Powergirl: A Corporate Asset (Part 2) (Patreon)

(Sorry again for the late post! Part 3 will be out as soon as I can finish it!)

Clarissa was on the phone for the whole ride back to her corporate HQ. She had lots of people to talk to, often times about me but never mentioning me by name. It would be a new “project” or recently acquired “asset” they needed to prepare for and have their subordinates prepare. Sometimes she called people to tell them to call other people, always talking in generalities, mentioning their work without explicitly describing what it was.

“Hector, I have a new project for you,” she’d said at one point without preamble, “I want something big. Epic. Like your work on the last one, but brighter, more futuristic. For a new asset. Yes, front and center, big, colorful, a little sexy. Work up a skeleton for it; I want it by EOD tomorrow. And call Sundaram, I want them on this too.”

It was impossible to follow so I gave up trying. It became background noise, a constant jabber as I looked out the window, watching the city blur by.

The other constant was that her hand was always on me. Stroking through my hair, down my arm or leg, plucking at the fabric of my costume, always touching, feeling. Every now and then she’d glance over at me as she talked, smiling as if to remind me she hadn’t forgotten me, even as she continued giving orders and instructions over the phone. She was like a little girl on Christmas morning, unwilling to stop playing with her favorite new toy.

And that was me: her new toy.

I didn’t quite get used to that. After a while I stopped flinching and squirming, even managed to relax, but inside I was twisted up into knots. It wasn’t just the touching, but how vulnerable it made me feel. If she pinched me, it would hurt, and I couldn’t stop her from doing it. Every stroke reminded me how soft and fragile I was.

I also knew it was going to get worse.

When we got to Moon Solutions tower, we landed on a small helipad just outside Clarissa’s office. She wasn’t going to walk me in through the front door; she had specific uses for me, plans already in motion that required me to be a secret until the right moment.

That thought only made me more nervous.

The craft didn’t make a sound when it landed. When the door opened with a hiss, suddenly I heard the gusts of wind outside, the distant horns and a siren from the city far below. I hadn’t realized how sound proofed the little vehicle had been.

“I’m landing right now,” Clarissa plucked my folded cape out of my lap and stepped out of the vehicle, “Just bring in the writers, start hashing out some more ideas. Make a list and give me the five best ones.”

She abruptly ended the conversation by tapping a button on the blue tooth, then popping it out of her ear. Tucking it into a little case, then back into her pocket, she turned to me.

“Come on,” she waved me on, “Let’s go. Like you have a purpose, please.”

Flushing at the impatient scolding, I lowered my eyes and started shuffling across the seats. It was awkward with my hands bound just below my chin, having to scooch along on my butt to reach the door, then turn and slip down to put my foot on the vehicle’s mounting step.

I tripped when I got to the ground, but Clarissa caught my arm before I fell, helping me catch my balance. She held me up, waiting just long enough to make sure I was steady, then turned and marched away at a brisk pace, dragging me across the helipad.

Behind us, the vehicle door hissed closed, then clicked neatly as it shut.

With her pulling me along, I tripped again but managed to keep up, still not used to a normal human handling me so firmly. I watched my feet for a few paces, my head low with embarrassent, then looked up to where we were going.

This floor of the tower was nothing but Clarissa’s office. We were walking towards a row of plate glass windows, through which I could see opulent furnishings and the beginnings of marble floors, though they were tinted so I couldn’t see much further than a few feet. I could picture her standing there, looking out at the city, grinning smugly as she planned her next move, and marveling at how shrewd and clever she was.

She led me to a glass door that opened automatically after she pressed a button on her watch. Like the vehicle door, it hissed as it opened, powered by hydraulics that could fight a strong wind if it needed to, as well as seal it tightly once it was locked. It was all much sturdier than it appeared, definitely bulletproof, probably grenade proof, which was more than I could say about myself at that moment.

She led me in, her heels clicking on the marble floor, and the door quickly hissed shut behind us, closing with the clack of a heavy bolt being thrown.

In the office, several people were already waiting for us.

A new age desk, looking to be made out of the same material as the flying vehicle, sat with its back to the windows, so people that entered the sparsely decorated office would face its occupant with the light in their eyes, the city at her back. Beside that desk stood Clarissa’s “team”, a quartet of very different people watching us enter with varying levels of surprise. I hadn’t met them, but their appearances made it clear fairly quickly what kind of work they did for Moon Solutions.

One was clearly either an artist or fashion designer of some kind, colorful and eccentric with artistically mismatched clothing, pink hair and dark sunglasses. Beside her was an engineer or scientist, bald, turtle-necked and wearing wire rimmed glasses, with slacks rolled up at the ankle. A silver-haired matron in a skirt suit was clearly a publicist or PR expert, her strict bun kept in place by pencils. Last but not least was, of course, the lawyer, slick with fashionable stubble, an expensive suit and even more expensive briefcase.

I’d seen teams like this before, even put them together myself for big projects. But I’d never BEEN the project.

I lowered my eyes, suddenly feeling very exposed.

“Oh my god…” the artist pushed her sunglasses down and looked me over.

As the others stared, Clarissa marched me towards them, holding me firmly by the arm.

“I appreciate you all clearing your schedules,” she cut straight to business, “But I think you can agree that this recent windfall requires immediate action our part.”

She stopped in front of the group, still holding my bicep, like I was child she was reminding to behave.

“I think we can also agree,” she narrowed her eyes, “That the fact that we’ve acquired Powergirl should NOT leave this room… until we’re prepared.”

Clarissa’s tone was matter-of-fact, but her posture and the hard look she passed from face to face made it clear she wasn’t asking, she was telling them what she expected. And hinting that there would be consequences for them not meeting those expectations.

They all immediately responded, nodding rapidly and murmuring agreement.

None of them took their eyes off me. I felt like a prize thoroughbred being shown off to the judges’ table.

“Honestly, I won’t say I doubted you when you said you’d… acquired her,” the publicist wore a tight grin, squinting shrewdly, “but seeing her is something different.”

She placed a pen under my chin, directing me to lift my head.

I looked into her eyes. She was looking at my features, rather than at me, as if searching for a flaw.

While she did this, the artist leaned back and squinted on eye closed, looking me over like a canvas.

“Unless she’s a clone or a shapeshifter or another version from an alternate universe,” the publicist arched an eyebrow at the engineer, “You can tell, right?”

The bald man reached one hand across his chest and cupped his elbow, using that arm to gesture at me.

“My team has been working on containment and control, not identity recognition,” he frowned, waving his hand up and down in my direction, “How can you even tell if she’s extra universal or a clone? A shapeshifter perhaps… unless they have the ability to alter their DNA?”

“That’s something we REALLY need to know,” the publicist raised both eyebrows at Clarissa, “The last thing we want to say is that we have Powergirl—and she surrendered to us—only for the real Powergirl to show up at a press conference the next day.”

“She surrendered?” the artist piped up.

“Surrender is excellent,” the lawyer grinned, popping his brief case open on the desk, “Gives us lots of wiggle room. I’ve written a brief on how we can use a superhero—”

“Erik, it doesn’t mean anything if it’s not really her,” the publicist cut him off.

“Well, I’m not saying we announce it tomorrow! Once we’ve figured that part out, I’m saying--”

“Again, I don’t know if I CAN figure it out with—not 100%,” the scientist said, “I can pop you out a clone, but how can I tell by looking at genetic material if it WAS cloned?!”

“Science?” the artist giggled.

“We can’t do anything before we know.” the publicist crossed her arms, “Clarissa, we can’t—”

“There’s always something weird like that,” the lawyer held up a manilla folder, “We can move forward with this, and even if—”

“I’m not a magician—” the scientist began.

At that point, they all began talking over each other. They weren’t bickering, per se, but they were fighting for their boss’s attention, wanting to be the one to shine the brightest. They kept their eyes on Clarissa, stepping a bit closer, the lawyer with his brief, the scientist with his gesturing, publicist with her pen

I sighed softly, looking down at my boots again and letting them jockey for position. I would cooperate, but I wasn’t going to offer to prove I was who I was. Besides, none of them had even spoken directly to me, just talked about me like I was a kidnapped mascot or something. I wasn’t in any hurry to be Moon Solutions’ big announcement at the next stockholders’ meeting.

Clarissa cut them all off.

“Settle, people,” she called them down, “We’re all excited, but let’s act like professionals.”

They quieted almost immediately, like it was rehearsed.

“Carrie, I’m not overly concerned about proving she’s Powergirl right now,” she said to the publicist, “I saw her fly down from the atmosphere on fire then climb out of a crater the size of a swimming pool. Erik, I appreciate your enthusiasm and you’re on the right track, but get your briefcase off my desk, please. Jeremy, make some calls about confirming she’s not a magical fairy or something. Don’t let on who we have, just ask around.”

Carrie the publicist, Erik the lawyer, and Jeremy the scientist nodded in agreement. Erik snapped his briefcase closed and took it off her desk.

Once that was settled, their boss turned to me, smiling fondly. She reached out and stroked my cheek with the backs of her fingers.

I kept my eyes fixed on my boots, afraid I’d blush if I looked up.

“As for other questions, yes, she did surrender of her own free will,” she watched me, continuing to stroke, “She verbally and explicitly agreed to surrender to my custody and cooperate. I put the restraints on her myself and she’s been nothing but well behaved.”

Grinning, she let her hand sink down to give me a couple of loud claps on the butt.

“Besides!” she said cheerily, “She’s a superhero! You can usually trust them to keep their word.”

At her brazen handling of me, I shifted in place and blushed, lowering my head as much as I could. She’d been touching me for the past 45 minutes, but it was worse when she did it in front of an audience.

Her team grinned, looking me over like wolves over a lamb.

“That’s excellent,” Erik rubbed his hands together.

“It is,” Clarissa said, pinching the belt on my waist, adjusting it an inch or two, “What I’m interested in is what we can pursue right now. Rose, go.”

The artist, who had been tilting her head side to side, eyeing me like a curious bird, flinched on being so suddenly called upon. She blinked, but shook her head and quickly recovered, stepping closer to eye my costume.

“Hmm…” she mused, pinching the spandex on my shoulder, “It’s really… minimalistic, isn’t it? Except for the obvious cleavage window…”

She wrinkled her nose at my chest, then gave me another up and down look.

“Her whole look practically screams ‘oh boys, look at me’,” she shook her head with disdain, “I can definitely improve on THAT, but if I go too classy people might not recognize her. We want people to know this is Powergirl, just not the old fashioned, male gaze Powergirl.”

I slowly looked up at her with narrowed eyes. Even without my powers, I could have knocked the judgemental bitch on her ass. Even restrained, I was more than sharp and eloquent enough to put her in her place if I wanted to. But instead, the most I offered was a weary glare, before I lowered my eyes again. I still wanted to knock her head off, but I ground my teeth and bit my tongue.

Rose didn’t notice my dirty look anyway. She was already circling to my other side, plucking at the leg of my leotard.

“I’ve already made a few sketches for some less cringey outfits,” she tugged at the spandex again, wiggling it a bit lower on my hip, “I mean, really, flat white with blue and red? Who even designed this?”

Before I could stop myself, I turned sharply towards her.

“Sorry I didn’t do something more original,” I snapped, “Like dye my hair pink and—”

“That’s enough!” Clarissa cut me off, “That’s enough, thank you.”

I bit off the rest of what I was going to say, still glaring at Rose. She took a small step back, alarmed, as if she’d just remembered she was talking to someone that had gone toe to toe with Darkseid. I kept glaring at her for another moment, wanting her to remember that a little longer.

Clarissa stepped around in front of me, her lips pursed and hands on her hips. She didn’t seem angry; it was more like she’d expected this eventual clash and was efficiently dealing with its after-effects.

“Powergirl,” she chided, “Your input isn’t needed right now. You can go sit and wait, please.”

She pointed to the sofa.

For a second, I wanted to kick the patronizing CEO in the chest. I could probably kick all five of their asses, without my powers and with my hands bound in front of me; I doubted any of them had been in a fight in their lives.

I took a deep breath.

But what then? All that would prove is that I couldn’t be trusted and that I was too dangerous to be left unbound at all or even conscious. Clarissa definitely had some defenses up here anyway; I doubted I’d get much further than headbutting Rose before I got taken down by hidden drone and hung upside down by my ankles. And even if I fought through whatever that was, I would still be right where I started.

“Powergirl,” Clarissa said again, “We’re talking. You can listen or otherwise quietly entertain yourself, but you can’t be disruptive while we’re discussing business. Now go sit.”

It really cost me something lower my head for this skinny, entitled fashion princess, but I sighed and did it. I turned past her and shuffled towards one of the black leather sofas beside the elevator, tail firmly between my legs.

“There’s a girl,” Clarissa said gently, watching me go.

The tension faded as I walked away. Her team released a relieved breath.

“Hmff,” Rose said, suddenly braver, “Dramatic much?”

“I can implant her with a neural feedback shunt,” Jeremy offered, “To discourage negative behavior, if she shows signs of aggression.”

I plopped down on the sofa, letting myself slouch. I stared fixedly out the window, so I didn’t have to watch them talk about me.

“It’s a thought, but not right now, Jeremy,” Clarissa said, “What else do you have for me?”

“Oh!” the scientist cleared his throat, “Well, I-I… I’ll demonstrate.”

* * *

Everyone had lots of ideas, of course. They must have been working on this stuff for a while.

The scientist laid out several ways he’d developed to subdue my powers, permanently remove them or even turn them off and on. He showed off an anklet that created a field in which most superpowers, including kryptonians’, ceased to function. He even had a cream he said would absorb the yellow sunlight rather than my cells, if diligently applied. With all his gadgets and samples of chemicals he brought out of a crate, it was almost like watching a panhandler from an old movie.

The lawyer laid out different contract points, legal statutes and precedents they could use to make me legal property. Apparently, since I was an alien, along with the new “anti-meta” laws in place that designated superpowers as deadly weapons, there were lots of avenues he could take. He laid out information he’d need to have from me, as well as certain things I’d have to sign with a notary present, but he assured Clarissa he could make “Powergirl” a physical asset just like any intellectual property.

It was nice to see that with enough can-do attitude and legal know-how, you could still make someone a slave in the 21st century, as long as they were a superhero.

While Carrie the publicist described the process of my “rebranding”, I looked out the window and tried not to listen, but there wasn’t much else to do. In movies, they always show being a prisoner as constantly nerve wracking, but they leave out how between those moments of shame and fear are often long stretches of boredom. It was like listening to your parents have an adult conversation while you sat and waited for them to come get you.

Eventually they did. First, Jeremy the scientist came with more efficient red solar energy collar that could replace the bulkier restraints. He clipped it around my neck, eagerly explaining how it worked, then removed the shackles and attaching collar. He said I would be just as powerless as before, but now I would be easier to handle.

Clarissa stroked my hair, rewarding me for being good during the process.

While Jeremy showed the CEO more contraptions, explaining how they’d work for my immediate containment, Rose and Carrie came over to give me closer scrutiny.

“Off your booty, Powergirl,” Rose said cheerily, “Have to get your measurements and see what we’re working with.”

I looked up at them warily.

As I suspected, both wore tart grins, eyes narrowed with smug pleasure. Rose had a tape measure in hand, the kind that rolled up rather than the automatic kind in the silver tin, and was popping by giving it little tugs from either end. Carrie had her arms crossed and was stroking her chin thoughtfully, eyes sharp and already judging.

This was their job, but they were both going to enjoy it very much.

“Come on! Up!” Carrie snapped her fingers, “Up, up! We have things to do!”

I slowly stood and walked towards them. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this.

“Right here where I can get a good look at you,” Carrie pointed at a spot on the floor, “There. Now back straight, head up, shoulders back.”

I did as she said, straightening up almost like I was a soldier at attention. It wasn’t quite like Carrie wanted me, so she moved me to make adjustments. She tipped my chin up a fraction, pressed a hand into my lower back to make me arch, drew my shoulders back just a bit.

“I guess you don’t know anything about posture unless you’re posing with your breasts thrust out,” she scoffed as she continued to manipulate me, “This will definitely be something we have to work on.”

Once I was finally where and how they wanted me, Carrie stepped back and let Rose come in with the tape measure. She looped it around my shoulders first, squeezed it tight and made a note on a small piece of paper she kept in her hand. Then she stretched it down my arm, from shoulder to fingertip and made another note.

“37…” she said as she marked the measurements, “18…”

As the fashion designer did that work, Carrie circled around me like a shark, scrutinizing me from every angle. Her eyes hovered on certain places, enough that if her attitude wasn’t so brisk I would have thought her mind was on other things. But she while she was seeing my sexuality and making note of it, she was unaffected by it herself. It was more like my body was just a collection of parts she was observing with a superior, even disdainful air.

I wanted to snap at her, but the urge died away quickly, remembering how quickly Clarissa had shut me down before. As humiliating as this was, I had suspected something like this when I’d made my deal and it was better than my other options. I had to just bear it and wait until it was over.

With anger not an option, the only feeling I had was shame that sank in my stomach like a lead weight. I wanted to hang my head, slump my shoulders, and stare at the floor, but when I started to do so Carrie tutted and straightened me up again.

All the while, Rose continued to take her measurements, moving me or posing me as she liked.

Carrie reached out to pinch my shoulder, squeezing and releasing like she was testing the ripeness of a fruit.

“She’s a bit top heavy, isn’t she?” she sniffed, “Obviously the breasts, but the shoulders and arms as well.”

She let go of my shoulder and patted my hip.

“Even the legs are a bit much,” the publicist continued, “We want to show she’s athletic, but not too impressive. Tameable. Tamed by Moon Solutions.”

Rose lifted my arm out to the side, so she could measure underarm to wrist. I let her, staring with lidded eyes out the window, resigned.

“Okay,” she said as she stretched out the measuring tape, “Thinking skimpier, then? Or more subdued?”

Carrie seemed to think about this for a moment as she wandered around to eye my butt.

“I don’t think you can go much skimpier without it being, frankly, whoreish.”

She snuck her fingers through the inside of the seat of my leotard.

“I suppose you could make this a thong,” she tugged lightly on the spandex, pulling it up my butt to demonstrate, “Give it more windows. But I don’t think trashier is the direction we should take her. There’s going to be two initial stages, the initial press conference where we announce her capture, and after where she’s…”

She continued on, explaining the PR strategy and how my appearance would play into it, but I stopped listening. I hadn’t even blinked when she’d played with the seat of my costume and as Rose pushed apart my legs to measure my inseam, I let her and barely noticed. The humiliation was so constant that I was starting to go numb to it, accepting myself being touched and handled at the whims of someone else. My body no longer belonged to me.

While Carrie and Rose continued to bounce ideas off each other, I let my attention wander.

On another sofa, Erik sat leaned over his laptop, typing rapidly with a small grin on his face. He was putting together contracts that, if I remembered what he’d said, would give Moon Solutions control of the “Powergirl” identity, legally bind me into a certain number of hours of annual service, require me to meet different standards the company determined, allowed them to extend the contract indefinitely and add any other clauses they wanted… basically make me corporate property and property of Clarissa Moon. I would sign them all under my kryptonian name and my adopted human name, and that would be that.

I watched him for a second as he paused to rub his chin, then went back to typing with a wolfish, self-pleased smirk.

He’d worn that same expression when he’d described how since in my case Moon Solutions was acting as a ward for a weapon of mass destruction, breaking the contract didn’t mean a lawsuit, it meant criminal charges, the international kind. If I didn’t behave, I could be turned over to the government… or worse. And one thing I knew that he didn’t was that guys like Luthor were going to be looking for whatever loophole they could do put me into their own hands. Not only was I going to have to be a good girl and obey the contract, I was also going to have to do whatever else I could to make sure I remained Moon Solutions property.

In front of me, Clarissa had allowed Jeremy the engineer to lay out his gadgets and inventions on her desk. He explained how they worked in greater detail, and she asked pointed questions, making it clear she intended to use them on me herself.

“… implants the capsule deep into the body,” the bald man was holding up what looked like a small paintball gun, “She will still absorb the sunlight, but it will be funneled to the capsule rather than permeating her cells. For now, we can implant three to five of them in a column, using her spine as a guiding line then replace them in descending order as they reach capacity.”

“You said they’re microscopic,” Clarissa said, “Can you guarantee you can find them once they’ve been implanted? I don’t want her to have dozens of these capsules floating around inside of her.”

Jeremy nodded sharply, his eyes twinkling as he set down the little gun. He didn’t smile much, but I suspected he was pleased she’d asked that question.

“A marking, like a tattoo,” he held up a small vial of glittering jade fluid, “Will be placed at the precise point where the capsule is inserted. The marking will be a visual translation of numerical data, coordinates in this case, that will guide our computers to the capsule within a 100 billionth of a millimeter.”

“Visual translation of numerical data,” Clarissa frowned, “Like a QR code?”

Jeremy opened his mouth to correct her, then seemed to think better of it.

“The concept is similar enough,” he wiggled the vial, “Another feature of the marking is the content of this ink: 75% kryptonite, synthesized. It will serve as an early warning system. If too many of the capsules reach overflow, her cells will begin absorbing solar energy again and will in turn react to the kryptonite. Rather than suddenly becoming stronger, she should become noticeably sick and weak.”

“Mmm, that’s good,” Clarissa smiled, nodding slowly, “And working in tandem with the cream… also, is there any need to wear gloves when applying the cream?”

“If you want,” Jeremy shrugged, nudging what looked like a shampoo bottle laid out on the desk, “The mixture should be completely harmless to a human being, much like kryptonite radiation. The… properties that reflect the solar radiation are as common to…”

At that point, my attention was diverted again as Rose and Carrie had both moved around in front of me, blocking my view of the others.

Rose held up the tape measure with a wry grin.

“I’m not going to lie, I saved this one for last,” she stuck her tongue out between her teeth.

Stepping towards me, she slipped her hands under mine and reached around my back, as if for a hug. The tape measure was looped across my back, threaded back under my arms, then both ends brought together at the center of my chest, squeezing my breasts like twine around Christmas hams.

Rose pulled the tape a bit tighter and held it a little longer than she needed to, the yellow strips squeezing little dimples into the sides of my boobs. She looked up at me, hoping for a reaction. When I just looked away, she smirked and went back to work. We both knew who wore the pants at this point.

I have big tits, not porn star huge but definitely riper than you’d think they’d be looking at my body fat index. At that moment they looked even bigger, bound tightly and pressed together by the measuring tape. It hadn’t been something I was ashamed of, at least not until I saw Rose’s mocking grin.

“47 incherinos!” Rose proclaimed, “Actually, I thought they’d be a little bigger. I mean, she’s known for these things more than her crime fighting.”

Carrie squinted at my chest with her arms crossed, her upper lip curled in disgust.

“That… is one feature I’ll be pleased to do away with,” she shook her head, “How are women supposed to be respected when our ‘heroes’ look like nothing but a pair of tits in spandex?”

I sighed but didn’t rise to the bait.

Rose let go of the measuring tape. My breasts bounced free, but the designer almost immediately caught them in her hands and tried to press them against my chest. She spread her fingers as wide as she could and tried cup with her palms but couldn’t quite capture them entirely.

I winced and I could feel my cheeks pinkening with embarrassment. She was doing her best to mash my breasts flat to my chest, but they were escaping out the sides, her hands too small to encircle them.

“So…” Rose stuck her tongue out, concentrating on trying to wrangle my breasts, “How do we do that? Tie them down?”

“Well, that,” Carrie drawled, “Or remove the implants.”

Tilting her head, Rose pressed in with her fingers and molded them a bit more. She groped around exploratively for a second, lifting her eyes straight up as she felt around.

“Mmmm…” she narrowed her eyes, squinting at the ceiling as her fingers worked, “I don’t think these are fake…”

Carrie scoffed and stepped forward, brushing one of the other woman’s hands aside so she could grab one of my breasts like it was a baseball. She squeezed repeatedly, digging in her nails, her brow lowered with stern deliberation.

I bit my lip, shifting my feet and holding back a grunt of discomfort. It wasn’t just that she was squeezing my boob like a stress ball that made me squirm, but the fact that it hurt reminded me of how weak I was now. I used to be able to bounce rockets off my chest, now if someone handled me the wrong way it was enough to make me curl my toes. And these corporate stooges were not only entitled to do that, it was their job.

I swallowed and closed my eyes.

So, this is what happens to superheroes when the world turns on them…

After a few more seconds of squeezing my boob from every possible angle, Carrie finally gave up trying to find implants that weren’t there. She let go with a grunt and recrossed her arms.

“I told ya,” Rose grinned, “She’s Powergirl. They’re natural.”

“Of course, they are,” Clarissa said from behind them, “And we won’t be binding them or restricting them any more than they already are.”

The two women turned to see their boss approaching from the desk. She had completed her demos with Jeremy and was now advancing towards me.

“Ah,” Carrie hesitated, about to defend her point, before she noticed Miss Moon gesturing her out of the way.

Both Rose and Carrie stepped aside, parting so Clarissa could approach me.

“It seems… socially irresponsible, Ms Moon,” the publicist said as she moved out of the way, “Displaying her… prominent mammaries so… well, prominently, is damaging to women and girls. I think putting our logo on this will be seen as us approving female objectification and body negativity.”

Clarissa eyes were entirely on me. She had a silver case in one hand, filled with several of the gadgets the engineer had been showing her, and in her other hand was a leash. She stepped up to me and clipped the leash onto my collar, like she’d done it a hundred times before and it was the most natural thing in the world.

“She’s not going to be a spokeswoman, Carrie,” the redhead wiggled the leash to see that it was secure, “Us having captured her isn’t us approving of anything.”

Once she was pleased it was in place, she reached down and cupped beneath one of my breasts. Holding it, she lifted the shape slightly, as if examining the weight, before she began to work with her fingers. Her touch was gentler than the other two, her fingers moving slowly as they felt, leisurely enjoying something soft and pleasant.

“These are part of her brand,” she smiled, lifting her eyes to mine, “And we won’t be changing her look too dramatically. We still want her to be Powergirl… just myPowergirl.”

Her eyes lingered on mine.

Yeah, it was a little humiliating to be so clearly defined as someone else’s property, but the edge was starting to come off that degradation at that point. I had already surrendered, accepted what was happening, and been handled like a prop for the past fifteen minutes, so I was getting used to that. What I really felt right then was… relief.

I looked back into her eyes, my own soft and meek.

In the face of being torn apart, everything about me changed with a derisive sneer, it was a relief to know that the woman who owned me wanted me as I was. That I would only be her willing prisoner and not some mockery of my former self. It wasn’t just relief I felt either, but gratitude. It was a small mercy she didn’t have to grant me and a part of me wanted to thank her.

But it’s hard to be grateful to your captor and still have much defiance towards her. Any indignance I’d felt at having my breasts fondled and being leashed like a pet had the wind knocked out of it. I just felt comforted, a strange ease like being around a strong parent, knowing they’d take care of me and all I had to do was behave and let go of my pride.

My shoulders slumped a bit and my head lowered, looking at her like a lost puppy, hopeful I’d been adopted by someone who wouldn’t be cruel.

As the look passed between us, Clarissa’s smile broadened. She let go of my breast to brush my hair back, some of it having fallen in front of my eyes as I lowered my head.

Then she abruptly turned back to Carrie, the moment over.

“Focus on the press releases for now,” she said briskly, picking up my leash from where it dangled, “Our mechs easily captured Powergirl and we generously took her in to keep her from damaging anything else or herself. Our patented tools have taken care of her powers, she’s comfortable but harmless, relatively free to move around but out of the way… etc.”

Carrie frowned at that, finger held up as if she was just about to speak, but refrained until she figured out what she was going to say.

It took her a second to figure out the CEO’s angle.

“Hmm,” the publicist tapped the finger to her cheek, squinting shrewdly, “You’re not planning on stopping with Powergirl. You’re hoping other supers will take the same deal…”

I swallowed as I considered that. Now that I had surrendered like this, would others follow my lead? And would it be the worst thing if they did, considering their other options?

Clarissa didn’t respond. She gave her employee a quick grin, before turning her attention to the others.

“All right, is everyone clear on what they’re doing?”

The group nodded and murmured in the affirmative.

“Carrie is lead on this,” she continued, “Do not let anyone else in on this until the press releases are out. I’m taking Powergirl to her housing facility and will be out of pocket for a while, so… work discreetly, take your time. Don’t make any big decisions until we can decide as a team.”

Again, the group nodded. Clarissa clearly had an army general managerial style and they were used to it.

I guess I would be too, before long.

“Good,” the commanding redhead smiled, “Then let’s make history.”

Carrie began applauding and the others blinked then quickly joined in, plastering smiles on their faces. You would have thought their boss had just announced she’d cured cancer and made them all billionaires.

Clarissa nodded, accepting it as her due, then turned to make her exit. She gave a light tug on the leash, but it was unnecessary; I was already following her.

The applause was still going on when we made our way out to the helipad. The door shut behind us, abruptly silencing the scattering clapping, then we were marching back to the vehicle that brought us here.

I followed with my head lowered, letting her guide me to the little shuttle’s door. She opened it for me, I climbed in first, then she sat beside me. The silver case was set in the floor boards and tucked out of the way.

She didn’t speak again until the door had hissed shut and we were taking off.

“Hmm…” she turned to smile at me, “That went well.”

She was sitting closer to me than she had before, her hip almost touching mine. Gently, she cupped my chin and turned my face towards hers. She was leaning close, looking deep into my eyes

“You are becoming a very pleasant acquisition,” she said, “Cooperative and adaptable. I appreciate that.”

She stroked her thumb over my bottom lip while I stared at her, sad-eyed, feeling small but trusting.

“Good girl,” she grinned, “Now, are you ready to go home?”

I barely hesitated. The response came out smooth, like I had practiced it.

“Yes, Miss Moon.”