I want to reassure him. “You mean sex? No, I was too young.”
That is almost a lie.
“Oh,” he says with a sigh. “That’s good.”
“But I just barely avoided that fate, because I was starting puberty when Krypton blew up.”
“What fate?” Winn asks.
“A long time ago, Krypton found a use for worthless chattel girls like me. Lawless, impoverished worlds were jealous of Krypton’s wealth, and they invaded and plundered and raped at random. Krypton’s armies couldn’t be everywhere all the time to stop them, so they made a bargain. These invaders didn't think of the chattel the same way as Kryptonians, so virgin chattel girls like me would volunteer to become slaves to passing invaders for a day. They would have their way with us, and then the invaders would usually leave in peace. If we were really lucky, a Valeronian or Daxamite would take us to their home as concubines.”
“You would … volunteer?” Winn asked with just the hint of disgust in his voice.
“It would have been my duty,” I reply, ashamed for something I never actually did. “It was what I was born to be. They said it was the only job I would be suitable for, with my defective genes, and I never questioned it. That was how I would earn my right to live. They told us that giving in to it would make us better chattel, more pliant, more trustworthy. The only thing we were taught in schools was how to charm the invaders and enjoy their attention. If the invaders liked a chattel girl, they would come back for more.”
I look off in the distance, beyond the river of cars. I feel numb. I never wanted to think about such disgraceful things again, but Winn deserved to know.
“I’m so sorry, Kara!” Winn said. “I can’t even imagine what that was like. But why you? Couldn’t any girl volunteer?”
“I told you!” I spit out impatiently, disappointed that he didn’t listen carefully. “It was my genes. Everyone’s life was mapped out by their genes. The second I was born, they knew exactly who I’d be. I was too stupid for schooling. I was too weak for hard work. I was too clumsy for careful work. I was too shy for social work. I was too indecisive to make decisions. But Rao gave me looks and animal drives, so I became a chattel girl. I’m worthless for anything else.”
"You aren't stupid or any of those things," Winn insists angrily. “I think you are a better person than all of those elitists on Krypton."
“Really?” I ask, shaking my head doubtfully. “I’m selfish, and I don’t even trust myself.”
“You struggle,” Winn counters. “Krypton had a lot to learn about heroes. There are no virtues without struggles.”
I think about that for a moment. “Really?”
“I read it somewhere,” Winn says, “but I think it’s true.”
I smile and look down at my lap. I do struggle. Does that mean there is virtue in me?
Winn takes my hand in both of his and looks me in the eyes. “You are very special, Kara. Maybe you weren’t born special, but you are special now. You are special to me.”
“Thank you,” I say awkwardly, afraid to believe him. His intensity is both scary and attractive, so I lean into him and give him a quick kiss. I aim for his cheek, but somehow our lips connect, instead.
Winn doesn’t know how to interpret that kiss. Neither do I. After a moment, Winn simply says, “You’re welcome.”
I smile. “I wish I told you everything a long time ago, because I feel like you are the only person I can trust. I need to break free from my family. I need to change everything. What should I do?” I ask, afraid to make my own decisions.
“Well, to become someone else, you should look like someone else,” Winn suggests. “So let’s check out that costume I told you about.”
I nod and smile.
Winn finally pulls back into traffic, and he takes me to his home.

***

I spent so much time telling Winn about myself that I forgot I know nothing about this man’s life away from the office.
His home is messy, but not in the way I had expected. There is nothing unsanitary, and the only trash in sight is in a trash can.
Instead, his apartment is cluttered with an enormous number of toys, especially action figures, piled on every surface of the dining room, so clearly he never eats there.
In the living room, a small TV and chair are squeezed in near the door, but the rest of the room is like a workshop with parts of toys, fabrics, threads, yarns and artist tools scattered on a table. Under the table is a sewing machine that slides out.
He must spend half of his income on toys and hobbies.
Next, Winn leads me into his bedroom. The small twin bed is neatly made, so I doubt he sleeps there. Beside the bed are two giant dolls, each wearing a superheroine costume. When I first see the dolls, I think they are mannequins, but their expressions are inappropriate for a fashion purpose, and their nipples pop through their costumes.
“Oh,” I whisper in surprise when I realize they are sex dolls.
One doll is taller and bustier than me and wears a full-body Catwoman costume.
The other doll is almost my size; it has a permanently shy expression, blonde hair and blue anime eyes.
I know right away that Winn was thinking of me when he bought this doll, and this must be the costume he was talking about.
It wears a form-fitting blue shirt with long sleeves. The material is sheer, and the now famous chattel symbol rests in the doll's ample cleavage, while her breasts and nipples nearly glow through the fabric around it. A yellow belt holds up a red microskirt which barely covers the doll's ass, and the red cape is too short to cover anything.
Winn catches my interest in the costume, so he hits me like a salesman, saying, “Yeah, I made that last night after the news story, imagining what a sexy, female Superman might wear.”
“Oh,” I say, not sure how to react. Is this the costume he wants me to rescue people in? It's not even appropriate for an adults-only Halloween party. Without panties, it would be outright obscene. The very thought tickles me.
Winn looks down, now embarrassed. “Sorry, I know it’s not … I don’t mean to …”
He's embarrassed, and I feel bad for him. He keeps taking chances with me, trying to involve me in his fantasies, but then I make him feel bad about it. The same thing happened when he gave me that hentai manga on my birthday – the gift Alex had called “sexual harassment." I never told him how much I liked those books. And then it happened again today when I hid the action figure he gave me.
But I only hid it because I thought I should, not because I wanted to. I won't hide my enthusiasm anymore. I want to be a part of his fantasies, even if I shouldn't.
Alex was already suspicious of Winn's fascination with dolls. Alex would be outraged if she knew about this life-sized sex doll. She would call him a pervert.
I don't care what Alex thinks. I don't care if she thinks I'm a pervert, too.
I care about Winn.
I imagine how Winn feels about this doll, and I feel jealous. I hate that the doll is wearing a costume meant for me.
I touch the skin on the fake girl. Its skin feels like real flesh.
I am quiet for too long, so Winn nervously asks, “Do you want to leave?”
“No,” I reassure him. “I want to try this on,”
“Oh! Okay!” he says, suddenly enthusiastic again. He steps behind the doll and carefully removes the cape. “Could you hold her while I take her shirt off?” Winn asks, calling the doll “her” rather than “it”.
I hold the doll by the waist while Winn raises her arms, and then he lifts the stretchy shirt over the doll’s head, careful to not disturb the dolls meticulously combed hair. After placing the shirt and cape on the bed, he kneels in front of the doll, grabs the elastic belt and pulls the skirt down to the floor. I lift the doll slightly so he can slide the costume out from under.
Now the doll is naked, and I am amazed by the detail put into this erotic creation. Its nipples are a convincing shade of pink, and it has very human-looking hairs framing her silicone vagina like a veil. It even has freckles on its neck and face. She looks less like me than I had thought.
Is this doll Winn’s dream girl? I wonder. Or am I?
Winn holds the costume out for me to take and says awkwardly, taking nothing for granted, “Here … I’ll wait in the living room.”
I hate how much of a gentleman he’s being.
I smile naughtily and shake my head. “Please put the costume on me, like you would put it on her?”
Winn swallows. “Really?”
I nod. “But first you have to take my clothes off.”
We both laugh nervously, but he knows I’m not kidding.
Winn puts the costume back on the bed and stands in front of me. He looks down in my eyes, and I look up in his. Then he looks further down into my plunging blouse, and he sees that I’m not wearing a bra.
I look down, too, and see his cock pressing against his pants.
He takes control of me. I watch while he unbuttons my blouse. He pushes my hands behind my hips and slides the blouse easily over my arms, and it falls to the floor.
I do not move. I mimic the doll’s perfect compliance.
As if to test my flexibility, he lifts both of my arms as high as they will go, elbows straight and hands praying, and my breasts naturally lift as well. My nipples look up at him.
My body is still, but inside my heart races.
Winn moves his hands to my sides, but he keeps checking for a stop sign.
I bite my lip and smile wickedly. He'll get no stop sign from me.
Then he touches my waist with his open hands, gently feeling up the sides of my chest and pausing at my armpits and where he tickles me lightly with his thumbs.
I squirm and giggle, unable to maintain a doll’s composure.
“Your skin is as smooth as my doll’s skin,” he marvels.
Is that a compliment? I wonder.
“Kryptonians don’t have body hair,” I explain.
“Wow!” he gasps in delight.
I laugh.
His hands wander to my breasts. He gives them a gentle squeeze and strokes my nipples with his thumbs.
I hold my breath, wondering what he will do next. Will he suck on them? Will I taste like his dolls, too?
Then he surprises me by climbing down to his knees and reaching for my skirt.
Going straight for my pussy, I think. I’m slightly disappointed, but on the other hand, I don’t know if I can stand a lot of teasing.
He quickly lowers my skirt down to the floor, maybe saving the suspense for my panties, but of course, I’m not wearing panties.
“Wow!” he says again as he looks up at my pussy from less than a foot away.
I move my feet further apart, wanting to improve his view.
I want him to see how wet I am. I know that’s what he likes. I am like one of the girls in his hentai, and seeing his reaction makes me even wetter.
I flash a proud glance at the dolls, wishing they could feel jealous.
Winn raises his open hand between my legs, brushing against my thighs. He lifts his fingers all the way up and tantalizingly touches my pussy lips.
I want to fall on top of him.
But then he pulls his hand away, and I can see what he has done. My nectar, as the hentai call it, had begun to drip from my pussy like syrup, hanging in the air, and Winn collected it with his hand.
"You are the one!" he whispers under his breath in awe.
"What?" I ask, laughing. Why would he say that?
Then he looks up at me like I’m a goddess, and I can’t wait to find out how he’ll worship me.
But he shocks and disappoints me.
He rubs my nectar in his hand like a lotion and reaches for the Supergirl costume.
Then I realize he wants to see me in the costume more than he wants to fuck me. Like I'm too special to fuck.
I’m frustrated beyond reason, but I don’t complain, because I love how he’s looking at me. Maybe cosplay is a kind of foreplay for him, and he’ll fuck me even harder when he puts the costume on me.
It’s hard to keep up with all of Winn’s kinks.
I remain a living doll, arms raised, and wait for him to dress me. He lifts the Supergirl shirt over my hands and slides my arms into the correct holes. Then he slowly drags the shirt down. It’s taking way too long, because the shirt is tight and delicate, hardly appropriate for a superheroine. He slowly descends my body, unrolling the costume over my skin as he goes, but he pauses halfway and unexpectedly captures my nipple in his mouth and sucks.
His sudden indulgence breaks my doll act, and I lean into him. I cradle his head like a baby.
But he’s not done teasing me, and I become his doll again. He finishes pulling the shirt down to my hips, and he makes sure it’s on straight.
Winn ties the cape around my neck and steals a quick but passionate kiss that makes my knees quake. Then he pulls away.
It’s so not fair! It’s like he’s daring me to break character.
But I don’t. I won't. Not without his permission.
He places the Supergirl skirt on the floor in front of me, and he makes me step into it. Then he stretches the elastic belt and lifts it over my calves and thighs and ass, touching as much skin as possible before it slides into place precariously on my hips.
Then he looks me over for about ten seconds, which is way too long, and I finally lose patience and give up the doll act. “Well? What do you think?” I ask, and playfully make a few superheroine poses.
I thought this would turn him on, but he quickly runs in the other room and stays there for too long while the kindling burns away.
Finally, I walk into the other room after him, demanding, “Hello?”
Then he appears again with a big smile on his face holding the finishing touch: two knee-high red boots.
I laugh as he tries to put the boots on me while I stand, but it's hopeless, so I sit down but make him do all the work.
Then he guides me into the bathroom to the mirror, introducing me to myself as his living doll.
I swallow.
He stands behind me, straightening my hair, as we admire his new doll together.
The costume crosses every line, just as Winn intended. My nipples announce themselves like headlights through the sheer fabric. Likewise, my skirt is like a curtain left half-open, and only shadows keep my pussy from examination. In the back, the skirt barely covers half of my ass, and the slightest of breezes could blow the skirt aside and reveal it all.
It goes too far. Way too far.
I hate it!
I love it!
Winn kisses the back of my head.
I smile and lean back into him to rub my ass against his crotch.
“Okay,” I rock my ass up and down impatiently. “Can we finally get down to business?”
“Let me get my camera,” he says, taking my suggestion differently than I intended, and I want to cry in frustration. But a sexy photoshoot sounds like a thrilling escalation.
He quickly finds an expensive camera with a big lens.
I smile. I’m ready to wet his appetite with a few poses.
But then he walks to the front door and says, “Let’s go outside.”
“What?” I ask, hesitant.
“Pictures for the Tribune,” he says. “Remember?”
I can barely believe my ears. That plan seems so far in the past, now, and this costume is not what I had in mind for that project. But I bite my lip and say, “Okay.”
This is so, so, so stupid.
We exit the house and step onto the porch facing a city street. I feel like we stepped out onto a stage.
It is the mid-afternoon of a hot, breezy summer day. School is out, and kids of all ages are playing on the sidewalks, and parents are watching them through their windows. A few other girls are showing off more skin than I am. The difference is that I’m showing off the skin that they are trying to hide.
I lean into Winn, afraid of myself, and I whisper, “They are all looking.”
“Of course they are!” he says. “CatCo has the city abuzz about Supergirl, so everyone’s on the lookout.”
“But I could be anyone in a costume,” I say.
Winn nudges me forward and points up in the air. “So ... show them.”
I suddenly feel completely exposed, humiliated, which is what I will be if I fly in this costume. Is this what turns him on?
Because it turns me on.
I bite my lip and say, “Okay.”
I take a deep breath, and then I leap off the porch.
But I only fly for about three feet before falling on my hands and my knees.
Winn hurries down the steps after me. “Are you alright?”
I don’t look at him or at any of the other eyes that I’m sure are watching. It can't end like this. I get up and try again.
I jump and hover a few feet off the ground, struggling to keep my balance. I’m angry at myself for suddenly being weak, but then I feel an adrenalin rush, and I find my wings again.
I rise higher into the air, and now everyone watches me in amazement.
The wind tosses my cape in every direction, and I know my ass is showing, but I’m doing it!
Nothing is right about this. This is a terrible idea. Knowing that just makes me more excited.
Winn points his camera at me and begins snapping away. I smile down at him.
I fly up higher and higher. I can even see CatCo from here.
I can see everything, and everyone can see me, though I must look like a bird from the ground.
And then something catches my eye and I look closer.
Looking beyond the river, I see several men fighting in one of the poorer neighborhoods of National City, and they are being cheered on by a dozen others.
“Oh my god!” I gasp, and I hurry back down to Winn, ignoring the hazards of flying bare-bottomed with a skirt.
I hover in the air ten feet above Winn and report to him, “Some people are fighting near the train station.”
Winn smiles and waves, “Then it looks like a job for Supergirl.”
I swallow nervously. I'm not feeling like a superheroine should feel.
But several young boys run up under me, looking up my skirt. They look happy and innocent. Maybe they've never seen a pussy before. Or maybe they've never seen a super-hero before up close. I don't want to disappoint them either way.
"It's her! It's her!" they yell excitedly.
I smile and wave at them, and then I shoot back up in the sky, eager for my first mission in a Supergirl costume.
The site of my mission is less than a mile away, so I don’t have time to consider how crazy this is. I don’t even examine the situation before I drop from the sky and land between the audience and the combatants.
Everyone stops what they are doing. All eyes are on me.
It is immediately clear to me that I misjudged the situation. The men were roughhousing, not fighting.
This is not what I expected.
I didn't expect a lot of things.
I didn't expect my cape to float behind me like a kite in the wind.
I didn't expect my microskirt to ride up my hips to my waist, removing even the modicum of decency it offered.
I didn't expect all of these men to swarm around me like excited dogs welcoming a new bitch into the dog park.
I didn't expect to feel the way I feel, which is anything but heroic.
I’m a slutty little white girl surrounded by twenty black men. They are all built like football players, have tattoos, and a few are even younger than me.
I don’t know what to do next.
They don’t seem impressed that I flew out of the sky.
They sniff at the air, and I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“Hey, what’s going on little lady?” asks one man who now stands less than a foot in front of me. He towers over me. I need to look almost straight up to meet his lecherous gaze, and I stumble backward.
Yesterday I was carrying a plane on my back, but I feel tiny, helpless and weak among these men.
I also feel racist, which adds to my humiliation and shame.
But more than anything else, my pussy is wet and aching.
“I –“ I begin, then swallow. “I saw people fighting.”
One of the combatants walks up behind me and strokes my hair, saying, “So you came to save us?”
I turn to face him. “I made a mistake. I thought someone needed my help.”
Other hands reach out to touch me, and I hear a voice say, “I need your help.”
“You do?” I ask doubtfully while hands grab my arms and grope me from behind.
I spin to face the molester with a stern glare, and he says, “Yeah, I need a piece of this tiny white ass!”
I stick my tongue out at him, which is a really stupid, girly thing to do.
He spins me back around roughly and wraps one arm around my chest and squeezes my breast. His other hand reaches between my legs and buries his fingers in my pussy.
I gasp so loudly everyone can hear, and I fall back into him as my pussy gushes nectar all over his hand.
“Damn! I think this snow bunny needs our help.”
Hands grab at me from everywhere. I struggle against them, but I can’t shake free. I'm powerless. I don’t have any will left. I’m fucked up in my body, my mind and my heart.
I succumb.
Second chapter image: https://www.mediafire.com/view/edawnkfub6okvqz/BratNiedzwiedz_SG09.jpg/file
They hold me in the air and pull my legs apart like a wishbone. Someone grabs my head by the hair and thrusts his dick in my face.
I close my eyes and open my mouth. I accept the gift.
But before I can have a taste, I feel a sharp pain in my breast and I cry out. I open my eyes and I see a dart embedded deep in my breast. I didn’t think darts could hurt me.
Then my captors drop me suddenly, and I fall. My head hits the ground hard, and all I can see for a moment are shadows and stars.
Then another dart punctures my thigh, but I barely even feel this one, and a moment later, I feel nothing. Everything fades to black.
- 8
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The Chattel Girl