Chapter 6: Rick's Return
The cell was a tomb of quiet humiliation. Kara lay on the thin pallet, the rough wool blanket pulled up to her chin but doing nothing to chase the deep, internal chill.Every muscle ached with a specific, shameful memory. The raw burn in her ass was a constant reminder of the Mistress’s final, claiming act. Her pussy felt swollen and tender, a hollowed-out ache that pulsed softly with her heartbeat. She stared at the vaulted ceiling of her small, stone room, seeing not the shadows but the leer on Rick Flag’s face, the cold approval in Stella’s eyes.She was theirs.The thought no longer sparked rebellion. It just was.A fact as undeniable as gravity.
Somewhere in the silent palace, a heavy door closed with a solid thud.Kara didn’t stir.Time had lost meaning. It was measured now in periods of aching emptiness punctuated by visits, by use. Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside, steady and purposeful.They passed her cell, faded, then returned.Slower. They stopped outside her door.A key slid into the lock. The mechanism turned with a well-oiled click.Kara turned her head on the thin pillow. The door swung inward, and the frame was filled not with the elegant silhouette of the Mistress, but with the broader, more solid one of Rick Flag.He wore tactical pants and a dark t-shirt, his jaw tight, his eyes shadowed. He looked at her, and his expression was a war zone—duty, disgust, and a hungry fascination all fighting for dominance.“Still here,” he said, his voice low. It wasn’t a question.Kara said nothing.She just watched him, a strange detachment settling over her. He was another element of her new reality, like the stone walls or the chain scars on her wrists.Flag pushed the door shut behind him but didn’t lock it. The act felt more intimate than if he had. He took a few steps into the cell, his boots silent on the stone. He looked around the sparse room, his gaze finally landing back on her, bundled on the pallet.“She give you this?” he asked, nodding at the blanket.
Kara managed a slight, almost imperceptible shake of her head. “It was here.”
He grunted, a humorless sound. “Comforts of home.” He ran a hand over his short-cropped hair, a gesture of restless energy.“I should be writing my report right now. Detailing the catastrophic security risk of a Kryptonian, one of the most powerful beings on the planet, being compromised in a shithole like this.”
He was talking to himself as much as to her. He paced a short line near the foot of the pallet. “I should have called it in the second I saw you walk in here. The second I realized where you were heading.” He stopped, his eyes locking onto hers.They were dark, intense.“But I didn’t. I followed.I watched.”
Kara’s breath shallowed. She remembered the feeling of being observed, before the Mistress, before the straps and the wand.It had been him.
“I watched her break you,” he continued, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “I watched that bitch turn you into her personal plaything. And I watched that… that thief…” He spat the word. “I watched him use you like a cheap whore in an alley.” He took a step closer, looming over her. “And you know what the fucked-up thing is, Supergirl?”
She didn’t answer.She couldn’t.
“I couldn’t look away.” He knelt suddenly, one knee on the stone floor beside her pallet. The movement was swift, predatory. “And after I had my turn… after I stuffed my cock into that tight, superhero cunt…” He leaned in, his scent of sweat and gun oil and outdoors filling her space. “All I could think about was doing it again.”
His hand shot out, not rough, but inexorable. He gripped the edge of the blanket and pulled it down, exposing her naked body to the cool air. Kara made a small, weak sound of protest, but her arms lay useless at her sides. She was too tired, too broken, too conditioned.
“Look at you,” he breathed, his gaze raking over her.The bruises from the chains on her wrists and ankles. The faint, glowing ghost of the wand’s electricity on her inner thighs. The slick, used gleam between her legs.His hand reached out and touched her stomach, just below her navel. His palm was calloused, hot.“Just a body. A perfect, fuckable body.”
His fingers trailed lower, through her pubic hair, and he didn’t hesitate. He slid two fingers into her cunt.Kara arched off the pallet with a gasp. She was sore, sensitive, but already wet.His intrusion burned and soothed at once.
“See?” he said, a dark triumph in his voice.He worked his fingers in and out, a crude mimicry. “Your body knows.It doesn’t give a shit about duty or reports or Earth’s security. It just wants to be filled.” He withdrew his fingers, slick and shining, and brought them to his mouth.He sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving hers. The obscenity of the gesture sent a jolt of something hot and shameful straight to her core.
He stood up, unbuckling his belt with a sharp, efficient rattle of leather and metal.The sound was definitive. He shoved his pants and boxers down just far enough to free his cock. It was already fully erect, thick and ruddy, aimed at her like a weapon. He fisted it once, a hard, angry stroke.“You’re my secret,” he growled.“My fucking addiction. And I’m going to get my fix.”
He didn’t ask. He didn’t pose her or arrange her.He simply moved. He hooked his hands under her knees, yanking her towards him so her ass slid to the edge of the thin pallet. He lifted her legs, draping them over his forearms, spreading her wide open. The cool air hit her most intimate places, and she was utterly exposed.
He guided his cock to her entrance, the broad head pressing against her slick, parted lips.He pushed.
It was a different kind of fullness than the Mistress’s strap-on.This was living flesh, hot and pulsing. It was a violation that felt, in some twisted way, more personal. He sank into her with a single, deep, relentless thrust, burying himself to the hilt.A choked cry was forced from Kara’s lungs.
“God, yeah,” Flag groaned, his head falling back for a second.“That’s it. That’s the cunt. The one that belongs to the girl who can lift tanks.” He began to move, setting a hard, desperate rhythm from the start. Each thrust jarred her body on the pallet, her shoulders scraping against the rough fabric. He fucked her with a driven, urgent need, as if trying to exorcise his own demons into her.
“You feel that?” he panted, leaning over her.His face was close, his eyes wild. “That’s me.Remember that. When you’re flying around tomorrow in your little skirt, saving cats from trees, you’ll feel me.You’ll feel how I used you. How I own this part of you.”
His words were filthy, degrading.They should have ignited her fury. Instead, they fanned the embers of her humiliation into a low, terrible heat. Her body, treacherous and exhausted, began to respond.Her inner walls, sore and stretched, tightened around his invading length. A low moan slipped from her lips.
“That’s it,” he hissed, his pace becoming erratic, brutal.“Take it.Take my fucking cum, you alien bitch. Be my little secret cumdump.”
He drilled into her, the slap of his hips against her thighs a sharp, wet counterpoint to his ragged breathing.Kara’s head spun. She was detached, floating above the scene, yet hyper-aware of every sensation: the brutal fullness, the coarse hair of his pelvis grinding against her clit, the hot blast of his breath on her neck. The coiling tension returned, a sickening betrayal of her own body, building from her abused core.
Flag’s thrusts became frantic, shallow jerks. “Fuck, I’m gonna… you’re gonna get it all…”
With a guttural roar that was part anger, part release, he slammed into her one last time and held, his body rigid. She felt the hot, internal pulse as he came, jet after jet filling her already-spent channel. It was a claiming as potent as any collar.
He stayed buried inside her for a long moment, his weight pressing her down, both of them slick with sweat.Then, with a slow, deliberate withdrawal, he pulled out.
He stood over her, tucking his softening cock back into his pants. He looked down at the evidence of his possession. His cum, white and viscous, began to seep out of her gaping, reddened pussy, sliding down onto the dark wool of the pallet.
“Look at that,” he said, his voice now flat, drained. “A total fucking mess.” He fastened his belt, the sound final.“Clean yourself up.Or don’t. She’ll probably like you like that.”
He turned and walked to the door. He paused, his hand on the handle, but didn’t look back.“I’ll be watching,” he said quietly. “And I’ll be back.”
The door opened and closed.The key turned again, locking her in.
Silence rushed back in, louder than before. Kara lay on her back, legs still splayed, the warm trickle between her thighs the only proof it hadn’t been a fever dream. She slowly, painfully, brought her legs together.The movement made more of his cum leak out.
She stared at the ceiling again.The numbness was gone.In its place was a hollow, resonant certainty. Rick Flag was right.She was a secret.A compromised asset.A cumdump.
A tear formed, but it didn’t fall. It just welled in the corner of her eye, a silent monument to the hero who no longer existed in this stone room.She was simply Kara now. Owned.Used. Waiting for the next visit, the next filling, the next step deeper into the dark. She closed her eyes, and for the first time, she didn’t dream of flying. She dreamed of the thick, warm feeling of being full.