The Girl Who Fell to Earth

By Torrent

Chapter 2

Stick drove slowly down Ironmongers Lane, peering into the semi-darkness to avoid parked cars. The headlights of his battered van were turned off. No sense advertising his presence. Somewhere near here, if he remembered correctly, there was a right turn that led to the dumpster. He’d used it several times before, driving the eight miles from town with special packages, rather than trusting them to city sanitation crews.
He almost passed up the turn, pulled a hard right then followed the short street to the cul de sac.
The dumpster loomed in front of him, dark and squat, with something pale, packing material perhaps, hanging from its rim.
He got out quietly, slid back the door and lifted the package from the floor. It was wrapped in black plastic garbage bags and tied with rope.
When he reached the dumpster, he could see what was hanging from it more clearly.
It was a body, a young woman’s body. She was bent over the rim, her head and arms and upper body dangling outside, the rest of her -- assuming there was a rest of her -- still inside.
He carefully laid his package on the ground, leaned forward and touched the body. It was still warm. He knelt, grabbed a handful of blonde hair and lifted her head. He was gazing into the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Her eyes, which had been closed, opened partially, and her lips tried to form a word, but only a soft moan emerged.
He gently released her hair, then, using a fragment of a concrete block that was lying next to the dumpster, propped the lid open enough and began to pull her out. It wasn’t easy, and she cried out as her hips and legs cleared the rim.
He lost his balance, and she landed on top of him. He lay there a moment, trying to resist the urge to unzip his pants and fuck her right there, next to the dumpster -- hell, in the dumpster, anywhere. His dick was hard as concrete.
But this was crazy. He had to get her out of here. He picked her up and placed her gently on the floor of the van. He pulled a blanket from under the driver’s seat and wrapped it around her. It was then that he noticed a foul smell. Maybe it was from her being dumped in with all the garbage. Or maybe she had pissed herself, poor thing.
No matter, he’d get her back to the apartment in town and wash her up. He’d get her a cup of tea and turn on the gas heater in the living room.
Then he’d fuck her and fuck her and fuck her. They didn’t call him Stick because he was tall and thin. In fact, he was short and wiry. They called him Stick, and he called himself Stick, because of his nearly perpetual erection -- an erection that masturbation a dozen times a day and occasional long weekends with women could not tame.

When Supergirl regained consciousness -- regained it enough to remember who she was, and who she had been --- she was lying in a hot bath, amid mounds of bubbles. A man with a square face and dark hair was caressing her with a sponge. His expression was one of concern and gentleness. It seemed a long, long time since she had experienced gentleness.
He slid the sponge over her breasts, down her belly and between her legs. She sighed and closed her eyes. Then she felt his lips on her eyes. He was kissing her, even as the sponge caressed her pussy under the warm water.
After the bath, as Stick had hoped and planned, they began to make love beside the gas heater, on a pile of thick bath towels. Unbidden, she took his cock into her mouth and softly sucked it. She stroked his scrotum. Then she spread her legs and invited him in. He had never been hotter, and she -- well, she had never had an experience like this before.
Or had she? She tried to remember the previous night. Had it been a bad dream, those cruel and contemptuous men beating her and sticking their dicks in her? She shuddered beneath Stick’s humping body as the memory of the pickup truck and the jumper cables washed over her.
Stick mistook her shudder for passion and redoubled his efforts.

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She awakened to the sound of his voice. He was telling her about his roommate, someone named Stars. He seemed worried. Supergirl smiled and caressed his cock. He placed his hand on hers, then leaned down to kiss her on the mouth.
There was the sound of a key in the lock of the front door, and he said, urgently, “She’s here. Stay quiet. Don’t do anything to piss her off.”
The door opened, and standing there was a young woman in black biking shorts and a black leather vest that left her muscular, tattooed arms and shoulders exposed. Her hair was short and very black and seemed to stick up in all directions.
She radiated an angry, unstable energy.
“Hi, honey,” Stick said. “We’ve got a house guest for a few days.” He gestured to Supergirl, who had wrapped a towel around herself and stood timidly behind Stick. His warnings had confused her. Should she step forward and offer her hand? Should she introduce herself?
Instead, she remained silent -- and hoped for the best.