Well, well, well! Five days and no blog. And it hasn't even been my fault.
I've been away (more later) and I wasn't able to visit any internet cafes or places where there's a lot of people. So the best I could do was to use a portable device to email each day's entry to Cf, with clear instructions on what to do with it. And, being a typical, useless male with only two brain cells (both of those located in his sexual organ), Cf managed to screw it all up.
I finally caught up with him last night as he was walking down his street on the way home from work. "I... I... thought you were... up... updating y... yourself." he wheezed as I pressed him against a fence, pinning him immovably in place and squeezing much of the air from his lungs just by resting a single, dainty finger on the centre of his chest. As usual, despite the pain which he couldn't help but show on his ugly face, my proximity to him was getting him all excited.
When I increased the pressure of my finger, he brought his two hands up but not really to try and pull my hand away from his body as I might have thought. He made it look as if he was trying to move my hand (although he knows by now that he couldn't ever succeed) but he was using that as cover for "accidentally" touching my chest. That brief contact was enough to put him in overdrive: heart pumping wildly, laboured breathing now rapid and rasping. I leaned into him, removing my hand so that I had him pinned with just my breasts.
Although I was pressing hard enough to make his face turn purple, his eyes glazed over with the sexual thrill of it all. I stepped back and he slumped to the ground, gasping for air. With a foot, I rolled him over onto his back and held him down. Bending over him I asked him about the emails I'd sent. "I..haven't...checked...my...mail..." he panted.
"This won't ever happen again." I told him. "You check your mail daily from now on." I didn't bother to threaten him with what would happen if he didn't comply.
"I promise. I'm sorry." he grovelled. I offered him a hand to help him back onto his feet and he took it. Of course, I wasn't about to gently pull him up. I jerked his arm just hard enough to make his shoulder pop. He would have screamed but I covered his mouth with my hand and told him I'd dislocate all his limbs unless he was quiet. He bit his lip to contain his agony.
He looked funny, standing there with his arm hanging all wrong by his side, his face contorted in pain, tears in his eyes and still with that silly little bulge in his trousers. "When you come to," I sneered, "and before you even get to hospital, I bet you have to masturbate yourself sore to get rid of that." (I nodded towards his erection.) "Of course, you'll have to do it left-handed." I added laughing.
He was still trying to come up with a reply as I flicked him gently on the chin with the little finger of my left hand, snapping his head back and knocking him completely unconscious. I let him collapse onto the pavement and left him.
Anyway, because of that idiot, you all missed my day-to-day descriptions of my adventures in rural Scandinavia. Maybe I'll release them in full sometime in the future. For now, you'll have to make do with this (very brief) summary.
I went initially to sell that gold I recovered from the Pacific a couple of weeks ago. There's a woman in Denmark who usually handles my precious metal trades. I've known her for ages and she's never let me down. However, to my disappointment, it turned out that the gold I'd found was impure, and not worth anything like as much as I'd hoped. She showed me the analysis results and I had to concur. It seems some Victorian was working a scam and I (kind of) fell victim to it more than a century later.
To make up for that unexpected shortfall, I decided to go on a fund-raising tour of small towns in the area. Like I said, this is a brief summary:
I went to a load of banks. I went into a few while they were open, waited until the cashiers were counting bundles of notes and simply ran at superspeed to snatch the cash from their hands, running back into position too quickly for anyone (or any CCTV) to spot. In a couple of places, I hung around until someone made a cash withdrawal and then (using the same, ultra-fast technique) grabbed the money from the customer.
Other financial institutions, I visited at night. I tunnelled into one bank's vaults with my bare hands, scooping away earth, then clay, then rock and finally concrete at lightening speed. Then I tore through the six-inch thick steel walls of the depository by plunging my fingers deep into the metal and gouging out an opening big enough to climb through. I was running from the scene, my pockets bulging with banknotes a minute after I'd started digging my tunnel.
Another place I entered through the back door. It was a heavy oak affair, barred with a thick iron beam on the inside. I just walked up to it and, with my hands on my hips (I guess I was showing off to myself a little) thrust out my chest, pushing the thick wood back until it splintered. The iron groaned out of my sight and with a clang snapped in half. Then the entire door gave way with a crunch.
An alarm went off, so I had to move fast. Being a small, rural branch of a local bank, there was no huge vault, just a safe in the shape of a cube about four feet by four feet by four feet. It was bolted to steel plates which in turn were set in concrete both in one wall and in the floor. You should have heard the scream of tortured metal as I tore the whole thing free, ripping apart concrete and thick steel bolts with (need I say it?) utter ease. I sprinted out of there, carrying the safe in my arms, its considerable weight negligible to me. Out in the woods, I stopped running and, with little more than a fingernail, sliced the thick steel box open like a tin of tuna, helping myself to the cash inside.
There were other places I visited too during my spree, but I haven't got the time or the patience to list them all now. Suffice it to say that, I came home yesterday with more than enough money to buy the flat upstairs. Tomorrow, I'll tie up the deal. And then I'll go out to celebrate.
Thursday 2 December 2004 16:22 GMT
The flat upstairs is mine. I've signed on the dotted line and handed over the money. The jerk's got five days to clear his stuff out and then he has to hand me the keys. Considering he's getting about 45% of what he initially paid for the apartment, I'd say that I've got a bargain.
To mark the occasion, I decided to go for a drink. There's a nice, up-market bar near the estate agents' office so I went there. From the street I could see that the lights were on and I caught a glimpse of someone moving around inside, but the door was locked and a sign read "CLOSED".
Not being the type of person who waits around, I just pulled on the locked door, snapping off the wood around the lock and tearing loose a couple of steel bolts before strolling in. The figure I'd seen was not in the bar, so I helped myself to a bottle of tequila from the display and sat down with it. Five minutes later, I had to go back for another bottle.
I was just about to go for a third, when a door marked "Private" swung open and a tall, young man walked into the bar. He seemed completely shocked to see me. "Hey! We're closed!" he said. He glanced at the door and the broken lock and twisted bolts, then at me, and then all around, no doubt looking for my imaginary male accomplice because, in his mind, there was no way I could have caused that damage myself.
"There's no one else here." I told him. I'd already made my mind up about the guy. He was fit and nice looking and I was going to have him. "Why don't you join me for a drink?"
"I'm calling the police." he announced, unexpectedly.
"Is that what you tell every girl who propositions you?" I asked, flirtatiously. He hesitated for a moment, and I seized it by standing up and swaying over to him. I stopped when I was only about a foot away from him. His eyes bulged at the sight of me approaching and he seemed lost for words for a moment. His lips were moving as if he was trying to speak, but no sound emerged.
He seemed unsure what to do with his hands too, nervously fingering the lining of his trouser pocket. I placed my fingers over his wrist and gently, but firmly, lifted his hand from there and brought it up to my chest. He was trembling violently, but he didn't try to resist as I placed his palm on my T-shirt so that it lay on my right breast.
I thought his heart might explode, such was the way it accelerated. A moment later, his face turned bright crimson. I knew why; I could smell it instantly. Evidently, it was all too much for him and he'd shot his load. I frowned and said, "You're supposed to wait. Now, I'll have to get you ready again."
It didn't take long, however. He didn't even seem to notice me tearing his trousers and soaked boxers. He was too busy fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. I leant in to him and breathed "Here, let me help." Two seconds later I'd ripped the shirt clean off him. He had a lovely-looking chest and I caressed it with a finger tip knowing that I could crush those pretty muscles to pulp with an eyelash if I wanted.
With just the end of the finger that was stroking him, I gave him a little shove that sent him flying backwards onto a sofa. I stripped at super-speed so that he didn't have time to react before I dived on top of him. This time he did manage to get inside me before cumming, but not for very long. "Third time lucky!" I told him, massaging his member back to readiness.
This time I continued to ride him long after he was done. When I finished, he was soaked in sweat and gasping for breath. Immediately I reached for his organ once more. "No..." he croaked. "I can't..."
"Yes, you can." I said, simply, rubbing my nipples lightly across his chest (extremely gently, leaving only a few bruises, but no broken ribs). I was right, of course. He soon got hard and I was bouncing on top of him again. He didn't orgasm at all that final time (although he did start whimpering). I just kept on going until I was at least partially satisfied. When I let him slide out of me, I noticed tears rolling down his cheeks. Only then did I see that his groin and left hip were covered in what looked like a single, huge, dark purple bruise.
I jumped up and started dressing. At one point, he tried to move from the sofa and instantly gave up, howling in pain. Through sobs of agony he said, "I... I.. think I've.... er... you've.... broken something.... Please.... I need an ambulance."
"I saw a 'phone behind the bar." I said cheerfully, "You can call one from there. Thanks for the drinks." And with that I walked out.
Friday 3 December 2004 16:59 GMT
A nice quiet day today. No buyers to chase away from the flat upstairs; no jerk to torment, no gold to cash, no money to raise.
Early this morning, I went down to the big hardware shop on the high road and stole the latest model of heavy-duty power-drill and a couple of boxes of ultra-hard-wearing bits. It was quite a bulky haul, but as ever, I managed to get away unseen by staff or surveillance cameras.
Back at home, I plugged in the drill and started having fun with it. I was glad I'd also gotten a selection of attachments, because the "diamond-tipped" bits (which the packet claims will cut through solid steel) only lasted a couple of seconds each when I tried to tickle myself with them.
Even my tongue reduced a twenty-millimetre diameter borer (at 900rpm) to a flat, smooth stub in about quarter of a minute, although the sparks that were created inside my mouth did give a lovely tingling feeling. I got more enjoyment using a smaller bit on my nipples. The sharp tip became shiny and level in no time, but then the friction started warming it until it became red hot. That scalding, rapidly spinning metal pressed hard against my sensitive flesh was delightful.
I finished off my fun (and, the drill itself as it happens) by fitting the largest, strongest bit, selecting the fastest speed with hammer action and ramming the thing as far inside my most intimate place as I could. For a few seconds, the thread pulled at my skin, sending delicious sensations into my brain. Then it got worn away by my invulnerability and it was not so great for a while, but it started to get really hot and that was fantastic.
Unfortunately, the motor couldn't cope with the extra work my body's complete resistance was making. With a pop it just stopped. Black smoke curled from the casing and I, slightly frustrated, crumpled the entire thing to a blob of deformed metal and molten plastic by simply crushing it up against my sex with my hand.
I had to complete the job that the industrial equipment had failed to achieve using my fingers which are, of course, thousands of times faster and more durable than any mere tool. Still, the drill did provide me with a few moments' amusement. That's more than could be said for a lot of men I've encountered.
Saturday 4 December 2004 19:05 GMT
After yesterday's thrill with the drill, I had to settle for a lark in the park today.
A full team were hard at work on the tea-house. This time, they've put a high temporary metal fence around the site, a dozen CCTV cameras and a series of powerful arc lights which came on at sunset (4pm) and illuminated the whole area.
The advantage of all that (expensive) artificial lighting is that the builders can carry on working into the evening. Being just men, their pathetic eyes simply can't function outside of daylight. Sometimes I wonder how they manage to do anything at all.
Stolling past the construction site, I took out one of the lights the old-fashioned, unhygenic way (by tilting my head back and spitting up at it). I've never had it measured, but I reckon my spittle can be twice as destructive as a bullet from a rifle. Certainly, the little bit of saliva I Iaunched had enough power to smash the industrial bulb and its protective casing into a million fragments that rained down all around me.
I kept on walking and a few strides later flicked a loose pebble with the toe of my shoe. My perfect aim guided the small stone like a smart-missile which exploded in a shower of sparks as it destroyed another lamp.
Arc-light number three was neutralised by me stepping up to its base and simply slicing its power cable in half with a fingernail. With the circuit broken, the high-voltage current took a short cut to earth via my arm and body and I paused for a couple of moments to enjoy the feeling before moving on to the fourth overhead lamp.
By now the men working on the site were distracted by the three already broken lights. That meant they never saw me kicking the next one over with a casual movement of my leg. The tall structure toppled onto the half-completed new roof, tearing quite a hole in it and, for an instant, covering a wide area in glowing sparks.
I took out the final two lamps in the same way, making sure that they fell onto the skeletal building. Then with near-complete darkness enveloping the site and chaos and semi-panic the order of the day, I made my way home, chuckling to myself.
Monday 6 December 2004 10:33 BST (GMT+1)
Yesterday was a cold, wet miserable affair.
The police were out in force in the park, trying to find any evidence they could use to find whoever sabotaged the lights on the building site. There were too many of them for me to get away with much unseen, so I walked briskly away from them.
That was when I noticed that a number of them had arrived in a van, no doubt low-ranking plodders drafted in to search through the wet grass for clues. Whatever the coppers' reason for using the vehicle, they'd parked it out of sight in a deserted side-road near the park.
Strolling up to the van, I checked to make sure no-one was around and then crouched down by the back fender. I got my left hand, open palm turn upwards, underneath and slowly lifted. The chasis creaked in complaint at the unusual strain being exerted on it, but I felt no proper resistance as I raised my hand, bringing the back wheels off the road with total ease.
Once my left arm was fully extended above my head so that the vehicle was at a forty-five degree angle to the tarmac, I reached down with my other hand and grabbed a hold of the centre of the underside. I wasn't balanced beneath the van, but I had no trouble compensating for that as I used that second hand to straighten out the van, raising the whole thing over my head as if it were nothing more than an empty cardboard box. In truth, it didn't even feel as heavy as an empty cardboard box to me.
I started bending my arms, making the entire van tilt. Carefully, so it wouldn't slip out of my hands making a lot of noise, I continued to turn it as I bent my knees, getting closer and closer to the road until I was finally able to gently set the vehicle back down. I placed it exactly where I had found it, with one tiny difference. It was now on its side, with all its wheels facing the pavement and its roof facing the street.
I laughed as I saw the van lying there, knowing that even a dozen "strong" men wouldn't be powerful enough to put it upright again. So as well as the inconvenience of arranging a small crane to rectify their vehicle, the police also got themselves yet another unsolvable mystery. Sometimes, I think I'm single handedly keeping them all in work!
Thursday 9 December 2004 17:07 GMT
Regular readers will know I've not posted for a couple of days. Sorry, guys but I've just got back from a spontaneous trip to New York. There was quite a bit of cash left in my kitty after sorting out the purchase of the flat upstairs, so I thought I'd splash out on a couple of nights in a swanky hotel.
I had a good time (a change of scenery is always nice) and, to be frank, just couldn't be bothered to post for a couple of days.
There were a few incidents worth reporting such as the one with the over-keen security guard at the entrance to a big department store who decided he needed to frisk me. As usual it was just a ruse for him to get his hands on my body (through my T-shirt) He laid his palm on my breast for a fraction longer than permissible (about a tenth of a second I usually allow) so I put my hand on top of his and squeezed him against my chest until his bones went crunch.
I guess I turned out to be even firmer than he could have possibly imagined. I wonder if it was worth it for him... Judging by the tears of pain rolling down his face as I walked briskly away, I'd say probably not.
The best moment of my short trip was when I was approached, totally out of the blue by a young man in an expensive suit who offered to buy me dinner. I couldn't help but notice he had a wedding-ring on his finger. I took his hand in mine as if accepting the invitation and then squeezed the little metal band between my thumb and forefinger until it was so misshapen, it tore into the skin of his digit, making him scream. "See if you can explain to your wife how that happened!" I laughed.
Apart from that, I had a pretty uneventful time. Tomorrow noon I'm getting the keys to my new flat. I suppose that the jerk will have to arrange for someone to clear out all his stuff before then. I can't see him coming in person, but I'm sure I'll be able to have some fun in his absence...
Saturday 11 December 2004 23:44 GMT
Well, I've been out shopping today for new furniture for the flat upstairs which is officially all mine. I had to "borrow" some cash from some of the other customers to pay for everything, but to be honest, picking pockets is not really much of a challenge for me. It was funny though, when a queue of about ten people formed at the "customer services" window, all of them wanting to report lost wallets...
The new stuff will be delivered on Monday. I hope they send me a couple of good-looking boys to carry it all upstairs. Not that I couldn't lift more weight with my little finger than any twenty men on Earth, but because strong-looking boys can be a lot of fun to play with.
Yesterday, the jerk moved his things out and I got the keys. As I'd expected, he didn't come in person, but sent someone else to oversee the removal men. It couldn't have been a friend, because he can't have any of those. Must've been some hired help.
Anyway, I waited patiently until they had carried every last item (all his wardrobes and cupboards, two beds, a sofa and loads of boxes of things) down the three flights of stairs into the waiting lorry. The three fit men were exhausted and sweaty by then (even though it was pretty cold outside). I probably could have done the entire job in twenty seconds without even disturbing a strand of hair, but I prefered to let the men struggle on.
I came down just as they were about to drive off. I walked up towards the back of the huge van and turned so that I was standing sideways-on right next to it, my shoulder almost touching the back right corner. Then (in case anyone was watching, say through the side wing-mirror) I pretended to suddenly notice something on the other side of the road.
Of course, that meant turning my head. As I did that, my shoulders turned with my neck. And it goes (almost) without saying that, as my shoulders moved, so they carried my upper torso with them. The sudden movement caused my chest to swing very slightly, so that when the side of my right breast smacked against the side of the lorry with a clang that reverberated around the street, it was probably carrying as much momentum as a steel wrecking ball.
I reckon that's a fairly accurate estimate of the power of the blow I gave the removal van with my breast. After all, I wasn't putting anything more than a small portion of my strength into it. Anyway, the proof of the force I used was in the way the impact caused the the nearside of the lorry to lift into the air. The vehicle's framework groaned as it pivoted for a magical second at a perfect 45 degree angle from the road before it succombed to the inevitable and began to fall onto its side.
As the massive thing crashed down, the noise was an amazing mix of the steel of the lorry being jolted, the glass in the windows shattering, the passengers screaming and all the jerk's possessions in the back being crushed against each other. Then, a second later, there was complete silence.
It didn't last long. People started running out of the houses and flats on either side of the street, including some of the people from my building. They were all running up to the cab of the truck, to check on the guys in there. No-one seemed to notice me as I quietly made my way back inside. And, surprise, surprise! The police weren't even remotely interested in questioning me when they arrived. I hadn't been seen.
I've since found out that the three guys in the lorry will be alright in a few weeks (give or take a few scars) and the jerk's furniture is sawdust. Not bad for just a shake of my breasts!
Sunday 12 December 2004 23:49 GMT
According to an on-line journal of the paranormal which I was reading earlier, there is strong evidence of the existence of a portal to another dimension somewhere in the vicinity of where I live. Apparently, a number of unexplained happenings in the area can "only be attributable to paranormal activity". The article goes on to list some of these happenings such as the overturning of vehicles, "including several buses in a garage, a police van and, most recently, a removal lorry."
Now, I'd be the last person to call myself "normal" but I'm not sure "paranormal" is a very flattering description. I prefer to think of myself as "super" as in "superior". Oh, and I'll let you know if I discover any portals to other dimensions.
Meanwhile, things have been pretty quiet 'round here. All traces of yesterday's "unexplained happening" with the lorry have been cleared up and the flat upstairs is lying vacant, awaiting the arrival tomorrow of the furniture I ordered. I'm going to turn the whole apartment into a sort of playroom. It's just something I've fancied doing for quite a long time. I might even get myself a pet or two to keep up there. You know, something cute and easy to control. Or I could forget about the cute part and just get some men…
Monday 13 December 2004 17:03 GMT
So my playroom is now furnished, and almost ready to go. A van pulled up outside at ten this morning, and to my delight, two young, fit men got out and rang the buzzer. They started unloading immediately and they've only just left. Not that they had that much to unload, but I confess to having delayed their departure by a few hours…
It was all fun really. On their first trip, they came puffing up the four floors of stairs carrying the three-seater sofa part of the new suite I'd ordered. When they got to the door one of them asked, between pants of breath (as he checked out my body), "Where d'you want this, love?"
I smiled warmly back and said "Oh, I'll take it from here." With one hand, I snatched the sofa from the two men's grasp, carrying its (completely unbalanced) weight with that single arm with utter ease whilst the muscular duo just stared at me. "What are you waiting for?" I demanded. "Go and get the next load!" They were too stunned to argue.
And so it went on for about an hour. They would struggle their way up to the flat, suffering under the weight of some item of furniture which I would then make a show of lifting with one hand or even just a few fingers. The way they looked no less shocked each time it happened amused me, so I turned a blind eye to their constant ogling.
Finally, they brought up the last few items. They were both exhausted, out of breath and dripping with sweat. I told them they could rest on the sofa for a moment provided they washed off the perspiration in the bathroom first and they willingly agreed. Once they had sunk with unhidden relief onto the soft cushions, I went out of the room for a moment. I think they were expecting me to bring them a cup of tea, so you can imagine their bulging eyes when I returned now wearing only a matching bra and briefs.
I just stood there for a moment, listening to their accelerating heartbeats and checking out the rapidly growing bulges in the crotches of their jeans before I suddenly announced: "I think that sofa would look better on the other side of the room." Before either of them could react, I went round to the back of the sofa and with one hand gripping the back of it, lifted it completely off the ground.
For a second, the two guys were confused. To them it seemed as if I'd just disappeared. Then they felt themselves and the big seat beneath them rising into the air. Only after that did they turn to see me behind them, holding the couch. They both cried out in shock and I laughed as I carried the sofa across the room. I could have just dropped it back to the floor, but instead I made a big display out of slowly lowering it, leaning forwards over the back of the seat between the two of them so that they were able to feast their wonder-filled eyes on my pendant cleavage.
Once the sofa was down, my hands were free. I stretched my arms to the sides and placed my left hand on the left cheek of the delivery guy on that side. My right palm settled on the unshaven right cheek of his colleague. I drew my hands towards each other, pulling the two men's heads towards my chest until I was cradling them both against the sides of my breasts. "Take you trousers off." I whispered. They both obeyed without hesitation.
I had chosen my new furniture well; the sofa was deep enough for both of them to lie side by side on it. I threw myself on top, switching from one to the other each time I felt the one beneath me was too tired to continue. When I was done they were both utterly drained and their chests had been bruised badly by my breasts. Their pelvises looked pretty sore too, but neither of them complained as they made their painful way out of the flat.
I'll need to get in a few more "specialist" supplies to complete the new apartment to my exact liking, but I think I gave it a good first use.
Tuesday 14 December 2004 18:00 GMT
I've been out shopping today. Not your everyday grocery shopping, but some specialist items for my new flat.
Most of the stuff won't be delievered until Friday, much to my disappointment. The salesman originally said it would take three weeks, but when I pouted and flashed him some cleavage, he agreed to pull out all the stops. It was quite funny being asked why I needed a dozen gym mats so soon. I mean, what could I say? "So that my toys won't break every time I throw them around"?
Anyway, I should have everything in place by the weekend. The rest of the equipment I was able to carry home myself today. I had to go to about ten different places to collect it all - sex shops, scrapyards and so forth. Some stuff I even had to steal from building sites.
It took nearly five hours to get everything on my list. Of course, that much iron and steel would normally require two dozen strong guys to lift, but it was no challenge for me. I can't wait to test it all out. Some of it needs to be fitted by a builder, so that's my project for tomorrow.
Wednesday 15 December 2004 17:43 GMT
Apart from the crash mats and a couple of other small details, the new flat is complete. I have to tell you, it looks great.
Last night, I did some metal work. From one of the building sites I visited yesterday, I stole a bundle of two-inch thick iron rods. I think they were to be used in construction support. I've found a new purpose for them. I spent a few minutes bending them into circles, a little disappointed that the thick metal was no match at all for my glorious strength. In fact, I might as well have been sculpting pipe-cleaners.
Once I had changed the shape of the iron poles, I sealed the two ends of each one together just by squeezing them in my hand. The pressure I created heated the metal until it was glowing red and soft. Then I just mashed the two bits in my grip until the join was almost invisible. A blast of super-cold breath cooled them. All in all, I made a total of eighteen large metal rings that way.
This morning, I set about the task of finding a builder to affix them all to the walls of two of the rooms upstairs. I went down to a trade supplies place, wearing a very tight, low-cut T-shirt, a pair of shorts and knee length boots. Of course, every man there just stared at me. I went up to one I liked the look of and asked if he'd be available to help me put up some wall ornaments. His tongue practically fell out of his mouth as I approached him. He must've said "Yes" about ten times.
Back at the flat I showed him the iron rings and where I wanted them fixed. He could barely even lift one of them. I laughed, knowing I'd carried twenty of them around without even thinking about it. I told him I wanted them secure. "How secure?" he asked.
"Enough to take at least twenty stone each" I told him. "Excuse me for asking," he said, "but what do you want all this for?"
I leant in close to him, so that my breath covered his face, and my nipples brushed his chest very lightly. "If you fix them up properly, I'll show you." I told him.
"I'll get my tools." was his only reply. He went down to his van, returning with a huge power-drill, a ladder and a couple of tubs whose labels I didn't bother to check. I left him working.
When I returned a couple of hours later, he was half way through the job. I could see he was really struggling with the weight of each ring as he carried them up the ladder, so I offered to help. He nearly fell off when I handed him the next iron loop by just dangling it off a single extended finger.
Finally, he finished. He was clearly too exhausted for sex, so I just pushed him back against a wall. I didn't bother removing his clothes or mind, I just rubbed my chest across his upper body a couple of times until his knees bent and his eyes rolled and a dark stain appeared at the front of his jeans. He seemed rather embarrassed by it all, I suppose because I was laughing a bit too much.
I pulled myself together as he picked himself up and asked him if the rings were ready to use yet. He reminded me that I had promised to tell him what they were for. "So, are they ready?" I insisted.
"Not until this time tomorrow." he replied.
"OK. Come back then and I'll show you." I said.
"Alright then, I will." he agreed.
"Well, don't tell anyone to wait for you," I advised. "You might be home late." The gleam in his eye as I told him that was a sight to behold. If only he knew what I really meant!
Thursday 16 December 2004 17:55 GMT
Just a short update today - I'm typing fast, so hopefully the keyboard won't melt before I'm done. It's just that I've got some company waiting for me upstairs and I don't like to be rude...
Yes, you guessed correctly: my builder came back as I asked him to. And, sure, I've shown him what the rings mounted on the walls are for. In fact, he's trying one out right now.
As soon as he came in, I took his hands in mine. Before he knew what was going on, I shifted my grip so that I had both his wrists in one hand. He struggled a bit with that but, of course, he was wasting his time and effort.
I pulled him over to the wall (his feet dragging on the carpet as he tried, uselessly, to pull against me). Thoughtfully, I'd left some of the iron poles I'd not bent into rings stacked up in the corner. Grabbing one of them, I proceeded to wrap it tightly around the builder's wrists. You should have heard him - "How the f*** are you doing that? Let me go!" In no time at all, I had bound his hands together with several turns of two-inch thick metal.
I bent the other end of the pole into a hook shape and then just lifted him up so that I could attach the hook onto one of the metal rings. He fought like a tiger for a while but there was nothing he could do. I had him like a piece of meat in a butcher's cold-room.
Once he was installed, hanging from the wall, I could peel his clothes off slowly until he was completely naked. I stroked his penis with a fingertip a few times until it got hard and then bent down close to it. "Don't go anywhere." I said, speaking with my lips just an inch from the tip of his erection so that my warm breath washed over his organ. "I'll be right back."
That was half-an-hour ago. I'll leave him for a little bit longer just to stew. But not for long. I'm too excited thinking about the games I'm going to play with my new toy!
Friday 17 December 2004 17:28 GMT
I've been having so much fun with my new friend. I nearly gave the whole thing away, too, but got away with it. More in a moment...
I ran straight back upstairs after writing the blog last night. My lovely builder had kindly decided to wait for me (like he had a choice!) so I played with him for a while whilst he hung on the wall. I stroked him all over and then stripped off my clothes and teased him for a while with my body. Then we played a great game which involved me making him swing like a pendulum from his hook by blowing gently at his feet.
After that, I took him down. I left his hands bound in iron above his head the whole time (well I'd already given him a convenient hanging hook, so I didn't bother removing it) I threw him right across the room onto the sofa and then skipped over there and jumped on top of him. My earlier attentions had made him completely erect so I didn't need to do any more preparaton before playing adult trampoline for a while until his hips were bruised black and his organ was bright purple.
I hung him back up after that for the night whilst I went downstairs. On my way out, I heard him starting to shout for help, so I went back and shoved a strip I'd torn off his underpants into his mouth. Then I switched off the lights and left him.
I woke him at about six this morning. He looked rough, as if he hadn't had a decent sleep or something. I told him he needed to make more of an effort as I brought him down and dropped him onto his rear on the floor. When I removed his gag, he began to yell again, so got down on all fours and smothered his face with my chest until he finally shut up.
I had to laugh when I got off him - his complexion was a shade of light blue that nicely complemented the bruises around his groin. To save him (serious) further injury, I laid down on my back and picked him up by the hips, ramming him in and out of me that way for a bit until the copious tears he was shedding started to annoy me, I told him he needed some time by himself to stop all that blubbing, so I shoved the gag back into his mouth and hung him up once more.
Two hours later, I was down in my flat when the buzzer sounded. It was a man from the delivery company with a van-load of gym crash-mats. I was just about to throw open the door upstairs for him to carry the first mat in when I remembered I'd left the naked builder hanging on the wall. At the last moment, I told the delivery guy just to pile the mats up by the door of the flat.
Of course, I could have carried up all the mats in one trip by myself, but I let the poor guy make two dozen trips between the fourth floor and his van anyway. When he was gone, I opened the door to the new appartment and with one kick sent the entire stack of mats flying inside.
I got the builder down from his metal ring and told him he could leave... just as soon as he got half of the mats fixed to the walls below the rings. When I pulled out his gag he said, tearfully, "OK, OK. Promise you'll let me go afterwards!"
"Do a good job, and I'll think about it." I said.
"I need my tools... from my van." he sobbed. I wasn't falling for that. I hung him back up and went for the tools myself. Then I let him down, unwrapped the two-inch thick iron from his wrists and told him to start. I locked him in the flat and popped downstairs.
By now, he should be nearly done. I can hear him moving about up there, groaning from time to time. I'll go back up in a minute, ride him a couple more times for his trouble and then let him go. Tomorrow, with my playroom finally fully completed, I'm going to find me some higher quality toys to use in it.
Saturday 18 December 2004 23:43 GMT
Saturday night and I ain't got nobody! I can't believe the way things have worked out for me today. I guess "luck" isn't one of my powers…
I've spent the whole day just trying to find a nice man to take back to my new playroom. The first guy I saw on the street (an absolutely gorgeous young hunk who would have been perfect) went into a police station after I'd been following him for about a hundred yards. Imagine my surprise when, fifteen minutes later, he reappeared in a patrol car that had come from the back of the building, wearing a copper's uniform! Kidnapping a policeman would've lead to too many complications, so I had to pass on him.
Another good-looking lad I tailed walked into a gay bar, went straight up to a guy at the bar and gave him a kiss. Now, I like a challenge, but it's not what I need for the empty rings upstairs. As a last resort I thought I'd check the gym, even though it's not been that long since I made a bit of a mess out of a guy in there. Boy, was I not pleased to see a sign outside reading "New for Saturdays! Ladies Only Night". That, definitely is not what I'm looking for.
Instead of settling for the best I could find, I've decided to hold off (at least for tonight) until I can find something really special. Tomorrow, my luck's got to change.
Monday 20 December 2004 22:59 GMT
Sorry I didn't update yesterday, but I've been so busy playing with my new toys upstairs, that I really haven't wanted to stop.
I would be surprised if most of you weren't familiar with what it's like buying a new gadget. There's always an instruction manual inside which starts something like: "Congratulations on your purchase of this deluxe nasal hair remover" or whatever. It might go on to tell you not to use your electrically-powered item in the bath, and then explain that you can switch the device on by pressing the big green button labelled "ON".
I've been imagining what my new toys' manual would have been like had one been included. "Congratulations on your successful luring of two muscle-bound hunks from a boxing gym across town back to your flat. Before installing them with hand-bent iron cuffs and hanging them from the purpose-built rings on the wall, you should ensure that your new hunks are clean. You might find it necessary [well I did anyway] to forcibly carry your men, one tucked under each arm, and dunk each of them in soapy water until a) they are clean and b) they realise that there's no point resisting you."
The imaginary handbook might also include a warning such as: "Being men, your new hunks will be prone to stupidity. You may have to pin them, one at a time while the other watches, against a wall and knock some sense into them before they will properly take instructions from you. This can be quite an enjoyable experience, for you at any rate, if you make the beating all the more humiliating for the hunks by using your breasts. After a good half hour session, during which the hunks will receive more punishment than they would ever have suffered in the boxing ring, they will, enthusiastically and without discussion, carry out any order you give them."
It's been such fun! The padding all over the floor and the lower walls means I can toss them about for a laugh, safe in the knowledge that (unless I'm careless) I'm unlikely to break too many bones at once. I can even blow at them hard enough to send them flying backwards without them getting splattered when they hit the wall. They just bounce down (as long as I stop blowing so they don't get pinned) and fall to their knees. I've even trained them to say "thank you" every time I do it!
One great game is rolling with them both. I draw their faces to my chest, commanding them to work on one nipple each. They've learnt to carry on their ministrations regardless of how many teeth they lose. I hold their heads in place against my breasts with a hand on the back of each one's neck and then I start to roll across the floor, alternating between squeezing them beneath me and above me. I love it, and they both know better than to complain.
Of course, whenever I feel like it, I give one of them a treat by riding him, or taking him against a wall. Sometimes when one of them really looks tired, I let him lie on top of me, grab his hips and pull him in and out of me. I get the feeling that neither of then enjoys it quite as much as I do, but that's fine by me.
The drawback is that they're only men. There's only so much I can play with them before they need their precious rest and I have to hang them back on the wall and find something else to do for a little while (like I'm doing right now). Plus I have to give them food and water and carry them to the toilet regularly. I suppose it's like having a cross between a dildo and a tamagotchi. My only real worry is that I might break one of them, or perhaps just wear them out completely. If that doesn't happen, I might just get bored with them.
But for now, at least, I've got to say that my toys are just fine.
Tuesday 21 December 2004 16:53 GMT
"In the red corner..."
Sorry, I've been playing with my boxers all day. I think a little bit has rubbed off on me. Well, a little bit of one of them definitely did this morning. It wasn't my fault though... Alright, it wasn't entirely my fault. I didn't even realise he'd gotten his ring finger wedged in my cleavage until he started screaming that I was crushing it. I wasn't, I was just flexing my chest muscles. OK, so the effect was that his finger got crushed but it wasn't intentional. And yeah, it was me who had first shoved his finger in there, but he should've removed it in time. It's not my problem that he was too weak to do it.
What I probably shouldn't have done (from his perspective) was shove him away from me when he started yelling because all that achieved was to force his body violently backwards whilst his finger remained trapped between my breasts. Ripping the finger off his hand that way did absolutely nothing to stop his screams.
There wasn't enough digit left to try and save, so I didn't bother. I did get the new amputee to clean his blood off me with his tongue. You should have seen the fear in his eyes as he licked! I guess he was terrified his tongue would suffer the same fate as his finger... Just because I squeezed my breasts together very gently, temporarily imprisoning his tongue shortly after he'd started licking. I only did it for a laugh, to tease him. He didn't really need to get all tearful about it, but that's men for you.
This afternoon, we had a fun boxing match. I stripped my top off and just stood with my hands behind my back. I told my two pets to hit punch my chest as hard and as fast as they could. It was really quite nice, but I pretended I couldn't feel a thing and made a show of examining my fingernails as the two of them punched away.
After a minute they started to slow. I ordered them to continue, but I could see that their knuckles had been bruised black and blue against my naked mounds, so I took pity. After only another two minutes, I told them they could stop. "My turn now!" I announced. The look of terror on the two muscular fighters' faces as I drew back my fists made me laugh for ages.
Of course I didn't punch them. I didn't want them splattered all over the new padding on the walls and floors. I just pushed them to the floor and leapt on one of them, riding him till he passed out whilst I held his pal in place by resting two fingertips on his broad chest. Then I leapt onto number two and took him until he too was unconscious. Two knock-outs and I didn't touch either of them (with my hands...) Needless to say, the boys were hung up for a long rest after that.
I'm going to leave them for a while to recover a bit. Besides, I need to go out for supplies for them. I don't seem to have any of the things they need - sticking-plasters, bandages, food....
Wednesday 22 December 2004 22:52 GMT
Ever heard of the phrase "a happy accident"? I had one this morning.
I'd gone upstairs early in the morning to play with my lovely amateur boxers and we'd got a fun tug-o'war game going. We used a thin steel rope. The two of them were at one end of it, and the other was wrapped around the little finger of my left hand. Of course it was a complete mis-match but it was hilarious pulling them all round the soft room, yanking the rope and making them both fly towards me, smacking against my body, getting all bruised in the process.
That was when I had the happy accident. I guess the lad was trying to hard, but that might've been my fault (I did tell them that they wouldn't get any breakfast if they lost the match). Anyway, the snap as his ankle broke was loud and clear. He tried to be a "man" about it, but there were tears welling in his eyes. I hung both boys up on their hooks and went down to the shops.
I was in the bookshop, leafing through a first aid manual (I'd never much cared about patching up normal people before) when a gorgeous, tall young man approached me. He excused himself, and asked if he could give me some help choosing "as I am in my final year as a medical student." It was obvious that he was flirting with me. I checked him up and down. I saw nothing wrong with him so I told him I wouldn't mind his help.
In return for his kindness, I suggested we go for a coffee. He asked where, and I said "my place" and he practically jumped into the air in excitement. We got back and I lead him upstairs - not to the third floor, but to the fourth. We went in. He saw the two boxers and started to say "Hey what the f-". I'd wrapped an iron bar around his wrists before he finished the sentence. He started screaming "Help! Help!" which I found a bit of a turn-off, so I stuffed a rag in his mouth before hanging him on the wall opposite the fighters. Then I stripped him naked, so that he wouldn't feel overdressed compared to the other two.
"The others will fill you in on the details." I told him as I left the room. To broken-ankle boy I added "He's a medical student you know. Be nice and I'll let him look at your foot later."
He's a sweet looking guy. He said his name was Eric, but I think it'll be more fun if I just give all my pets a number so he'll be "Number 3". I'll go up and see him now, give him the intensive course in doing what he's told and then get him to patch up Number 2.
Thursday 23 December 2004 17:59 GMT
Well I have to credit Number 3. He put up a lot of resistance, considering he's only a man. I had to crush the air out of him serveral times and then smother him with my chest until he passed out twice before he understood that I don't do negotiating.
Then (for a laugh, because I was starting to enjoy myself) I threw him across the soft room at least half a dozen times, picking him up by his hair, his chin, his ankle - even (for a few seconds until I feared the neighbours would hear his screaming) - his cock. It so great having the padding. If I'd have tossed him that hard into a normal wall just once, he'd have been lucky to have survived.
As it is he was fine, just badly bruised (but that seems to happen every time I so much as brush against a man.) He even managed to patch up Number 2's ankle. As a thank you for that, I shoved him downand jumped on him, riding him until his eyes rolled into his head. That got me nicely in the mood for a long session with the others.
They're all sleeping it off now. They'll need at least another ten hours, but I'm not going to wait for that. I'll go up now and wake them to play a nice game.
Friday 24 December 2004 16:10 GMT
It might be Christmas Eve, but it's a normal working Friday. That's what I told my pets when I woke them up at quarter to six this morning.
So we had our now customary early morning "bonding session". I lined the three of them up against one of the soft walls (their hands of course still bound up in iron and held over their heads) and took my time forcing myself onto each of them in turn. Only Number 3 tried to protest, The other pair know well enough that complaining can be a very painful excersize.
I showed Number 3 why he was better off keeping his mouth shut by picking him up by his forearm and swinging him over my head for a while. Then I let go of him so that he flew into the wall, bouncing onto ground. Before he could sit up, I was straddling him, my chest hanging over his face. I couldn't resist swinging my upper body to knock his head from side to side with my breasts until both his cheeks started to bleed.
Anyway, number three was a lot better behaved after that, and we all played some fun games. Well, I found the games fun; the boys were probably a bit tired or something. They all ended up crying like babies. They knew better than to moan though!
Tomorrow, as it's a special day, I might let them sleep on the floor for a few hours instead of always hanging off the wall. That's if I think they deserve a special treat.
Saturday 25 December 2004 11:50 GMT
Merry Christmas, readers! I hope you're having as much fun as me, but I doubt it. After all, I'm a gorgeous superbabe with unlimited powers!
Early this morning, I went up to see my boys. I brought them down from their hooks and set them on their feet. Before I could even give them any commands, they launched into a routine they'd obviously spent part of the night rehearsing. All three of them dropped to their knees in front of me. Number 1 spoke, looking up at me through pleading eyes. "Oh beautiful goddess," he began. I must say, I liked his choice of words. Enough to let him continue despite speaking out of turn. "We humbly request your mercy. Please grant us our wish to return to our families for Christmas."
I put my hands on my hips and laughed. "Lie down! All of you!" I ordered. They obeyed at once. I crouched over Number 1's groin, took his organ into me and bounced on him till the tears of agony rolled down his cheeks. Then, as he passed out, I moved onto Number 2 and rode him aggressively for a similar length of time, leaving him equally unconscious. I stood up for number three, lifting him with one hand under his backside and the other behind his back. Then I raised and lowered him into me until I was properly satisfied before dropping him onto the soft floor to sleep it off.
After that, I got myself dressed and removed the wrapped iron bounds from each of my boys' wrists. I picked them up, Numbers 1 and 3 tucked under my right arm and Number 2 under my left. I carried them out of the back door, down the fire escape and left them on top of a pile of garbage sacks. I felt a twinge of regret letting them go, but I can easily get more whenever I want. Besides, it is Christmas. I just wonder how they'll get home without any clothes or money. Ho! ho! ho!
Sunday 26 December 2004 21:24 GMT
The day after Christmas (today, Dec 26th) is known in the UK as Boxing Day. Quite appropriate, then, that I should have spent it in the company of a boxer.
It was all a lovely seasonal surprise. The door buzzer sounded at about 9 this morning. Assuming that a gift was being delivered by one of my countless admirers, I ran downstairs without first checking out of the window to see who was there. You can imagine the unexpected pleasure as I opened the door to one of the two amateur puglilists who had been staying with me until yesterday. I almost didn't recognise him with his clothes on, but his face was familiar enough.
"Number 1!" I greeted him.
"My name is Tom." he replied, defiantly. "And now it's your turn to kneel!" as he finished he thrust his hand into his overcoat, removing it a moment later with some kind of pistol in his grasp. I burst out laughing. "Get inside!" he barked, his hand trembling (I guess as a result of my unexpected reaction to the weapon.)
"I suppose," I said, trying to compose myself, "that you're going to fire that thing out here if I don't. We can't have that. It might disturb the neighbours." I spun around, making it clear to him that I had no problem turning my back on him and his gun and walked into the building. I heard his thumping heart as he followed me. Then he shut the door. I whirled back to face him, putting my hands on my hips.
"On your knees, bitch!" he commanded, waving the gun about. I couldn't help chuckling. He released the safety catch and pointed the pistol at my head. That just made me laugh even harder. "I swear, I'll kill you." he threatened.
"No you won't" I giggled.
"F**k you." was the best reply he could muster. He pulled the trigger twice. I stayed right where I was, my hands unmoving from my hips, as the two bullets struck my face (one just below my left eye, the other on the bridge of my nose) and bounced uselessly away. I didn't even stop chuckling. The look of panic on the man's face just started a new wave of hysterics which I saw no need to repress.
He became desperate then. He fired off three shots in succession at my chest, the first two smacking into my right breast, tearing holes in my T-shirt before pinging off the invulnerable flesh below. The third shot tore through my top and actually lodged itself for a moment deep in my cleavage. After that, the gun clicked several more times, obviously having run out of ammunition. I shook my chest to free the trapped bullet. It fell at my feet.
My surprise guest looked down at the squashed bit of lead on the floor, then at my ruined T-shirt, then at my face. He spun on his heels and started to run back towards the entrance. I let him take two steps before unleashing a gentle puff of superbreath that lifted him off his feet and sent him flying into the door, which he hit face first with a nice loud smack. He slid down into a heap on the floor. The impact had knocked him out cold.
I walked over and picked him up by his ankle with my left hand, snatching up the gun with my other hand. Then I took him up to the fourth floor. He was still unconscious (a big blue bruise spreading across his forehead) as I wrapped one of my usual thick iron rods around his wrists, hanging one end of it from one of the rings on the wall. Once he was secured, I tore off all his clothes and took them and his pistol downstairs with me.
I've got my superhearing tuned to the room up there. When I hear a clue that he's awake, I'll pop up for a little chat with him. There's no real hurry though. He's not going to be going anywhere for quite a while.
Monday 27 December 2004 16:31 GMT
"So you couldn't bear to leave me, eh?" I taunted Number 1 after he had finally come to last night. I'd taken him down from the wall, dangling him by his wrists from my upstretched right arm so that his face was only a little higher than mine. I already stripped him naked yesterday. For my part, I was wearing a simple brief black bra and matching knickers.
"Well," I went on, "I understand what drew you back to me," (I illustrated the point by seductively tracing the curve of my chest with a fingertip) "but I'm not very impressed with the toy you brought for me." From the waistband of my panties, I extracted the gun he'd shot me with so unsuccessfully. Holding the pistol in the small space between our faces I slowly closed my fingers around it until it started to groan and deform. The steel quickly became molten as it succumbed to the pressure of my grip and it started to ooze between my fingers.
I dropped the useless lump of scrap and it touched Number 1's bare leg on its way to the floor. The momentary touch was enough to burn him quite badly. He screamed in pain. "Be quiet!" I told him, aggressively. I let go of the metal rod I'd wrapped around his arms and he fell onto his feet. Immediately he backed away from me. Chuckling, I stepped towards him, reaching behind my back to unclasp my bra. I took it off, tossed it to the side and placed my hands on my hips.
He continued to move away and I continued to advance until, inevitably, his back hit the soft wall behind him. I stepped forwards, my hands still resting on my sides until my nipples touched him. Because of the yielding mats on the wall, I had to lean into him with my breasts a bit more than I normally would to pin him. But once I had him trapped, I was able to just draw in a deep breath, expanding my chest, and hear the delightful sound of his upper ribs crunching one by one until he passed out.
I hung him back up to sleep it off and left the upstairs flat. He's going to be in a hell of a lot of pain when he comes to. It serves him right for ruining my T-shirt yesterday with his silly little gun.
Wednesday 29 December 2004 15:40 GMT
Number 1 spent the whole of Tuesday moaning in agony to the point that I almost went out to get him some paracetemol. In the end, I decided to leave him alone with his pain. I gave him a kiss to soothe him (knocking a couple of his teeth out with my tongue in the process) and went downstairs.
He wasn't much better today, but I had an "itch" I wanted to "scratch" and besides, what's the point of keeping a pet if you can't play with it when you feel like it? Needless to say, he started to scream when I threw him on the floor and straddled him, so I leant forward, burying his face in my cleavage for a minute or so. That had the twin effect of stifling his yells and making him erect. I rode him with one hand over his mouth to keep him quiet until he was out cold.
When he regained consciousness, he tearfully begged me to let him go. I told him I might've considered it if he had only shot at me, but because he'd damaged my T-shirt in the process as well, I'd decided to keep him permanently as punishment.
He seemed a little sad after that. I tried to cheer him up by forcing him to make love to me again, but that just left him comatose once more. There's no pleasing some people.
Thursday 30 December 2004 18:36 GMT
What with New Year just around the corner, it's definitely time to start planning my celebrations.
Number 1 has been so boring for the past two days, spending all his conscious time with me moaning and crying. I definitely don't want to see in 2005 alone with him.
So, I went out last night to a local bar where (as a special "treat for the ladies") a group of male strippers were performing. Some of them had lovely looking bodies, I must say, even if all those big muscles combined don't equal the strength of my little finger...
Anyway, I hung around outside at the end of the show, waiting for them to go for their minibus. As they came out, I approached them. I was wearing an ankle-length, thick winter coat. I asked for a lift, and "accidentally" let the coat fall open. The fact that I was completely nude underneath may have helped them make the decision to take me home.
We got there and I asked them in for coffee. "What... all of us?" asked the cheekiest one of the lot. "Can you manage er... coffee... for six big guys?"
I smiled back as seductively as I can (i.e. extremely seductively). "Why don't you all come on up and find out?" I proposed.
To cut a long story short, here's what happened: First there was a brief fight as I led them into the playroom upstairs. During the scuffle, one of the beef-cakes broke his hand punching my face, another snapped his ankle trying to kick my belly and two of them sustained cheek-bone fractures when I pulled their faces to my chest. After that, I knocked the sixth one out just for show by flicking him under the chin with a finger-tip.
One by one, I grabbed hold of the men and wrapped up their wrists using iron rods as normal. The last couple made a desperate bid for escape, but I caught up with them and hoisted them both into the air by snatching them with a hand on the back of each one's neck. I tossed one of them against the soft wall hard enough to make him pass out whilst I dealt with the other.
Once they were all hanging in place, I quickly tore off their clothes. Number 1 was watching all the while, still groaning. I gave him a wink as if to say "Don't worry I haven't forgotten about you!" as I left.
I'm going back up there now to complete the new arrivals' training and assign them their numbers. Should be fun (for me, anyway.)
Friday 31 December 2004 16:31 GMT
Training continues apace this afternoon. The boys are doing quite well, really, considering they're only men. Once they'd all learnt that they couldn't oppose me physically (which took about five minutes), we moved on to Step 2. I call it "obedience training" or, to put it another way, "Follow orders or get hurt. Badly."
Of course, they're all very pretty as well as extremely well-built guys and I'm a grown woman with needs, so I had to break off the instructing every so often to force myself on one of them. There were two problems with that: firstly (though it's so obvious and insignificant that I hardly need to mention it) the guys got hurt quite a bit when I used them to satisfy my urges. All the usual injuries (bruised faces and chests, cracked ribs, blackened groins) had occurred within half-an-hour. I had to be a bit careful so as not to badly damage all my new toys before tonight's little party. In fact, I've left them all hanging off the wall upstairs to get some rest before festivities begin.
The other problem was Number 4. I'm not really sure what to do with him, really. He was no better or worse than the others in Steps 1 and 2. That's to say he was stubborn and arrogant but learnt better after I'd administered a beating or two. But I couldn't get him stiff where it counts when I wanted to ride him. I tried all my usual tricks (brushing my chest against his, kissing, breathing into his face, smothering him in my cleavage) without success until he revealed that he was gay.
I knew he wasn't lying (no heterosexual male has ever failed to er... rise to my desires) but I'm at a loss what to do with him. It's not like I need someone to make the drinks tonight. I just want a lot of attractive men ready to jump at my command that I can screw all night. Number 4 might be very pretty, but if he won't get it up for me, he's useless to me. I'm sure I'll think of something eventually. Right now, I've got a party to get ready for.