Blogger's Archives

October 2004



Friday 1 October 2004 09:07 BST (GMT+1)

It's a good thing I don't really need to eat. My fridge is almost always empty, so I didn't need to throw anything out after the power-cut the other night. Yesterday morning, the street outside my building was decorated with dozens of polythene bags containing rotten food. Looks like everyone else wasn't so lucky. It's funny that (as the person who actually caused the failure in the electricity supply) I'm the only one who wasn't inconvenienced by it!

I was feeling a little, er, "frisky" on Thursday morning so I took myself off to the gym to see if I could grab a little action. As ever, I had a great time. The only downside is that I won't be able to go back there for quite a while. But at least I can say it was worth it.

I went early, well before the lunchtime crowd arrived. The women's changing room was deserted, but I was wearing my "workout" gear under my street clothes anyway. I walked into the equipment room in my usual tight, low-cut tank top and "shortie" shorts and got a lot of attention. I pretended to be exercising (I could probably lift every single weight in that place at once with my little finger) and waited for my opportunity.

Soon enough, a gorgeous man came in and started using the rowing machine. He had a lovely, toned physique and a cute face. Straight away, I decided I was going to have him. Of course, he didn't have a choice; I always get what I want...

Fortunately (for him) he didn't even try to put up a fight. I just gave him one of my better smiles and held eye-contact for that all-important extra moment and he was as good as mine. I could tell he'd be especially easy - his heart was already thumping!

Grabbing the chance when we were briefly alone in the room, I walked over towards him. I'm not sure what he was more impressed with: the sight of my breasts as I leant over him or the ease with which I one-handedly lifted the rowing machine (and him with it). I carried man and contraption over to the entrance, letting them swing at the end of my arm for effect, before dumping them both right in front of the inward-opening door to the room. That ensured that no-one else would be able to come in and disturb us.

My tasty-looking friend was making all the typical "What?" and "How?" noises, but he shut up pretty quick when I undressed more quickly than his eyes could follow and threw my leg over him, straddling the rowing machine he was still sitting in. Then I ripped off his shorts and got down to business. He wasn't bad, actually, so I was careful not to hurt him. After he'd shot his load, I got him ready for Round 2 in seconds just by raising myself up and lowering my chest towards his face before shuffling back down his body and taking him again.

I was ready for a third helping and, when he realised my eagerness, he said (between panting breaths), "I...just...can't...anymore...". I told him that I was the only judge of that and, to be fair, he didn't complain too much when I began pumping again. Of course he did achieve his peak (rather quickly for a man who thought he couldn't manage it), but I kept going for quite a while after that until I had properly scratched my itch. When I finally let him slip out of me, he was red raw.

Thanking him with a kiss that sucked just enough air from him to knock him out, I got up and put the rowing machine (with my dormant friend still on it) back in its place. I had to shower to clean his sweat off me, but I still managed to get out of the building before anyone asked me any awkward questions.

I spent the rest of the day relaxing at home, speed-reading a couple of dozen novels. Some of them weren't bad.

I still don't know what I'm going to do today. I'm a little bored, to be honest. Maybe I'll go out and make some mischief.



Saturday 2 October 2004 09:02 BST (GMT+1)

Saturday morning and the papers are late. It only takes me a few minutes to read through them all, including all the magazines and supplements they add these days, but it's still annoying. If this keeps happening, I'm going to have to have words with the paper-boy.

I had a really boring day yesterday. I went for a walk in the park in the early afternoon, looking for some action but there was nothing to catch my imagination. On the way home I was feeling kind of mischievous, so when I spotted two guys crouched over a bicycle about half-a-mile in the distance I used my super-vision to zoom in and check them out. To my disappointment, they were both ugly and spotty young men. They seemed to be struggling with the bike which was chained to a lamppost. Bringing my ultra-hearing into play, I heard one of them complain that the wire-cutters he had brought along were no good for the task of cutting the chain. The other remarked that it would be easier to cut through the street-lamp than the cycle-lock. They both cursed. They had clearly set their hearts on stealing that bike.

It didn't take them long to give up and start to walk away from the bike, heading back through the park. I checked around to see if anyone was watching and then slipped off my trainers. I didn't want my expensive sneakers damaged and I knew they wouldn't be tough enough for what I had in mind. I kept the shoes in my hand as I ran towards the chained-up bike. I've been told that when I run top-speed, "ordinary" people can only see a streak of colours, but I was careful to be unobserved anyway. Eight and a half seconds later, I was standing in front of the lamp-post. Not bad, even if I did have to use a couple of blasts of hyper-cold super-breath to cool my feet so I could put my shoes back on without melting them.

The chain-lock went through the spokes of the bike's front wheel and around the base of the street-lamp. No doubt the young men would be happy to know that they were right - it was easier to get through the lamppost than the chain. In fact, I didn't bother cutting the chain at all. I cut the lamp-post in half with the edge of my hand using a casual karate-style chop. The thick iron was no match of course for my fingers and I was even able to hold on to the top part of the light to prevent it spinning away. Who knows what damage twenty foot of six inch diameter metal pole flying through the air might have caused. Might be worth trying sometime. On this occasion, however, I just laid the thing down on the pavement.

Some nice big sparks flew at me where I severed the power cable, but unfortunately a fuse somewhere must've blown because I never got the chance to properly enjoy the feeling of high current flowing through my body. The consolation was that it was now very easy to lift the bike and the lock over the short stump that was the cut-off street-lamp. After that, I used a single finger to tear open the frame of the bike so I could remove the chain intact and put it in my shopping bag. Call it theft if you like, but I figured it might come in useful one day and besides, the bicycle's owner won't be needing it anymore.

I picked the bike up with two hands and folded it over itself. The tyres popped and the spokes shattered as I continued folding, again and again until the entire thing was reduced to a mess of rubber and metal in the form of a rough two foot cube. I got my arms around the bundle and hugged it tight against my chest until it was completely compacted. There's no material on earth that can resist the pressure I generate with my arms and upper body. Lightweight metal is nothing compared to diamonds and I've ground plenty of those to dust - but that's another story.

Once I had my solid chunk of compressed bicycle, I used my palms to shape the lump into a head-sized sphere. It wasn't perfectly round and it certainly wouldn't bounce, but it was a ball of sorts. I tucked it under my arm and set off at a jog in the direction the would-be thieves had taken.

I soon spotted them and kept jogging until I'd closed the gap between us to about a hundred yards. Quickly, I jabbed three fingers into my improvised metal ball to create a nice finger-grip and then "bowled" it underarm at the pair. They were several times further away than the length of a bowling lane and the grassy terrain was a lot rougher, but my aim - as ever - was spot-on. I watched the ball speed away from me over the ground and, almost simultaneously clip one of them on the ankle and the other on the heel. They yelled in shock and pain as the slight contact threw each of them a foot into the air to land sprawled on the grass where they both writhed around in vociferous agony. My "ball" finally came to rest about twenty yards ahead of them, but neither of them noticed. They must've had quite a few broken bones between them if their screams were anything to go by. I left them to it and turned around. I made sure I jogged away before either of them saw me.

After that, I went home and stuck my new chain in a cupboard for safe-keeping. I'm sure I'll find a use for it some time.

Not the greatest adventure of my life, but at least my walk did provide a few moments' entertainment on an otherwise dull day. I hope today will be more fun. They're holding an organised kite-flying get-together in the park later. I think I'll pop along in the afternoon and see if I can't enliven the proceedings in my own special way. The weather forecast isn't predicting much wind for the kite people. That won't be a problem when I'm there....



Sunday 3 October 2004 17:14 BST (GMT+1)

Well, the park was quite a laugh yesterday. I arrived when quite a few kite-flyers were already there, doing their thing. Because they were all so busy squinting at little bits of fabric in the sky, I managed to slip past them largely unnoticed.

There's a tall tree in the middle which kids never climb as the trunk is fairly featureless and straight up and the first branch is ten feet above the grass. It's no problem for me though. I leapt up onto that branch and then up to the next one, and so on until I was as near to the top of the tree as I could get; about forty feet up.

From there I had a perfect view of the kites and the people on the ground trying to control them. I tilted my head back and blew a little kiss at one kite. It shot off, its string snapping immediately at it headed towards the stratosphere, much to the shock of its owner and much to my delight as well. Let me tell you: it's one thing to know that I have super-powers but it's another thing altogether to actually use them...

My next contribution was a really, really gentle jet of breath that pushed one kite into the path of another, hopelessly tangling the two lines together before they both crashed down. The owners of the entangled, now ruined toys almost came to blows, blaming each other for what had happened. I almost came to blow my cover, laughing at them.

I blew two or three more kites into the top branches of trees and then I noticed a huge, elaborate Chinese-dragon-style thing flittering around. A carefully aimed blast of super-breath just above it brought it down to about twenty feet above the ground. The operator (a middle-aged man trying to look younger and cooler by wearing a teenager's clothes) panicked as he repeatedly tried and failed to bring his enormous flashy toy under control. But no matter how much he fought with his string, no matter how much he sprinted up and down the park, I was the only one steering the giant paper dragon.

I proved my sole control a moment later. Spotting a police patrol car making its way slowly down the main road that runs along the edge of the park, I sent a short strong puff of air towards the kite's tail which propelled it, like a crash-landing aeroplane, straight at the cop-car. From inside the patrol vehicle, it must've looked as if a real dragon was swooping down from the sky. The brakes squeaked and the kite smashed into the windshield, shattering it completely.

The guy in the trendy clothes was still chasing his beloved dragon-kite, but he stopped running when he realised it was going to dive bomb the police and turned around. To my amusement, I realised he was suddenly trying to pretend that he had nothing to do with the rogue kite. I just waited until the angry coppers got out of their vehicle and blew a nice, friendly kiss at the now-fugitive kite-flyer, knocking him off his feet and sending him tumbling, helplessly, right into the lawmen hard enough to leave all three men sprawled on the pavement.

I slipped down from the tree amidst the confusion as the stunned dragon-man was being read his rights by a badly limping policeman. Then I just walked out of the park, unseen by people trying to free their kites from trees or disentangle miles of knotted strings. What fun! A very successful "Kite Day" indeed, I would say.

I'm having a slow, lazy day today. Hopefully, things will pick up in the evening. I'll let you know tomorrow morning if they do.



Monday 4 October 2004 09:23 BST (GMT+1)

So things didn't really pick up last night. I went out for a walk, but it rained persistently all evening and there was hardly any one else about.

I was bored. Walking past a long stretch of iron railings, I remembered seeing school-kids rattling along the vertical bars with a stick as they went by. I didn't have a stick, so I used my finger. It made a nice clang-clang-clang sound as my outstretched digit hit rail after rail. Naturally, the iron wasn't strong enough to stand up to my casually-wielded index finger and each bar I touched was left with a dent and a slight bend. They'll never work out how that happened.

It's still raining this morning. I think I might take a little trip somewhere for a change of scenery.



Tuesday 5 October 2004 09:38 BST (GMT+1)

I had a fascinating afternoon yesterday. I can't say too much because I'm lining up a nice little surprise for someone. All I'm willing to reveal is that I spent quite a few hours scouting bridges and that I think I've found what I was looking for.

Unlike the jerk who lives upstairs from me, who hasn't found what he wanted. Men are all stupid and useless. That's a fact, not opinion, as far as I'm concerned. But some are a lot more stupid and useless than others. Like the afore-mentioned idiot in my building. The guy works for some big international bank, and he thinks he's a big shot. He's always wearing expensive clothes and a flashy watch.

Anyway, unsurprisingly, he's very interested in me. He always tries to start a conversation if we pass in the corridor. His attempts at small talk invariably include a few references to how great he is, how important his job is, how he's sure he's going to get promoted again soon - that kind of thing. Now, I like confidence in a man, but not arrogance and definitely not vanity. It just doesn't work coming from an inferior being. Especially from a not particularly attractive inferior being in a boring line of work.

I've lost count of the number of times I've flatly refused to go for a drink with him or come up to his flat for coffee. But he doesn't give up. I guess he's so in love with himself that he thinks everyone else will be sooner or later.

Yesterday evening, he actually knocked on my door. I knew it was him before I even checked the spy-hole because I recognised the sound of his breathing. I wasn't going to open up, but I knew he'd keep banging all night if I didn't. There he was, looking incredibly pleased with himself, like a kid who's just won a cup on Sports Day. His right hand was raised in front of his face and a set of car keys dangled from it.

"I've had a nice bonus from work" he started, shaking the keys. I couldn't believe his conceit - why the hell should I be interested? "I was wondering if you'd like to check it out - y'know, come with me for a ride in it?"
I just said "No." The look of disappointment on his face was fantastic.
"At least come down and see it. It's a beauty." he was almost begging. Then, he played his trump card. "It's a Porsche." He raised his eyebrows as he said this, obviously extremely proud of his car and certain that I would change my mind now I knew the name of the manufacturer.
"I'm busy." I said flatly
"Oh," he replied, devastated. "Perhaps later. Or maybe tomorrow?"
"I'm busy then, too."
"Well, er... feel free to check it out if you see it parked outside. It's silver - you can't miss it."
I didn't accept the invitation, I just said "Got to go now." and closed the door on him. The last thing I saw was the mixture of disappointment and disbelief on his face.

I waited until the small hours to take him up on the offer to check out his car. He was right, I couldn't miss the brand new shiny silver Porsche parked outside the building. I walked to the back nearside tyre, bent down and poked my finger through the rubber, enjoying the pop and the hiss that followed as that corner of the thing sank a few inches. It's no bother for me to burst a tyre with a finger - it's effortless really - so while I was there, I thought I might as well walk right around the car, shoving my digit into the other three wheels.

As I passed the front windscreen, I spat on the glass. I didn't do it with much force (by my standards) but of course I shattered it completely, making it impossible to see through. Then I grabbed the door handle on the driver's side, closing my fist a little around it - just enough to mangle the metal so that the mechanism won't work ever again. In fact, the whole door will probably need replacing.

I admit I was beginning to enjoy myself. I strolled down one side of the car with my fingernail brushing it, thinking I would scratch the paintwork a little. As so often happens, I underestimated my strength and my nail actually gouged a deep groove in the metal itself.

I noticed that the channel passed close to the flap that covers the petrol cap and that gave me an idea. I started rubbing my fingertips over the edge of the flap until, fairly quickly, the friction caused the paint to burn away. I kept on rubbing and the metal started to glow. Thirty seconds later, it melted and I was able to use my fingers to permanently weld the flap shut. The guy will need a blow-torch if he wants to fill his tank!

There was no radio aerial for me to snap off but, with my strength, finding an alternative was never going to be a problem. I chose the rear bumper and managed to detach it in one piece with the barest of tugs. I carefully bent the long chrome strip into a passable heart-shape and left it lying on the front bonnet.

For a final touch, I leant over the roof, slowly lowering myself until I was resting my chest on the thin metal. Then I inhaled deeply, letting my breasts expand against the top of the car, pressing down into it until it groaned. I stood up and checked out the two new dents I'd created; a perfect mould of my perfect bust. An ideal gift for an irritating neighbour.

After that, I went back upstairs. I was watching from the window this morning as the creep discovered the damage to his car. He just kept walking around and around, looking both confused and heart-broken. I couldn't stop laughing.

I'm going into town this evening to teach another stupid man a different lesson. All will be revealed tomorrow.



Wednesday 6 October 2004 10:31 BST (GMT+1)

I feel even better than usual this morning. It's the way I always feel after an encounter with a supergirl fiction writer. In fact, last night's quarry was almost as much fun as Cf.

I'd been tracking the target for a few days. I knew that Cf was in contact with him, so I tricked him via email into revealing all the information he had. Then I made contact with my victim himself. I found out the usual general details about his journey to and from work and calculated that he must cross the River around 9 o'clock every weekday evening.

Geography meant he most likely would use one of three bridges; Monday evening I stood on the middle of the three crossings, using my superhuman abilities to study every man heading South. I thought it would take days to find my fellow, but luck was on my side.

On the next bridge down, I spotted a guy who looked like he might be the one. He was talking on a mobile phone; using my remarkable hearing, I was able to pick out both sides of the conversation, despite the wind and the fact that he was sixty yards away and the volume of his phone wasn't at maximum. I heard whoever he was talking to using his name. Then the guy mentioned the name of his employer.

I moved quickly (but not too fast) through the crowds so that I could follow him as he reached the end of the other bridge and headed towards the train station. I needed to look inside his bag - I was looking for a certain type of PDA which I know he uses to compose his fiction.

In the end, I used super-speed to open his bag and check its contents before he even saw me. If anyone had seen me, I'd have been no more than a blur. A happy, smiling blur who'd just found what she was looking for. Mission accomplished. Then again, when I pit my wits against a mere man, there's only ever going to be one outcome.

So last night, I was waiting for him on the other bridge. I chose my usual outfit for these occasions; a plan, tight T-shirt and jeans. I walked casually towards him, making my superhuman body wiggle ever so slightly with every step. Of course, I got stared at by every man there.

When my target first noticed me, I thought his tongue would roll out of his mouth. I'm used to being ogled, but this guy was special. Cf's the same. It seems to be a feature of these writers. They just lock their eyes on my chest and it's like they can't look away no matter what.

As I got close to the man, I coughed to get his attention, but his gaze remained firmly centred on the top portion of my T-shirt, so I pretended to drop a piece of paper behind me and bent down to pick it up, making sure he got a good long view of my behind. I listened to the sound of his thumping heart and rasping breath and knew I'd got him hooked.

I didn't make eye contact as I stood up and walked past him, but I could hear that he had turned around and was now following me. Men are so easy to manipulate!

I lead him down the steps at the North end of the bridge that lead onto the Embankment. Finding one of those stone stairways that go right down to the river, I headed on down. My man, of course, followed. Stopping on a ledge only about three feet above the cold water, I turned around and faced him.

"Hi Mark. Do you always stare at girls and follow then around?" I asked.
"How.. did you know my name?" He looked shocked. I fought the temptation to laugh.
"I know all about you." I told him. "Now, answer my question!"
"I.. Oh my... You're the girl who attacked Conceptfan!" He turned to run up the stairs.
I used a standing jump to soar over his head, twisting in the air and landing perfectly on my feet, two steps above where he had reached. I leant over him, but he didn't see until he had run head-first into my chest.

The impact knocked him down onto his rear and he rolled down a couple of steps, crying out in pain. I was over him before he could stand up. Sitting down on the stairs next to him as he slowly tried to raise himself, I spread my legs either side of him, and carefully trapped his head between my thighs. I wasn't even squeezing, but his face turned purple immediately.

He fought for all he was worth, but of course, he couldn't release himself. A hoarse, barely audible cry left his lips. I laughed. "There's no cavalry to ride to your rescue here, my Yankee friend." I told him.

Reaching down, I picked up his shoulder bag, and opened it, pulling out his PDA. Then, I stood up. As his head was still wedged between my thighs, I pulled him up with me. I released it, and used a gentle tap of my leg to knock him back down onto the stairs. "You don't mind if I take a sneak preview of your latest story do you?" I asked. Before he could reply I added "I'll just make myself comfortable."

I sat down on top of him, wiggling my tight, round buttocks as I rested them on his face. Carefully, so as not to kill him, I stayed like that for a few minutes as I read all the data on his organiser, tutting all the while. When I was done, I stood up, admired the numerous bruises that had appeared on his face, and said "It looks like you need some education."

"Please let me go." he said, looking up at me.

I laughed and bent down, using a couple of fingers of my right hand to tear through the waist-band of his trousers and boxer-shorts so that he was exposed to the cold night air. "Oh dear!" I said, "Weren't they doing 'supersize' when they made you? I thought everything in America was big!"

"Leave me alone!"

"Not until I teach you what it's really like to get close to a supergirl." I told him. "This story you're writing is completely inaccurate. For example," I went on, bending over him, "when the girl kisses the guy, it's supposed to really hurt him. Like this." I leant into him and planted my lips on his, pressing down firmly until he squirmed and tried to pull his face away.

With the tip of my tongue, I pressed gently on his clenched teeth until one of them gave way and I could taste blood. I broke off the kiss and moved away so I could see his blackened lips and the red trickle running down his chin. "Do you see what I mean, now?" I asked. He nodded.

"Good." I continued. "Another thing you forget to mention in your story is that when a supergirl rubs her chest over a man's, he only enjoys the first few seconds. Then it's agony for him. Let me show you."

"No, no- I understand, you don't need to-" he protested. But I just stood up straight, lifting him by his armpits as his torn trousers fell around his ankles. I pulled him against me and began to massage myself through my T-shirt with his upper body. Immediately, he began to quiver. I pulled him a little closer, watching his face turn blue as I squeezed the air from his lungs against my chest.

"You see," I explained. "It was fun at first, but now... Now, it's not." I gave him a little hug. His eyes went huge as we both felt his ribs bending a little to accommodate my large round breasts. I waited for the inevitable pop of one of his weak male ribs snapping beneath the power of my feminine bosom.

He didn't have enough air to scream, so he just let off a hoarse moan. I let him go and he fell onto his rear, clutching his side. The stone step must have been cold beneath his naked rump, but I guess the pain of his broken rib was worse.

It was then that I noticed a small stain on the bottom of my T-shirt. "Mark!" I exclaimed. "Is that yours?" Despite his pain, he blushed. "Is that all there is?" I enquired. "I mean, here you are, living out your pathetic sexual fantasy, and all you can manage is this pathetic little dribble? No wonder your countrymen are so obsessed with weapons of mass destruction! That's more like a toothpick of barely noticeable mess!"

He tried to wheeze out a reply, but I paid no attention. "So, have you enjoyed your lesson today?" I asked. He looked at me with pleading eyes. I repeated the question and he nodded, no doubt fearing further punishment. "Great." I said. "So that just leaves the matter of my fees."

I reached behind him and tore his jacket off by ripping it in half. Pulling out his leather wallet, I was delighted to find it contained plenty of cash. "There's a surcharge for my laundry." I told him, nodding at the tiny stain as I put all his notes into my pocket and dropped the wallet at his feet.

"Look at you!" I sneered. "You're a mess. Clean yourself off!". With my toe of my left shoe, I flicked his rear. He screamed as my tap lifted him off the stairs and sent him, arms flailing, into the air for a few moments before he splashed down into the cold, dirty river.

I heard him struggling to pull himself out, but I was already at the top of the stairs by then. I certainly didn't hang about to watch his pathetic efforts.

I went home with a real spring in my step. There's something about these supergirl fetishists that makes them an awful lot more fun to beat up than other men.



Thursday 7 October 2004 09:03 BST (GMT+1)

After all the fun and games in town on Tuesday evening, I had a quiet day yesterday.

I got a bit of a shock when two policemen knocked on my door in the afternoon. At first, I thought that they might be investigating what happened by the river, but they were just enquiring about the vandalism to my neighbour's car.

"Who could do something like that?" I asked, innocently, as I flashed the two young men a smile. They were both too busy checking out my body anyway. I did find out from one of them that the jerk had broken down in tears describing the damage to his beloved Porsche. I fought the temptation to burst into hysterics of a different kind.

The skies are clear today, so I think I'll go on a little day trip somewhere and take advantage of the sun.



Friday 8 October 2004 09:31 BST (GMT+1)

The papers are late again! I'm especially pissed off this morning, as I'm pretty sure I'll be in the news pages today. Well, not me in person of course (I never get caught) but at least a report on what I got up to yesterday.

It was one of those days for getting out of town, so I threw a two-piece bikini in my shoulder-bag and went down to the station after the rush-hour crowds had cleared off to get a ticket to the seaside. An hour later, I was strolling along the shore, enjoying the big horizon and staring at the sailing boats in the distance. It must be strange for "normal" people who can only just see the sail of a craft that's only half-a-mile out. Me, I can read the name painted on the side of a boat from four miles.

Amongst all the small sailing vessels, I spotted a large, luxurious-looking yacht. On deck there was a middle-aged couple drinking champagne from posh glasses and what seemed to be some kind of butler standing at attention nearby. It looked like a fun party, so I decided to join it.

I found a deserted rocky bit of beach and changed into my bikini. I put my clothes in my bag and made sure no-one could steal them by rolling a boulder partially on top of it. It was only a little rock (the sort I could move with a single finger) but heavy enough to need three or four "normals" to shift it.

The sea was too cold for anyone else to swim in (according to the internet the maximum air temperature was 13 Celsius [55 F] yesterday), but I found it lovely as I made a bee-line to the yacht. I swam relaxed (only about as fast as a speedboat) and was soon in the wake of the yacht. I don't know if the engines were on full, but they might as well have been stalled for all the difference it made. I caught up in a couple of strokes and grabbed hold of the propeller, snapping it off instantly, if noisily.

The butler must have come to investigate the loss of forward propulsion straight away. I climbed up onto the lower deck just in time to meet him. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw me, dripping wet, in my bikini. A figure as stunning as mine is never easy to hide, but in a two-piece I know I'm incredible. He just stared and stared and the upper part of the costume.

"Do you like them?" I asked him, shaking my chest a bit.
"Oh god! Yes!" he answered, not very butler-like.
"You can touch them if you're prepared to swim back to shore afterwards." I told him.
He glanced at the distant edge of the land for a moment. It had to be half-an-hour's swim for a fit man, but he immediately said "OK".

I barely felt his weak hands as they ran over my breasts. He might have been trying to squeeze them (he was certainly straining a lot) but he was only a man, so I'll never know. What I do know is that after about thirty seconds, his knees suddenly buckled a bit and his face went crimson while his body shook for a few moments. I saw the stain appearing around his crotch and told him "You'd better take a bath now".

I grabbed him by the belt of his soiled trousers and tossed him over my shoulder into the brine. The cold of the water was a shock to him, but he kept to his end of the deal and began swimming painfully slowly towards land.

The couple on deck were even more shocked than their servant to see me. The woman almost screeched and then scowled when she noticed the way her man was staring. I strolled up to their table, picked up the three-quarters full champagne bottle, put it to my lips and drank it all in one go. It didn't get me drunk, of course, but it was fine stuff and it tasted great. For effect, I squeezed the empty bottle until it shattered in my fist. Some of the shards of broken glass landed on the exposed part of my chest. I brushed them off casually. The man swallowed hard as he watched me.

"Is this a robbery?" the confused woman asked. That wasn't my intention, but I couldn't help but notice that she was wearing an elaborate necklace that sparkled in the weak sunshine and a pair of delicate earrings that looked very expensive
"A robbery?" I answered smiling. "No! It's a rescue mission. I noticed your propeller seems to be damaged. I'm going to help you back to shore for a small fee. Say… your jewels?" I held out my open hand in expectation.

The woman glanced at her companion, who seemed to intent at studying the shape of my upper torso to come to her rescue. Clearly angry both at the intrusion and her man's obvious interest in me, she drew herself up straight and declared "I won't give you anything! Now get off my boat!"

I laughed and snatched the necklace from her too quickly for her to react. I must've hurt the back of her neck because she immediately placed a hand there and her face creased with pain. The man finally snapped into action, stepping towards me with an unconvincing command to "Give that back!" I pursed my lips and blew a gentle kiss at him, sending him off his feet, hurtling into the deck-rail where he crumpled in a heap. I could see he was still breathing so I ignored the woman's shrieks as I turned around and walked to the back of the boat, stuffing the jewelry into my bikini top for safe keeping.

Jumping into the water, I swam to broken propeller and grabbed hold of the useless shaft with my left hand. I held on as I started to kick my legs and use my right arm to swim towards the shore. The first few one-handed strokes were slow, but I soon picked up speed, pushing the big yacht through the water as I swam.

I quickly got a good rhythm up, my legs providing far more power than the pleasure-boat's engines could have managed. I could hear the now terrified yells of the woman on deck as I swam ever faster, forcing the yacht to travel shore-wards faster than it had ever done before. Such was my momentum, that when the keel of the boat hit the sand, I was able to push it quite a few yards up the shore.

By the time the water was shallow enough for me to stand, the thing was already beached. I put both my hands of the boat and pushed it further, my bare feet sinking deep into the wet sand as I sought to anchor myself for each shove.

I left the yacht stranded about twenty yards from the sea, brushing off my hands as I turned and ran at super-speed towards my hidden clothes. The high-speed run dried me off completely, and I pushed aside the "security" boulder and dressed as fast as I could without tearing my clothes to shreds. My new necklace was stashed carefully in my shoulder bag.

Then I strolled calmly back towards the train station, as a small crowd was already gathering around the yacht. I caught a glimpse of the woman on deck staring around herself in shock, and chuckled as I walked away. I wondered what she would tell the police…

I got home late in the afternoon and put on the beautiful necklace. I'd broken the clasp removing it from the posh woman's neck, but it was easy to bend the metal loops closed again with my fingertips. It looked great on me, so I kept in on even when I stripped naked to clean off the brine from my skin in a bath of near-boiling water. Heaven!



Saturday 9 October 2004 11:02 BST (GMT+1)

Well, I didn't make Friday's national papers after all. Quite a disappointment. I'll have to try harder next time...

You should know me well enough by now to realise that after Thursday's adventures, yesterday was all about keeping a low profile. I only went out briefly, in the afternoon, for a quiet stroll in the park.

There was a team of builders, busily trying to repair the damage to the tea-house. I resisted the temptation to give them a proper demonstration of girl power, opting instead for a more subtle action.

As I was approaching the group of men working, a cement truck pulled up, the enormous barrel-like drum on the back slowly and noisily churning. The driver climbed out of his cab and went to talk to one of the builders. I walked right past the giant mobile mixer and, just as I reached the front tyre, I swung my hip.

There was a clang as I hit the side of the truck, then a loud creaking as the force of my casual knock tipped the entire lorry sideways. It soon passed the point of balance and tipped over onto its side with a mighty crash. The men came running and yelling as the cargo of cement began to spill out of the back of the tipped-over truck. No-one noticed me walking quietly away, chuckling to myself.

I made it home without further incident and settled down with a stack of books.

I still haven't decided what to do today. I'll just see how it goes.



Sunday 10 October 2004 22:19 BST (GMT+1)

What a terrible Sunday!

First, I go to switch on my PC this morning, press the power button a little to hard, and the whole thing smashes to pieces.

Then, after I've gone down to the shops and stolen a new one, melting a perfectly good pair of trainers in the process by running at super speed, I come home and find that my ISP is down.

I spend all morning calling them, and no-one answers. They've only just restored the connection at 10pm! I should have found out where their office is and gone round to trash the place. Instead I vented my anger on the jerk upstairs by squeezing the metal rim of his back door frame so that the door was welded to the frame.

I knew he was in (I could hear him asleep, breathing in there) so I went around to his front door. He always keeps his door locked when he's in, I guess because paranoid or insecure or probably both. Anyway, I used my fingernail to mash the lock permanently shut, trapping him inside.

It should be quite a laugh tomorrow when he tries to leave for work... I'll tell you about it in the morning.



Monday 11 October 2004 09:14 BST (GMT+1)

"Hello? Can anyone hear me?", "What the f***?", "Hey, what's happening?"

Just a selection of the hilarious, desperate yelling that I've been listening to this morning. Of course it's all coming from upstairs. The poor idiot's been trying to get out of his flat for about two hours now, but the modifications I made yesterday are holding firm.

I've heard him hammering on the door panels with some heavy object and I've heard him trying to prise the back door frame open with some kind of screwdriver or chisel. He's getting a bit desperate now. I'm sure I can hear sobbing...

I could go up there and free him. I reckon I could smash his door to pieces with a flick of my little finger. But I'm not going to. Instead, I'll wait here until he eventually arranges for someone to come and rescue him.

Once all that fun is over, I'm going out to find a geek to bring back here so he can set up my new computer properly and install all the software I want. I don't know what I'll do with him after that...



Tuesday 12 October 2004 09:23 BST (GMT+1)

Half past eleven. That was when a builder finally arrived to free the guy upstairs yesterday morning. Apparently, the jerk was late for some important meeting or something - I heard him swearing as he ran downstairs.

Remember I said I thought I could smash his door to pieces with a flick of my little finger? The great big fellow who did the job used a sledge hammer. It took him eight or nine huge blows to achieve the same result!

Afterwards, I went out to find me a computer expert. I found a couple of nervy geeks hanging around the computer shop on the High Road. They all panicked at the sight of me, their eyes flickering wildly as they tried to sneak glimpses at me whilst avoiding eye-contact at any cost. The first one I spoke to got so jittery, he couldn't reply properly.

I found the one who was the least shy (unsurprisingly the least geeky-looking of the group) and asked him his name. He managed to answer, so I told him I needed someone to help me set up my PC at home. He jumped at the chance to help me, walking back to my flat with me with a face that said "I can't believe my luck." He also carried his shoulder bag in front of his groin the whole way. As if I hadn't noticed the bulge there!

He was pretty good with the computer, setting it up exactly as I told him to, even if he seemed a little too proud of himself, announcing that he was done. I smiled as I thanked him, and, for the first time, caught his gaze as I did so. He practically melted.

I moved quickly (by "normal" standards, not mine) before he could get too nervous, and pushed him down onto my sofa. I had to remove his clothes as well as my own, because his hands started trembling like an alcholic's. He might have been an expert in computers, but he was a complete novice at sex.

At least he was well equipped (as well as being a fast learner.) I was careful not to make his first time too painful. Or his second. Or his third. In the end, I felt kind of sorry for him. He'll spend the rest of his life comparing his sexual partners unfavourably with me...

He left, his cheeks and eyes rather badly bruised. That was entirely his fault though; he was the one who wanted to bury his head between my breasts. Besides, he was a boy when I met him, and a man when he staggered, bow-legged, out of my flat. All I got was my computer set up properly and a few moments' fun that barely scratched my itch...



Wednesday 13 October 2004 12:40 BST (GMT+1)

I feel good this morning, and that can only mean one thing. I got a proper workout last night. Not a weakling's "workout" where a pathetic man struggles to lift half his body weight a couple of times. Oh no, I mean a proper workout.

It was about 2 a.m. and I was bored just sitting around at home, so I went out for a stroll. Walking along the High Road, I noticed that one of the huge metal doors to the bus garage was slightly ajar. There was no one about on the deserted street, so I went closer to take a look. Some idiot (no doubt a man) had simply forgotten to lock up.

I squeezed in, pulling the door shut as quietly as I could behind me. It was completely dark in there; no lights, no windows, but of course, I had no trouble seeing everything. By everything, I mean half a dozen parked double-dekker buses. Playtime!

I went over to the front of one of the buses, bent low and got my right hand underneath it. Straightening up slowly, I started to lift the front end of the huge vehicle off the ground. The groaning of the steel chasis as it protested vainly against my magnificent strength was like music to my ears, and I kept lifting until my arm was straight over head and the entire bus was at a 25-degree angle to the ground.

Raising one side of a double-dekker with one hand is hardly a test of my strength, but at least it's a weight that I can properly feel (unlike, say, lifting a big man with one hand.) I raised and lowered the thing a few times but soon got bored of that.

Working my way carefully underneath until I reached the centre of the chasis, I let the forces of nature come into play as the bus see-sawed. The other end rose from the tarmac and the whole thing pivoted for a moment on my single palm. I stayed still, not wanting the bus to crash onto the floor and make a terrible racket. Soon enough, the vehicle was steady, parallel to the ground but almost seven feet above it. Only me, my slender arm and my delicate hand held it there.

If anyone had come in they would have been treated to quite a sight: me, dwarfed by the enormous red bus I was holding over my head. I strolled over towards the doors, carrying the vehicle like I was a waiter in a restaurant with a tray. Fortunately, I have perfect poise so there was no danger of the bus tipping off my hand. I lowered it, oh so carefully, back to the floor, right in front of the doors.

If the bus "parked" sideways across the entrance would have caused problems this morning, it was nothing compared to the trouble the drivers must have faced with the other vehicles. I just decided the buses looked a bit tired, and thought they might like a lie-down.

I went up to the side of one and stretching my arms up, I rested them on bus. Giving a big, two-handed shove, I was rewarded by the wonderful sight of the huge thing tipping over. It would have crashed down onto its side making a noise like a bomb going off if I hadn't raced around the other side with super speed. I just carefully caught the falling bus, cushioning the enormous weight easily and gently (and silently) before laying it down on its side.

I repeated the same trick faultlessly with the other buses until they were all laid out sideways-on. It wasn't a great strain or anything, but at least it was some excercize. Within 20 minutes, I was slipping out of the unlocked door, back onto the High Road. And no-one saw anything!

Of course, for the guys who were supposed to drive those things this morning, it must've been a real shock. I wonder how long it took them to find a suitable crane and raise the five vehicles back onto their wheels...



Thursday 14 October 2004 12:02 BST (GMT+1)

"LOCAL U.F.O. SOCIETY OFFERS ONLY EXPLANATION AS POLICE BAFFLED BY BUS GARAGE ATTACK"

That was the headline in the local paper this morning. It made me feel incredibly proud. It also, apparently, made a lot of people very late for work. How I laughed...

Sadly, as a result of my brief spree in the bus garage, the transport company has decided to install a network of CCTV cameras, meaning I won't be able to put on a repeat performance in the future. What am I going to do for excercise if I can't even lift a bus or two? I'll have to see how secure the train station is overnight...

For today, I'll make do with taking my frustrations out in the park. It's raining again so they'll be no-one around. I think I'll pull up a few more trees and toss them at the newly-repaired tea-house roof. It won't exert my muscles, but at least it'll be fun.

As far later, well there's a real arsehole who keeps driving his suped-up Volkswagen in the middle of the night down my street at about four times the speed limit. If he comes 'round tonight, I'll be waiting. I'm going show him the real meaning of "power"...



Friday 15 October 2004 15:06 BST (GMT+1)

So the boy-racer didn't put in an appearance last night. I was waiting for him, but he didn't show. But I'll be there again tonight....

The park was boring yesterday afternoon. I spent a while communing with nature, which mostly meant hugging trees.
Unfortunately, every time I got my arms around a nice thick trunk and squeezed, it would only compress a tiny bit against my chest before shattering into a billion matchstick-sized pieces.

Each time that happened, I was left holding the upper three-quarters of a twenty-foot-or-more-tall tree. I made the most of it by engaging in some throwing practice, tossing the things at the tea-house, a hundred or so yards away. Let me tell you, a falling tree can do an awful lot of damage to bricks and glass...

I was accurate four out of five times with my tree-throws. The one I missed was the last one, and it was only off-target because by then there wasn't much in the way of a tea-house left to hit. Those builders are going to be very, very busy!

Right now, I'm at home, relaxing. But I'll be out tonight in case my friend in the Volkswagen decides to come 'round.



Saturday 16 October 2004 10:36 BST (GMT+1)

The streets are a safer place once again this morning, thanks to me But before you start expressing your gratitude, just be aware that I did it for my own amusement, rather than your well-being...

It was a quarter past eleven last night. I was down on the street in the hope that the lunatic in the suped-up VW would show and this time, I wasn't disappointed. He came roaring around the corner, almost on two wheels as if he was on a race-track, rather than a residential street. My residential street.

I was prepared, wearing only the extremely low-cut, ultra-tight T-shirt that I bought in Paris the other week and a pair of very brief jogging shorts. I didn't bother with footwear. Anyway, as the jerk came 'round the corner, I stepped out onto the edge of the pavement, one hand on my hip, the other on my thigh, making sure I was standing right in the glow of a street-lamp. Even a man driving at over a 100 m.p.h. can't fail to notice a figure like mine, and as I expected, he screeched to a halt right beside me.

The passenger side window was wound down and the boy-racer poked his head out. He didn't bother to look at my face as he spoke; he just stared at my cleavage. "Hey babe," he said, sounding sickeningly pleased with himself, "wanna ride?"

I leant down towards him, listening to the way his heart-beat went into crazy-mode as more and more of my chest became visible to him. "What's your name?" I asked. He gave his answer to my breasts.

"Jason. What's yours, doll?" I didn't respond directly.
"So how fast does this noisy, rusty, piece of junk go?" I enquired.
"It's not a piece of junk!" he protested, sounding hurt. "It's a Volkswagen Jetta 1.8T with a stage 3 turbo upgrade."
"Whatever." I dismissed his boy-toy techno-jargon. "Looks like a piece of junk to me."
"Can a piece of junk go from 0 to 60 in 5.2 secs?" he said, slightly angrily. Then, calming himself a little, he said "Why don't you jump in and I'll show you."
"I asked how fast it could go." I reminded him.
"At least 160 m.p.h., babe" he boasted. "You like going fast?" Once again, I didn't reply to the question.
"All that jargon and noise just to do 160?" I scoffed.
"There's nothing faster on the roads." He said, defiantly, his pride clearly wounded.
"Yes there is." I told him.
"I haven't seen it."
"You will." I promised. "Wanna race?"
"Sure, babe. Where's your car?"
"Don't need a car." I said, flatly.

Before he could answer, I stood up straight again and placed my hand on the car-door, gripping it at the bottom of the open window frame. A gentle tug pulled the door neatly if loudly free from the rest of the vehicle. The guy almost screamed.

"What the fuck?" he spluttered, as I placed both my hands on opposite edges of the detached door and squeezed them slowly together. The glass shattered as the thin steel began to moan. The metal soon yielded to my vastly superior strength and concertina'd like aluminium foil between my palms until my hands were just a couple of inches apart. The door was still three-foot tall, but it was now about a twentieth of its previous width.

"Oh shit!" he exclaimed. I feigned total disinterest as I turned the compressed door around in my grasp and began crushing it in the other direction. A number of little crystals of shattered glass fell out of the twisted metal, raining down over the front of me, tumbling onto the exposed upper portion of my chest, and rolling over the curves into my cleavage.

Knowing that mere broken glass could never hurt me, I continued squeezing the remains of the car door until it was slightly smaller than a bowling ball. I tossed it casually over my shoulder. It must've flown quite a way before it landed as an age passed before I heard the sound of the metal ball hitting the ground.

I shook out the bottom of my t-shirt to lose the ground glass that had accumulated there, momentarily holding my breasts to pull them slightly apart to free the shards trapped between them. As I did that, poor Jason started hyperventilating, as if he was suffering a panic attack. Maybe he was. I smiled and leant towards the car, slowly extending my hand towards the now completely open passenger-side.

At that moment, he decided to accept my invitation to race. Or maybe he was just suddenly terrified and decided to get out of there fast. Either way, the engine gunned like a rocket about to take-off. The wheels spun furiously for a moment as they tried to get a grip on the wet tarmac, smoke rising into the air from the friction. Then, the car shot away, belching a thick cloud of foul-smelling exhaust that would have choked a normal person.

I don't know if the petrol-head's figures were correct, but the thing certainly did accelerate pretty quickly (for a man-made machine). In no time at all it was near the end of the street, and decelerating with a screech of brakes to turn the corner onto the main road. I waited a moment (to make things more fun) and then set off in pursuit.

Going barefoot meant I didn't have to worry about my shoes melting, and I didn't hold back. That meant I accelerated to my top speed in a single stride. That wasn't the only edge I had. The car was out of sight, but its suped-up engine made such a racket, it was easy to follow whereas my pretty feet were almost silent. Also, I don't have to slow down to take a tight corner, as I can spin on the spot if I need to.

In no time at all, I was right behind him. We were on the long, straight main road, and he had plenty of opportunity to work up to his top speed. I don't know if that was more or less than 160 m.p.h., but it was certainly an easy pace for me. I jogged up along side and tapped on the driver's window. He turned, and looked like he'd seen a ghost. I just waved and sped up a little, passing him in a couple of strides.

Running now just in front of him, I turned and stuck out my tongue and then put on a real sprint, opening a hundred yard gap in about ten seconds. At that point, I stopped, put my hands on my hips to show who was boss, and stared at him as he roared up the road towards me. It was night and, being only a man, he probably didn't see me until the last moment. The brakes screamed and the tyres smoked furiously. One of them burst, and the car went into a spin, hurtling towards me.

I didn't move. I didn't take my hands from my hips. I didn't even blink. I just let the car spin into me, the back half of the passenger side smacking into my thighs with an almighty crash. As I'm not the type to give way (and my body certainly isn't) it was the steel that yielded, folding around my legs as the vehicle was brought to a complete halt. A couple of windows shattered and the driver was thrown violently against his seat.

I stepped out of the crumpled metal, brushing it aside with contempt and strolled around to the undamaged front of the car. He was still conscious in there, although clearly shaken up. I threw him a smile and then bent low over the hood, making sure he got a good view of the perfect chest he could never touch. Ostentatiously, I raised my right hand, curled my fingers into a fist and held it above the centre of the hood.

"Jason," I said, fixing him with a glare. "This is what I think of your piece of junk." Then I drove my fist down, through the thin steel frame and deep into the engine block itself, the solid metal deforming around my slender knuckles like half-melted ice-cream around a pneumatic drill. I pulled out my hand, showing him how completely unmarked it was.

"Now, don't ever come near this part of town again." I told him. I didn't wait for an answer as I could already hear distant police sirens. Job done, I just took off, back for home, faster than any car that any boy-racer has ever dreamed of.

I'm still feeling good about it now. If there's one thing I love, it's putting an arrogant male in his place.



Sunday 17 October 2004 21:30 BST (GMT+1)

With the whole area full of police looking for the mysterious dark-haired girl involved in a car accident the other night, I've been staying out of sight at home. That hasn't stopped me having fun thankfully as, once again, the jerk upstairs has provided me with a good laugh.

This morning, I found a small piece of paper from the idiot himself, pushed under my door. It was a word-processed, short document pleading for information regarding "two recent attacks on my property". It went on to request that if anyone had seen anything, they should call him on his mobile phone. The number was helpfully included.

I immediately filled a large bucket with tap water and, as quietly as I could, rushed upstairs with it. I poured the water out carefully onto the floor to create a puddle that stretched from the guy's door as far as the top of the stairs. Then, I gently blew a blast of hyper-cold super-breath across the spilled liquid. Instantly, it became thick ice.

Going back into my flat, I waited a few minutes for the topmost layer of frozen water to melt. Then I picked up the phone and dialled the number from the sheet of paper.

"Oh hi," I said, "it's me - the girl downstairs." Immediately, I heard his breathing become faster. "I haven't got any information for you, but if you want to come down and talk about it..."

About twenty seconds later, I heard the sound of his front door opening. Then his yell of surprise as his foot slipped from under him, the shout of pain as he came down on his backside, the scream of terror as he slid helplessly towards the stairs and, finally, the various outbursts of agony as he tumbled head over heels down the hard steps. I think my sensitive ears also detected the sounds of a couple of bones breaking.

I was still laughing half an hour later when the ambulance crew, called by another neighbour, finally showed up and carried him away, moaning in extreme discomfort. "I...slipped.." he kept saying, in tortured gasps.



Monday 18 October 2004 08:58 BST (GMT+1)

The guy upstairs hasn't come back from hospital yet. The woman who called the ambulance send he looked in pretty bad shape with at least one broken leg and a obviously busted arm. It's almost enough to make me feel guilty. Almost, but not quite...

Although they have no clue it's me, I'm now being sought out by the authorities in connection with about five different unexplained events in my area. According to the local paper, the destruction of the tea-house in the park has got the police particularly anxious.

Bearing all that in mind, I think it's time I took a little trip somewhere, just for a few days while things cool off. So I've packed a little case (even though a huge trunk would be weightless to me) and I've called a taxi for the airport which should be here soon. I could have gone on foot, but as I said, I need to keep a low profile.

I haven't decided where I'm going yet. It depends on what's available and how much cash I can steal first. I fancy somewhere interesting. Somewhere where a girl with my "talents" can have real fun.

Hopefully, there'll be an internet cafe so I can update as normal tomorrow...



Tuesday 19 October 2004 14:16 GMT

Well, it wasn't too hard to find an internet cafe after all. I guess these days, wherever you go in the world, there's likely to be some kind of web-access...

I managed to get myself on a flight to somewhere interesting as I had plenty of cash for the ticket. Instead of just taking someone's wallet, I ran at super-speed past a queue of smartly-dressed businessmen at a check-in and dipped my hand into as many pockets as I could. I collected a couple of thousand in notes which I put in my jeans and a load of credit cards which I just squeezed until they melted into an unrecognisable blob and threw away.

The airline was happy enough for me to pay in cash and got me onto a flight within a couple of hours. The only problem was I had to sit next to this horrid, lecherous middle-aged man for the entire flight. He kept staring at me, especially when he thought I wasn't looking his way.

We finally landed, and I got through baggage reclaim no problem. Then, I was singled out by the local security. A fairly youngish-looking cop rifled disinterestedly through my suitcase before telling me, in not bad English, that he had to do a check on my person, too.

I should have realised in advance, but the check on my "person" was nothing more than an excuse for the guy to feel up my breasts and backside. When he was done I "accidentally" stepped on his foot. The sound of every bone in there crunching as his eyes filled with tears of pain nearly made up for the unpleasantness of the journey.

I got out of the airport and heard the howling, freezing wind. I suppose I looked out of place wearing just my tight T-shirt and jeans whilst everyone else was wrapped up in layer upon layer of thick clothing, but I don't feel the cold so I didn't bother with an overcoat.

I didn't bother with a taxi to the town centre either. I just walked through the snow, admiring the beautiful white landscape. As I went at "normal" speed, it took a couple of hours, but it was an enjoyable stroll. The fact that it was 3 degrees centigrade and a stiff north-easterly wind was blowing was never going to be a problem for me.

There was a room available at the first hotel I tried so I took it and unpacked my things. As it was late, I stayed in there, reading a couple of novels and waited for morning. Dawn is late here in November (after 8am), so it was a long, boring night.

This morning, I walked out of town to visit a hot spring that the hotelier recommended. It was lovely lying in the water, looking at the snow all around until someone spoiled it by running over screaming "No! No! Not in there! That is the very hot water! See, it boils! The water for the bath is the next lagoon!" I had wondered why no-one else was bathing with me. The water felt pleasant enough to my skin.

This evening, I'm going back to the hotel for a special "local delicacy" (I guess some kind of smoked fish). Then I'm going out. I want to see if what I've heard about the men in these parts is true.



Wednesday 20 October 2004 12:20 GMT

There's a nice warm feeling inside me this morning, even though it's barely above freezing with a howling wind blowing and I've been sitting at the foot of a glacier in just a T-shirt and shorts. I don't feel cold at all really (I once dipped my hand in a container of liquid nitrogen without any ill effects) but I think the warmth has more to do with what I got up to last night...

I went out to a bar, and just leant on the counter with my drink, waiting to be spotted. Pretty soon, I had three lovely tall blond guys all vying for my attention and competing to buy me drinks. I let them all pay for about half a dozen vodkas each (not cheap in these parts) even though booze does nothing for me. Then I just mentioned that I fancied going outside for a stroll. Of course, they all followed me like faithfull little dogs.

I lead them into an alley beside the bar. The ground had a light covering of snow so they weren't badly hurt when I quickly gave each of them a tiny shove, knocking them down, side by side.

I leapt onto the one in the middle and spread out my arms to prevent the guys on either side from getting up, despite their (comical to me) struggles. Moving my hands about quickly, I was able to tear off most of the clothes from the three men without letting them move.

I rode the one in the centre first, all the while holding the other two down. When he was exhausted, I gently tossed him to the other side of the one on my right and then pulled the remaining two closer together. I didn't need to stop the one I'd already used from escaping as he was too busy trying to catch his breath to flee.

I had a nice, long go with the second one, bouncing up and down on my ankles as I took him in and out, all the while stretching over to the third, using two fingertips on the middle of his chest to keep him in place until, with the one underneath me begging tearfully for mercy, I was ready to move on.

Now I had two men too exhausted to escape and I could concentrate completely on the third one as I lay on top of him, grinding the air from his lungs with gentle side-to-side motions of my bare breasts that battered and bruised his pale skin until it was purple. All the while I kept on pumping my hips, not at super-speed, but certainly faster than a "normal" girl could manage.

I pounded my pelvis against the third man's groin long after he had orgasmed, only climbing off him when I thought he was on the point of passing out. Then I just walked over to where the first one was still trying to recuperate. I bent over him, sliding one hand under his backside and the other under his shoulder.

I stood up, lifting the six-foot, gasping man effortlessly and spread my legs. I pulled his face to my chest and let him breathe in the scent of my cleavage and he was immediately ready for me again. Using the hand on his arse, I guided him into me and began raising and lowering him faster and faster.

I guess I was moving him about a bit more roughly than he was used to. He lost control of his muscles and his head started flapping about all over the place. Each time I lifted him, his forehead smacked against my breasts until the bruises that appeared under his hairline became actual cuts in his skin.

Because of the wounding, I only used him for another couple of minutes more before simply removing my hands from under him and letting him fall the yard or so onto the snow at my feet. I saw his eyes roll as he impacted and slid into unconciousness, but I was already moving on to one of his friends.

Dropping down, I kind of sat on his thighs and spread my legs either side of him. I bounced like that, really enjoying myself for quite a while, especially when he balled his hands up into fists and tried pumelling me in the belly and chest; his feather-light blows and the sight of his desperation enhancing my fun considerably.

Sadly I had to stop when I got a little to enthusiastic with my bouncing and heard the unmistakeable sound of his thigh-bone snapping in half. I would have gone on, but the pain must've been too much for the poor boy, because he passed out immediately. Men are so pathetic!

That just left me the last one, who was still getting over the first round. To make things different, I lay beside him on my back and put my hands on either side of his waist, lifting him off the ground and dropping him onto me as easily as I would have pulled on a blanket.

I locked my lips on his, kissing him very gently so that his lungs didn't completely collapse. The reward for my care was his instant erection (although his face had turned a little blue by the time I let our lips part). I picked him up by his waist and thrust him into me. If he'd been able to breathe, I'm sure he would have screamed as I did ram him a bit hard.

Losing myself in the sheer ecstacy of it all, I didn't notice him orgasming. I just kept pulling him into me and pushing him away. His chest bruised almost black against my tingling breasts as I yanked him to me time and time again, not letting up until I was absolutely sure that I was fully satiated. Then I pulled him out and tossed him aside like a used tissue. He landed face-down in the snow about ten yards away.

I lay there for a while, enjoying the afterglow. Then I got up and pulled on my clothes, feeling energised and fresher than ever whilst the three men lay battered and unconscious where I left them.

I went back to the hotel and ran the hottest bath I could to clean off the traces of weak man from my perfect body.

This evening's plan is for a little dip in the sea. It shouldn't be too crowded, given the chunks of ice floating in the water...



Thursday 21 October 2004 09:01 GMT

Ah, the delights of airport internet cafes! This one's not bad, if you like bad coffee and stale pastries...

Yes, I'm on my way home. I think I was in danger of overstaying my welcome here, and I thought it would be best to move on before things got awkward.

It was yesterday evening, after my swim. I got back to the hotel, where the middle-aged man on the reception stared at me for a few moments as if I was some kind of ghost before reverting to typical "man mode" and ogling my chest. Then he went back to his original shocked state, exclaiming (in fairly decent English) "Miss! You will die from cold! You must not be outside like this... And you are wet! This is not the Caribbean!"

Just because I had come in fresh from my dip still dripping and wearing my two-piece bikini! OK, so it was only just above freezing outside but I felt fine, so what was his problem? I soon found out.

He was worried about his nephew. Apparently, he had been found the other morning with two other men, all lying unconscious in the snow. He said that no-one knew what had happened.

Their clothes had been torn to shreds as if they'd been attacked by some kind of wild animal and their bodies were bruised and cut as though they'd all been in a fight with a professional boxer. One had a broken leg. They were all in the local hospital, but the police were baffled and likely to remain so until one of the victims came round and gave a statement.

The guy looked really concerned. He told me that the doctors thought it very possible that at least one of the casualties would regain consciousness in the next twenty-four hours, but they looked to be in a very bad state to him. I decided there and then that I would be on the first flight out in the morning.

It was a pity, because I'd love to go swimming in those waters again. The icy brine felt wonderfully refreshing against my skin as I dived in and swam beneath the surface. My eyes had no trouble in the dark salty water and the little light that did filter through the ice created beautiful patterns on the sea-bed.

I stayed down there, just lazily moving about for an hour or so. When I decided to come back up, I realised that I had swum beneath a huge sheet of thick ice. Any "normal" person in that position would have been fatally frozen long before even realising that they were trapped underwater by the ice, but of course, it wasn't even a minor inconvenience for me.

I punched my fist through the solid sheet from under the water to judge its depth. Although the ice was nearly a foot thick, my small fist went through it with no trouble at all. Then I kicked my legs a bit beneath me, generating upward thrust. The top of my head smashed through the packed frozen "ceiling" like a sledge-hammer. Then I broke more of the ice with my hands and pulled myself effortlessly up onto the surface. As I did so, my chest carved an interesting vertical double channel in the frozen brine, but I didn't stop to admire it.

I walked back to shore, leaping from one floating ice-island to the next. No problem for me, as I can do twenty yard standing jumps without even trying. Maybe I should have changed out of my bikini or at least towelled off before going back to my hotel, but it honestly never occurred to me. I wasn't cold in the slightest.



Friday 22 October 2004 09:35 BST (GMT+1)

sweet home. Except for the constant banging from upstairs anyway. Seems the guy got out of hospital yesterday (that's the guy from my building who I put in hospital, not the three guys I put in hospital on my travels.)

Anyway, now the paranoid jerk has called in a building firm to install new ultra-secure doors to his flat, both at the front and back. Of course, they've got to enlarge the frames as these new doors are so big, so they're up there now, working away with their hammers, making a racket.

I saw him last night, hobbling slowly up the stairs on his crutches, one leg and one arm in plaster and a nasty-looking bruise on his face. I'll do the neighbourly thing and pop up later to see how's he's doing and express my gratitude for all the banging that's going on...

The sun's trying to shine outside, so I might pop out for a quiet stroll. Also., it looks as if the police have scaled down their search in the area. Once again, I've got away with it. It might be time to give those boys in uniform something else to do...



Sunday 24 October 2004 19:41 BST (GMT+1)

So, I didn't update yesterday. What are you going to do about it?

That's what I thought.

Anyway, I went up to console my poor neighbour on Friday evening and found that the guy had invited his six-foot three rugby-playing "friend" to stay with him for a few days. (He seems to be acting as some kind of a body-guard.) I nearly laughed when I worked out what was going on. He's really misguided if he thinks even a hundred big men will protect him from me.

Then again, he doesn't know that it's me he needs protection from. During the course of my five-minute visit, I managed to trip the jerk up twice, knocking him and his crutches flying. You should have heard his scream the second time when he landed with quite a bang on his plastered, broken leg.

I shook hands with the rugby player as I left, squeezing him just hard enough to snap one of his smaller bones - the sort of injury that feels bad at the time, but starts to feel a whole lot worse after a few hours. It ended up, of course, with the "body-guard" calling a taxi to take him to hospital around eleven in the evening. Some protection!

I spent the whole day on Saturday preparing a new little project for next week. I can't say anything about it, except that it kept me away from an internet connection for over 24 hours. All will be revealed next week.

Today I spent just relaxing at home. I think someone's having my flat watched; I don't know if it's the police, or someone else, but there's been a van parked outside since this morning.

Nothing usual about a parked, unmarked van. But when I strain my superhuman hearing, I can just about make out the sound of someone moving about in the back of the vehicle. If it's still there in a hour or so, I'll have to go down and see if I can find out what's going on....



Monday 25 October 2004 09:29 BST (GMT+1)

Well, the van didn't move. I went down at around midnight and knocked on the back doors. I wouldn't have needed super-hearing to notice the noise of frantic scuffling from in there, but no-one actually responded, let alone opened up.

I've never had any patience with "normal" people who think they can get one over on me. I just jabbed the three central fingers of my right hand into the gap where the double back doors met, the metal yielding instantly to me. Then I dragged my arm to the side, causing much of the right-hand door to crumple and wad up like tin-foil.

In truth, it was as easy as pulling a light-weight curtain to the side, but to the guy in there, I must've made quite an impression, framed by the torn back of the van in my tight white T-shirt and figure-hugging black jeans, one arm leaning casually on the compacted remains of the door, the other hanging by my side.

"Good evening," I said, cheerfully, as I stepped into the van. The guy, a middle-aged balding wreck with thick black rings under his eyes and red-blotches over the rest of his face, backed away into the far corner.

"Ah, don't be shy!" I chided, walking towards him until I was standing only a foot from him, my face high above his as he cowered from me. I reached in and carefully cupped his chin, raising his head a little, taking care to use just enough strength to scare him without actually doing any damage to his fragile body. I asked him what he was doing on my street, hiding in a van all day and he mumbled something along the lines of "I can't say."

I squeezed his chin a little more and raised him onto his tip-toes, bringing his face very close to mine. Then I "insisted" he tell me, making sure my breath blasted his features a little more forcibly than was strictly necessary. He needed no further persuasion to reveal all to me.

Apparently he was working in a team with the rugby player. The pair of them have been hired by the paranoid jerk upstairs from me. While the big man stayed as a personal guard with his temporary employer, this other one was supposed to monitor all comings and goings from the building. It seems my neighbour is convinced some rival is running a vendetta against him, and is desperate to catch the culprit.

"Just out of interest," I enquired of the man whose chin I was still holding near my face, "how much is he paying you?" When the middle-aged P.I. answered, I burst out laughing. They're getting an absolute fortune for their "work". Fantastic! He pays a huge sum for these guys who will never catch the culprit (me). What a jerk!

Inside the van, I pulled my informant closer to me and leant in towards him. When our noses were just an inch or so apart, I breathed "Keep up the good work and make sure you don't fall asleep on the job." Then I kissed him very gently. I guess I got a little to intimate for him, because he began to moan and shudder and I could smell the stain that was appearing around the groin area of his trousers.

I just inhaled a little with our lips still touching, easily sucking the air from his lungs until I felt him black out. When I let go of his chin he slumped onto the floor of the van. I knew he would be too embarrassed to tell his client what had happened so I left him there as I climbed out. I made a small effort to straighten out the back door of the vehicle (enough so that it wasn't wide open all night, anyway.) and went back upstairs, unseen (of course) by the man asleep in the van.

I spent the rest of the night working on my latest little project. Soon, I'll be able to tell you all about it.



Tuesday 26 October 2004 14:10 BST (GMT+1)

uch happening today. The guy in the van outside spent most of yesterday sleeping it off (and I only kissed him. Imagine if I could have stomached going any further with him!)

My newspapers were late again this morning. When I heard them finally slipping through the letterbox, I raced at super-speed to the door and opened it, even though I was completely naked at the time. The paperboy (a young lad of no more than 15) nearly went into apoplectic shock when he saw me. He started sweating profusely; his face turned a little greenish and he was trembling.

The poor boy's eyes seemed on the point of exploding out of his head at any moment. They were flickering like crazy all over my exposed body, unsure which part of me they'd rather be looking at. I grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt and pulled him into my flat, closing the door behind us.

I put my hands on my hips and in my sternest voice demanded why he was persistently late. He tried to answer, but he could only mumble. I realised that the sight of me was too much for his adolescent brain, so I tried another tack. Softening my stance and my voice, I smiled and asked him if he wanted to touch me.

"Y...y...yes..please." he stammered.

"Then tell me why the papers are late and I'll let you." I said.

Now that he had sufficient incentive, he answered immediately. "The van driver keeps delivering them late to the shop. It's not my fault, I always take them round as soon as possible."

"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" I patronised.

"So.. Can...can.. I t.. t.. touch...you....?"

"No!" I replied. "Now get out before I call the police." You should have seen the disappointment on his face! I actually thought he was about to cry! He turned and ran from my flat, my derisive laughter no doubt echoing in his ears.

From the window, I saw him running up the street, probably looking for the nearest public lavatory.

Tonight, I'm going to find that van driver, and let him know exactly what I think of the standards of his work.



Wednesday 27 October 2004 15:21 BST (GMT+1)

My newspaper arrived before 7 this morning - the earliest ever. Somehow I think it'll always be on time from now on....

All I did was use my ample feminine charms to get the van driver's address from the guy on the desk at the distribution company. Not exactly a challenge for a girl like me.

I went 'round there pre-dawn as he was about to set off in his van and stood right in front of his vehicle until he was forced to climb down so he could try and move me out of the way. Needless to say, he struggled for a minute or so until he was worn out without my feet moving so much as an inch. He couldn't even pull my hands off my hips, despite pulling on my slender arms with all his weight.

It turned out that he has a "thing" for supergirls. I found out when I lifted the front of his van off the road with only one hand and he immediately shot his load just watching me. I didn't even have to threaten him with violence! He just dropped to his knees right there on the street and stayed down after he'd finished his orgasm, looking up at me with worshipful eyes.

As soon as he found out that I was annoyed with the late delivery to my newsagent, he couldn't wait to tell me how he would happily change his route to ensure that my man would be the first in my part of town to be supplied each day. He even promised to drive as fast as he could to be doubly certain that I wouldn't be kept waiting.

I rewarded him with a kiss. Well a long-range kiss, blown over my upturned palm with enough force to send him rolling helplessly along the tarmac for forty yards. I bet he really got off on that, too.



Thursday 28 October 2004 10:55 BST (GMT+1)

This early, early morning paper delivery is great. I'd read two entire broadsheets cover to cover by five past seven this morning. (They were delivered at three minutes to seven.)

When I went out for my walk afterwards, I noticed that the surveillance van, which my upstairs neighbour is paying for at great expense, had moved. It was now parked right in front of the entrance to the building.

I didn't need to get any closer than three yards away to hear the sound of snoring from inside. I crept around the back and peaked through a gap I inadvertently left when I tried to re-straighten the door I'd crumpled. The same guy was in there, fast asleep. He was clutching a single piece of paper with a pencil drawing on it to his chest.

It was pitch dark in the van, but that was never going to stop me getting a good look at the picture. And, guess what? It was a pretty crappy drawing of me!! I must've made a big impression on him if he's tried to make a sketch of me and then fallen asleep looking at it. Yet another fan. How flattering! I had to do something nice for him.

I dashed back inside and fetched a bottle of rum from my kitchen and ran back downstairs with it, double-checking that no-one was watching. Then, peeling the damaged van door open as quietly as I could, I climbed silently inside. I managed to pour the entire litre of booze over the idiot without him stirring. The liquid soaked the drawing too, completely ruining it.

To make certain that he wouldn't be waking up anytime soon, I bent over him and tapped him very lightly on the top of his head with my left index finger. (I once knocked a heavy-weight boxer out cold with that technique. It's one of my favourites. I just have to remember to be careful not to do it hard enough to crack the victim's fragile skull.)

Picking him up with one hand on the waistband of his trousers, I carried him out of the van, letting him swing at my side like a handbag, knowing that he wouldn't come round. He felt about as heavy as a toothpick as I strolled around the vehicle with him hanging from my fingers. I got the driver's side door open, and lifted him onto the seat with his head resting on the steering wheel. It was easy, more like putting a lightweight scarf onto a high shelf than a man into a van.

With him safely stashed in the cab, I walked to the back of the thing and reached down to grab the frame just above one of the rear wheels. I lifted my hand and three-quarters of the vehicle came off the ground as easily as if I was picking up an empty polythene bag.

The opposite corner tyre was the only point where van met road, and I used it as a pivot as I walked in a quarter-circle, turning the van around. Then, I lowered it back down onto all four wheels. When I let go, instead of being neatly parked, the van was at right-angles to the pavement, the rear end completely blocking one lane of traffic and eating partially into the other.

I left the vehicle (now a major traffic hazard) and it's unconscious, rum-stinking occupant and went back inside. I'm watching from the window now. The police should be along at any moment....



Friday 29 October 2004 09:38 BST (GMT+1)

With one half of his "security team" in police custody and the other half sporting a broken hand wrapped in thick plaster, my friend upstairs is beginning to think that the conspiracy against him is of a supernatural nature. That's what he told me when we passed each other yesterday evening. I told him he probably was right. He limped away on his crutches, looking perplexed.

As it was raining, I took myself off to the park. Reconstruction has already begun on the old tea house, but there was no-one about, just a load of abandoned equipment. Everything was covered with huge blue plastic sheets to protect it from the rain and I guess the workers were using the weather as an excuse for a day off.

Standing about twenty yards from the construction site, I blew a jet of super-breath towards the largest plastic cover. It was anchored down at each corner with a pile of concrete blocks. Of course a mere half-tonne of concrete was never going to be a match for my easy exhalation and the blocks soon tumbled over, knocked aside by the force of my breath.

With nothing to keep the big sheet down, it filled like a sail and took off into the sky. By the time I'd closed my lips, I'd already blown it clear out of the park. It fell to the ground softly, lying right across the main-road and causing an instant traffic jam.

Now a large portion of the building site was exposed. I saw that a concrete foundation had already been laid and a number of thick vertical metal rods had been set into it. Each rod was about an inch in diameter and made of solid steel. I went around each one in turn. Some of them I bent into amusing shapes like hearts or spirals. Some of them I snapped in half. Others I just bent double.

The last rod I pulled towards my body and moulded around the curves of the underside of my chest to form a kind of rounded "w" shape. That one made the prettiest sculpture of all. The thick metal might as well have been wet string in my hands. There was no challenge re-shaping it, only the amusing thought that it was going to cause someone a lot of inconvenience.

For a final touch, I drove my fist deep into a portable diesel generator. My hand just carved into the metal casing and the various lumps of steel inside as if it was all made of particularly lightweight polystyrene. I made sure my dainty knuckles crushed as much of the internal workings as possible before pulling my hand out, admiring my work and heading for home

I spent most of the rest of the day yesterday preparing for Saturday when my latest project will unfold. I can't say much about it until Sunday, but it should be an awful lot of fun. For me.



Sunday 31 October 2004 15:11 GMT

bet you'd like to know what I've been up to. What could possibly have kept me from updating the blog on two consecutive Saturdays? Is there really still a place where even a supergirl can't get internet access?

Well, yes there is. It's a trench. About halfway between Tokyo to Honolulu. At the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.

Time for a little background. A girl like me meets all kinds of people in all kinds of walks of life. A few years ago, I got to know a high-ranking official at an embassy of one of the smaller ex-Soviet republics. We got chatting, and in that pathetic way men have, he tried to impress me by telling tales of his days in the KGB, long before Glasnost.

It seems that every single even slightly heterosexual man I meet is desperate to get me into bed from the instant he sees me. Or maybe it's the instant he smells me (as I've had plenty of interest from men without sight, too.) Anyway, this guy was no different. He began revealing more and more secrets of his past to me, in the hope that I would find him sexier if I knew about his history.

Of course, he never gave away too much information; he would say that such-and-such had happened to an un-named Important Person, without actually enlightening me with the identity of the historical figure concerned. Or he would tell me that an unspecified, bloody war between two countries had been provoked by the security services of a third country, leaving me to guess which three states he was referring to.

There were two main problems (for him) caused by these little "teasers" of information that he kept feeding me. The first problem was that he aroused my curiosity, which meant I had to persuade him to tell me more, just to satisfy myself. And, of course, no-one on Earth is better suited to "persuading" than me. The other problem was that he constantly underestimated his attraction to me. I don't comment much on my own appearance, but I must be one ultra-desirable young woman judging by the way so many men become so deeply obsessed with me. Trust me, this guy would have done anything for the supreme honour of making love to me.

Anyway, I found myself alone with him in his flat one night. Using a combination of the technique that got Cf to host this blog (violence) and the other method of controlling men (seduction), I got him to tell me every last detail of every dirty secret he knew. It didn't end well for him. I hurt him pretty badly, knocking his face and head about with my bare breasts, roughing him up and turning him on at the same time. I probably shouldn't have rewarded his reluctant co-operation with such violent, highly energetic sex, but how was I to know his heart wasn't up to the task? At least he died happy, having given me what I wanted.

Amongst the many incredible things he told me was the story of a submarine that was on patrol in the deep Pacific in the early 1970s. It was common for subs on that kind of secret mission in hostile waters to maintain complete radio silence for fear of discovery. When fire broke out on this particular vessel and an unknown chain of knock-on disasters cost the lives of every member of the crew, it was five days before anyone in command knew that anything was wrong.

There was no hope for those on board, but the top brass were concerned about the technology on the sub falling into "unfriendly" hands. In particular, there were a number of bits of hardware that they were most keen to recover. Another submarine was detached to carry out the task, but, after a fortnight frantically searching the seabed, it returned without managing to discover the location of the stricken vessel.

Over the following three years, a total of nearly a hundred separate missions were carried out, all aimed at finding the lost sub. Cartographers, geologists, oceanographers and engineers were employed in a vain attempt to solve the riddle. Theories of vast, hidden cracks in the seabed abounded, but no concrete proof. Finally, the government decided to cut its losses; if they couldn't locate the vessel knowing that it was there, and news of its loss was kept completely secret, no other country was likely to discover it either.

They were right. No other country discovered it. The secret remained safe until that night in the diplomat's flat. In other words, until I came along. No other system for extracting truths is as effective as mine. No radar or sonar or laser is as good at hunting things out as I am, either. And no submarine, manned or robotic, is better equipped for working in the extreme conditions (pitch dark, phenomenal pressure) of the bottom of the sea. Me, I'm as happy and comfortable in that extreme environment as I am strolling in the park on a sunny day.

I found the long lost vessel last Saturday. It took me all day to do it, swimming at super-speed in a grid-like pattern over the seabed, using my super-vision to scan every square inch below, despite the almost complete lack of light down there, but it was worth the effort.

The craft had gone missing with four medium-range missiles in its armoury. As my unfortunate informant had explained, the reason his government had been so eager to locate the sub (and the reason I too was keen to find it) was that these missiles were armed with thermo-nuclear warheads. It's always been an ambition of mine to feel one of those exploding against my body and the submarine represented my best chance of fulfilling that ambition without having to start World War Three in the process.

Once I had discovered the vessel, I didn't waste time looking for the air-lock. I tore into the thick steel hull with my bare hands, peeling the metal aside as though it was a piece of fruit. It made no difference to me if the interior was flooded or not; I don't need to breathe air so I can spend a couple of days underwater without ill effects and the high pressure (too much for all but the most specialist forms of marine life) doesn't bother me either.

Anyway, my rude entrance did cause the whole sub to fill with seawater, washing away the stench of death that still permeating everything. There were an awful lot of bodies in there; poor, weak, fragile men who had never stood a chance. I swam past them, tearing through heavy steel doors and panels, looking for my treasure. Eventually, I found it. Deep in the bowels of the submarine. Four large missiles, exactly as I had been told.

They were too large for me to carry all at once; I simply could not get my arms around them. Not without crushing a couple of them almost flat against my chest. In the end, I carried them out one by one and placed them carefully, after another brief search for a suitable site, in a narrow but exceptionally deep trench in the sea-floor. It might well be the lowest spot on the whole planet.

There was just one problem. I could not make them explode. I tried everything short of actually smashing the missiles, but nothing worked. I needed an expert in the field. I couldn't bring one there; no other person could survive at those depths (even in a pressurised craft), so I had to return to shore to get one. The only problem was that the nearest shore was a few hours' super-speed swim away.

I gave myself a week to find someone to help me out. In fact, I'd already tracked down my expert by last Sunday night. I can't say much about him, because I may need to use him again (provided he makes a full recovery.) He wouldn't co-operate at first, but I convinced him it was for the best. He told me how to locate the electronic circuit board that controlled the detonation sequence, and, of course, how to actually trigger that sequence and I thanked him in my customary manner.

All week I was looking forward to yesterday. I swam back to my secret trench so quickly, even I was impressed. I just couldn't wait to try out my new toys now that I knew how to operate them.

The long, cylindrical shape of the things was not lost on me as I gathered the four missiles into a pile, one on top of the other and then straddled them, gripping the phallic objects tightly with my thighs and calves.

I had to reach behind myself to get to the panel that housed the trigger circuits. I peeled the steel plate away with a fingernail and then carefully followed the instructions my expert had given. I'd been assured that triggering just one of the weapons in close proximity to the others would be enough to detonate them all. And that assurance proved to be correct.

Over the years, I've had all kinds of explosions detonate against (and sometimes inside) most parts of my body. But never, never, have I let my most intimate centre be stimulated by such a devastating blast of such awesome energy.

The first instants of the explosion were probably a close approximation of what it must be like to stand on the surface of the sun. I was wearing a bikini at the time, but it disintegrated instantly as a wave of heat melted the metal casings between my legs. The water for a hundred yards in every direction was violently boiling and it warmed my skin to tingling point.

The extreme temperatures and molten metal reached into my nether regions and pleasured me in a way that I can't even begin to describe. No experience I've ever had comes close. If I took the greatest pleasure any mere man has ever given me, and multiplied it by ten thousand, it would still fall short. And the star-like heat was only the starter. Perhaps "warm up" would be a better term for it.

A moment later came the actual blast. I was launched, like a rocket, straight up through the water by the sheer force of the explosion. Shockwaves smashed against my body through the water with enough force to crush a city to dust, creating a depth of feeling I never knew I could experience. Every part of me was stimulated at once as I continued to soar upwards towards the surface, the force of those shockwaves buffeting me again and again from all sides.

I rose out of the water into the air just as the biggest orgasm of my life was breaking. I must've been screaming, but I don't really remember much about it. I think I may have blacked out for a moment (the only time in my life that has happened). It wasn't the force of four nuclear bombs that did it, it was the intensity of sexual ecstasy they caused.

When I opened my eyes again, I was floating in the water once again. I could see huge waves spreading away on the surface. They had obviously been thrown up by the explosion so very far below. There must have been some very wet coastal towns when those babies finally hit land!

I let myself drift for a while, just recovering my composure and enjoying the afterglow for as long as possible before setting off on the long, long journey home. I can still feel echoes of that glorious sensation now. My only concern is: will I ever get another chance to enjoy it again?