The Girl Who Fell to Earth

By Torrent

Chapter 3

Stars looked Supergirl over carefully.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
Supergirl said nothing. She wasn’t sure, from Stick’s warnings, what she should say.
“What’s her name, Stick?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me. Come to think of it, she didn’t say nothing all day.”
“I’ll bet,” said Stars, “what with her mouth being so full of dick since she met you. Where’d you find her?”
“In a dumpster over at the Foundry Apartments,” said Stick. Then his face darkened, and he added, “Where I was busy disposing of one of your messes.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry about that,” said Stars. “I owe you one.”
She turned back to Supergirl.
“Okay, you’ll be nameless. No, we’ll call you Trash Girl, in honor of your humble origins. That’ll be your new name. Trash Girl. Mine’s Star. Wanna know why?”
Supergirl started to speak, then thought better of it. She didn’t know how to deal with this odd person.
And she certainly didn’t expect the sudden punch that hit her square in the face and knocked her to the floor.
“They call me that because when I’m around, some folks end up seeing stars,” said Stars, with a laugh that sounded like a bark.
And sure enough, Supergirl did see stars -- and little chirping birds circling her head, just like in the comic books. She wondered dreamily if the others could see them.
Stick said, “C’mon. Give her a break. She hasn’t done nothing. Besides, she’s different.”
“Different?” said Stars, with a look of mock amazement. “How so, different?”
She knelt and spread Supergirl’s legs and jammed two fingers into her pussy.
“Looks like a cunt to me,” she said. Then she sniffed and licked her fingers and added, “Smells and tastes like cunt, too. No difference there.”
Then she grabbed Supergirl breasts and twisted them so hard that Supergirl gave a little yelp.
“Regular tits. Same as on all the other cunts you’ve dragged home.”
She pulled Supergirl upright by the hair and stared closely at her face.
“Prettier than most, I agree,” said Stars. “Is that the difference, Stick?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I don’t know, she just seems special somehow.”
“Special, huh? Well, what could it be that’s so special?” She pulled Supergirl to her feet and looked her over, up and down, with exaggerated care.
Then she stepped back and said, seriously this time, “There is something different. I hit her real hard in the nose and there should be blood all over the place, but there isn’t.”
Stick hadn’t noticed, but Stars was right. Not a drop of blood. And the girl’s nose wasn’t even swollen.
“I think we need to pursue this scientifically,” said Stars, as she pulled back her right fist for another punch. Supergirl flinched and raised her hands to protect her face. But the blow landed, instead, in her stomach.
She fell to her knees, then crumpled all the way to the floor, holding her gut.
“May not bleed, but definitely feels pain. Make a note of that, doctor,” said Stars, who then delivered a devastating kick to Supergirl’s kidneys.
Supergirl writhed in agony. Stars was right. She felt pain, and not just physical pain. The man called Stick, who had been so kind to her that day, and who had made such passionate love to her, had betrayed her. He now stood aside while this sadistic, incredibly strong bitch turned her into a punching bag.
But this despairing line of thought was rudely interrupted as Stars landed another kick -- a stomp, actually, since she brought her boot down like a piston on Supergirl’s exposed midsection.
Supergirl gasped and shuddered. The last thing she saw
before passing out was Stars’ face, hovering above her and wearing an expression of intense curiosity.

She was unconscious all through the 6 o’clock local news, which was too bad, because she would have found it interesting.
It seems that the nephew of a sheriff’s deputy, a young man named Pete, had tearfully confessed to his uncle that he and some buddies had killed a girl and dumped her body behind the Foundry Apartments. The uncle had dismissed it as some kind of sick fantasy, but shortly after 1 p.m. a Foundry resident had made a grisly discovery: a human head, partially wrapped in plastic garbage bags, lying near a dumpster. Dogs or coons had gotten into the packaging.
The head was described as that of a young woman. But due to circumstances, her face was all but unrecognizable.
Pete had now been charged with murder, and two of his buddies had also been arrested. But the alleged ringleader, a man named Jake, had disappeared.
Funny thing is, Pete, after having confessed earlier, insisted he had nothing to do with the woman whose head had been found. The others also claimed to know nothing about a headless woman -- or, more properly, a womanless head.
Stars, sitting next to Stick in front of the TV set, was elated.
“Jesus, we’ve got someone to take the rap. They will never, ever get all this untangled. That cunt, what was her name . . .“
“Ruby,” said Stick. “It was Ruby.”
“Whatever. She’s their problem now, not ours. Thank God for shit-brained good ole boys.”
She took a swig of bottled water, then asked, “Where’s the rest of her?”
“You don’t need to know,” said Stick. “I’m trying to protect you. I’m always trying to protect you.”
“I know,” said Stars. “I know, and I appreciate it. I mean it. And I appreciate you lettin’ me have a little fun with Trash Girl. I promise I won’t do any permanent damage.”
Stick merely grunted. Stars was like a sister to him, but he knew she never could keep a promise if it meant not maiming or dismembering the women he occasionally brought home. It was just a weakness she had, and some day it would get them both in trouble.
But he hoped to enjoy himself with this one for at least a few more days. And maybe he could find a way to let her escape, if she promised never to tell anyone of her experiences in their apartment.

Stick was right. Stars couldn’t resist inflicting punishment on Supergirl. First thing the next morning, she bounded out of her bedroom full of energy. Supergirl was sleeping on the floor in the living room, in front of the TV.
“Morning, cunt,” said Stars, cheerfully, as she leaped into the air and came down, knees first, on the small of Supergirl’s back. Then she boxed her ears, grabbed her hair and slammed her face into the floor.
“Time for breakfast,” Star said, dragging Supergirl by the wrists into the kitchen. “I’m a health nut, but there’s no reason you can’t enjoy some bacon and eggs. I’m fixin’ ‘em anyway, for Stick.”
She dropped Supergirl in the corner, next to the garbage pail -- funny how that girl had such an attraction for trash, Stars thought -- and set about fixing breakfast.
Stick came in, with a sleepy, puzzled look on his face. “What’s up?” he asked.
Stars looked past him at Supergirl, who was now on her hands and knees, trying to find the strength to stand.
“Our guest is what’s up,” said Stars.
She picked up a cast-iron skillet, already hot from the gas flames, and slammed it with a loud metallic bonk on the side of Supergirl’s head.
She fell backward, emitting a groan and the smell of singed hair.
“You promised,” said Stick.
“I did, and I’m keeping my promise. No permanent damage. See, she’s already trying to get up again. No normal woman, or man, for that matter, would take a belt like that from an iron skillet and be ready to join us for breakfast 20 seconds later. And you are ready, aren’t you, Trashy?”
Supergirl held the side of her head and staggered to a chair. Stick helped her.
“You okay?” he asked.
Okay? Suddenly, she had a vision of herself, as if in a dream, effortlessly defeating a dozen strong men, all twice as big as this woman named Stars. Had she been able to do that once? And now? Now, she was a pitiful, battered weakling.
“Okay?” Stick repeated.
“I remember something,” she said softly.
“Ah, the cunt speaks,” said Stars.
“Remember what?” Stick asked gently.
“I think I remember who I am -- or was.”
“And just who are you, Trash Girl?” Stars asked.
Supergirl lowered her eyes and fell silent. They wouldn’t believe her, not now, after all that she had been through. Stars would simply beat her harder, to prove she was delusional. And Stick -- he too would think she was crazy.
Stars shoved a plate of bacon and eggs, over easy, in front of Stick. “How do you like your eggs, cunt?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Supergirl said, almost in a whisper. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten eggs.”
“Jesus, a picky eater. Just what I need. Okay, how about toast and coffee?”
Supergirl began to weep. Had she ever eaten or drunk before? They ate for energy, and pleasure. Did she need to eat for energy? She couldn’t remember.
“Okay, get the fuck out of here,” Stars said.
Supergirl went into the living room, pulled her knees up to her chin and sobbed softly. On the TV, cartoon characters were hitting each other with big wooden mallets and dropping anvils from office windows.
“Just like real life,” she thought.

Actually, real life was soon to be quite a bit rougher than what the characters on TV endured.
Stick left, with a plea to Stars to restrain herself. He knew it was futile. He looked at Supergirl, but turned away quickly when he saw the fear in her eyes.
“Well, it’s just you and me, Trash Girl,” said Stars, as the door closed.
Supergirl shut her eyes, took a deep breath and tried to summon up powers she had voluntarily relinquished. If that failed, she would just have to see what she could do with mere human strength and courage.
Stars hadn’t yet put on her leather glove, so the rough stuff started with a wrestling hold instead of a punch. Supergirl resisted, but she quickly found herself face down on the floor, her wrists held behind her by Stars’ powerful grip. In fact, Stars was so strong, she needed only one hand for the job. With the other, she grabbed Supergirl’s hair and pulled her head so far back that Supergirl feared her neck would break.
Stars let her head fall back to the floor, then dragged her over to the desk by the front door, opened a drawer and pulled out stainless steel handcuffs.
In no time, Supergirl’s wrists were secured behind her. Stars lifted her to her feet and stepped back to admire her work.
“Very nice, but you need a touch of leather,” she said. With that, she punched Supergirl harder than she ever had before, and our defenseless heroine slammed into the door and collapsed.

When she came to, she thought perhaps she had been blinded by her beatings. Her eyes were open, but she could see nothing.
And she was having difficulty breathing. Something around her neck was constricting her windpipe.
Had she been able to see herself as Stars now saw her, she would have been even more alarmed. Supergirl was suspended from the ceiling of a dank room by a chain attached to a leather contraption that held her arms behind her. There was a leather collar around her neck, and over her head was a black leather hood.
The chain from the ceiling ran through a steel ring on her collar, down to her wrists. It couldn’t be said that she was hanging by the neck, but the collar certainly supported part of her weight. The rest was borne by her twisted, outraged arms and shoulders.
Her toes were only a few inches above the concrete floor, but of course, under the circumstances, an inch was the same as a mile.
She heard a gurgling, wheezing sound, and it took a few seconds before she realized that she was making it. She was beginning to suffocate. She tried to relieve the pressure on her throat by pushing down with her wrists, but the pain to her arms and shoulders was unendurable.
“Having fun,” a familiar voice asked.
With supreme effort, she was able to say, “Please.” But that was all.
“Please?” said Stars. “Please what? Please beat the shit out of me? Please jump on me and hang there until the weight breaks my neck? Or my head rips off? Or how about this?”
She grabbed a toilet plunger from a nearby sink and stuck the wooden handle deep into Supergirl’s pussy, jerking it violently back and forth.
Supergirl cried out in pain.
“Now, that’s more like it,” Stars said. “A response I can understand.”
She tossed the plunger aside and pulled out a pair of leather gloves.
“Now comes exercise time. I need a workout, and the crippled, fat-ass son-of-a-bitch who owns this building won’t let me hang a heavy bag, not even a speed bag. So you’re it, sweetheart.”
Supergirl flexed her belly muscles in anticipation of the punishment she knew was coming. But with the first punch, it was painfully clear that even this meager defense was useless.
Stars worked methodically and vigorously. Jabs to the breasts, hooks to the sides and kidneys, an uppercut to the crotch. The blows came so fast that Supergirl lost count -- and consciousness.
At last, Stars took a break and squirted bottled water into her mouth. She squirted some onto Supergirl, too.
The Trash Girl was awfully quiet. No moans. Not even gurgles and gasps.
If she was dead, Stick would be pissed.
Stars grabbed a step ladder, detached Supergirl from the chain and dropped her to the floor. Then she leaned down and felt for a pulse. There was none, or at least none strong enough to detect.
“Shit,” she said. “You may not bleed, but you’re just an ordinary mortal cunt after all.”
She picked Supergirl up and crammed her into a dark space between the water heater and the sink. Hardly anyone came to the basement anymore, not since the washing machine broke down. She’d leave the cunt here, walk to Maxine’s house and borrow a car. She’d have to dispose of this one herself; no asking Stick this time.
And she suddenly felt remorse -- not for the girl whose battered body lay on the cold, dirty concrete but for Stick, whom she had once again disappointed.