Drop-out

By Torrent

The president of Marston College, a plump, pleasant-faced woman named Miss McIllhenney, had finished her sunny welcoming remarks, and now it was Miss Toopermann’s turn to address the freshmen. There was nothing sunny about Toopermann. She was dean of deportment, but among students, and even some faculty, her title was “Toop the Snoop.”

“You are here to be educated,” she told the young women who filled the chapel. “But education involves more than books and labs and term papers. You will become Marston women, women with poise and confidence, women who have inner freedom because they have inner discipline. Many young men, some of them your older brothers, or your fathers or uncles, died in Europe and the Pacific to preserve your freedom. Others died just a few years ago in Korea. Freedom is precious — but it is NOT a synonym for licentiousness.”

SG sighed and squirmed. It was going to be one of those lectures. Hadn’t she heard enough such nonsense at Midvale High — and at home from her cousin, Superman?

Drinking was absolutely forbidden, Miss Toopermann went on, since drink led to far worse behavior. Smoking, too, was forbidden. It was unladylike, and some doctors even believed it was unhealthy. Unchaperoned contact with the boys from nearby Lackanooka Junior College was also off-limits.

The list of thou-shalt-nots continued, and SG’s mind began to wander. What would she do when they got out of chapel? Her “big sister,” a junior named Estelle, had told her that the really neat girls met every afternoon at the malt shop on Druid Avenue. Estelle was one of the really neat ones. Her beauty was so different from SG’s. She was almost SG’s height, but slender, and she had dark, curly hair and the delicate face of a china doll. SG was athletic and blonde. Boys were attracted to her. Heck, even girls were attracted to her. But Estelle was truly beautiful — like a movie star. Like Teresa Wright or Jean Simmons.

Toopermann’s voice rose and brought SG back to the here and now. “One offense will not be tolerated at Marston, and that offense is lying. If you tell a lie, we will discover it, and you will be exposed and expelled. There are no exceptions to this rule.”

Oh, great, thought SG. Here I am living a lie from the moment I set foot on this campus. Sallie Gale. I’m supposed to be some bubblehead named Sallie Gale. And I’m supposed to be just another 18-year-old, all-American girl. No one is supposed to know that I can run faster than a race car, fly faster than an F-86, and lift 70 times my bodyweight.

Good grief! I’ve got all these powers, and they send me here undercover to break up a penny-ante dope ring. Marijuana. Mary Jane. Grass. Some of the boys at Lackanooka and even a few Marston girls were supposed to be smoking pot.

Big deal. Big fuc----. SG censored herself. Superman hated coarse language. If she started thinking dirty words, pretty soon she’d be saying them. Then she‘d have to listen to a lecture 20 times longer and more boring than Miss Toopermann‘s.

# # #

The orientation session ended at 2 o’clock, and Estelle suggested they stroll over to O’Malley’s. Several other girls joined them, including SG’s roommate, a bookish girl named Julia who wore thick glasses and argyle knee socks and whose only possible attraction to the opposite sex was a pair of large, nicely shaped breasts.

The malt shop was full of boys and girls from Garfield High School, along with a sprinkling of Marston students. “Blueberry Hill” was playing on the jukebox.

SG, Estelle and Julia slipped into a booth. Trish, the captain of the volleyball team, grabbed the fourth seat.

“We can use someone tall like you,” Trish said, after being introduced to SG. “Did you play sports in high school?”

“Yes. Some. I liked track and field best, but I played volleyball, too.”

“Speaking of sports,” said Estelle in a low voice, “here comes the biggest, dumbest jock at Lackanooka. Whatever you do, don’t attract his attention.”

Three young men had entered the shop, laughing and talking too loud. One of them was huge — at least six and a half feet tall. SG estimated that he weighed between 250 and 270 pounds.

“His name is Louie,” Estelle whispered. “He’s on the football team. And he was a high school champion at the shot put. But mostly he‘s an All-American asshole.”

Mr. O’Malley was frantically trying to wave the newcomers away.

“You’re not allowed in here,” he protested. “The people at your college and the people at Marston agreed you boys would stay away.”

“Aw, go screw yourself, O’Malley,” said Louie. “We’re free, white and 21. We can go anywhere we damn please.”

“I’m calling the dean,” O’Malley said angrily, reaching for the phone that hung on the wall.

“Go ahead,” said Louie. “And when you’re through, give me the phone so I can call my uncle. You know my uncle — Oscar Ungtjur.”

O’Malley put the phone receiver back into its cradle. “Your uncle is Mr. Ungtjur? At the bank?”

“That’s right, Mick. And not just at the bank. President of the bank — the very bank that holds the note on this sorry excuse for a business.”

O’Malley blanched. Then he disappeared through a back door, muttering to himself. His soda jerk, a pimply young man named Tucker, ducked behind the counter.

“Alright,” said Louie, sitting on a stool with his long legs spread and looking at the girls in SG’s booth. “What have we here? The volleyball girl, Trish the Dish. And lovely Estella.”

“It’s Estelle, not Estella,” said Estelle icily.

“And a scholarly type with big tits,” Louie went on. “She’s new. And, wow, look at this other newcomer — a real blonde bombshell.”

He slipped his big right hand down to his crotch and rubbed it lasciviously. “Forget about banana splits and hot fudge sundaes, girls. Which of you little honeys wants to wrap her lips around the biggest and sweetest dong in Ohio?”

“Oh, you’re disgusting,” said Trish. “You really are the most disgusting male I’ve ever met.”

“Why, I’m sorry you feel that way, Trishie,” said Louie. “But my guess is that you just don’t like males of any sort. You’d probably prefer to slip your tongue into Estella’s slit, or maybe Blondie here.”

He got up and strolled to the booth. Julia and Trish were sitting on the outside, closest to him. He reached down and grabbed Julia’s right breast. She tried to push his hand away, but he tightened his grip.

“You’re hurting me,” she cried. Trish leaped up, but one of the other young men who had come in with Louie grabbed her and pinned her arms behind her.

A high school boy tried to intervene, but Louie’s other companion punched him in the face and he fell backward to the tile floor.

SG faced a dilemma. She could get up and beat the stuffing out of these three bullies without breaking a sweat. But if she did so, she’d blow her cover, and there would be hell to pay back home.

She decided to let this sordid scene play itself out. It was a nasty business, but no one was likely to get seriously hurt.

Louie released Julia’s tit and turned to Trish, who was struggling to free herself.

“Did I ever show you my volleyball serve?” Louie asked, with a wicked grin. Then he swung his arm in a big arc and punched Trish hard in the belly. She made a whooshing sound and crumpled to the floor.

“That’s it,” cried SG. She slid out of the booth and confronted Louie.

“Uh-oh, Blondie’s pissed,” he said, rolling his eyes in mock terror. “We’re all in big trouble now.”

SG was indeed pissed. She was pissed at him and even more at her situation. How could breaking up a dope ring be more important than stopping this bully? Then she remembered Superman’s admonition — if she couldn’t handle this simple assignment, she could forget about continuing to help him deal with the real bad guys.

So when Louie suddenly grabbed her by the neck, spun her around and pulled her backward against his body, she resisted with but a small fraction of her strength — a fraction she believed would be normal for a woman her size.

“I like it when they struggle,” he laughed. His big left forearm was across her throat, and his right hand was squeezing her breasts. Then he slid his hand down to her belly and under the waist band of her skirt. In an instant, he had inserted his big middle finger inside her vagina.

She was furious and humiliated. She reached down, grabbed his hand and pulled it away. He was surprised by her strength.

“Bitch is tougher than I thought,” he said, breathing hard. “Okay, Tom, take her out.” While Louie held her from behind, the man who had been holding Trish slammed his fist into SG’s jaw. Her head snapped to the right, and she went limp in Louie’s arms. He let her fall face forward on top of Trish, who was still out cold.

“You dirty bastards,” Estelle said hoarsely. Outside, a police siren was approaching.

“Bye-bye, girls,” said Louie. “We’ll be seeing you again. Soon.” He and his companions opened the door and casually crossed the street.

Estelle knelt beside SG. “Oh, Sallie, are you okay? Talk to me, honey. Did they break anything?”

SG had pretended being knocked out, and now she pretended to regain consciousness. She had to keep up the act. The punch had startled her, but it hadn’t hurt. What did hurt -- what hurt her pride, if not her body -- was her discovery, while Louie was manhandling her, that there was something pleasurable in this rough stuff.

She felt ashamed.

The police arrived and were swarmed by the angry crowd in the malt shop. Trish and Julia wanted to file charges against Louie and the other bullies. But Mr. O’Malley insisted he hadn’t seen anything.

The reaction of the police was puzzling. They took statements from Trish, Julia and several others, including the high school boy who had been punched, but they seemed hesitant and unenthusiastic.

“You’re going to go arrest them, aren’t you?” demanded Trish.

“Well, it’s not so simple,” one officer explained. “I mean, we weren’t here when it happened. It’s your word against theirs.”

The girls were confused and angry. What was wrong with these cops? What were they afraid of?

After the police left, Mr. O’Malley apologized for his cowardice and explained why the police seemed reluctant to get involved.

“It’s Louie’s uncle,” he said, almost in tears. “Nobody wants to make him mad. He knows Louie’s a bum, but family is family. And what’s worse, Louie’s other uncle, on his mother’s side, is a county commissioner. Louie’s untouchable.”

“Until he finally goes too far and kills someone,” Trish muttered.

So this was small-town evil, thought SG. A big lout with connections who can get away with just about anything. A bully who roughs up girls half his size. Including girls who enjoy it.

“You’re all red in the face,” said Estelle. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said SG. She had been blushing at her own thoughts, and now she blushed even more deeply. Thank goodness Estelle couldn’t read minds.

# # #

But maybe Estelle could read SG’s mind. In the week following what the girls referred to as the Malt Shop Massacre, she began dropping hints about kinky sexual activities. One afternoon, as they strolled across the campus, she whispered into SG’s ear, “Have you ever been tied up?”

“Tied up?” SG asked loudly.

“Hush,” said Estelle. “Listen, I want you to come over to my dorm after dinner. I’ve discovered how to get up into the attic. No one goes there. I want to show you something — something I think you’ll like.”

SG giggled. “Okay. Sounds exciting.”

That evening, Estelle led SG to a door at the end of a dimly lit third-floor corridor of her dorm. Estelle knelt and slipped a bent hairpin into the lock. After a few seconds of jiggling, the door opened. Behind it was what looked like a large broom closet. Estelle closed the door behind them and turned on her flashlight. Against the far wall was a step ladder. Above it were three curved metal bars embedded in the wall. Their spacing suggested they were intended for climbing. And in the ceiling was a recessed square covered by a slab of unpainted wood.

Estelle climbed up first and pushed aside the wooden covering. Then she pulled herself up through the square opening. SG followed quickly.

Estelle reached up and pulled on a cord. A single bare light bulb suddenly illuminated their corner of the attic. It was filled with bulky equipment shrouded in sheets.

“Look at this,” Estelle whispered, as she pulled the sheet from some object that was taller than they were.

It was a large wooden X, with chains and manacles hanging from each corner.

“Golly,” said SG. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Except in the bad kind of comic books.”

“Yeah, it’s like the stuff in dungeons,” Estelle said excitedly. “And how about this?”

She pulled the covering from a squat wooden chair with a straight back and sturdy looking arm rests. There were leather straps attached to the arm rests and an iron ring protruding from the top of the chair back.

SG looked more closely. In the seat of the chair was a circular hole about three inches in diameter.

“What are you supposed to do, pee through it?” she asked.

Estelle laughed, then she knelt and reached under the chair. Suddenly there was a metallic snap and a studded iron dildo shot up through the hole.

“Holy smoke!” cried SG.

“It gets even better — or worse, depending on your point of view,” said Estelle. She turned a crank attached to the side of the chair. The dildo began rotating and moving up and down.

“Who would dream up something like this?” SG asked, her face filled with wonder.

“I don’t know,” said Estelle. “Maybe Toop the Snoop. I can see her torturing beautiful young women to find out if they’ve been naughty.”

They continued to explore the attic. There was a chest filled with whips and ropes and handcuffs. Estelle uncovered a bed with thick wooden posts at the corners. Cords were attached to each post.

She jumped onto the mattress.

“Tie me up,” she said, with a strange smile.

SG was embarrassed. “What if somebody comes up here?”

“Nobody’s coming. Hurry up.”

SG secured Estelle’s wrists and ankles, then sat on the bed beside her. Estelle looked so beautiful — and so deliciously helpless.

“Kiss me,” said Estelle. “Kiss me all over.”

SG kissed Estelle on the lips and began unbuttoning her blouse. Then she slid her mouth down Estelle’s throat and moved to her right breast. Estelle moaned as SG sucked and licked her nipple.

“Oh, yes, yes,” she cried softly.

SG slipped her hand down to Estelle’s crotch and began fondling her pussy. Estelle’s slender body was writhing with pleasure.

“Oh, God, it’s too much. Oh, God, do more. Do more.”

SG slipped off her own skirt and panties, and straddled Estelle. She began licking Estelle’s wet pussy, even as Estelle was licking hers. They reached orgasm together and lay breathing heavily for several minutes.

“Thank you, Sallie,” Estelle said at last. “That was great.”

SG released her from her bonds and they sat in the bed, embracing tenderly.

“What can I do for you?” Estelle asked.

SG didn’t answer. She was thinking of the chair with the big, studded dildo.

# # #

Relations between Marston and Lackanooka were cool and formal. The young men at Lackanooka were, on the whole, a bad lot — students who would never be accepted at any of the better colleges because of their poor high school grades or, in some cases, their police records. The faculty, administration and board of Marston, by contrast, were convinced that their girls were as good as any who attended snooty East Coast colleges.

Still, there were practical considerations that required some contact between the schools. One was Marston’s lack of adequate athletic facilities.

Lackanooka had a football field and track that happened to be within easy walking distance of Marston. So arrangements had been made that, in exchange for a small fee, the Marston girls could use the field two afternoons a week, when the Lackanooka men didn’t need it.

Miss Toopermann and Miss Glute, the athletic director, made clear to the girls that they were never to go to the field except on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons and were to leave immediately at any other time if any Lackanooka men showed up.

SG had signed up for volleyball, without much enthusiasm, and for the track team. Miss Glute asked her what distance she wanted to run.

“The hundred-yard dash,” said SG. “And the mile.”

Miss Glute lowered her clipboard and glared at her. “Well, which is it going to be? Are you a sprinter or a distance runner?”

“Both,” said SG, with the slightest hint of impertinence in her voice.

“No one runs the hundred and the mile, at least not competitively.”

“I can,” insisted SG. She was on dangerous ground here. She didn’t want to back down, but if she showed even a fraction of her running ability, it would arouse suspicion.

“Okay, Miss Gale,” said Miss Glute, with a grim smile. “Let’s see what you can do.”

SG spent the afternoon running just fast enough to finish second in every 100-yard heat, then decided to have a little fun in the mile, finishing 30 yards ahead of the number two runner.

Miss Glute was stunned — and not entirely pleased.

“You’ve proved your point, Miss Gale. But there’s something fishy here.”

At 4 o’clock, she blew two blasts on her whistle and it was time for the girls to get back to Marston.

SG slipped away from the group and waited beneath the bleachers until they were gone. She needed to do some real running. She came back out to the track and took a sprinter’s stance.

“Nice ass,” came a familiar voice from behind her.

She turned and found herself facing Louie. He was alone this time.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I know we’re supposed to be off the field.”

“No, don’t worry. I’m glad you’re here.” He smiled. “Maybe we can finish what we started at O’Malley’s.”

SG flushed. “You’d better not try it,” she said, struggling to control her emotions.

“Come here,” he said. “Come here, I’m not going to hurt you.”

She knew she should turn and leave. Instead, she stepped toward him.

“You’re beautiful. The best looking girl at Marston. And I’m going to fuck you one day. You know that, and I know that. So let’s do a down payment today.”

He unzipped his pants and pulled out a huge prick. It was already getting hard.

“Kneel,” he said.

SG looked into his eyes. She was filled with rage and humiliation — and something else, something she had never felt before.

She knelt.

He moved closer, until his dick was only inches from her face.

“Suck it,” he said softly. “Suck it til I cum, then swallow it.”

SG was amazed at herself as she reached up and grabbed the base of his prick, then put her lips around the head.

“That’s it. That’s nice.”

Slowly she moved her head up and down on his shaft. It was getting harder. Then he grabbed her hair and pushed her face into his crotch.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he cried. “It’s coming. It’s coming.”

He ejaculated profusely into her mouth.

“Swallow it, slut” he said. “Swallow every drop.” She did as he commanded.

He pulled her up by her hair and put his face close to hers. “You’re no Marston girl,” he said. “You’re a bitch in heat.”

He let her go.

“Come around when you want some more,” he said with a leer.

He walked away, and SG fell to her knees and wept. He was right. She was a slut.

And she did want more — much, much more.

# # #

That evening, as she and Estelle were studying in the library, SG leaned forward and whispered, “I want the chair.”

Estelle’s jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding. That thing could rip you apart.”

“I want it,” SG insisted.

“When?”

“Now. Tonight.”

Estelle was distraught, but how could she turn Sallie down after she had given her so much pleasure?

“Okay. But I think you’re making a terrible mistake.”

When they reached the attic, Estelle was more convinced than ever that this contraption would do serious damage. But she also was intensely curious to see how it worked.

SG stripped and sat down. Estelle snapped the manacles onto her wrists and ankles. In the big wooden chest, she had found a leather collar with an iron clip, and she buckled this around SG’s neck and attached it to the metal ring on the back of the chair. Finally, she buckled a thick leather strap around SG’s waist.

“Are you sure?” Estelle asked.

“I’m sure,” said SG. “Do it.”

Estelle knelt and released the spring mechanism. SG gasped as the dildo shot into her.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. It hurts.”

“I’ll get you out of this goddam thing,” Estelle said, reaching for SG’s collar.

“No, don’t,” said SG. “Keep going. Crank it. Crank it as hard as you can.”

This is crazy, thought Estelle. But she gave the crank a tentative turn. SG squirmed and trembled. “Keep going. Keep going.”

Estelle turned the crank one full rotation. SG’s body rose as far as her bonds would allow. Her head snapped back and her mouth opened. Bubbles formed on her lips.

Estelle was transfixed. As if someone else was controlling her, she turned the crank faster and faster. SG was wiggling on the steel rod like a fish on a spear. She made strange gurgling noises, and her eyes had rolled back so only the whites showed.

Ten rotations. Twenty. At 33, Estelle stopped, exhausted.

SG’s head had fallen as far forward as her collar would allow. A string of spittle hung from her lips.

“Oh, my God,” said Estelle. “Oh, my God, I’ve killed her.”

She removed SG’s collar and felt her throat. There was a pulse. It was weak, but her heart was beating.

She freed SG and let her fall into her arms. Then she gently laid her on the floor.

“I’m so sorry, Sallie,” she said tearfully. “I’m so very sorry.”

SG’s eyes fluttered open, and her lips moved. Estelle put her ear next to SG’s mouth.

“It was wonderful,” SG whispered. “It was so fucking wonderful.”

# # #

SG wanted to go back to the attic the next evening, but Estelle refused. It was too dangerous. Eventually, someone was going to see them go into the closet. Or hear SG’s cries and moans. Besides, this was getting sick.

SG felt hurt and disappointed. But she couldn’t make the machine work by herself.

Well, Estelle wasn’t the only person who could provide her with sexual thrills. Even though it was a Wednesday, she sneaked over to the football field after classes. Practice was breaking up, and she saw Louie and several other men headed for the locker room. One of them spotted her and tapped Louie on the shoulder. He turned and looked at her. He was too far away for SG to see his expression, but she couldn’t miss his gesture. He waved for her to come forward.

Why had she come here? This was crazy. He wasn’t even alone. Her degradation would be witnessed by his buddies.

Nevertheless, she walked toward them. When she was close enough, Louie said, “Well, what have we here? The hottest piece of ass at Marston.”

She turned angrily and started to walk away. Louie quickly caught up with her and grabbed her arm. “Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you, slut.” He spun her around and slapped her across the face.

“You came here for dick, didn’t you?” he said. “Well, I’ve got plenty of dick for you, and so do my friends.” He pulled her toward the locker room.

For an instant, she was ready to pull back, to break away, to run into town and take a bus far from Lackanooka, from Marston, from this whole sordid scene.

But she didn’t.

She let herself be dragged into the locker room. Several other football players were already there, naked, with their pricks hanging between their hairy legs.

“Look what we’ve got, guys,” Louie said. “It’s a Marston girl, looking for dick.”

They crowded around her. She counted quickly. Nine of them. All big and athletic. Not enough for a decent fight, if she were interested in fighting. But enough for a rousing gang bang.

And gang-bang her they did. Louie ripped off her jersey and bra, then he lifted her off the floor by her wrists while two other men pulled down her skirt and panties. She pretended to resist and made faint cries for help.

They weren’t faint enough for one particularly muscular football player who rammed his fist into her gut.

“Now, don’t hurt her,” said Louie. “We want her awake so she can appreciate all we’re doing for her.”

Actually, SG had never been more awake in her life. Big hands were clutching her tits and her buttocks, fingers were wiggling inside her pussy. Then the fucking began. They bent her over a wooden table. Someone pulled the cheeks of her behind apart and squirted lotion into her butt hole. Then he jammed in his prick. She yelped in pain and delight.

When that one finished, another took his place. Five men reamed her rectum. Four fucked her in the pussy.

After that, the blowjobs began. She confronted what seemed an endless parade of pricks — normal, big and humongous, circumcised and uncircumcised, some with purple heads, others with pulsing red veins.

After half an hour, the men had satisfied themselves.

“What’d I tell you?” said Louie. “Best piece of ass at Marston, and always ready. Right, Blondie?”

SG lay face down on the floor in a daze, with cum flowing from her mouth, her pussy and her ass.

“Answer when he speaks to you,” said one of the men. He kicked her in the side, and she groaned in pain.

Louie reached down and scooped her up. She felt light in his arms.

“What are you going to do with her?” one of the men asked.

“I’m going to do what any gentleman would do. Bring my date back home and deposit her safely on her doorstep.”

But he didn’t deliver her to her doorstep. He and Tom decided it would be more fun to deposit her on the doorstep of Toop the Snoop.

Dean Toopermann lived with her sister in a cottage on the edge of the campus. They dumped SG, naked and semi-conscious, on the small brick front porch. Louie reached into his pocket and pulled out a half pint of cheap whiskey. He poured it all over SG and rang the doorbell. Then he and Tom went to hide in the bushes.

II

SG awoke to discover herself wrapped in a thick white towel and lying next to the fireplace in Dean Toopermann’s living room. She sat up, shook the cobwebs out of her head and looked around.

Sitting a few feet away, in a rocking chair, was Toop. She had a large globular glass in her hand, the kind brandy is served in. Standing behind her was her sister, Regina, a big woman who was rarely seen on campus.

“So our drunken little tart isn’t deceased, after all,” said Toopermann.

“No, she’s very much alive,” said Regina. “See the glow on her bare skin. I’d say she’s the picture of health.”

SG started to speak, then stopped. What could she possibly say? How could she possibly explain?

Toopermann rose and walked toward a doorway. “Come on, dear. Don’t keep me waiting.”

SG got unsteadily to her feet and followed.

They walked through the kitchen, then entered a darkened room. Toopermann flipped a switch, and SG saw, in the middle of the room, a squat wooden chair that looked very much like the one in the dormitory attic.

She gasped.

“Do you know what this is?” asked Toopermann.

“No,” said SG, blushing.

“Ah, but you must have some idea. You see, your face just became flushed, and that’s a sign of lying. Of course, it’s not the only sign. Here at Marston, we’ve made a science of distinguishing between truth and falsehood — deliberate falsehood. And this little chair is one of our more useful inventions.”

SG shivered.

“Are you cold?” Regina asked, in a husky, masculine voice.

“No, m’am,” said SG.

“Frightened, then?” asked Toopermann. “You should be at least a little frightened, because we’re going to find out more about you tonight, including how you came to my doorstep, naked and smelling like a distillery.”

“And with ejaculate seeping from between your legs,” added Regina, stripping away the towel that was SG‘s only defense against their cold, prying eyes.

“I want to go home,” SG said plaintively. But Regina pushed her forward.

SG was close enough now to see that the chair had straps to secure a victim’s wrists and ankles and some sort of metal dome to fit on top of his or her head. But there was no hole in the seat. Whatever Toopermann and her sister had in mind, metallic rape evidently wasn’t part of it.

“Sit down,” said Toopermann.

She sat, and Toopermann and Regina quickly and expertly bound her to the chair.

“This may be a little uncomfortable,” said Toopermann. She lowered the metal helmet, which was attached to a vertical rod behind the chair, onto SG’s head. Inside of the helmet were metal protrusions that hurt, but SG said nothing.

Toopermann stepped back and said, “All we need now are the electrodes.”

“Is this a lie detector?” asked SG nervously.

“Well, yes, in a way,” said the dean. “It’s not like those detectors the police use, where a moving needle swings back and forth on a strip of paper. But it gets the job done.”

Regina opened a drawer and pulled out a tangle of cables. There were two-prong plugs on one end of each of the cables and a spring-loaded clip on the other end. She plugged two cables into a console on a table and handed the other ends to Toopermann.

“This most definitely will hurt,” said Toopermann, and before SG could object, she clamped two of the clips on SG’s nipples.

“Ouch!” cried SG.

“Don’t be a sissy, girl,” said Regina. “It will get much worse, and you need to be strong.”

Wires were clipped to her ear lobes and to her clitoris.

“Now, we’re going to find out when you’re lying and when you’re telling the truth,” said Toopermann. “But first a warm-up.” She turned a dial on the console, and SG’s body jerked suddenly. A wave of electricity had jolted her left breast. Another dial was turned, and SG’s head rattled inside the metallic dome. Her ear lobes felt aflame.

And so it went, electricity surging into her breasts, her head and her most private and sensitive nether parts.

After a few minutes, the torture stopped.

“You’re probably wondering,” said Toopermann, “why we haven’t asked you any questions.”

“And why you’re wearing a metal helmet,” added Regina.

Actually, SG wasn’t wondering about either of these things. She was wondering what had happened to her superhuman powers. Ever since she had first encountered Louie, she had been getting weaker and weaker — more and more like just another human being. The dildo chair in the attic had hastened her decline. And the gang rape in the locker room had left her as weak as the weakest girl at Marston. Something was terribly wrong.

SG realized Toopermann was still talking. “The helmet produces unbearable pain and can do irreversible damage. We use it only as a last resort. In this case, it will be used only when we are convinced that you are lying and need powerful persuasion to tell the truth.”

She paused to let her remarks sink in.

“Here, then, are our questions: Who sent you here, to Marston?”

“My parents,” SG said softly.

“Liar,” snapped Toopermann, as she punched a button. SG’s head seemed to explode. Every sense was overwhelmed by a wave of destructive force that was ripping her apart, molecule by molecule.

SG slumped in the chair. Regina removed the helmet.

“Is she alive?” Toopermann asked.

“Barely,” said Regina. She cupped her hand under SG’s chin and raised her head.

“She’s quite pretty, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Quite,” said Toopermann. “You can have what’s left of her when we’re finished. Assuming we get all we need from her.”

It took 15 minutes for SG to regain consciousness, during which Regina fixed tea and heated up scones in the microwave.

When SG opened her eyes, Toopermann was watching her with what appeared to be sympathetic interest.

“I was afraid we’d lost you,” she said.

“Please,” SG whimpered, “please don’t do that again.”

“Oh, but we must,” said Toopermann. “Unless you tell the truth.”

“I’ll tell you anything you want,” SG sobbed.

“I thought so. Now, here’s Regina with tea. None for you, I’m afraid. But I think I’ll take a short break. Regina, would you like to take over?”

“Love to,” said Regina. She fiddled with the console, and SG was once again doing an electric jig.

“She’s quite fetching when you stimulate her clitoris,” said Regina.

Toopermann, munching a piece of scone, nodded in agreement.

After a few minutes, Toopermann brought the dishes to the kitchen and returned to work. Regina pushed the helmet back down on SG’s head, pressing its metal probes into her scalp. Then she buckled the chin strap even tighter than before.

“Who sent you here?” Toopermann asked.

SG hesitated, but when Toopermann reached for the console she blurted out, “Superman.”

Toopermann gave her a hard glance. “Is that the truth?”

“I swear it is,” SG said, desperate to avoid the agony of another burst of power from the helmet.

“Why did he send you here?”

“To break up a drug ring.”

Toopermann’s face hardened. “Liar,” she said, punching the button again.

SG’s body stiffened. Her arms and legs and head burst free of their restraints, and her chin strap snapped. She slid down and rolled onto the floor, her body heaving spasmodically. Steam poured from her eyes, mouth and nostrils.

Regina moved toward her, but Toopermann said sharply, “Don’t touch her. She’s still full of juice.”

They watched as SG’s body continue to convulse in its grotesque dance. Finally, after half an hour, Toopermann said, “Tie her wrists behind her. I’m not sure she’ll live through the night, but we can’t take any chances. If she recovers, we’ll continue this tomorrow. I’m bushed.”

After Toopermann left, Regina rolled SG onto her back. The spasms had ended. She felt SG’s throat. No pulse. It was all over.

Too bad, thought Regina. She rubbed her hand across SG’s belly and slid it between her legs. Then she kissed her long and passionately on the lips of her mouth and the lips of her pussy.

Regina spent the night making love to SG’s already cooling corpse. When grey light finally appeared in the windows, she rose, exhausted but fulfilled, and went to bed.

# # #

At seven o’clock Toopermann shuffled into the kitchen to fix herself a cup of tea. She glanced into the interrogation room. SG lay peacefully on the floor, her legs spread, a very large zucchini stuffed into her vagina. Toopermann frowned. Regina really had to learn to quit wasting food.

She took a sip of tea, put down her cup and knelt beside the girl who only a few hours ago had been boozing and fornicating, and who had paid for it with torments generated by the most powerful instrument in the arsenal of truth and justice.

Was she dead? Her body was cold, but if, in fact, Superman had sent her, she might herself have superhuman powers. She pulled out the zucchini. It made a soft “pop,” and SG’s pelvis twitched.

Could she still be alive? At least her lower half was, thought Toopermann.

Well, there was one way to find out.

She dragged SG back to the wooden chair and propped her up. Strapping her in was difficult, but she didn’t want to wake Regina. The poor dear had probably been up all night with her new toy.

She lowered the helmet and buckled the chin strap.

“You’re in for a wild ride,” she whispered. Then she stood next to the console and pressed a button she hadn’t touched the night before.

At first, there was no reaction. Maybe the pelvic twitch had just been an illusion or some post-mortem reaction, thought Toopermann. But SG’s body began to move. The fingers of her left hand trembled. Her back stiffened. Her mouth opened and she gulped for air.

Soon she was breathing normally. Her deathly pallor had been replaced by the warm glow of life. She began making sounds — low moans and gurgles. And suddenly she was smiling. No doubt about it, she was experiencing pleasure.

“Ah, she’s come back,” said Regina, who had appeared at the door.

“Yes, reverse still works. We can kill her with excruciating pain and revive her with inexpressible delight. In a few seconds, she’ll begin having orgasms. Then it will be time to continue our interrogation.”

They spent the next few hours subjecting SG to pain and pleasure in calibrated doses. Toopermann discovered this remarkable young woman could endure more of both than any other girl they had experimented on. She also discovered that SG was under the illusion that she was Supergirl, that she was stronger than the strongest mortal man, that she could fly, and all the rest of the silly super-being mythology.

“I don’t doubt that Superman sent her,” she told Regina. “But I see no evidence that she herself has superhuman powers, beyond her power to absorb enormous pain.”

During the interrogation, SG told everything: about her mission to discover an alleged drug ring, about discovering what was in the attic, about her encounters with Louie and his friends, about her secret craving to be humiliated and degraded.

“An interesting case,” said Toopermann. “But we’re not running a mental health clinic here. She’ll have to be sent back home, wherever that is.”

“And the dope ring,” said Regina. “Is there anything to that part of her story?”

“In fact, there is. Several Lackanooka boys have been peddling marijuana on campus and in town. I despise drugs, but it’s a relatively small operation, and I can’t see why Superman would be interested in it.”

She paused and frowned. “Then again, maybe there is an explanation. But it would require a degree of callousness on the part of Superman that certainly doesn’t fit his image.”

# # #

SG remained at Toopermann’s house for over a month. Her roommate and her classmates and teachers were told she had returned home for emotional reasons. It hadn’t yet been determined if she would return to Marston, but if she did, it certainly wouldn’t be this semester.

At the cottage, SG had become Regina’s sex toy. When Toopermann was at work, the big woman made her wear a dog’s collar and leash. When SG least expected it, she would jerk the leash and send her tumbling to the floor. Then she would pounce on her with surprising alacrity for someone so big and jam something, usually a food item, into the girl’s rectum or vagina.

When she went shopping, she would tie SG’s wrists behind her, slip the rope through her collar and tie it to a steel hook bolted into the ceiling of the broom closet just off the kitchen.

It was while she was in the closet that a revelation came to SG. She saw a bright cloud, and in the cloud was a female form more beautiful than any she had ever seen.

A voice came from the cloud. “Be strong, Supergirl. Be strong in spirit, and you will again be strong in body. Your weakness is your sexual craving, your lust to be humiliated. You have indulged it to your peril. If you are to live, if you are to have a life worth living, you must regain your dignity.”

SG wept. She wanted to hear these words, yet she was afraid. Did she have the strength of character to pull herself out of his slough of degradation?

She heard the back door open and close, and Regina’s heavy footsteps in the kitchen. Then there was the sound of packages being put on the pantry shelves. The refrigerator door opened and closed. Regina was putting away groceries.

Then the steps approached the closet. SG took a deep breath.

The door opened and light flooded in, momentarily blinding SG.

“Hello, dearie,” said Regina. “Had a nice rest?”

She unhooked the rope from the hook and slipped her thumb under SG’s collar. “Come along, then,” she said, dragging her out of the closet.

As soon as Regina untied her wrists, SG struck. She punched the older woman in the belly, as hard as she could.

Regina gave her a look of rage and surprise, then crumpled to her knees.

“Party time’s over, bitch,” said SG. She grabbed a cantelope from the kitchen table and slammed it into Regina’s face.

SG pulled off the collar and threw it across the room.

She wasn’t sure what she would do with her new freedom, but she knew she’d need clothes and money. She found nearly $50 in Regina’s purse. That was a good start.

Clothes were more difficult. All the stuff in Toopermann’s and Regina’s bedrooms was the wrong size — and incredibly ugly. Finally, she found a grey trench coat in a closet. She’d just wear that to cover her nakeness.

As she walked back into the kitchen, Regina jumped her from behind and tried to plunge a carving knife into her belly. The blade cut through the trench coat but not her skin.

“That hurt,” SG said angrily. She flipped Regina over her shoulder, and the big woman landed with a resounding crash on the kitchen floor.

The good news was that, for all the damage that had been done to her emotionally, her body remained as resilient as ever. Still, the jab of the knife had stung. Until a few weeks ago, she had never felt intense pain.

Or intense pleasure, for that matter.

She opened the front door and looked around. A retired professor she had seen around campus was walking his dog. He nodded to SG. She waved vaguely and waited until he had passed.

Where should she go? She knew she wanted to expose Toopermann and Regina for the sadists that they were, but that would almost surely involve blowing her cover. She also wanted to get even with Louie and his friends.

An opportunity for the latter came much sooner than she had expected. As she crossed the street that separated the cluster of faculty housing from the main campus, a Chevy convertible raced past. There was a screeching of brakes, and the car suddenly was in reverse. It stopped where she had just crossed.

Louie was driving. Three of his buddies were also in the car.

“Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age, Blondie,” Louie called. He jumped out of the car and walked over to her, rubbing his hands together with anticipation. “Where you been keeping your lovely self?”

“Hi, Louie,” SG said calmly.

His friends placed themselves around her, cutting off any possible escape.

“You remember Tom, here, and Buddy and Jim?” said Louie. “They certainly remember you. They helped fuck your brains out in the locker room.”

“Yes, I remember them,” said SG. “But we’re not in the locker room now. You wouldn’t think of trying to fuck me here.”

“You’re right about that,” said Louie. “But I got this fine car here, and we can take you someplace secluded. You know you want more of what we’ve got.” He grinned wickedly.

“Go fuck youself,” SG said softly.

“What’d you say?” asked Louie, with a puzzled frown.

One of his friends grabbed SG’s arm from behind. She broke free and wheeled to face him. “Fuck off,” she hissed.

Now Louie did the grabbling. He locked his big left forearm across her throat, as he had in the malt shop, and he reached down and began roughly fondling her crotch.

“Hell, we’ll warm you up and fuck you right here on your own campus, bitch. Ain’t nobody going to touch me, cuz I’m fucking untouchable.”

SG breathed deeply. A wave of sexual desire had swept across her, a desire to be raped and humiliated. She had to resist.

She reached down and took Louie’s huge hand in both of hers.

“That’s it, bitch, guide me in,” he whispered.

Then his whisper turned into a scream of pain. SG had crushed his right hand with a grip as powerful as an industrial vise.

Louie pulled away and fell to the ground, holding his right wrist in his left hand and groaning in agony.

The others looked at him, startled and unsure what to do. Then one threw a wild, angry punch at SG. She deflected it with her left hand and hit him in the side with her right. He gasped and fell to his knees.

The other two jumped her and knocked her down. One sat on her chest and tried to press her arms to the ground. Her legs were spread, and the other kicked her hard in the crotch. The pain took her breath away.

That was the break they needed. In an instant, both were on their feet, stomping her defenseless body. She curled up on her side to protect herself, but that just exposed her kidneys to vicious kicks.

A crowd had gathered, and Marston girls and faculty members were screaming at the men to stop — to no avail.

One of the men leaned down and pulled SG’s now naked body off the ground. He held her while the other pounded her belly with his fists.

Louie had recovered enough to stagger over to them. His face was full of pain and rage.

“You broke my hand, bitch,” he croaked. He held up his hand, now swollen and red. SG raised her head and tried to focus on him. She was seeing double, and she felt dizzy and nauseous.

Then someone broke out of the crowd and lunged toward the men. It was Estelle. She had just arrived and had seen her friend taking a terrible beating.

She tried to push Louie aside, but he grabbed her by the throat with his left hand and kneed her in the groin. She moaned and sank to her knees. Then he kicked her in the face, and she plunged face backward to the ground, blood spurting from her mouth and nose.

SG struggled to free herself and help Estelle. But the man holding her tightened his grip, and the other began pounding her with renewed fury. Her head snapped back and forth from his punches. The crowd surged forward, and Marston women began pulling at the men, holding their arms and clawing at their faces.

Finally, sirens overwhelmed the cacophony of the crowd, and the police pushed in. A captain in charge took one look at the situation — two women badly beaten in front of a crowd of witnesses — and decided that he and his men could no longer protect Louie Ungtjur from the consequences of his thuggishness, uncles or no uncles.

An ambulance arrived just as Louie and his friends were being handcuffed. Louie begged them to be careful of his injured hand, but the captain took on the task personally and managed to be unusually rough. Louie screamed, cursed and, to his enormous shame, wept.

The ambulance crew moved Estelle gently onto a stretcher. SG insisted on walking, though she was wobbly and obviously dazed. The amazing thing, the ambulance crew and many in the crowd noticed, was that she hadn’t shed a drop of blood.

III

The meeting, organized via phone by Dean Toopermann and Oscar Ungtjur, was held that evening in the board room of the Lackanooka National Bank. The topic, of course, was what to do with “Sallie Gale.”

Though Toopermann and Ungtjur had only a nodding acquaintance and didn’t particularly like one another, they recognized that they shared an urgent need to get rid of this troublesome young woman. Louie’s Uncle Smithson, the country commissioner, was there, too — along with the police chief, the local circuit court judge and an emissary from Metropolis who owned a paving firm in Lackanooka. The firm had several country contracts and was useful for laundering money generated by less reputable business operations in the big city.

“Let’s get right to the point,” said Ungtjur. “This Sallie Gale, or whatever her name is, has created a difficult situation. Miss Toopermann has been reluctant to discuss her reasons for wanting to eliminate this problem, and I respect her wishes to keep whatever it is that bothers her confidential. But let me be perfectly frank about myself. The young woman has injured my nephew Louie, physically, and has hurt his reputation. Louie is not a bad boy. Just a bit rambunctious.”

“She ain’t been good for my reputation and the reputation of my force either,” said the police chief.

“And I don’t relish having to deal with the charges and countercharges arising from this afternoon’s fracas,” said the judge. “If I don’t dismiss your nephew’s laughable assertion that Miss Gale and her friend initiated the assault, I can forget about re-election — no matter how much you and the bank invest in my campaign.”

“I understand,” said Ungtjur. “So we all have our reasons for wanting Miss Gale to disappear. The problem is, how do we go about it? The doctor in the emergency room says that the other girl, Estelle Baroque, suffered several broken bones and lost a few teeth, but our remarkable Miss Gale suffered no visible injuries. And X-rays showed no bone fractures. Yet she was much more severely beaten.” He paused, momentarily flustered. “Beaten as a result of her unprovoked attack on my nephew, of course.”

“Of course,” said Toopermann, with a wry smile. “I can’t believe I find myself in the same camp as your nephew, Mr. Ungtjur, but war creates strange alliances, and this is war. Miss Gale is a formidable enemy. While she does not appear to have super powers at anywhere near the level of Superman, I believe she was telling the truth when she said she was sent here by him. And I believe we cannot do her serious and permanent harm by the usual means. I can testify that what would kill a normal girl — or even a normal very strong man — is not going to work for her.”

“I think I know what will,” said Silvio Mozzarella, the road contractor. He spoke quietly but with authority.

“Miss Gale, as you call her, was not exaggerating when she said she has superhuman powers,” he continued. “We know her. We’ve had unfortunate dealings with her in Metropolis. And we know that Superman sent her here.”

“To break up a minor drug ring?” Toopermann asked skeptically.

“To get her out of Metropolis,” answered Mozzarella.

“Why?”

“She was getting a lot of attention in the newspapers,” Mozzarella said with a shrug. “It makes sense that Superman was jealous. She’s just a kid, but she was putting almost as many of my associates behind bars as he was. And she pulled off some pretty spectacular rescues, like saving an entire village full of people from that volcano in Nicaragua.”

“An intriguing theory,” said Toopermann. “Now, let me suggest another, based on my academic training in psychology and long years of watching interactions between men and women. I think Superman wanted to get this young woman far away from him because she presents a sexual temptation he finds very difficult to resist. What I learned about Miss Gale during my evening of interrogation suggests that she is, quite simply, a nymphomaniac, one with a predilection for situations in which she is powerless and vulnerable. I would not be surprised if she has already seduced Superman and was sent here as punishment.”

“That’s all well and good,” said Ungtjur impatiently. “But I’m less interested in Superman and his motives than in how to get rid of this bitch. Pardon my French.”

Toopermann chuckled. “You think I don’t use such language myself, Mr. Ungtjur. Yes, she is a bitch. She roughed up my sister this morning, in my very own house. But excuse me. I believe we interrupted Mr. Mozzarella and his thoughts on how to eliminate this ‘bitch’ of a problem.”

“Yes,” said Mozzarella. “Well, eliminating her permanently — killing her — is beyond the capabilities of my organization, at least for the moment. But we know how to incapacitate her for a long, long while. And maybe while she’s out of commission, we will develop the means of finishing her off — her and Supreman.”

“And what is this incapacitating agent?” asked Ungtjur.

“Kryptonite,” answered Mozzarella.

Toopermann snorted derisively. “Really, Mr. Mozzarella, you sound like a comic book villain. My area of expertise is psychology, not chemistry. But I’ve studied the physical sciences enough to know that krypton is an inert gas, and you cannot make a mineral out of something inert.”

“Maybe you should stick to her area of expertise,” Mozzarella said icily. “You are incorrect when you say krypton is inert. Three labs in America have found ways to coax it into combining with other elements. One of those labs is owned and operated by my business associates in Metropolis. And as for the efficacy of our kryptonite, let me simply point out that it has several times been used to foil and temporarily disable Superman.”

“I stand corrected,” Toopermann said apologetically. This gangster was better educated than she had expected.

“No hard feelings,” said Mozzarella. “In fact, to show my good faith and my commitment to our project, I have brought with me six vials of krypton gas. Each of you will get one, and I’ll hang on to the sixth. They will provide us with protection from Miss Gale until a special shipment of kryptonite arrives on Thursday.”

“And when that shipment arrives, who will bell the cat, so to speak,” asked Ungtjur.

“My men and I will handle that,” said Mozzarella. “It would make our job easier, of course, if one of you has the opportunity to gas her first and call us. But in any event, we’ll find her. Then I’ll switch hats from big-city mobster to respectable small-town road contractor.”

The others looked puzzled, but Mozzarella just smiled mysteriously and handed out the vials of krypton gas.

# # #

Oscar Ungtjur gave his to his nephew. Louie was more likely than he to run into Sallie Gale, and after their last encounter, he’d need something for self-defense.

SG, meanwhile, had been released from the hospital and had moved back into the dorm. Miss McIllhenney, Marston’s president, paid her a personal visit, to console her for the recent attack by the Lackanooka bullies — and also to inquire delicately about her whereabouts for the past few weeks.

SG thanked her for her interest but refused to explain her month-long absence. The right time would come to expose Toopermann and her sister, but for now silence was the best policy.

Julia, who hadn’t seen SG and Estelle get beat up but who had heard several first-hand accounts, had some questions for SG, too. After Miss McIllhenney left, she said, “Sallie, I don’t want to pry, but I’ve got to ask you something.”

“Sure,” said SG.

“How come you don’t look beat up? I mean, Estelle is in the hospital with a broken jaw and one eye swollen shut, and you look like you just won the Miss America pageant.”

SG smiled. “Thanks for the compliment. There’s an explanation, but I just can’t get into it right now. I’m sorry. Everything will become clear in a few days, after Estelle gets out of the hospital.” She didn’t tell Julia, but she wanted Estelle to be present when she got even with Toopermann and Regina and forced everyone who lived in this town to see what a shabby place it was.

The next morning, Julia left for class, but SG slept in. Because of her long absence, she was no longer enrolled in any courses, but Miss McIllhenney said she could remain on campus until the next semester started.

She lay in bed, thinking about all she had been through. After a while, she began feeling sexy. She couldn’t help it. The memories of being roughed up and humiliated — by Louie and his friends and by Toop and Regina — filled her with shame and lust. She thought about the chair with the iron dildo. And she thought about making love to Estelle.

Gently she began stroking her pussy. In no time, she was wet. Then she remembered that Julia had received a food package from home, and that it contained a thick bologna sausage.

For half an hour she raped herself with the sausage and imagined it was the biggest dick in creation.

Her masturbatory adventure was cut short when she heard a key in the door. She hid the sausage beneath the covers and pretended to be asleep.

“Sallie, wake up. I’ve got big news.” It was Julia.

SG opened her eyes, sat up and stretched. “I was just having a wonderful dream,” she said.

“It can’t be any better than this,” said Julia. “Louie Ungtjur stopped me between classes and gave me a note. He said to give it to your. And he said he was really, really sorry for all the trouble he’s caused. He wants to apologize to you personally.”

“It’s got to be a trick,” said SG.

“Maybe so,” said Julia, but Trish said he went over to the hospital today to apologize to Estelle.”

SG examined the envelope Julia had handed her, weighing whether to open it.

“Go ahead,” said Julia. “If he wants to make amends, it would be wrong not to at least respond.”

SG ripped open the envelope. Inside, on a sheet of lined loose-leaf paper was a brief message, written in a childish scrawl: “I’m very sorry for beating you and Estella up. I shouldn’t of picked on you two, since you’re not nearly my size and besides you are girls. I want to apologize to you publicly. Please meet me at O’Malley’s this afternoon.”

Julia, who had been reading over SG’s shoulder, said, “Great. I’ll go with you.”

“I’m not sure I’m going,” said SG.

“Oh, you’ve got to go. I want to see him grovel. Someone must be putting a lot of pressure on him. His uncle, maybe. Come on, you gotta go.”

SG smiled. Julia’s enthusiasm was hard to resist.

“Okay, but I don’t think you should go. It could be a set up, and you could get hurt.”

“Oh, I’ve got to go,” said Julia, pleadingly. “I really want to see this. And besides, you may need a witness.”

SG smiled and stroked Julia’s cheek.

“You’ve been a good friend,” she said.

Then, so suddenly neither was fully aware of what was happening, they were in one another’s arms, kissing passionately. They fell into bed, and Julia began sucking SG’s nipples. As they rolled over, Julia felt something hard. She paused in her lovemaking, reached under the covers and drew out the bologna.

SG blushed scarlet.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Julia laughed. “I hate bologna. I mean I hate eating it. Fucking it is a much better idea.”

# # #

At 3:30, they dressed and set off for the malt shop. Julia seemed nervous.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all,” she said.

“No,” said SG, “you were right to begin with. I ought to give the bastard a chance to admit what a shit he’s been.”

They walked on in silence.

Julia suddenly stopped and said, “Sallie, whatever happens, I want you to know I love you.”

SG held her hand and gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. “I love you, too, but let’s not get everyone thinking we’re lesbians.”

At O’Malley’s the blinds had been lowered, which was unusual. SG felt wary, but she opened the door with a show of confidence.

There was a small crowd, and she didn’t see anyone she recognized — except Louie. He was sitting at the counter, and when he turned to her she saw that he had a cast on his right arm from the elbow down. He smiled a sheepish grin.

“Hi, Sallie. Hi, Julia. I wasn’t sure you’d show up.”

“Well, why not,” said SG. “It’s not often that an asshole like you tries to do something decent.”

Louie flushed but struggled to maintain a conciliatory tone.

“Come sit by me,” he said. “I want to buy you a malt or a sundae, whatever you want. And I’ve got a present for you.”

SG glanced at the man behind the counter. It wasn’t Tucker. This guy was older — and tough looking. She looked at the others in the shop. There were eight or nine of them, all men, all older than Louie’s crowd, all unfamiliar.

“Who are your friends?” SG asked.

“Uh, they’re from the police department and the prosecutor’s office. They want to watch me apologize.”

So that was it, SG thought. Louie wasn’t really sorry, he was just trying to avoid prosecution.

“What’ll you have?” Louie asked.

“A chocolate malt with chocolate ice cream,” said SG. “How about you, Julia?”

Julia was glancing nervously around the shop. “Nothing,” she said, almost in a whisper.

The man behind the counter started making a malt.

Louie reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, gift-wrapped box. “It’s for you,” he said. “Sort of to make up for me being so mean and all.”

SG started unwrapping the package.

“It’s perfume,” said Louie. “I hope you like it.”

She removed a small bottle made of frosted glass. She held it up to the ceiling light.

“Looks like there’s nothing in it,” she said.

“Oh, yes there is,” answered Louie. “The lady at the perfume shop said you’d love it. It’s supposed to pack quite a wallop.”

SG smiled. “I’ve had enough walloping lately,” she said.

Then she pulled out the stopper and sniffed. Her reaction was instantaneous and dramatic. She gasped and dropped the bottle. Her eyes widened, and she fell backward, against the counter.

The man who had been pretending to make the malt was ready for her. He slipped a thin wire around her neck and pulled it tight with two wooden handles.

Two other men rushed up and grabbed SG’s wrists, so she couldn’t relieve the pressure of the wire. Another pulled out a knife and stabbed at her exposed belly.

“Oh, my god,” Julia screamed. “What have I done?”

Silvio Mozzarella emerged from a back room. “Shut up,” he said. “Here’s your $500. Now scram. And keep your mouth shut if you want to live to spend it.” He glanced at Louie. “You’d better clear out, too. This is a job for professionals.”

The men were crowded around SG, but she was putting up a fierce fight. The one who was trying to garrot her was yelling at the others to hold her down.

“Can’t kill the bitch,” he said, breathing heavily. “This fucking wire should have taken her head off by now.”

“Knife don’t work, either,” said another.

“There’s only one thing that works on this cunt,” said Mozzarella. He pulled a vial of krypton from his pocket. “Our friend Louie gave her just a whiff. Now we’re going to let her have a real dose. Hold her nose.”

One man held her nose, and when she opened her mouth to breathe, Mozzarella stuck in the open end of the vial.

SG sucked in the gas and went limp.

“Okay, take over to the equipment barn,” said Mozzarella. “By my calculations, she’ll be out for at least eight hours. You boys can do whatever you want with her. Just remember to give her another dose around midnight and have her at the cut in Dedkaff Road by 7 o’clock tomorrow morning.”

After Mozzarella left, the men hauled the unconscious SG out the back door and loaded her into a panel truck. Two men got in with her, two others jumped into the cab, and another car followed.

“She’s fucking amazing,” said the man driving the car. “I jabbed her as hard as I could and it didn’t leave a mark.”

“You was using the wrong implement,” said a passenger in the back seat. “You was using a knife, in her belly. When we get to the barn, I’ll show you the proper procedure. What’s she needs is a prick. In her pussy.”

They all laughed.

In the van, meanwhile, the two men with SG had gotten a head start. They fucked her ass and her pussy serially and simultaneously. They decided serially was easier and more fun.

# # #

It was cool and blustery, and the sun was still low on the horizon when SG’s nemeses gathered beside the big rectangular hole in Dedkaff Road. The surface had been stripped away, and even some of the bedrock beneath had been drilled, hammered and removed. What was left, nearly two feet below the surface of the surrounding road, was a 28-square-foot patch of jagged, corrugated rock.

Several in the small gathering were drinking steaming coffee from cardboard cups. They talked quietly, awaiting the guest of honor.

Soon, a panel truck pulled up. The driver and a passenger went around the back and opened the door. Two men inside were holding SG upright. She was naked, except for a steel collar around her neck, and her wrists were tied behind her. Her head lolled back and forth as the men handled her.

“We’ll take her,” said the driver.

“Why bother?” said one of the men holding SG. “Step back.” He gave SG a shove, and she fell with a thud face forward onto the road.

“Time for farewells,” said one of the men on the ground, lifting her to her knees by a ring attached to her collar.

The little group gathered round her. Toopermann slipped a hand under SG’s chin and lifter her head.

“Are you awake, dear?” she asked. “What a shame, I do think she’s unconscious and will miss the festivities.”

“I can take care of that,” said Mozzarella. He stuck a small bottle under SG’s nose and her eyes suddenly flickered open.

“It’s a powerful stimulant,” he explained. “She’ll be conscious til we put her under for good.”

Oscar Ungtjur reached out and brushed a strand of blonde hair from her face.

“She’s quite beautiful. I can see why she got you so excited, Louie.”

Louie grunted. “I wish I’d never met her,” he muttered.

“And I’m sure that, by now, she sincerely wishes she had never met you,” said the police chief.

Regina, who had held back when the others crowded around SG, now pushed her way forward. “I hate you,” she cried, kicking SG in the groin. “You seduced me.”

“Now, now,” said Toopermann, gently pulling Regina away. “She seduced so many of us, with her beauty and vulnerability. But the fact is, she’s only a common little trollop, superpowers or no.”

“Okay, we’ve got a job to do,” said Mozzarella, “and if we keep this road closed too long, people are going to start wondering.”

He gestured for all but the road crew to pull back. Then he nodded to his men. One cut the cords that held SG’s wrists. Others moved in big power tools and drilled into the exposed rock. Within a few minutes, four strong steel bolts had been driven deep into the rock. To each bolt was attached a short length of chain and, at the end of the chain, a steel shackle.

Two men dragged SG to the edge of the cut in the road. She looked down, realized what awaited her, and struggled to break free.

She almost succeeded. One of her captors toppled backward and fell onto the rock. The other could barely keep his hold on her wrist.

But the odds against her were overwhelming, and Mozzarella himself tipped the balance, yanking her head back while others held her, and sticking a vial of krypton into her left nostril.

Then, when she again went limp, they laid her on her belly on the rough rock and spread her arms and legs. The rock under her pelvis was a few inches higher, which tilted her pudenda upward. The men secured her wrists and ankles with the shackles.

“Don’t all these restraints seem like overkill?” Oscar Ungtjur asked.

“I know my business,” Mozzarella said sharply. Then one of the men handed him a wooden box. He opened it and took out a large, ribbed dildo. It was made of an almost translucent green material, and it was dripping lubricant. He knelt, and as two men pulled the lips of her pussy apart, he shoved it all the way in. SG gave a little moan, and her behind twitched.

“We’re not taking any chances,” explained Mozzarella.

“What’s that supposed to do,” asked Louie, “give her an orgasm til she breaks free or dies?”

“No, dickhead, it’s supposed to keep her from breaking free,” Mozzarella said, with a note of exasperation. “The device I inserted into her vagina is made of kryptonite, the substance Miss Toopermann was so skeptical about. It will be slowly absorbed by her body. Our technical people estimate it will last 17 years.”

Heavy equipment had moved in. A layer of gravel was dumped over SG. Then came a layer of hot asphalt. Finally, a huge roller smoothed out the new patch until it was level with the rest of the road.

SG was now bolted to bedrock beneath more than a foot of paving material.

“Will she feel anything?” Louie asked. “I’d like her to feel pain.”

“You’re quite a guy,” said Mozzarella. “A real credit to your family and your college. How the fuck do I know what she’ll feel? Kryptonite doesn’t do a thing for me.”

“I’d like to think she’d be conscious,” said Toopermann. “At least part of the time. I’m sure she’ll feel something when big trucks pass over her body, pressing that poisonous green dildo deeper inside her.”

“Perhaps so,” said Mozzarella. “I just hope she stays out of our way for 17 years.”

Toopermann gave a sudden, cruel laugh.

“Seventeen years,” she said. “I knew that sounded familiar! Little Sallie Gale has become a blonde cicada!”

“What the fuck’s a cicada?” asked Louie.

“A bug that lives most of its life underground,” said his uncle. “And emerges after 17 years to mate.”

“And to die,” Toopermann added mirthfully.

Louie thought this over, then said, “I hope I’m around to accommodate her on both counts.”

The laughing band dispersed to their cars, leaving only Mozzarella and his closest lieutenant, Guido, standing beside SG’s temporary grave.

“These college types are a strange, cold-hearted breed,” said Guido.

Mozzarella lit a cigarette. “Yeah. We’re supposed to be the hardened criminals, but we’ve got nothing’ on them when it comes to sadism.”

“You went to college, didn’t you, boss?” asked Guido.

“Yeah, for a few years before the Depression. It was a high-class college, too. I worked hard and got good grades, but they didn’t want some wop from the wrong neighborhood in Metropolis on campus. I ended up in an altercation with an upperclassman. I broke his kneecaps, and that was the end of my adventures in Academe.”

Guido never understood his boss when he talked this way, so he decided to change the subject. “Is that true, about this cunt staying underground for 17 years and then coming out looking for a fuck?”

“No, Guido, that was just a sour old dyke’s idea of a joke. But speaking of fucking, how was Miss Superslut last night?”

“Oh, we had a great time at the barn. We fucked her when she was out cold, and we fucked her even harder when she started to come to. For a while, she was conscious enough to give us blow jobs. And guess what, we got pictures! Frankie brought an 8-millimeter movie camera, and Dago Pete borrowed a Speed Graphic from a photographer at the local paper.”

Mozzarella was delighted. “Guido,” he said, “you’re a goddam genius. Make an extra set of prints. I’m sending them on to Superman.”

“Geeze, boss, won’t that just piss him off? He’ll come down on us like a ton of bricks.”

Mozzarella flicked his cigarette butt onto the fresh paving and snuffed out the embers with his shoe.

“Not necessarily, Guido,” he said. “Superman might even be grateful.”

“I don’t get it, boss.”

“I’m not sure I get it, either,” said Mozzarella. “Call it my feminine intuition.” He laughed and slapped the puzzled Guido on the back.

They walked away to their car, a sleek black Cadillac, leaving SG in a deep and dreamless sleep. In a few hours, heavy trucks would rumble along this farm-to-market road, bringing loads of livestock to the slaughterhouse just east of Lackanooka.