The Girl Who Fell to Earth

By Torrent

Chapter 4

Supergirl sat in the lotus position atop a crystal pillar. Arrayed around her were all the gods and goddesses, on their thrones. The clouds behind them were suffused with rosy and golden light. Music from instruments unseen and unrecognizable filled the heavens, blending with the murmur of the deities.
A bearded figure, the chief god, leaned forward and asked her if she regretted surrendering her powers. Did she realize now that only by saving others could she save herself?
Supergirl lowered her eyes. She was reluctant to defy a being so powerful and wise, yet she was unprepared to resume her role as superheroine.
“I cannot,” she said. “I can no longer be what I was. I’m sorry.”
“Then know that we cannot protect you. Your powers were inextricably linked. You have lost the strength to defeat an army of mere mortals. Soon, you yourself will be mortal. Death will be your destiny if you pursue this selfish course.”
She raised her eyes. The god’s face was now only a few feet from hers. It was enormous, filling her entire field of vision, crowding out all else.

Supergirl found herself looking up into the very fat face of an enormous man. He had been leaning on a thick black cane, but he now shifted his weight, flipped the cane and hooked the handle into the ring on her collar. He lifted her up as if he were pulling a trout from a stream. Obese and lame he may have been, but it was clear that he was also very strong.
“Who are you, child, and how did you get here?”
She stood unsteadily, her knees still weak from all she had endured.
“Don’t worry,” the man said. “I won’t let you fall.”
“Thank you. My name is... I don’t know my name. She calls me Trash Girl.”
“She? You mean Stick’s lady friend? Ah, yes. She’s quite unbalanced, you know. I hope you haven’t had much to do with her. Has she beaten you?”
“Yes,” said Supergirl.
“You don’t look like you’ve been beaten,” said the man. “I’ve seen some of the women she’s worked over. Whatever they looked like before, they certainly weren’t beautiful when she finished with them -- and you, by contrast, are quite beautiful, quite delectable.”
“Thank you,” said Supergirl.
“Much too delectable to be mishandled by that over-muscled dyke. I think I can help you, and perhaps you can help me. Stick is a good tenant, but he’s behind on his rent, and his girlfriend has done some minor damage to the apartment. I think it would be quite appropriate, and beneficial to all concerned, if you became their security deposit.
“What do you think?”
“I will do as you say. But please . . . please don’t hurt me.”
“That, alas, I cannot guarantee. It is so easy to hurt others without even being aware of it. But I will do my best to be kind.”
At this point, he removed his soiled white shirt and covered her naked body. She noted his enormous rolls of fat. Never had she seen anyone so huge.
“There,” he said. “I’ve given you the shirt off my back. What more could anyone ask?”

Mr. Cochon, for that was his name, took her up to his apartment, which had the same layout as Stick’s but was more tastefully decorated, a rather modest achievement.
All the chairs were quite large, and the bed Supergirl saw when she glanced through the bedroom door was enormous -- big enough for four or five normal-sized people to sleep quite comfortably.
Mr. Cochon told her to make herself comfortable in the living room, then went into the kitchen. He returned with a glass of ice water and a white pill.
“I’m brewing a pot of tea,” he said. “Take this. It will relax you.”
“Thank you, but I don’t need medication,” she answered.
“Don’t consider this medicine. Think of it as a comforting friend, someone in whom you can have absolute trust.”
“Okay,” she said. “I guess it can’t hurt.”
She washed the pill down with water, then waited for something to happen. She didn’t have to wait long.
Mr. Cochon was talking about recipes and restaurants. There was a small place in Charlotte he especially liked, a place where they made a delicious kidney pie.
She smiled and nodded politely but found it difficult to follow his conversation. She was sitting on an overstuffed sofa, and the cushions seemed to invite her to lie down, if only for a moment.

Mr. Cochon rose quietly and examined the sleeping girl. She was indeed very lovely. If her insides matched her outside, she would have the most extraordinary organs.
He lifted her, brought her into the dining room and laid her out on a long mahogany table. He removed the shirt he had given her and stroked and poked her body. Excellent muscle tone. Very nice breasts, with nipples like milk chocolate buttons atop two mounds of peach sherbet. He leaned down and sniffed her pussy. It would be quite lovely, sauteed in butter and garlic.
Then he frowned. Money. He would be a fool to devour what could bring a very pretty price at the Medical Center. And after all, he had his financial future to think about. He wasn’t getting any younger, he couldn’t work at any conventional job, and his rental properties brought in barely $75,000 a year.
Decisions, decisions.
He rubbed her belly with his fat hand, then leaned over and licked her crotch.
Quite extraordinary. He sighed. The future, he told himself, think of the future -- and not of the feast foregone.