by Torrent
They say Supergirl is back to normal, back to fighting crime, upholding justice – all that shit. That’s what they say.
I say, don’t believe everything you read in the funny papers.
Wanna know where she was for those two months that TV and the press called a “sabbatical”? She was getting the shit kicked out of her at …. well, I ain’t allowed to say where. Just believe me, she was beaten and humiliated.
And forced to give blowjobs – slow, wonderful blowjobs.
I know. I was on the receiving end of some of ’em. And I was on the giving end of a few of the beatings.
Lemme tell you, it took some sophisticated technology to bring her down and disable her. But all it took were dicks and fists to break her. Dicks and fists – and a kryptonite implant in her cerebral cortex.
Let me tell you how we went about it.
The boss – we call him Domo – he broke us down into three teams. Two spotters atop a hill about a mile from where she does a lot of her recreational flying. Two more guys on a smaller hill closer to the valley she usually flies over. They had a modified Russian SA-7. Then me and Cesar, we was in a little clump of trees down in the valley. We was, you might say, the catchers.
It’s just past nine o’clock at night. There’s a three-quarter moon and no clouds. The spotters call in. “She’s comin’.” That’s all.
Me and Cesar look over toward the hills, and sure enough, there’s a shadow moving in the sky, coming our way. You can’t tell at that point what it is, but it don’t have no lights and it ain’t making no noise.
What does make a noise is the goddam SA-7. A big whoosh. She hears it, too, when she’s almost directly overhead. We see her stop in midair. I’m assuming she turns to see what’s coming toward her. It’s too dark to tell for sure. Anyway, there’s a flash and half a second later a loud boom, and she comes tumbling down, like a shot duck.
She lands with a thud not 50 yards from us. Me and Cesar run like hell toward her, but we really didn’t need to hurry. When we get to her, she’s lying on her side, and she’s not moving. Her panties was blown off by the explosion, so her cunt’s exposed.
“Here’s our big chance for a Super fuck,” says Cesar.
“Not til we get the bag over her head,” says I. I pull out a plastic bag with a hose that runs from a gas canister on my back. I slip the bag over her head, and hit the red button on my belt. The bag inflates.
Just in time.
She’s starting to come to. Her baby-blues open just as she inhales the krypton gas. Bingo, her eyes roll back and she goes as limp as Grandpa’s dick.
I stand up and kick her onto her back. “Now you can fuck her,” I tell Cesar. And he does, right there on the ground, humping her poor, scorched pussy while she’s a million miles away in dreamland. Not my idea of a real fuck. I like it when they’re wide awake and begging for mercy – or begging for more dick.
* * *
Cesar, Gus and Rudolfo took turns with the bitch in the van. We took off the plastic bag. Domo had warned that more than 15 minutes of inhaling krypton could kill her.
After a while she started to revive. That’s when I got interested. Gus was squeezing her tits when her eyes popped open and she started squirming. She tried to push him away, but she was still weak as a kitten. He slapped her a couple of times real hard. That didn’t work, so he punched her in the jaw. She quit resisting.
“Okay, boys, give her a rest,” I said. I knew it wouldn’t take long for her to be conscious enough to appreciate what I was going to do to her.
I was right. After a few minutes, she moaned, opened her eyes again and tried to sit up. I grabbed a handful of her thick blonde hair and jerked her up onto her knees. Her face was just a couple of inches from my crotch. I pulled down my zipper and pulled out St. Nick.
“Suck it bitch,” I said. She looked up at me with an expression that wasn’t very cooperative. I smashed a knee into her face.
“Suck it,” I said again.
She wiggled around and reached up to loosen my grip on her hair. A swift kick to her crotch ended that. I let her fall backward. She doubled up in pain.
“You got a lot to learn, bitch,” I said.
“Fuckin’ A,” added Cesar. He gave her a kick to the kidneys for emphasis.
* * *
Domo was pissed that she’d been fucked before he could begin his experiments.
“Who violated her?” he asked in a real calm voice. When he got real calm, that meant trouble.
Gus said, “Sorry, boss, but what do you mean, ‘violated’? “
“I mean fucked,” said Domo. “Which of you fucked her?”
Gus and Cesar raised their hands. Then they shot angry looks at Rudolfo, and he raised his hand, too.
That left me, Stick and Bobbo. “I was driving, and Bobbo was up front next to me,” said Stick.
Domo looked at me. “And you, Turgul? Where were you?”
“I was in back with the bitch, but I didn’t fuck her,” I said.
Domo glanced at Gus.
“He’s telling the truth, boss,” said Gus. I could tell he wanted to add that I had tried to get a blowjob, but he kept quiet. I had too much on Gus for him to squeal on me.
“Gus, Cesar, Rudolfo, I’m docking each of you one week’s pay,” said Domo. “And if you touch her again while she’s a guest here, you’ll be terminated.”
He turned to me. “Turgul, come with me. Stick and Bobbo, I’ll need your help, too. The rest of you will patrol the perimeter. Take the dogs. I want to be absolutely sure we have no visitors.”
I kinda felt sorry for them. It was getting cold outside, and patrol was about the most boring job in the world.
* * *
There was nothing boring about what Domo wanted me to do. We went into a big room with grey concrete walls and all kinds of chains and ropes hanging from the ceiling.
Supergirl was hanging there, too. Her wrists were shackled over her head, her legs were spread, and her ankles were chained to rings on the floor. She was completely helpless, and she knew it. Her head hung down.
Domo slipped a hand under her chin and raised her face. She had been crying. Damn, she was beautiful.
“I thought she would show more spirit,” he said. “Frankly, I’m disappointed. By now, the effects of the gas should have mostly worn off. She should be in fine fettle.”
I don’t know what the fuck a fettle was, but she looked terrific, hanging there just waiting to be fucked.
“Perhaps she needs to be provoked,” Domo said. He stepped aside. “Turgul, punch her in the stomach.”
I hesitated a second. Something about it didn’t seem right. But then I didn’t want to piss off the boss, so I slammed my right fist into her as hard as I could. Her breath came whooshing out.
“Again,” said Domo.
I hit her again, this time with a left that caught her lower ribs. Then another right, this one low, between her navel and her crotch. She really groaned with that one. Then a left, into her side.
“That’s enough,” said Domo.
She hung from the chains like dead meat.
Domo pressed two fingers against her throat.
“Heart’s still pumping,” he said softly. “Very odd. What’s happened to her power? She let you use her as a punching bag. Didn’t try to break free of her restraints. Didn’t even tighten her abdominal muscles to protect her gut.”
He stroked his chin. I didn’t like the way he was talking. It was like he was expecting the bitch to become superhuman again – with me as the closest target if she started swinging.
Domo walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a big steel dildo. It was way too big for any woman, and it had a lot of nasty studs.
“What’s that, a hippo fucker?” Stick said, with a laugh.
“No, it’s a Supergirl fucker,” said Domo, “and I’ll let you figure out how to use it.”
He handed it to Stick, who almost dropped it.
“Son of a bitch is heavy,” he said.
“Yes, thick and heavy, and those studs have sharp edges,” said Domo. “Your job is to stick it as far as it will go up our lovely young lady’s twat. But first we want to make sure she knows what’s coming.” He grabbed her hair and jerked her head up. She opened her eyes halfway, but it looked like no one was home.
“Show it to her,” he said.
Stick waved the business end of the dildo in front of her. It didn’t seem to register.
Domo grabbed her jaw and squeezed until her mouth popped open. “Give her a taste of it,” he snapped.
Stick pushed the dildo into her mouth and worked it around. Her eyes were fully open now, and you could tell she was scared. She tried to bend her head back to escape the rough metal, but Stick just pushed it in harder.
She started to gag.
“Okay,” said Domo. “Take it out.” He put his face close to hers. “What you just felt, what you just tasted, is going into your vagina, all the way into your uterus. It will tear you apart.”
“No,” she said. It was the first thing she had said since we shot her out of the sky. “Please, no.”
Domo stepped back and nodded to Stick.
Stick knelt and positioned the dildo between her legs. Suddenly, her body began to convulse. Her hips gyrated. She was trying to escape her fate.
“Turgul, get behind her and hold her,” Domo barked.
I put my arms around her and squeezed real tight. She was finally putting up a fight, and I liked that. I felt myself getting hard.
Then she screamed. Stick was doing his job.
I’m still not sure exactly what happened next. I heard chains break. I heard another scream, but it wasn’t her; it was Stick. I felt her body pushing me backward. Then I lost my balance and landed on my ass.
She was still hanging by her wrists, but her legs were now free. She must have used them to crush poor Stick’s head. He was lying on his side. Blood was gushing from his nose and his mouth, even his eyes. The dildo was lying a few feet away.
“At last, the real Supergirl has arrived,” Domo cried. He seemed happy in some crazy way.
Yeah, she had arrived, all right. Now she swung herself upside down and used the chains on her wrists to propel herself upward. She planted her feet on the ceiling and began pulling, trying to break the chains, or loosen the big steel ring embedded in the ceiling.
Bobbo yelled, “She’s gonna get loose.” I was yelling, too.
But Domo, he seemed very relaxed. There was a big smile on his face.
“Come to papa,” he said, drawing a long-barreled pistol from inside his coat. He aimed and fired.
It wasn’t as loud as a regular gun. Whatever it was, it worked. Supergirl gave a little yelp, then came tumbling down. The chains jerked her to a stop before she hit the floor.
A dart protruded from her left tit.
“Tranquilizer?” Bobbo asked.
“You might call it that. Ground Kryptonite in a suspension.”
“You knew she was going to finally wake up and try to escape?” I said.
“Yes, of course,” said Domo.
“And Stick, did you know he was going to get his fuckin’ skull crushed?”
Domo’s expression turned cold. “I knew there would be risks, of course. I didn’t expect anyone to get seriously hurt. It’s too bad about Stick.”
“Shit, it coulda been me,” I said angrily. “She coulda broke free when I was beating the fuck out of her.”
“But she didn’t, did she?” said Domo. “You’re alive. Stick’s dead. Shit happens. Besides, both of you have been very amply compensated.”
He was right about that, the pay was damn good. But I still felt pissed off. Thing is, Domo’s too dangerous to be pissed off at. You gotta just swallow it and go on.
“And, Turgul,” Domo said, “consider this: You’re going to participate in an amazing experiment. I’m going to turn Supergirl here into a ravenous slut, and you’re going to be the one who satisfies her lust.”
Or die trying, I thought to myself.
* * *
Domo’s girlfriend was the one who did the actual operation. Her name’s Gretchen, and she’s a microbiologist who does surgery as a hobby. Gus told me she just likes to cut things up – animals, men, especially beautiful women.
But this didn’t involve cutting – just piercing.
They strapped Supergirl to the operating table. She also had a kryptonite butt plug, so she wasn’t going anywhere, straps or no straps.
Gretchen pulled on a pair of latex gloves, while her assistant rubbed alcohol on Supergirl’s forehead. “So this is the famous Kara Zor-El. Not bad looking,” Gretchen said.
Domo gave a derisive snort. “Not bad looking? As lovely as you are, my darling Gretchen, you have never looked and never will look so good.”
“You make me want to disfigure her,” Gretchen replied. She was really pissed, but she said it very quietly.
“And if you did,” said Domo, “just imagine what I would do to you.”
Supergirl’s head was held by what looked like a big metal vise. It must have been some kind of x-ray machine, too, because it made a humming noise and Gretchen kept looking up at a TV screen. The picture was just a lot of wavy gray stuff.
Gretchen caught me looking at the screen. “I’ll bet you didn’t know blonde bimbos had brains,” she said. “Well, here’s proof they do. And now we’re going to have some fun.”
She took the cap off a long plastic cylinder and removed a filament so thin I wouldn’t have been able to see it, except that it caught the overhead light and glowed. It was like magic.
She touched one end of the wire to Supergirl’s forehead, just an inch or so above where her eyebrows met. Then she twirled it between her finger and thumb, and the damn thing went right into Supergirl’s head – right through skin and bone.
“It’s in,” said Domo. He was watching the screen. Sure enough, a fine white line had now entered the gray stuff.
I looked back down at Supergirl. She still lay there all peaceful. Then, suddenly, her body stiffened and began to tremble. She made a gurgling sound like someone drowning.
“Oh, what a shame,” Gretchen said. “I seem to have hit a pain center.”
“Cut the crap,” Domo snapped. “Do what I told you to do.”
Gretchen sighed heavily, like someone much put upon, and removed the filament. “Okay,” she said, “let’s try here.”
She again pressed the end of the wire against Supergirl’s forehead, and again it entered easily, this time slightly to left of the original point.
Domo, watching the screen, said, “Careful, now. You’re in very dangerous territory.”
“I’m the doctor,” Gretchen shot back. “I know what the hell I’m doing.”
Supergirl didn’t seem to be breathing. Then a monitor attached to a blood pressure cuff on her right arm started beeping. “You’re going to lose her,” Domo cried.
“Shut up, I know what I’m doing,” Gretchen said.
And I guess she did, because the beeper quit beeping and Supergirl started breathing again. In fact, she began breathing real fast, like someone excited. Then she moaned.
Everyone in the room knew what kind of moan it was. And, sure enough, her pelvis started moving up and down. I moved so I could see her pussy. It was glistening.
“She’s ready to go,” I said. I wasn’t supposed to talk in the operating room, but nobody noticed. Domo had a big smile on his face and was rubbing his hands together. Gretchen was smiling, too, but it was a tight little smile. I guess she wasn’t entirely happy.
“We’ve done it,” Domo said cheerfully. “We’ve done it.”
“Not yet,” said Gretchen. “We’ve found the spot, but I’ve still got to insert the crystals. And we don’t know for sure that they’ll work.”
“Of course, they’ll work,” said Domo. “They worked on those three test sluts. They’ll work on her.”
Gretchen didn’t answer. She had attached a thin, flexible tube to the filament. The other end of the tube was attached to a little electric pump on the instrument tray.
I looked up at the screen. Tiny points of light began appearing in a section of Supergirl’s brain. It was like those little white lights you see in high-class neighborhoods at Christmas.
Gretchen breathed a big sign of relief and removed the wire. “Now, it’s done,” she said. Domo punched a button on a CD player, and suddenly the operating room was filled with the sound of the Beatles singing “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.”
It was a fucking beautiful moment. And Supergirl, she just lay there, not knowing what the shit was going on, except that she was itching for a fuck.
* * *
I was the lucky guinea pig.
“I promise you you’ll be safe,” Domo said. “When she is sexually aroused, all of her energy is focused on that. Her superpowers are useless.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But after what happened to Stick, I guess you can understand I might be a little worried.”
“What happened to Stick was unfortunate, but we all knew there was an element of risk in that phase of our experiment. This is different. The crystals are activated by radio waves. When I turn on the transmitter, she will have only one goal: to satisfy her sexual urge. She will not want to hurt you. Far from it. You will become the key to what she wants.”
“Yeah,” I said, “but what if she accidentally . . . .”
“There will be no accident. Her enormous strength will not be available to her. You can make mad, passionate love to her. You can bend her and hurt her. She will not resist. It’s what she will want.”
I finally said okay. If you gotta die, I told myself, getting fucked to death by a beautiful blonde is as good a way to go as any.
The laboratory for this experiment was Domo’s personal bedroom. It was like something out of Hefner’s Playboy Mansion – a huge bed with satin sheets, overhead mirrors, soft music, soft lighting, nice smells.
And Supergirl.
She was sitting on a thick rug between the bed and a fireplace. All she wore was the top of her Supergirl costume, now all shredded, so it barely covered anything, certainly not her tits. That was a nice touch. I like girls in torn clothes.
As for me, I was wearing just a silk robe. Even though I was nervous, St. Nick was already poking out of it.
Supergirl noticed right away.
She licked her lips.
“You ready to rock and roll?” she said.
She got up on her knees. Her eyes were still focused on my St. Nick.
“I’m ready,” I said.
“So I can see,” she said in a sort of hoarse whisper. “Bring it here.”
I stepped forward until my dick was inches from her mouth, just like in the van. Only this time, she wanted it – she wanted it bad. She took the head into her mouth, real soft like, and worked her tongue around it. I shivered. It was so fucking great.
She pulled her face away and looked up at me. Her blonde hair had fallen over her eyes. God, she was gorgeous.
“Lie here next to me,” she said. “Lie here and let me suck you off.”
So I laid down on my back, and she straddled my chest and began sucking my dick. And I began licking her cunt. I’m not usually into cunt-licking, but hers tasted great.
When I was about to come, I grabbed her and forced her face down on the rug and jammed my dick into her pussy from behind. I did it real rough, but she seemed to like it.
“Yes,” she cried. “Fuck me. Fuck me. Force me. Hurt me.”
I grabbed her neck and squeezed as tight as I could. I’m a big, strong guy, and I had totally lost control. I wanted to fuck her and kill her at the same time.
Then I came and collapsed on top of her. I was sure I had snuffed her.
I was wrong.
After a minute or so, I heard mumbling beneath me. I rolled to one side and looked into her face. Her eyes were half closed, and there was a smile on her face.
She started speaking, but I couldn’t hear her. I put my ear next to her mouth.
“That’s was wonderful,” she whispered. “That was so fucking wonderful.”
* * *
We did it a bunch more times over the next few days. Once they put a leopard skin bikini on her, and she growled as she crawled toward me, like she was a jungle cat. I thought she was going to bite off St. Nick, but instead she gave me another blowjob – even better than the first one.
Another time, she was tied up with nylon ropes. I laid her on her belly on the bed and beat her with a leather whip. I mean, really beat the hell out of her. She loved it.
The next day we had a threesome, with Bobbo joining in. We stood her up between us, me in her pussy, Bobbo fucking her ass. Afterward, Bobbo wanted to try some really rough stuff. He said we owed it to Stick. He asked me to hold her from behind while he belly-punched her. I was kinda reluctant, but I let him have a few blows. That got me excited, and soon we both were punching her, and when she fell to the floor we kicked and stomped her.
There was no permanent damage, and she didn’t complain afterwards. But I felt kinda guilty. I just don’t know what it is with me and sex and violence.
* * *
Domo didn’t mind. He knew we couldn’t really hurt her. And besides, he had video cameras whirring all through these sessions, and the tapes would be worth millions.
But he wanted more than to turn Supergirl into Superslut. He wanted her to know she was a slut. For that, he needed an expert, and I wasn’t it. I was just a big, dumb fucking machine.
He turned her over to Gretchen and a couple of her pals. I couldn’t tell if they were boys or girls, but whatever they were, they were weird, scary-looking motherfuckers.
I didn’t see Supergirl for a couple of weeks. Then we had sort of a goodbye party and demonstration. It was in a ballroom on the first floor of Domo’s place. There was a low platform where a band could play. Only there was no musicians. Just Supergirl, with her hands cuffed behind her, and a couple of weirdoes from Gretchen’s gang on either side of her. There was a few dozen of us in the audience, people like me who worked for Domo and people who did business with him. I recognized one of them from Entertainment Tonight.
Gretchen got up on the stage. She was holding a wireless mic.
“We’re here tonight to say goodbye to a superheroine who has given us some super good times the last two months. I’ve certainly enjoyed her visit. And so have my dear friends, Melville and Crustacean.” At that, the freaks on either side of Supergirl bowed slightly.
“Melville, let’s show those who haven’t seen Supergirl in action what they’ve been missing.”
One of the freaks stepped away from Supergirl, then suddenly whirled and slammed a steel-toed boot into her belly.
Supergirl groaned and fell to her knees. Gretchen knelt beside her. “Did you like that?” She held the mic next to Supergirl’s lips.
“Yes,” Supergirl gasped. Her voice was barely audible.
“Speak up. What did you say?” said Gretchen. She grabbed Supergirl’s hair and jerked her head up, so she faced the audience.
“Yes, I liked it. I like to be roughed up, if it pleases you.”
“Very good,” said Gretchen. “And what do we call girls who like to be hurt and are so eager to please?”
“Sicko sluts,” said Supergirl. It was like she had been coached.
It went on like that for most of the evening, Gretchen and Domo and even some of their Hollywood friends taking turns humiliating her. They took off her cuffs. They didn’t seem to be needed. I mean, once, she showed a flash of anger, but Gretchen just reached in her pocket and hit the transmitter, and Supergirl instantly began stroking herself and pleading, “Fuck me, fuck me.”
* * *
They let her go for two reasons. One was that Superman and the cops were turning the city upside down looking for her, and eventually they would have found her. That would’ve meant the end of Domo and his empire, and I would have been on the unemployment line.
Second, they really didn’t need to keep her. They had enough sex videos * some of the best starring yours truly – so money wasn’t a factor. What’s more, the poor bitch still had those crystals in her head, so they could turn her back into a helpless slut anytime she was within range of a transmitter. And when the crystals were activated, they destroyed all short-term memory. After two months of being fucked and beaten and humiliated, she remembered nothing. Instant amnesia.
So, like I said, all this talk about Supergirl being back to normal, that’s a load of crap. With her, the question is, what’s normal? The little goodie-goodie flying around in a little red skirt, busting criminals like me and the boss? Or that hot little whore in Domo’s bedroom, who couldn’t get enough of St. Nick?
I think I know the answer. And I can’t wait til Domo decides to bring her down again. I been spending a lot of time thinking about poor Stick. I got a score to settle – and it involves a big steel dildo.