What a great start to the year! I feel absolutely terriffic this morning. The same can't be said, of course, for my boys upstairs, but it's not about them. It's about me.
I knew I was in for a good night when I went out to the off-licence early evening to pick up a few bottles for my little party. I spotted a case of 24 bottles of top quality champagne behind the counter and went to grab them at super-speed. That's when I saw the little electric stun-gun the owner keeps in case of a violent robbery. I pocketed it and streaked out of there with the two dozen litres of posh French fizz under my arm. That'll look weird on the security camera tape...
Back at home, I tested out the little device. It runs off a normal battery and gives a shock that's supposed to be powerful enough to stun a grown man for a minute. Naturally, it barely tickled me, but in a nice way. If I used it several times in the same spot, it did feel rather pleasant. Unfortunately, that used up the battery, so I ran out to the nearest convenience store and stole a box of fresh ones.
At nine pm, I went upstairs with the champagne, the stun-gun and the batteries. I got all the boys down, even Number 1, who is in a bad way with his broken ribs. I handed the shock-generator and batteries to Number 4 and told him his job was to keep zapping me all over with it, changing the battery as needed, until I told him to stop. I explained that if he slackened in his task at any point, I would break his arms and legs. In fact, he did well, and throughout the course of the six-hour "party", I only had to snap his left arm.
I made it clear that the boys were forbidden to touch my champagne. Men just can't handle drink, and besides, it affects their performance. It's hard enough for me to get satisfaction from a man when he's sober (and fully erect). So I drank the 24 bottles myself. They didn't get me in the slightest bit tipsy, but they were delicious.
The six straight men were great, too. Even Number 1, despite his injuries, did a decent job. I guess his experiences in the boxing ring have given him great stamina. I was able to ride him three times before he completely passed out. The others (apart from Number 5) I took half a dozen times each, in a variety of positions. All the while, Number 4 was dancing about, using the stun-gun on me repetitively. It was especially great when he fired the high voltage discharge directly into one of my nipples.
The only one who didn't do his bit was Number 5. I was playing the rolling game with him and Number 3; 5's face was against my left breast and 3's against my right. On the fifth roll, with them both underneath me, something went "crunch!". When I looked, one half of my chest was covered in blood. I wiped it off with Number 4's hair and then I noticed that I'd crushed 5's nose completely flat. He was out cold and I had to toss him into the corner of the room, out of the way.
By 3 am, all my boys were unconscious and I, for once, was well and truly sated. I hung them all back up on their hooks, admiring the mess I'd made of 5's face. He might end up OK (they can do great things with plastic surgery these days) but as far as I'm concerned, I couldn't care less. I got what I wanted from him and his friends. That's all I'm interested in. Let's hope there's plenty more nights like that to come in 2005.
Monday 3 January 2005 15:55 GMT
I had to let my lovely muscle boys go yesterday. I was just going to release Number 4, but I realised that he'd probably tell the police where his pals were and I don't need that kind of hassle. So I set the whole troupe free instead.
I had one last go on each of them until they were all out for the count and covered in fresh bruises (and at least two new broken bones between them). Number 4 I knocked out by tapping him on the top of his head with my little finger. I took them downstairs, carrying one under each arm and two dangling from each hand. The weight of six body-builders was nothing to me, but manoeuvring the bulky cargo downstairs was tricky and I may have knocked some of them against the walls a bit on the way.
I tossed them all onto a neighbour's rubbish bags, brushed off my hands and went back upstairs to my special playroom where, of course, Number 1 was waiting for me. "Now that the dancers have gone," I told him, "you're going to have to work much harder." I couldn't help laughing as he started to cry.
Tuesday 4 January 2005 23:45 GMT
It was a bit of an anti-climax this morning up in my playroom with just black-and-blue Number 1 for company. His busted ribs have left him in a bad state, and he's really not up to much. He must feel like a snowflake in a volcano when I'm with him. I'm afraid that (even with the padded walls and floors) I might accidentally put him out of his misery one of these days.
To reduce the risk of that happening, I decided to go out in the afternoon today. A couple of streets away, I found myself walking towards a spotty teenage boy who was pushing leaflets advertising a new pizza restaurant through every letterbox he could find.
I smiled when I heard the booming acceleration of his heart-beat when he finally saw me. As he neared, I began to notice the smell of his hormones (and I didn't need superhuman eyesight to spot the bulge in his jeans). His eyes were locked on me now so, very slowly, I put my fingertips to my mouth and kissed them. Then, knowing I had him completely spell-bound, I lowered my palm beneath my chin and, holding my lips in the same pout, blew the kiss towards him.
My breath was a gust of wind that tore the thousands of undelivered leaflets from his grasp and scattered them like confetti along the length of the street. It also made him stagger backwards a couple of paces before he fell on his backside.
I strolled over to him as he sat prone, bent over and reached down to give his adolescent erection a squeeze. I did it gently, using only my thumb and forefinger, but his scream would have woken the dead if I hadn't reacted quickly and stifled it with my other hand. "I hate pizza." I told him, casually, as he fought uselessly to escape. His face was tomato-red and streaked with tears by the time he passed out. I just went on with my walk after that.
Wednesday 5 January 2005 23:58 GMT
After a quick (and fairly gentle) roll with Number 1 last night (which left him gasping for air so loudly I didn't bother with a second helping), I thought it might make a nice change to pop out for a drink.
I wasn't actually thirsty (my lovely body seems to work just fine without liquid intake, actually) but I tore open the wire fence up at the reservoir. There was a fifteen foot long metal drainpipe attached to the wall of the pump room. I say there was a pipe because there isn't one there anymore. I ripped it off the wall and used it as a giant straw.
I had to squeeze one end of it a little with my hands so that it was small enough to fit in my mouth. The other end went in the huge pool of water. I just sucked until all the liquid was gone from the reservoir. (Don't ask where it all went; my metabolism is perfect and it just deals with whatever I put in my stomach. I never need to use a toilet, not even after drinking several thousand gallons.)
Anyway, there was nothing coming out of the taps in the street once again today as a result of my binge, but that was alright by me. I wasn't thirsty.
Thursday 6 January 2005 15:26 GMT
There was an emergency water supply truck in our street all morning today. People were queuing up with bottles and jugs and all kinds of containers. I noticed that more than a few of them hadn't been able to have a wash.
There was also a stream of tankers up at the reservoir, as the water company desperately tried to restore it to a minimum operational level. The local paper ran with "E.T. strikes local area again." Apparently, the only explanation anyone had come up with for the sudden loss of water was some crackpot who suggested the liquid had been stolen by passing aliens to use as fuel for their UFO.
(Actually it was the same crackpot who suggested that aliens had been responsible for overturning all the buses in the garage a while back. I suppose, on both occasions "Gorgeous girl strikes local area" would have made for a less dramatic, if more truthful, headline.)
Everyone (apart from me) seems to be awfully affected by the mini-drought. Number 1 was so thirsty when I finished with him just now that he couldn't talk. I told him there was no water in the system, and he'd just have to wait. "You don't hear me complaining." I told him. I suppose I shouldn't have made him lose so much fluid but I can't help it he sweats profusely and his penis shoots out all that juice every time I rape him.
I'm told the water supply should be restored by ten this evening. If it is, then he can have his drink tomorrow morning. As long as he satisfies me properly tonight first, of course.
Friday 7 January 2005 17:03 GMT
Some people are so ungrateful! When I took Number 1 his cup of water this morning, he gulped it down and, instead of thanking me, started begging me to take him to a hospital.
"Please," he croaked. "My ribs are really hurting. I need a doctor!"
"You should have thought of that before you shot me." I told him. "I didn't beg you to take me to a hospital then, did I?" He started to silently weep. "Oh, come on. It's not that bad." I chided. "Here, let me kiss you better."
He was still hanging from the wall, so I had to unhook him and bring him closer. I pressed my lips against his, parting them to force his mouth open despite his struggles, and plunged my tongue in, pushing his aside as though it weren't there. After exploring all over his mouth for a while, I flicked at a couple of his teeth with my tongue, knocking them out of his gums. Then I continued the kiss, only breaking it off when his face turned bright blue.
"I bet that feels better now." I chuckled, fixing him back on the wall and noting the erection I'd caused. He was too busy trying to gulp down air to reply, so I just left him to it.
Monday 10 January 2005 21:34 GMT
Sometimes, a bad Friday night can ruin your entire weekend. I was just fooling around up in the playroom; you know the kind of thing... Picking up Number 1 by his chin and throwing him from one side of the room to the other, swinging him around my head by his ankle, pressing him against the ceiling with my superbreath (just general, everyday fun).
Anyway, he was coughing a lot and complaining about a headache. I told him, as I pushed him down on the floor and threw a leg over him that I thought headaches were supposed to be the woman's excuse. He started pleading with me not to rape him, so I thought I'd get him more "in the mood" by scooting up his body and lowering my chest over his face.
To cut a long story short, I must've pressed my breasts too hard against his head or maybe his heart just failed. Either way, when I lifted myself off him, he was completely dead.
I had to put him in a huge bag and carry it over my shoulder. Fortunately no-one suspected I could be carrying a corpse in my sack as I made it look like it practically weightless (which to me, it was). I dumped him in the forest, under about twenty tons of earth and rocks.
After that, I didn't feel much like company. It's not that I was getting attached to Number 1. It's just that I'm getting fed up with men literally falling apart on me.
Tuesday 11 January 2005 18:05 GMT
With no-one upstairs to feed and take to the toilet, I'm a free woman once again.
I went down to the beach by train to celebrate today. It was cold and windy and it drizzled non-stop so I had the whole beach to myself for an hour. I put on my bikini and splashed about in the sea for a while, knowing the water was chilly enough to give a normal person hypothermia after a few minutes.
Unfortunately, my solitude was disturbed by some idiot in a speed boat who kept zooming up and down, parallel to the shore. With my super-vision, I had no trouble seeing the drunken, overweight balding man at the wheel, but he would never have spotted me from that distance.
I started to swim towards the boat. It was going fast, and it was actually a little bit of an effort for me to better its speed through the water and catch up. Eventually, though, there was only going to be one winner. I got my hands on the back of the boat and managed to pull myself up and into it without tipping it over by kicking my legs in a powerful stroke as I pushed up with my hands.
I tapped the inebriated pilot on the shoulder. He whirled around in shock, his jaw hanging open as he slowly looked me up and down and then down again (at least as far as my chest). I leant towards him, planting my lips on his and kissing him very gently. Then I turned around and slowly bent over the back of the boat, giving him plenty of opportunity to admire my backside.
With one hand, I tore the motor and propeller from its mounting, and turned back to face Mr. Too-many-beers-for-breakfast. I held the engine assembly out in front of me and crushed it to a thousand pieces between my two palms as if it were a polystyrene cup, letting the little bits fall into the boat.
"Bye!" I said as I dived off to swim back to shore, leaving him stranded, literally without a paddle, a mile-and-a-half from land. I wonder if the coastguard have managed to pick him up yet.
Wednesday 12 January 2005 15:37 GMT
The weather was much better today. The skies were clear and the sun has been shining. Of course, that means it's colder than yesterday (only a couple of degrees) but there were still quite a few people out in the park when I went for a walk.
The work on the tea-house I destroyed last year is nearly finished. A builder wolf-whistled me from the top of a ladder as I went by. (From the way he was staring, I guess he's not used to seeing girls in nothing but shorts and a tight T-shirt in January, particularly not girls as er, "well-built" as I am.) I tilted my head back and blew the tiniest of kisses his way. No hurricane, just enough of my breath to topple him from the ladder. I saw him being attended to by an ambulance crew about quarter of an hour later.
Of course, by then, I'd already been around the workers' cars and vans, bending low behind each vehicle to crush the exhausts pipes closed with my hand. The steel tubes deformed like clay in my grip. I fought the temptation to overturn the larger transports, but I couldn't resist briefly swinging my leg over someone's motorbike and crushing the motor to the thickness of a dinner plate between my thighs. That should make for an interesting insurance claim.
Thursday 13 January 2005 22:44 GMT
"Vandals sought in connection with builder's fall." Well, I had to buy the local paper this morning when I saw the headline. Definitely one for my scrap-book.
Things are feeling quiet again around here. The only real fun I had today was when I went into a posh new furniture store in town. I was checking out a new chair for my place when a balding, advanced-middle-aged sales assistant came up to me and asked if he could help. After that, he wouldn't leave me alone. He kept following me around the store, trying too hard to be helpful.
All the time, whenever he possibly could, he found a way to position himself in front of me so that he could stare at my chest. OK, I was wearing a very tight and slightly revealing tank-top and true, I've got plenty to attract a man's gaze in that department, but he was ridiculous. Even when we talked, he stared.
Eventually, I found myself standing next to a huge, heavy chrome dining table. I must've gone from chairs to tables trying to get away from the creep. Anyway, I just thought "I'll show the pervert something he'll never, ever forget."
He was standing on the opposite side of the table from me, directly facing me (of course.) I bent over the table, slowly, thrusting out my chest as I did and gave him a lingering eyeful of my pendant breasts stretching the fabric of my tight low-cut top. As his jaw fell open and he started to drool, I continued to bend until my nipples were actually resting on the table-top.
And then, I bent some more. The table creaked like an old ship and, at one point, I thought that its solid metal legs were going to buckle, but they just about held out under the increasing pressure of my bust. But the table-top was not quite as resilient and my breasts pressed themselves deeply into the chrome. When I stood up straight again, the assistant saw the two bowl-like indents I'd created, each about five inches in diameter and three inches deep. And each with a further little indentation at the centre. He looked from the table to my chest and then quietly fainted. I left as discretely as I could.
Friday 14 January 2005 17:39 GMT
Regular readers will appreciate that I'd gone for quite a while (nearly a week in fact) since last having the pleasure of sex with a man. That's a long time for me. Too long, in fact. I start to get a bit bad tempered if I don't scratch my itches regularly, and believe me, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry.
With that in mind, I was in an exclusive bar in town lunchtime with all the guys in suits enjoying their Friday lunchtime excesses. I was just hanging around, looking for any half-way decent looking man. After a short while, I spotted a couple of excellent candidates going into the men's toilets together. I slipped in quickly and unseen after them.
I expected to see the two guys I followed standing at the urinal but they weren't there. There were three cubicles, but two were vacant. That meant they both were sharing a single cubicle. Intrigued, I decided to investigate. I didn't peer over the door, though. I just flicked the lock with my finger, shattering the little steel bolt to pieces and making the door fly open. Both guys jumped with surprise and one of them actually screeched.
They were both fully dressed. It took me another quarter second to work out what was going on. In fact, it was only when I glanced at the toilet lid that I worked it out. Laid out on the porcelain were two very large, hastily-chopped lines of cocaine. Smiling, I turned in that direction and just sniffed sharply. Even without a straw and with my nostrils three feet from the powder, my sniff pulled every last grain up my nose.
The guys looked shocked. Of course, even a jumbo dose like that does nothing at all for me (I once ate two kilos of the stuff just to piss off a dealer who I was carrying under my arm at the time, but that's another story) but it did get their attention. I moved fast, using my left hand to shred the clothes of one of them and my right to make rags of the other's suit and shirt. Then I stripped my own clothes at superspeed.
I balled my right hand into a fist and extended just my little finger and pinned one of them to the cubicle wall by placing that finger on his chest. How he fought to get free! Of course it was a waste of his energy. While he struggled, I grabbed the other's penis, stroking it to hardness and then guiding it into me as I leant into him. I took him like that against the wall. When I was done, I stood off him and he slid, unconscious, to the floor, his upper body and pelvis badly bruised by the repetitive slamming of my chest and hips.
After that, I just moved onto the one I'd held pinned all the while. He really did try and push and then punch me away, but that just got him a couple of broken knuckles. I forced him down onto the lid of the toilet and sat on him, facing the wall, straddling him. I got him ready in seconds and took him inside. Then I sprang up and down on my toes as I forced him in and out of me at speeds no "normal" girl could manage, only stopping when I saw that my bouncing breasts were repetitively smacking into his chin and threatening to kill him outright. He collapsed forward when I stood up so I pushed him aside with a sweep of my hand and let him fall on top of his friend.
Then I got dressed and slipped out of the men's into the bar. I had another couple of drinks and left just as I heard someone shouting from the toilets "Hey! There's two guys been badly assaulted in here!"
Monday 17 January 2005 20:40 GMT
Saturday morning, the building was filled with noise as someone was moving into one of the flats downstairs. When I went out at lunchtime, I met the new tennant; a youngish man in the music business. He and three friends had spent hours shifting box after box of his vinyl-based record collection from
a lorry parked outside. They were exhausted and sweaty, but, needless to say, quite eager to introduce themselves to me. I was brusque, but not impolite as I made it clear I wasn't interested in anything they had to offer.
That didn't stop my new neighbour knocking on my door that evening. I already recognized the sound of his breathing, but I opened up anyway. I was
expecting him to ask to borrow a cup of sugar or something, but instead he invited me to coffee. I declined. He started explaining that it was a shame as, with his connections, he was sure he could get me a great job in the music industry. I laughed, telling him I didn't need his help (or anyone else's for that matter).
"Oh, come on," he answered, "everyone needs help."
"I'm sure you do, but you just don't want to admit it." he therorised. That was it for me. The final straw. I grabbed him using a single hand to grip the collar of his shirt and with a simple little tug, threw him over my shoulder into my flat. He landed, in a heap, half on a chair, half on the floor. Before he could stand, I'd closed the door and strolled across to stand over him.
"Let me make this perfectly clear." I said, bending down to lift him, this time gripping him by the back of the neck and carrying him with his feet well clear of the floor. He kicked and punched at me and I just rolled my eyes as, one by one, he hurt his hands and feet against my body. I put him down on his feet, his back against the wall. Putting my hands on my hips to show my complete dominance, I leant into him, holding him in place with my chest.
Feeling him respond to the contact with my (apparently) irresistible upper body, I leant in a little more, squeezing the air from his lungs, making his face turn purple. I laughed and then said "I'm not even using my hands but it looks like even my tits are too much for you! Do you know what would happen if I took a deep breath right now? Your pathetic body would be obliterated like a grape in a car crusher... And you think I need your help!"
I stepped back off him just before he passed out. His knees gave way as soon as I wasn't there to support them. "Get out!" I ordered him. He struggled to stand, rubbing his bruised chest as he walked sheepishly away. I slammed the door behind him.
Tuesday 18 January 2005 17:48 GMT
I saw my new neighbour again this morning. He was coming down the stairs as I was coming up. As soon as he saw me, he backed into the wall, his face a picture of panic. "Don't hurt me!" he blurted as I smiled.
I kept on walking, and just as I was passing him, I turned and said, very quietly, "Boo!". He jumped so high he almost lost his footing. He would probably have regained his balance were it not for me blowing him the gentlest of kisses over my shoulder. Instead, my little puff tipped him over and he went tumbling down the stairs.
I was already in my flat by the time he crashed onto the floor of the entrance lobby.
Thursday 20 January 2005 16:42 GMT
Sshhh! Don't tell anyone, but I've been on a sort of secret mission. It's something I do every so often - it's usually fun and it pays very well. This time my employer is... well, I won't get paid if I say. Let's just say it's not a private institution or individual.
Anyway, the services I get retained for vary, but usually involve going to places and reaching people that can't normally be reached by a lone individual. To get to the target yesterday, for example, I had to walk across a minefield (I didn't look where I was going and six or seven charges exploded under my feet, which was nice), break down a six-inch thick steel door (I used my hands to tear open a hole in it and then the rest of my body to widen the hole) and then face a couple of psychopathic body-guards.
I let them spray me with Uzi fire for a few moments, turning slowly in the hail of bullets to enjoy the feeling of them hitting all over my body. Of course, my clothes were cut to shreds, so I just carried on in the nude. I walked up to the shooters and a flick of each hand took them out.
I found my target crouching behind a large leather sofa which I lifted and tossed over my shoulder with a single movement of my wrist. I picked him up with a couple of fingers under his chin and did what I'd been employed to do. They didn't specify how they wanted it done, so I improvised, jamming his face between my breasts, letting him struggle futilely to get out for a while.
When that was getting less enjoyable, I tensed my chest muscles, squeezing him beyond the point of recovery. When I relaxed, he was unmoving, but still wedged in my cleavage. I had to pull him out of there to toss him aside, but not before I'd gotten his rings, his watch and his wallet as I had been requested to do. Then I just walked out of there, back to the car that was waiting for me.
Monday 24 January 2005 23:20 GMT
Just a short note to let you all know that I'm back safely (as if!) from my little trip. Can't say too much about it for contractual reasons, but my mission was fully accomplished.
Tomorrow, I'm going to go out and spend some of the money I've earned on a new outfit. I lost one set of clothes yesterday. My fault really. I should have checked what the liquid in the vat was before jumping in. If I'd known that it was undiluted hydrochloric acid, I'd have undressed first. Still, the corrosive felt quite nice against my skin; a bit like being tickled gently. It wasn't so much fun for the two guys I splashed as I dived into the container, but I enjoyed it and that's all that counts as far as I'm concerned.
Tuesday 25 January 2005 17:49 GMT
In the end, I couldn't wait for the shops to open in the morning to get my new clothes. Instead, I went last night, whilst they were still closed.
As usual, I went to my favourite boutique. Locating the back door in the alley behind, I pushed it open by pressing a couple of fingers on the panel. I figured it was probably locked, but I didn't realise it was secured with a thick steel bar on the inside. No matter, my easy shove bent the bar back a little before ripping its mounting free of the wall. Bar, mounting and bits of wall fell onto the sound-absorbing carpet inside.
The door swung open and the alarm went off. I ran in at superspeed to make my selection. Even though it was almost pitch-black in there, I had no trouble judging colours and styles and I'd picked out four outfits within a few seconds.
As I left, I even had time to put my "shopping" down for a moment, pick up the steel bar I'd damaged, and, holding it with one end in each hand, tie it into a knot, enjoying the screeching sound it made as I effortlessly re-shaped it. I dropped my sculpture, grabbed my new clothes and ran.
I was probably already at home by the time the police arrived. The only clues I left were a deformed bit of metal and a blur on the security camera tape.
Wednesday 26 January 2005 21:47 GMT
I went out for a walk in one of my new outfits today and I'm pleased to report that, judging by the reactions of the men I passed, I chose well (despite the fact that it was dark in the shop and I was running at hundreds of miles an hour when I picked it out).
It was bitterly cold, and I suppose I must've attracted some extra attention walking around in a sleeveless, low-cut dress. It was funny seeing so many people wrapped up in layers of thick clothes, when I don't feel any discomfort at all (ever). In case you were wondering, the cold doesn't even make my nipples hard. It takes a machine gun to do that...
Anyway, the sight of normal people shivering made me think of all the millions of ways I'm superior and I thought I ought to share some of that with you. So, for this week only, I'm going to do something I wouldn't normally consider. I'm actually going to answer questions about myself. If there's anything you want to ask about me, then send me an email. The address is firstname.lastname@example.org (there's a link at the top of the page). I'll respond on this page, but I won't publish anyone's name or email.
Thursday 27 January 2005 18:00 GMT
Q: When or how (or both) did you get your powers?
A: I was born with them (I think.) I don't know for sure because I have no memory of being a baby. Truth is, I don't know where my powers come from (or where I come from either). According to the orphanage where I grew up, I was abandoned one night on the steps. I was only a few weeks old and despite pleas for my parents to make themselves known, their identities were never discovered.
I remember being confused as a child as to why things didn't seem to hurt me whilst they made the other children scream. Also, I was always surprised that no-one else seemed to be able to hear or see stuff that was quite clear to me. As I grew up, I learnt pretty quickly that I was different from all those around me. I never felt pain or discomfort, never felt hungry or thirsty or tired.
I guess I was invulnerable back then. I remember vaccination needles breaking on my skin. In my own experiments, I broke quite a few knives trying to cut myself and more than once I lost my clothes jumping into a fire to see if it would burn me. I didn't get shot with a gun until I was sixteen, but I reckon bullets would've always been ineffective against me
It wasn't until I hit puberty that the rest of my powers developed. It happened one incredible summer. My strength seemed to grow daily, like my bust. One day, I could lift the back end of a car off the ground. The next I could do it one-handed. Twenty-four hours later I found I could raise the entire vehicle over my head and balance it on a single palm.
Of course, I started to be interested in boys around that time. Unlike other girls, I wasn't at all nervous as I knew my strength and invulnerability meant nothing could be done to me against my will. But I did hurt quite a few guys learning to control my strength. I soon realised that I enjoyed being in charge, and that causing the odd bit of pain actually was quite a thrill. I also found that I could use my blossoming body to make a man "ready" for me, even against his will. That was awesome (still is in fact).
I did a lot of running that summer (mostly away from things or people I'd damaged accidentally or deliberately with my strength). I noticed how I seemed to get faster and faster until I could sprint so fast, no-one else could really see me move. That was how I first got shot. Out in the country, I would run between huntsmen and their targets, putting myself right in the path of their bullets, just to see how it felt.
And superbreath? I discovered that trying to seduce a sailor one weekend. I'd heard somewhere that men like it when a girl blows gently on their face or in their ear. Seeing how every time that I had tried something "a guy likes" it had provoked an instant, successful result, I thought I'd try that trick too. I froze that poor man's whole head solid in a fraction of a second. I thought I'd feel bad about it, but to be honest, I was just excited to experiment some more with the new power.
Any other questions? Send them to: email@example.com
Friday 28 January 2005 23:53 GMT
Q: If the fictional Superman were real, how would his powers compare with yours?
A: From what I've seen of "Superman" in films and television, he often seems to be struggling to lift the sort of weights I can hoist with one-handed ease, so I would say I'd be about five or six times stronger than him. Enough for me to be able to knock him out with a finger. True, I don't have heat-vision, but the kind of temperatures he could generate just make me feel nice.
In the invulnerability stakes, I would never be knocked flying backwards by an exploding missile like Superman always seems to do. Yeah, so I can't fly (this is the real world, after all) but I can jump pretty high and fast. And a little firecracker couldn't send me spinning. I bet if he punched me as hard as he could in the belly, my feet would stay planted right where they were and he would hurt his big, hairy knuckles. If I drove my little fist into his guts, he'd probably go twice round the Earth before he came down.
In terms of other powers, well, I've not seen Superman do anything with his lungs that I've not done three times more impressively. OK, so he flies fast in films, but I bet I'd beat him in a running race over any distance from 10 yards to 1,000 miles. He wouldn't even be able to run away from me. I'd catch him, and then just hold him down no matter how much he tried to fly away. Then, I would slowly bend over, lifting his chin with one hand whilst the other hand kept his shoulder gripped. Finally, at my leisure, I'd smother his super face with my much-more-super breasts...
If only he existed!
More questions will be answered tomorrow. If you haven't done it yet, send yours to: firstname.lastname@example.org
Saturday 29 January 2005 20:05 GMT
Q: Have you ever met anyone with powers like yours?
A: No. I haven't. I've never met anyone half as strong or invulnerable as me. I've never met another person with supersenses or heard of anyone who has superbreath. The strongest and fastest men I've ever encountered were Olympic athletes. (A weightlifter and a sprinter to be exact. I broke into their hotel rooms the night before the finals of their events. The next day they both withdrew from their respective competitions with mystery injuries. Fairly severe injuries, as I recall.)
Q: Have you ever considered using your powers "for good?"
A: Good? What's that? Helping other people? Other people never help me! As far as I'm concerned, I do use my powers for good things. I use them for whatever I want, and that's always good by me.
Q: Have you ever been in love?
A: No. Every male I've ever met sooner or later shows himself to be weak and fragile and more worthy of contempt than love. Sure, plenty of them are pretty enough for me to be able to stand their company for a few hours but no single man could ever keep me satisfied for longer than that.
To be honest, I love my life. If I want a man (or three or eight) I can just take one (or three or eight). The rest of the time, I don't have to put up with the company of inferiors.
Q: Do you have any friends? Do you want any?
A: I have long standing acquaintances (mostly female), but I don't have an emotional bond with any of them. And that's fine by me.
Q: You seem to live pretty much day-to-day. Do you have any greater plans?
A: No. If I wanted to take over the world or something like that, I'd have done it long ago. Day-to-day, doing whatever I please when I want (and to whomever I want) suits me perfectly.
Q: What is your favourite movie?
A: There hasn't really ever been much I could relate to in movies. Someone should make a film about how great it is to be me.
Q: Do you have a name?
A: Yes, of course I do.
Q: How tall are you? How much do you weigh? What are your measurements?
A: Height: perfect. Weight: perfect. Bust: perfect. Waist: perfect. Hips: perfect. But you knew all that already, didn't you?
Q: Is there anything that can hurt you?
A: Not that I've found. Sitting on top of an exploding nuke last autumn was a fantastic experience, but it definitely didn't hurt. I've mentioned before that I once took a liquid nitrogen bath (and I swam in acid just last week). I've drank gallons of poison, swallowed kilos of radioactive material and let thousands of volts of electric current pass through my body. I've chewed up and swallowed razor blades and drinking glasses. I've filled my deep cleavage with plastic explosive and detonated it with an armour-piercing grenade. But none of that hurt me in the slightest.
The only thing I've never done is to try and survive in the vacuum of space and I don't intend to do it any time soon. I have jumped out of an aeroplane at fifty thousand feet without a parachute, however. I made a twenty-foot deep crater in the rocks on the ground when I landed. My body just carved through the stone, grinding it to dust, flinging debris into the air which rained down on top of me, burying me in the bottom of the hole. I merely stood up and brushed the chunks of rock off me like they were made of polystyrene.
Q: Have you ever treated a man "well" (i.e. as a normal woman might treat a lover?)
A: Letting any man touch my perfect, superhuman body is giving him the greatest honour of his life. If he gets hurt in the process, it's his fault for being so delicate. Why should I have to make the effort and be "gentle"? I don't ask them to be careful with me, and I don't expect them to ask the same of me. Besides, I always know that if I badly damage the man I with, there's plenty more to take his place...
Q: Have you considered having a child? If your powers prevent this, does that make you sad?
A: Experience to date suggests that I don't get pregnant. It's not an issue for me right now, but in the future it might be something I'd want to look into. One problem is that there isn't a man alive worthy of fathering my child.
Anyway, that's your lot for today. I'm getting a quite a few questions about my superbreath. I guess some of you guys really like that power. I'll deal with your enquiries next. Anyone else with a question they haven't emailed yet needs to hurry up and write to me at: email@example.com.
Monday 31 January 2005 23:54 GMT
Q: How do you control the temperature of your superbreath?
A: With ease! I just do it really. It's a bit like me asking someone how they raise their arm. You just send the instructions from your brain, and your body does the rest.
Q: What's the hottest and coldest you can make your superbreath?
A: Well, I can't make it all that hot by my standards. I can boil water with it (or permanently burn skin...) but I couldn't melt metal. I can make it too hot for normal people to touch, though. I'm more impressive at the other end of the thermometer. My breath can be very cold! I can freeze just about anything with it, and pretty quickly, too. I've never actually measured the temperature of one of my really cold blasts, but they can't be any warmer than about minus 100 centigrade. Remember how I turned a large and deep reservoir containing thousands and thousands of gallons of water into solid ice in less than a minute?
Q: What's the maximum wind-speed you can generate with your superbreath?
A: I once saw a documentary which discussed the sort of damage high-speed winds can cause. Comparing the scenes of post-hurricane devastation in that film with the kind of destruction I've done just by blowing, I'd say that I can produce a thousand-mile-an-hour wind without making much effort. If I exhaled really hard, we could probably treble or quadruple that figure.
Q: Can you use superbreath when you inhale as well as when you exhale?
A: Absolutely. It's just hard to control. If I'm sucking air that powerfully into my lungs, the air has a tendancy to carry everything else with it (furniture, earth, walls and so forth). Unless I'm really careful to stop inhaling before the objects I've sucked towards me gain too much momentum, they all just smash into my face. That doesn't hurt me, but it does tend to ruin my clothes.
If, say, a man thinks he can run away from me, my lungs are more than capable of pulling him back to me (or, for that matter, him and six or seven of his friends). In fact, I can generate enough suction to wrench the average street gang off their feet and flying towards me from twenty yards. The only thing is, I have to judge it to perfection. The first couple of times I tried it as a young woman, it was horrible. (Horrible for me, that is, as it took hours to clean everything up. The guys I sucked at never felt a thing.) These days, I'm usually a lot more careful.
Q: What's the most spectacular feat you've ever managed using your superbreath?
A: There's been so many! Using my superbreath is one of my favourite things. To wield so much power (and do so much damage) without even touching anything is awesome. To do it so effortlessly (how difficult is blowing?) is truly something else.
One of my most enjoyable superbreath moments was about five summers ago. I was out in the country, in an open meadow and a menacing storm cloud gathered overhead. As an experiment, I thought I'd see if I could blow it away. I tilted my head back, pointed my lips at the cloud and just blew. It took a couple of seconds for the force of my breath to travel the half-mile distance between us. But then, I saw the dark mass of water vapour getting smaller as my lungs pushed it away. When I stopped blowing, the cloud kept moving rapidly towards the horizon for another half minute. Soon afterwards, the storm broke. The rain fell more than twenty miles away from me.
The most actual damage I've ever done was on holiday in Asia. To cut a long story short, I'd bought an electric fan a few weeks before. The thing never worked well because it was so poorly made. I decided to visit the manufacturer's headquarters and show them how to move air properly. When I got to the address I'd looked up on the internet, I was more than a little surprised to find that the company's offices occupied the whole of a twenty-five storey glass and steel building. But I decided to go through with my plan anyway.
I stood about thirty yards from the entrance, placed my hands on my hips, thrust out my chest defiantly, pursed my lips and exhaled. At first, I directed the jet of my breath at the top of the building. Immediately, the big television antennae and satellite dishes that had been fixed up there were torn free and flew off. I lowered my head slightly. Now my breath blasted the top floors. The windows up there dissolved inwards and then the walls around them began to crack and buckle. Then the side of the building gave up and one face of the top of it crumbled into little pieces that shot upwards into the air, carried by my lungs.
I kept on exhaling a steady (but not overly strenuous) stream of breath as I tilted my chin slowly downwards, steering the jet of air in a straight line down the front of the giant edifice. Floor by floor, my exhalation smashed in the windows before pressing against the walls with far more power than they could withstand. Cracks appeared, the concrete broke into pieces and my lungs just blasted them away.
Everything inside each room my breath breached was lifted and thrown violently into the back walls. Those far partitions survived for a few seconds, despite having desks and filing cabinets and computers smashed against them, but they couldn't hold out for long. The power of my exhalation soon overcame them. From the other side of the edifice, it must've looked as if the building was exploding down one side, storey by storey. The whole thing, walls, windows and offices, was broken, crushed and blasted away.
Still I kept blowing and lowering my head, steering the jet I produced to tear into the front of the building. Then, once that was stripped away, I puffed away the inside and the far wall. After twenty seconds, nothing remained but the two side walls, still standing in testament to the accuracy of my breath. I had more than enough puff left to keep going and raze the thing totally to the ground (and probably a dozen more buildings with the same breath) but I felt I'd made my point by then. I ended the devastating hurricane by simply closing my lovely lips.
A vast pile of rubble, nearly twenty feet in height, had formed in (and completely buried) a car-park some fifty yards behind where the edifice had stood. I had to laugh when I saw how I'd destroyed an enormous office building just by blowing on it!