(III)
Stars looked SG over carefully.
"What's your name?" she asked.
SG 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 SG.
"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 Stars. Wanna
know why?"
SG 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, SG 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 SG'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 SG breasts and twisted them so hard that SG gave a little
yelp.
"Regular tits. Same as on all the other sluts you've dragged home."
She pulled SG 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 SG 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. SG 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 SG's kidneys.
SG 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 by
passively 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 SG's exposed midsection.
SG 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 I snuffed, what was her name . . ."
"Ruby," said Stick. "It was Ruby."
"Whatever. She's their problem now, not ours. They've got her confused with
our Trash Girl. 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 SG. First
thing the next morning, she bounded out of her bedroom full of energy. SG
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 SG's back. Then she boxed her ears,
grabbed her hair and slammed her face into the floor.
"Time for breakfast," Star said, dragging SG 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 SG 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 SG, 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 SG's head.
SG 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?"
SG 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.
SG 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," SG 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?"
SG 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.
SG 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 SG, 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.
SG 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. SG 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 SG's hair and pulled her head so far
back that SG 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, SG'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 SG 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. SG was suspended from the ceiling of a dank cellar 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 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 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," asked a familiar voice.
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 SG's pussy, jerking it violently back and forth.
SG 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."
SG 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 SG
lost count - and consciousness.
At last, Stars took a break and squirted bottled water into her mouth. She
squirted some onto SG, too. 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 SG 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 SG 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.
