I am SO powerful! OK, "Blogger" is SO powerful, but I CONTROL her so I am even more powerful still! You don't believe me? Well, here is what happened this morning:
"Take out the guards" I said. She ran faster than a blur. There was a splash of red and two headless bodies flew out of the hut and landed at my feet. I was fifty yards away at the time!
"Deactivate the security system." I instructed. A crash, a shower of sparks and three lumps of twisted metal and circuitry came flying towards me.
"Go through the gate." She just walked right through the steel mesh barrier, her wonderful body momentarily stretching and then tearing through the metal, leaving a huge gaping hole. Only the arcing blue flickers told me that the barrier was still "live". 5,000 volts don't even seem to tickle her.
I heard the jeep rumbling towards her. "Ignore it." I ordered. A burst of machine gun fire ripped through the dawn. "Blogger" just stood where she was, looking in the other direction as a thousand bullets bounced off her, ripping her clothes to shreds. Through my night vision binoculars, I watched as her incredible flesh was gradually revealed. The sight was most distracting and I admit I did deviate from my plans for a minute or so. Fortunately, I was able to maintain a firm grip on the viewers with my left hand.
When I was finished with my, um, observations, I issued the mental command for her to silence the guns. I did not expect her to stroll up to the jeep and lift it, using only a single hand, clear off the ground with its three-man crew still inside. I saw her toss the massive load over her shoulder as if it were no more than a pebble before I had to run for cover as the vehicle crashed down right where I had been crouching. The explosion was rather impressive. When the fireball cleared there was no sign of the three men who had been in the jeep.
"Approach the large building on your left." I ordered. Now almost naked, the movement of her body as she strolled languidly according to my whim was quite thrilling.
"Enter the building". I thought she would locate the doors first. Instead she kept on strolling, smashing right through the thick brick wall like a beautiful wrecking ball, not slowing in the slightest as she ploughed through. I lost sight of her at that point, but I did hear screams and fresh gunfire. "Make the noises stop." I instructed. I heard a brief sound like a gust of storm-force wind. A window broke. Suddenly, icicles appeared on the outside of one wall. Then there was silence.
With the coast so effectively cleared, it was safe for me to enter. I ran carefully through the hole in the electric gates and ducked into the building. It was freezing in there! Everywhere, I saw men unmoving in a variety of poses as though time itself had been stopped. The figures were coated in frost. Icicles hung from their frozen bodies. In the midst of the surreal scene, "Blogger" stood, arms casually by her sides, as motionless as the men she had iced with her superbreath.
I located the object of the mission, a large red rectangular metal box. But when I grabbed at it, it refused to budge even a nanometre. There was only one thing to do. "Blogger, pick up this box." It turned out to be bolted to the ground, the long steel threads set in concrete. "Blogger" took hold of the thing with just her left hand and pulled it upwards in a smooth, fluid motion. The bolts screamed as they snapped, but she did not appear to notice. She held the weight with her single hand as I might hold a sheet of paper.
"Follow me." I lead her out of there. I was glad to be out in the comparative warmth of the chilly November dawn.
Once safely away from the base, I told her to open the box. She tore through the steel casing with her long, slender fingers, brushing it aside with absurd ease. I reached in and extracted the device inside. It was a struggle for me to lift with both arms, so I ordered Blogger to carry it for me. She hung it casually from a single finger. "Be careful with that!" I exclaimed. "That could really hurt us!" She looked at me perplexed. "OK, OK. That could really hurt me."
And now, I am ready to begin Phase 4. Soon, the whole world will be obeying my every wish as readily as "Blogger". Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
Praise me by email! firstname.lastname@example.org
Wednesday 2 November 2005 16:41 BST (GMT+1)
People, I do not have time for a full update today. Operation Duane-in-charge Phase Four is well-underway - as you no doubt will have seen on your news reports. The world is no longer ignoring Duane Perkins.
I will just say one thing in relation to today's events: I did not choose for things to become as, well... bloody as they have done. I did not ask for the Army to be sent in, but I MUST defend my dreams in whatever way I can, using whatever weapons I have at my disposal. And if one of those weapons is "Blogger", the most powerful force in the known universe, then so be it.
If the soldiers surrender and withdraw, I will call her off. But as things stand now, I fear there will shortly be nothing and no-one remaining to surrender. The power of Duane is TOTAL. Everyone can see it now. "Blogger" is magnificent. She does not tire or slow. I, as her MASTER, am EVEN MORE MAGNIFICENT.
Tomorrow there will be time to tell you of my latest achievements in more detail. For now, the battle still rages.
Thursday 3 November 2005 17:54 BST (GMT+1)
OK. First up today, an email I received: "Duane, I am a big fan of Blogger in action. Please could you give a little detail of the battle you mentioned in yesterday's post?" Do you not understand yet? Duane Perkins does not do "requests". Duane Perkins follows his OWN agenda. Duane Perkins SETS EVERYBODY ELSE'S agendas.
Nonetheless, "Blogger" was so impressive following my orders dealing with the army yesterday that I wish to share some of the highlights with you, so that you can fully appreciate the POWER at my command.
You will no doubt have realised that the heavy object in the red case which I stole with Blogger's help the other morning is a thermonuclear device. And even your lesser minds must have deduced that I intend to use it to hold the world to ransom. Even the military have worked that out. Hence their pursuit of me (and Blogger). How foolish of them to believe they could retrieve it with just a few hundred soldiers!
We were in a field outside town when a squadron of jeeps approached. I hid behind a rock and ordered "Blogger" to dispose of the intruders. She ran up to the nearest car and tossed it over her shoulder so that it landed upside down. The other vehicles quickly surrounded her on three sides and the men inside opened fire with automatic weapons. The bullets merely ricocheted from her glorious naked body as though they were polystyrene packaging chips.
"Blogger" seemed to be enjoying herself (although she was COMPLETELY in my command the whole time). She jogged around, kicking some of the jeeps into the air, lifting and throwing others. Sometimes she pulled men out of the vehicles, lifting them bodily with a single hand and tossing them into the sky. At one point, she picked up a jeep and swung it like a weapon into several other cars, causing explosions which engulfed her in flame, destroying everything but leaving her unscratched.
All the while, she was under constant fire, but not a single one of the million bullets that struck her seemed to cause even a tingle of discomfort. A helicopter flew overhead. She arched her neck leisurely. Two beams of light flashed from her eyes and the helicopter dissolved in a fireball. Another chopper was destroyed when she threw an already smashed-up jeep at it.
After that, planes began to sweep in, dropping bombs that tore huge holes out of the landscape. Even though several of these hit her directly, she strolled out of the inferno each time looking for all the world as though she was slightly bored. She titled her head and just blew at one plane, sending it into an out of control spiral from which it never recovered. Another aircraft was destroyed when she tossed a small rock at it.
A group of men on foot appeared on the horizon, charging at her. She pursed her lips and turning her face slowly from left to right, produced a stream of superbreath which lifted them one by one from the ground and threw them backwards through the air over the horizon. It almost appeared as if she were smiling after she did that, but I know that cannot be possible under my mind-control.
At one point, a series of long-range rockets appeared over the horizon and dropped towards her. The first fell just a few feet from her, tearing up the ground and tossing a ton of dirt into the air to rain down on her. She did not blink. Then something strange happened. She caught the next falling rocket in one hand and, keeping its tip pointing to the ground, inserted it into the space between her boobs.
I must say the sight stirred some "lower processes" within me, but it was also perplexing. She should not have done anything that I did not command, but I do not recall commanding her to do that. Obviously, the instruction came from the subconscious part of my brain. My subconscious must then have ordered her to slowly press her lovely boobies together. I saw the steel casing of the rocket deforming as it was squeezed by that delectable flesh. I confess I was then distracted by a sudden sticky warmth in my underpants, so I did not see the thing explode in her cleavage but I can only assume that that is what happened.
In my distracted state, I confused myself into believing that I heard her laugh, but I know that this was IMPOSSIBLE given the TOTAL nature of my brain-control. I looked up and sent the command for her to catch the next rocket and throw it back in the direction it had come from. I did not see it land as it was too distant for me, but I saw a small puff of smoke on the horizon. After that, there were no more rockets, so I presume she hit the launcher.
It was eerily quiet after that. I ordered "Blogger" to approach me, which she did, but I had to order her to stop when she was a few yards away as her skin was still so warm from all the explosions it had absorbed that I found myself uncomfortably hot. The heat clearly disturbed my brain waves for she did not halt immediately, but rather took a couple more strides. I could feel my skin scorching, and cried out, sending the mental command with ever-increasing strength and urgency.
Obviously, the overheated air between us distorted the mental commands. There is no other possible explanation for the fact that a wide grin then appeared on Blogger's face. In the end, I was obliged to run away as she continued to walk towards me. I knew she would never break into a run herself (for I commanded her not too) but she did inexplicably sigh. That exhalation was powerful enough to knock me off my feet.
When I sat up, I felt a tremendous wave of heat and realised that she was still walking towards me. I increased the power on my thought-amplifier to maximum and reissued the "Stop" command. Of course, she obeyed instantly, as my mind is ALL POWERFUL. I instructed her to remain where she was whilst I retreated a considerable distance to prepare for Phase 5 of Operation Duane-in-charge.
Unfortunately, I am in considerable discomfort due to the reddening of my skin. This has also made me a little conspicuous so I will have to alter my plans slightly for the next day or so. But Duane Perkins will NOT be stopped.
Now that the military have pinpointed me and read my intentions, I cannot afford any more slip-ups or miscommunications so I set the thought-amplifier to its highest setting PERMANENTLY. Of course, this uses a lot of power, but I am prepared for this and keep a large stock of NiCad rechargeable batteries (far more cost-effective than mere alkalines) on my person at all times. With the thought-amplifier set at maximum NOTHING can interfere with my control of Blogger. NOTHING AT ALL.
Soon, very, very soon, the world will be MINE!
Friday 4 November 2005 16:55 BST (GMT+1)
A warhead is a formidable weapon. But when one ALSO possesses a delivery mechanism, it becomes something many times more powerful still. And MY delivery mechanism is the fastest and most accurate conceivable. In addition, MY delivery mechanism CANNOT be intercepted, diverted or delayed by any other known force or technology.
Yes, people. The "missile" that will be carrying my thermonuclear device to its target and detonating it on delivery is, of course, my mind-slave "Blogger". That is how I can guarantee that the explosion will destroy the city of my choosing if my demands are not met.
I'm sure "Blogger" won't mind fulfilling the role. For one thing, even a nuclear bomb won't harm her. More importantly, she won't mind because she doesn't HAVE a "mind" anymore. I have COMPLETE control of her.
The governments of the world know my demands. They have four days to sign their sovereignty over to me or I will send my lovely mind-slave to destroy one of their cities.
All hail the NEW world. Duane Perkins World!
Monday 7 November 2005 17:55 BST (GMT+1)
Only a few hours remain before my deadline expires and, for some reason which escapes even my genius, the governments of the world do not seem to be taking me seriously.
They will learn the stupidity of underestimating Duane Perkins soon enough. My weapon is ready to be delivered upon my command...
Blogger! Don't hold it like that! How can I concentrate on taking over the world when you are posing with that thermonuclear warhead resting between your boobies like that?
Oh my word! Is the steel casing bending where you've wedged it in there? Let me take a closer look! Oh... Ooohhhh gggggeeeeuuugggghhh.....
Tuesday 8 November 2005 12:59 BST (GMT+1)
The time has come, my exquisitely beautiful mind slave. Duane Perkins does NOT set deadlines purely to stand by inactively when they expire. The world MUST be taught that the man shortly to become it's sole master never indulges in idle threats.
Blogger, carry that device CAREFULLY with your HANDS ONLY and fly NO FASTER THAN 850 kilometers an hour until you are precisely 1200 meters above... let's say... um... which city shall I choose?.. Oh yes, I know... Target 27. Once you are in position, detonate it.
Pay close attention to the words of your mind-lord: The device must NOT be detonated at ANY OTHER location, whatever you might encounter en-route, whatever your instincts or "lower processes" might crave. DO NOT EXPLODE THAT DEVICE UNTIL YOU ARE IN PLACE ACCORDING TO MY DESIRES!
Nod your head to show you understand me. Good girl! Now, I will switch on the latest creation of my GENIUS: The DPTR 1.12 (Duane Perkins Thought Receiver Version 1, Release 1, Edition 2). Now, Blogger, I believe you have a package to deliver for me. Go!
Not through the ceiling! Ouch.... ow.... ow.... Cough! Cough! Can't see for the dust... Cough! Ah, there she is... heading West... Let me check the DPTR 1.12 readout:
>>MUST CARRY DEVICE TO TARGET 27...
>>MUST NOT DETONATE DEVICE BEFORE I GET TO TARGET 27...
>>MUST PROTECT DEVICE...
Good. Everything is going perfectly. Where are my binoculars? Ah yes. OH MY! WATCH OUT FOR THOSE POWER-LINES, BLOGGER!
>>MUST WATCH OUT FOR POffzzzzzzzzttttt
>>WHAT THE HELL? WHERE AM I? WHAT THE FU-
>>MY HEAD! THERE'S SOMETHING IN MY H-
Blogger, you are under my control! MY control! MY control! I am your MASTER, Duane Perkins!
>>DUANE PERKINS IS MY MASTER...
Now, follow my instructions!
>>MUST DELIVER DEVICE TO TARGET 27...
That's better. MUCH better.
Tuesday 8 November 2005 16:12 GMT
>>MUST DELIVER DEVICE TO TARGET 27...
>>MUST PROTECT DEVICE...
>>DEVICE FIRST. DEVICE IS IMPORTANT...
>>JET PLANES?.. YES! JETS...
>>THERE ARE MEN INSIDE THE PLANES...
>>MAYBE I CAN HAVE SEX WITH THE MEN...
>>THE PLANES ARE COMING STRAIGHT FOR ME...
>>THEY WILL SHOOT AT ME. THAT WILL BE NICE...
>>WHEN THEY SHOOT I WILL NEED TO HAVE SEX EVEN MORE...
>>I WILL LET THEM SHOOT AND THEN I WILL HAVE S-
>>NO! SHOOTING MAY DAMAGE THE DEVICE! MUST PROTECT THE DEVICE...
>>DEVICE IS IMPORTANT. DEVICE FIRST...
>>MUST DELIVER THE DEVICE. MUST PROTECT...
>>JET PLANES MAY DAMAGE DEVICE...
>>MUST DESTROY JET PLANES BEFORE THEY SHOOT...
>>I CAN USE MY HEAT-VISION TO DESTROY THE JETS...
>>1.. 2.. 3.. 4.. 5.. 6.. ANY MORE? NO. ALL DESTROYED.
>>DEVICE IS SAFE. MUST PROTECT DEVICE...
>>MUST DELIVER DEVICE TO TARGET 27...
>>DEVICE FIRST. AFTER DELIVERY, MUST GET SEX...
Tuesday 8 November 2005 17:59 GMT
>>THERE'S A LARGE CITY BELOW ME.
>>IT MUST BE CHICAGO.
>>CHICAGO IS TARGET 27.
>>FIRST, MUST DELIVER DEVICE TO TARGET 27.
>>WAIT! I HAVE DELIVERED THE DEVICE!
>>TIME FOR SEX NOW? NO, MUST DETONATE DEVICE FIRST.
>>DEVICE IS THERMONUCLEAR WARHEAD... IT WILL FEEL EVEN BETTER THAN SEX...
>>DETONATION WILL FEEL BEST IF IT IS IN THE RIGHT PLACE...
>>THE RIGHT PLACE IS BETWEEN MY THIGHS...
>>MAYBE I CAN SQUEEZE THE DEVICE UNTIL IT FITS INSIDE ME...
>>WAIT! MUST PROTECT DEVICE!
>>MUST DELIVER DEVICE TO TARGET 27...
>>NO. I HAVE ALREADY DELIVERED THE DEVICE! NOW I MUST DETONATE, NOT PROTECT...
>>OOOH! IT FEELS SO GOOD PRESSING AGAINST MY CROTCH...
>>WANT MORE... NEED MORE...
>>IT WON'T GO ANY FURTHER!
>>I CAN HOLD MYSELF OPEN WITH TWO FINGERS AND PUSH...
>>OH! OH! FEELS SO GOOD...
>>DEVICE IS COMPRESSING INSIDE ME. I CAN PUSH MORE IN... YES! YES! MORE!
>>OOOOH! THE STEEL IS SO PRESSURED IN THERE IT IS BEGINNING TO VAPORISE. FEELS WONDERFUL!
>>MUST INCREASE THE FEELING. MUST FORCE MORE OF THE DEVICE INSIDE...
>>OH YES!! CANNOT WAIT! NEED THIS NOW!
>>MUST ENSURE 100% OF DETONATION POWER GIVES ME PLEASURE... MUST NOT ALLOW ANY PORTION OF EXPLOSION TO ESCAPE MY BODY...
>>I CAN USE MY HANDS TO HOLD IT ALL IN LIKE THIS...
>>NOW READY. 1200 METRES ABOVE TARGET 27. MUST DETONATE DEVICE. NOW!!
What is this on the DPTR 1.12 display? WHAT? No! Blogger! No! Pull the device ou-
"Second wave"? What does THAT mean? There is only one phase to the detonation! Oh my! The detonation! I must check my monitors! No! No! Noooo! Chicago has not been destroyed! There is no sign of ANY damage! She must have... contained the explosion ENTIRELY! She wasted my precious device!
What? What does that MEAN? Why are all these asterisks appearing on the DPTR 1.12 display? Asterisks are NOT part of its programming! Let me run a diagnostic....
Overload? What could be causing an overload? Let me see...
Ouch! Oh my! Electrostatic interference! From where? This room is PERFECTLY insulated. It's building up! Oh! It's pouring down the mind-link from Blogger into the DPTR 1.12. The circuit cannot survive these power levels. If it discharges it could affect ALL my equipment! I must disconnect the link.
Blogger! Stop thought-transmitting that energy! Stop it now! Stop it! Stop it!
MUST disconnect! Now! Switch off external thought-tuning circui-
>>******** ******** ******* ****** ******** ******** ********* ****
>>**** ********* ***** ********** **** OH WHAT AN ORGASM!!!
>>HERE COMES ANOTHER AFTERSH **** ******** **** ******** *****
>>**** **** ******* **** ******* ******** *** ******* ******* ***** **
>>******* OH FUCK! THAT WAS AMAZING!!! THAT WAS...
>>HEY! WHERE THE FUCK AM I? IS THAT... CHICAGO?
>>HOW DID I GET HERE?
>>WHY WAS I ORGASMING?
>>WHAT'S GOING ON?
>>WHO THE FUCK HAS DONE THIS?
>>I'M GOING TO FIND OUT AND THEN I'M GOING TO ******* ******* >>***** ******** **** ******* *** ******* **** ********* **** *******
>>******* **** *** ********** **** ****** ***** **** **** ******** ***
>>error number 235. critical circuit failure. thought-link broken.
Thursday 10 November 2005 15:26 GMT
Well, I'd say it was good to be "back", but it isn't.
It's not good that one second I was enjoying myself, on the point of seriously injuring a weird-looking geek in the park and the next second I'm hovering in the sky almost a mile above Chicago, coming down off an enormous orgasm. It's not good that I had no idea that weeks passed between those two moments. And it's really not good that somehow (as I have since found out) I, the greatest, most powerful, most gorgeous being in the solar system fell under the mind-control of a total dork. Not good at all.
So what happened? Truth is: I don't know. Whatever "special powers" or equipment were used on me, it's not something I've ever encountered before. I need to ensure that it's not something I'll ever encounter again in the future, or at very least, be certain that I won't be vulnerable to it next time.
All of which leads to the big question: Who is Duane Perkins? Answer is: He must be the "ghost-busting" geek from the park. His ugly, acne-spangled face is etched into my perfect memory. But I haven't been able to track him down. Yet. Rest assured that I will. I have too much unfinished business with Duane to rest before I find him.
Yesterday evening, I swooped down on Cf on his way home to find out what he knew. I should have known that the sum total of his knowledge would be precisely nothing. He started blurting the instant he saw me, protesting his innocence. With my supersenses, I could tell he was being truthful, but, just for old time's sake, I gave him a gentle shove in the belly that sent him flying ten yards down the street before he crashed down onto his rear, yelling in agony.
Anyway, that's enough chit-chat for now. I've got a pathetic male to hunt down. Just a quick warning: anyone (or any weapon or any army) that gets in my way is going to pay badly. Almost as badly as Duane himself...
Friday 11 November 2005 16:16 GMT
I never, ever forget a face (or any other part of a body for that matter) thanks to my perfect memory.
It goes without saying that I can clearly picture the last face I saw before my bizarre "blackout". It's been foremost in my thoughts for the past couple of days whilst I've been searching for a match. I went through all the Duane Perkins in the directory, flying over the addresses listed night and day, using my X-ray- and telescopic- vision powers to study the people inside. But none resembled the image on my mental "Wanted" poster.
Maybe "Duane" was a pseudonym. So I began flying in a grid pattern over a wide area, looking for anyone who resembled my quarry. Perhaps he'd skipped the country or had radical plastic surgery... Then I saw a suspicious-looking figure crouching in the near-pitch dark between two huge boilers in the basement of a large public hospital.
It's amazing what super-eyes attached to a super-brain can accomplish! I studied the mystery person from my vantage point, 10,000 feet above the roof of the ten-storey building. My X-ray powers stripped away the half-dozen or so scarves the figure had wrapped around its head. There was something extremely familiar about the person hidden within. Familiar, but somehow different. More red. Even in the dark, even through ten floors of concrete and steel, I could see that this figure had a very, very red face.
Instantly, I recalled what "Duane" had posted on MY blog last Thursday (November 3rd): He had been scorched and was worried that the reddening of his skin would make him conspicuous. He could never have realised how prophetic his words were.
Now, I am no monster. I could have dived and flown at full speed towards the basement ploughing effortlessly through all ten storeys of that hospital, destroying everything in (or vaguely near) my path, probably killing hundreds in the process. There would have been nothing and nobody to stop me doing it, and I'd have had every right as far as I'm concerned to take a direct route given what "Duane" did to me.
But I am no monster. I took a slight detour, flying past the side of the building and only altering my trajectory towards the shadowy basement-lurker once I had descended as far as the first floor. I'm chuckling as I write that because, of course, in America, the first floor is at ground level, but in these parts, buildings have a Ground floor and then a “1st Floor” above it. It is funny; some of you probably thought I had entered through the "lobby" instead of one storey up from there…
Anyway, I flew like a missile (but vastly more deadly and infinitely more beautiful) straight through the wall of a ward, showering brick and plaster over the beds (and the people in them) before turning a sharp right-angle and plunging through the floor. I sheered straight through a steel beam coming down into the waiting room as chunks of metal and concrete rained on the screaming out-patients, but I didn't stop to laugh at the panic I was causing. I just kept on going, ploughing through the thick concrete floor into the basement.
A large piece of displaced stone pierced the top of one of the large metal boilers as I passed, unleashing a powerful jet of steam that did nothing other than tingle pleasantly as it blasted my body. However some of the jet was gushing through the hole above into the waiting room and adding to the general chaos up there. Anyone the steam touched got burnt and screamed which suited me fine. It meant that no-one would be coming near the hole for a while, so I could be undisturbed.
I located the mystery figure in a split-second. Obviously, he'd been caught by surprise by my entrance (and hit by some falling debris judging by his awkward steps as he tried to run.) I'd have chased him down in three strides (or flown past him and landed right in his path in about a quarter of a second) but instead I unleashed a small blast of my heat vision at the ceiling in front of where he was running, bringing down half a tonne of shattered masonry that blocked his escape. He yelled and turned around laboriously.
I guess he couldn't see me in the dark, because he seemed to be peering right through me. I, however, got a good, long look at his revolting features. He started to run again (if such a pathetic snail-like limping can be called running) this time in the opposite direction. In other words, straight towards me. I stayed in the shadows and tripped him as he passed. He landed on his face and belly and as he impacted with the cold stone, over a dozen AA-sized rechargeable batteries fell from the pockets of his coat. I flipped him over by touching him in the ribs with my toe (just a gentle prod that made him cry out but didn't break anything) and then pinned him to the ground by placing my pointed bare foot lightly on his chest.
As he peered upwards, his weak eyes struggling only slightly less uselessly than his hands that were trying in vain to move my foot, I greeted him. "Hi Duane. I've been looking for you all day!" There was no reply unless spluttered panicking can be considered a reply.
"There's a couple of things I need to ask you. Stand up." I commanded, lifting my foot. He didn't move, so I bent down, grabbed his scrawny neck and pulled him swiftly vertical. I used my flight powers to float about a foot above the ground so that we could be gorgeous, bright super-eye to ugly, dull, pathetic-eye whilst his feet dangled helplessly at the end of his body which, in turn, dangled helplessly from my single hand.
"Tell me how your mind-control process works." I instructed. No answer. I shook him gently. His arms and legs flew wildly about and he screamed. "Tell me how your mind-control process works." I repeated.
He coughed. "No! Never!" he wheezed. I shook him again, a bit more insistently this time. His limbs were flung around so violently, his left shoulder was dislocated, causing him to yell once more.
"Tell me how your mind-control process works." I demanded for the third time.
"I won't!" he spluttered, finding it difficult to draw enough air to speak. "You can hurt me as much as you like but I'll never reveal my secrets to-"
"-Oh, I am going to hurt you, Duane," I assured him. "I'm going to hurt you more than anyone has ever been hurt until you tell me everything I want to know. And then, I'm going to hurt you some more. So..." I used my free hand to trap his left wrist and adjusted my grip so that I was holding his little finger between my thumb and another digit. "...tell me how your mind-control process works."
Silence. I snapped his finger. It might as well have been a dry twig. He shouted. Slowly, I took his ring finger (although, unsurprisingly, he wasn't wearing a ring) and, gripping it just above his knuckles, I squeezed it till it went Crunch! and then Squelch! and then fell off. His scream was the loudest yet. It was still echoing around the basement when I moved on to his middle finger and bent it back until it touched the back of his palm and made a nice little Crack! sound.
There were tears rolling down his cheeks as I took hold of his index digit. "Stop!" he cried. Naturally, I ignored him and pulled the finger until it popped out of its socket and hung limply at the end of his rapidly blackening hand. "Wait! No! Please!" But I'd started on his thumb by then, so I kept going, twisting and squeezing it until shattered bits of bone were visible through the torn skin. More yells of agony. I moved my grip so that I was holding his palm and, very slowly, began to compress it.
"OK! OK! Please! Stop! No more! Please! I'll tell you everything! Please!" blurted Duane. So I only partially crushed the bones inside his palm (perhaps leaving as many as a third of them intact). "Stop! I said I'd tell you everything! Please! Please let me tell you!" he begged. I let go of his ruined hand and let it fall at his side before casually reaching for his other wrist and encircling it with my fingers without actually doing any damage.
"Duane" looked at my slender digits surrounding the end of his arm, took a deep, shuddering breath and began "It works by electrostatic pulses...." He went on for about five minutes, telling me every last detail of how his system functioned. A couple of times I interrupted him, demanding more information on a specific topic and each time he struggled to get the words out fast enough. I didn't even have to remind him of the threat I posed to his wrist, so keen was he to give me every last scrap of knowledge he possessed.
I asked him how many "amplifier" devices he had built. "Only the one which was destroyed by thought-energy-feedback." he told me.
"You're lying" I said. In truth, my superhearing told me that, judging by his vital signs, he was actually being factual, but I fancied hurting him a little bit more, so I crushed his wrist between my fingers, smiling as I listened to every little Crunch! it made.
"No, no no!!! I swear! On my life! I'm telling the truth!" he protested, clearly in total agony.
"Your life isn't worth much right now." I informed him, before continuing the interrogation: "Did you write any notes of your work, Duane?"
"No. No. Never. I swear. It's... it was MY secret. There's no record of anything anywhere. I swear there isn't." I took his right hand in mine. His ruined wrist was already black but for good measure I broke all five of its fingers one by one, enjoying his screams as I did so.
"Well, now we can be sure you won't be writing any notes for the foreseeable future." I announced. "Now, did you TELL anyone about your work?"
"Are you sure you've never told anyone about your work?" I asked.
"Yes. 100% sure!" he insisted.
"Good." I proclaimed, straightening the arm that was still holding him suspended by his neck so that his body moved a little further away from me. "Let's make sure that you never tell anyone about it." I was reaching for his face as I spoke and he started to scream before I even touched him.
"Duane, Duane!" I chided. "Why all the noise? Anyone would think I was about to kill you!"
"You are!" he screamed, terrified.
"I never said that. All I said was I was going to make sure you never tell anyone about your work." I jabbed my extended finger at his mouth, knocking all four of his central front teeth out of his gums. As he opened his jaws to yell out his newest pain, I quickly flicked my digit around removing every last vestige of his dental work. When I retrieved my finger it was soaked in blood. I wiped it off on Duane's face.
"Preese shop!" he pleaded. I think he meant "Please stop" but the lack of teeth was distorting his pronunciation.
"Oh, do be quiet." I said. "I've already heard everything you could say that might interest me. Talking time is over, Duane. Permanently." So saying, I thrust two fingers into his mouth once more, pinching his tongue as far from its tip as I could reach. The gentlest of tugs tore the muscle in half. A gush of thick blood poured from his mouth as I pulled the detached portion of tongue out and tossed it casually aside. Now his screams were muted and somewhat burbling as his throat filled with blood. He hung his head so that the crimson liquid could flow out of his mouth and it poured over my wrist (which was still clutching his throat) and onto the floor.
I could see he was about to pass out, so I kept him awake by blowing an exceptionally light stream of cold superbreath over his face. "Gggggmmm Gggmmgggmm!!" he sobbed, proving that I'd done a good job preventing him from talking. I'm not sure what he was saying, but I'd like to think it was something like "Please let me die."
"Stay with me, Duane." I told him, between cold wafts. "I wouldn't want you to miss a thing."
I extended the tip of the index finger of my spare hand and ran it gently down the front of his torso, a couple of inches left of the centre. Nothing more than a light carress. Just enough to pop his ribs cleanly one by one without shattering them or damaging his internal organs. "Ggggg! Gggggg! Ggggccchhhh!" was the best he could do for cries of pain. I smiled at him and repeated the process on the other side of his rib cage. "Ckkkkgggg! Mmggggg!" For a self-proclaimed genius, he was revealing an embarrassingly limited vocabulary.
I lifted him a little higher and, with an effortless tap on the outside of his leg, broke his left thigh bone. Another easy flick shattered his right kneecap. It was becoming increasingly difficult to tell when one "scream" of agony ended and the next began. They were just merging into one long, continuous cry of pain. I suppose he should have passed out and I was keeping him awake long past his bedtime, but I really did want to be certain that nothing happened to him without him fully conscious to experience it fully.
Extending my arm fully, I lifted him high. A friendly squeeze of my free hand reduced his right ankle bones to fragments. I was almost done. Ten seconds later, after I'd pulled off his left big toe, held it up in front of his frantic eyes and flicked it away into the distance, I was finished. I stopped the stream of cold air across his face and he was out cold within seconds.
I adjusted my grip on his comatose body, releasing his throat and holding him with my arm around his middle so that he hung sideways-on against my side. The steam still pouring out of the boiler was just about enough cover as I flew up, back through the chaotic lobby and the rubble-strewn ward upstairs, taking advantage of the convenient emergency exit route I'd installed on my way in. I couldn't fly at anything like full speed without frying my passenger so I kept my velocity down as I soared out of the hole in the side of the building and up towards the clouds. Of course, with all the panic in the hospital, no-one noticed me (or my cargo for that matter).
In no time at all, I was floating in through the window of my flat. I'd already decided on a punishment suitable for the man who thought he could enslave my mind (imagine it - a MAN thinking he could enslave part of ME !!!). I will not kill Duane. That would be far too quick. Instead, I will ensure that he remains with me, for the rest of his life, as my slave. There will be no sexual contact between us (he's ugly and besides, he hasn't got any teeth and most of his tongue is missing), but I'll just keep him around (and in pain).
The question was where to keep him? Experience told me that captive males are disgustingly messy creatures. Then, I had a brainwave. I knew just where to put him so his mess wouldn't be a problem. A length of thick steel chain, stolen from a building site, was all I needed to secure my guest immovably. I placed him, in a sitting position, naked, on the toilet in my bathroom. After all I never need to use it. I wrapped the chain tightly around both “Duane” and the porcelain (using my superstrength to twist the ends of the chain together) thus binding man and lavatory permanently together.
As I type, of course, he's still unconscious. He'll need to be fed (I wouldn't want him to starve because he won't feel pain if he's dead), but I'm sure I can work something out for that. Of course, without splints and plaster, his broken bones will not heal correctly. But that's just part of the fun the next few months will bring.
Now, it's been a while since I was exposed to the sun's rays without the shield of Earth's atmosphere. A nice little "recharge" is very much in order. Maybe it's no so bad to be back, after all.
Monday 14 November 2005 17:18 GMT
Happy Monday, everyone. Well mine has been happy and, as ever, I couldn't care less about yours.
I feel even more terrific than usual today, having spent most of the weekend supercharging myself with solar energy outside of the filter of the atmosphere.
For example, I spent Friday night floating in the nude about 100,000 miles from Earth, just soaking up those lovely rays and looking at the pretty view.
After that I popped back home to check on my house-guest. Never let it be said that I'm a bad host. I made plenty of noise entering the bathroom and that seemed to slightly rouse him. His whole-body bruises and multiple swellings were just beginning to peak, so that he barely looked human chained up on the toilet in my bathroom. His left eye opened a crack as I approached him. I smiled and gave him an extremely gentle slap on the cheek , fracturing his bone and sending him back into his deep sleep.
I left him to doze and headed back into space, this time to lie on the edge of a small lunar crater in the nude for a couple of hours until I could feel the power of the sun throbbing in every part of my body. I tested my energy levels on the way home, unleashing a blast of heat vision as I flew a thousand feet over a forest. In less than a second, my "angry gaze" had turned an area two acres in size into a raging inferno.
Closer to home, I spotted a small group of sailing boats involved in some kind of race. Without slowing I blew the crews a cool (and frankly, effortless) kiss. Instantly, the sea all around the boats froze solid, locking the craft in place. Not that the various sailors minded, having themselves been transformed into human-shaped icicles. All that with an easy puff of breath. That's why I love sunbathing these days!
Back in my flat, I forced some food down Duane's neck so that he doesn't escape his punishment by dying on me. He woke up briefly to choke, so I seized the opportunity to inflict some extra pain on him by breaking his nose with a tap of my little finger. I let him cry out in agony for a full minute before he passed out again.
I'm off on a little trip to the US tomorrow (with the kind of power I can feel inside I should complete the 9,500 mile round-trip by lunchtime). If you're lucky, I might even let you know how it went when I get back.
Tuesday 15 November 2005 17:59 GMT
Some people like to take a stroll in the morning. Me, I like to take to the air and fly to a different part of the world. Of course, I don't get anywhere near as tired as the walkers do, but that's their problem...
Anyway, I was over in the extreme North West of the U.S. Why? Because I can! 4,700 miles (as the Blogger flies) is no big distance for me. The outbound trip took me ninety minutes because I took my time, firstly enjoying the scenery, secondly toying with a light aircraft that I encountered en-route and thirdly toying with the pilot once he'd bailed out. (We got on so well to begin with, but we soon fell out... Well, ok. He fell out of my arms and I stayed right where I was, 5,000 feet up.)
When I eventually got to my destination, the person I was looking for wasn't there. It all stems from an email I received from one of my female fans inviting me to come over and beat the crap out of her misogynist brother. Unfortunately, there was no sign of him at the address I'd been given.
I left a calling card in the form of a 50 foot tree which I pulled out of the ground and threw, one-handed, right through the centre of the house like an oversized javelin. After that, I decided to head for home. I flew less slowly without detours and made it back inside 45 minutes.
For those interested, by the way, Duane is doing just fine. He's flitting in and out of consciousness and shouting in pain when he's awake (no mean feat for a man with no teeth and half a tongue). Sadly, I'm running out of bits of him to break next time he comes round properly, but I'm sure I can find a way to increase his suffering...
Wednesday 16 November 2005 16:36 GMT
It appears that the calling card I left yesterday was not fully appreciated.
Apparently, when the guy I left it for found out that the tree had been thrown through his house by a superhuman girl, he said "shame she was too chicken to stick around and get her butt kicked". So now I've got to go back there. And make him beg for my forgiveness (although, as regular readers know, I've never forgiven any man for anything. Why should I? They're pathetic and I'm perfect.)
In other news, "Nobody's master" Duane spent a full hour awake today. His bruises and swelling look absolutely horrendous and he's clearly in terrible pain, I'm pleased to report. The food I'm forcing him to eat seems to be going through and coming out the other end. If he wasn't chained on top of the open lavatory, he'd have made a nasty mess on my carpet. Of course, he can't operate the flush so he has to wait for me to do it for him. I'm not very careful about it, though. Every time I reach for the handle, I end up brushing his shoulder, compressing what's left of the bones in there and making him cry out. It really is quite funny...
Thursday 17 November 2005 17:00 GMT
"Leech! Imme orphine! Ain! De ain!"
(Translation from the Toothless/Tongueless original into normal English: "Please! Give me morphine! Pain! The pain!")
Guess who was sobbing those words all night long...
Well, it couldn't have been me. I just don't feel pain. You see, "pain" is your body's way of telling you that it has been, is being, or is in danger of being, damaged. My (perfect) body, naturally, cannot be damaged, so there's no need for it to register pain. Or discomfort.
The correct answer is, of course: it was Duane who was crying like a baby, pleading for pharmaceuticals. He's becoming such a pain (ha ha). I'm sure he would have rattled his chains too if he had been able to, but his broken bones and mutilated hands, not to mention the tightness of his bounds, made that impossible.
I went into the bathroom to laugh at him and say "no" to his plea for painkillers.
"Leech juch ill ee de!" he sobbed. ("Please just kill me then").
"And miss all this fun?" I laughed. "No, I won't be killing you for quite a while yet, Duane." I sat on the edge of the bath to watch him crying for a while. When I'd had enough, I stood up, said "Shut up!" and knocked him out by tapping the top of his head with a finger.
I turned around and left the flat to find a nice, proper macho man. Naturally, once I'd found an acceptable male, I had plenty more fun by making him cry, too.
Friday 18 November 2005 17:19 GMT
I've just decided to go on a little trip.
Not an insignificant morning (airborne) stroll to another continent like I enjoyed earlier in the week, but a real epic journey. Somewhere no-one (and in particular, no man has ever been. Somewhere no man will ever be able to go.
I am talking about defying the laws of physics and nature, redefining huge areas of scientific knowledge, travelling tens of millions of miles and surviving the supposedly unsurvivable. I should be back on Monday morning. Yes folks, all that is just a weekend trip for me.
Of course, dear old Duane will need feeding while I'm away. His injuries have left him so weak (even compared with the average pathetically weak male) that missing a couple of days food might be too much for him. So, I've set up a couple of tins to slowly dribble their contents into a funnel I've wedged between his gums. Don't worry, he can't move or pull it out because I've tightened his chains a little.
So it's up, up and away for me (but sob, sob and stay for Duane).
Monday 21 November 2005 17:30 GMT
So I’m back from my little trip.
I’ve travelled hundreds of millions of miles, seen what no-one from Earth has ever seen, experienced sensations that are beyond normal people’s comprehension and brought back some fascinating souvenirs.
As I flew into outer space, glancing over my shoulder at the shrinking Earth, I found myself going faster and faster. I realised I’d never really tested my maximum flying speed. I’d just never seen the need to push myself as hard as I can, certainly not within the confines of Earth. It might be interesting to try it one day though. Who knows what kinds of atmospheric (or other) disturbances I could cause flying around the globe at over a million miles an hour. It might be quite funny to find out.
Anyway, I was accelerating through space, marvelling at my ever increasing rate of progress. Before I knew it I saw the swirling clouds of Jupiter zooming towards me. Or rather, of course, I was zooming towards them. I almost couldn’t believe how quickly I got there. The planet is so huge, it overfilled my vision when I was still a huge distance away from the outer limits of its bizarre atmosphere. I steered myself towards the famous “red spot” and dived into the churning gases.
The deeper I got, the darker it became and the more the pressure increased. With my fantastic visual abilities, I was able to see my surroundings long after the most sensitive electronic equipment would have failed, but it was still rather like a normal person like you must feel in the centre of a thick (if colourful) fog. As for the pressure, well the electronic equipment would have been crushed to the size of a pinhead thousands of miles above where I first began to even notice anything.
Being invulnerable is fantastic. The “air” became wet as I plunged ever nearer the centre. This was methane gas, in liquid form. A spaceship would have crumpled up like an empty drinks can, but I was perfectly comfortable. After a while, I started to come across huge chunks of metal, floating in the gassy soup. It took me a while to realise that these were “clouds” of hydrogen gas turned solid by the phenomenal forces of the giant planet. I spent a few moments remoulding a few of them into interesting shapes with my hands. It was like working with soft modelling clay for me.
Finally, I made it to the core. The solid centre of the planet Jupiter where no man (and no machine any man will ever build) can ever penetrate. I could feel the pressure trying to squeeze my perfect body, kind of like an all-over hug, but it wasn’t at all painful. I’d estimate the force to be around 70 million times greater than the standard pressure you normal people just about cope with on the surface of Earth. To be honest, it didn’t even compress my soft-to-my-touch, rounded breasts.
I lay down on the surface of the planet. In the near perfect darkness, even I had difficulty to see with total clarity, but I could feel the substance beneath me. I recognised it at once. It’s a material I’ve come across before. Due to its hardness, it’s very easy to identify. Yes, folks, underneath around 40,000 miles of gas, Jupiter is just one very, very big diamond. You’d need a pretty big ring to set it in though!
Rolling over onto my belly, I had fun drawing pictures by scratching the surface with my fingernail. It’s not often I get to play with a diamond that big. I also made an interesting groove-based design by swinging my pendant chest and letting my perfect nipples gouge out a couple of chunks. Pressing my breasts firmly into the ground, I left a good impression of my magnificent bust on the planet’s surface, and just below that, carved “Blogger was here” into the solid diamond with a fingertip.
After that, there was little left to do except scoop up a couple of handfuls of Jovian “soil” and fly back up through the atmosphere. The gravity must have been enormous, but I lifted from the surface without any noticeable difficulty. I’ll admit that it is nice to reflect on the fact that even the solar system’s mightiest object cannot match me for power.
With my little trophies, I headed for home. I had a strange feeling as I approached my home world, seeing the little cloudy planet in its entirety before me. It looked so small, so vulnerable. All that could be mine so easily, I thought. I mean, all of it. The land, the resources, the people… To be honest though, I’m satisfied just knowing that the planet is mine for the taking (if ever I could be bothered…)
Anyway, I guess the two fist-sized chunks of flawless diamond that I took from Jupiter will be a bit too big to make into jewellery, but they do look nice on the shelf in my flat. I’d show them to Duane, but he’s asleep at the moment. He was just about conscious when I returned this morning, but when I greeted him by brushing him gently under his (broken) chin with my little finger, his head snapped back and he’s been out cold since.
At least he did consume the two cans of beans I left him with (not that he had any choice in the matter). I’m all out of beans now though. Not needing food, I don’t tend to keep any around the place. Luckily for him, I’ve got one tin left to throw into his funnel this evening. I’m sure he’ll enjoy it. It says on the can that it’s suitable for cats of all ages.
Tuesday 22 November 2005 17:24 GMT
After the weekend's history-making events, Monday was always going to be an anti-climax.
Earth might be teeming with life but it can be a pretty boring place for someone as perfect, gorgeous and powerful as me. Even torturing Duane seemed uninteresting today.
I'm going into town tonight to pick up some men. I doubt they'll be able to give me much entertainment, but I might be able to squeeze a few seconds' amusement from them. If that fails, I'll just have to pick a fight with an army or something...
Wednesday 23 November 2005 17:20 GMT
It’s the time of year that Americans like to give thanks.
The four businessmen I found yesterday evening, on their way to an airport, were certainly keen to get back to their families to celebrate the occasion. "Please let us go," one of them begged me after I'd stopped their taxi by grabbing hold of the back fender, lifting the rear wheels off the road, slowly overturning the vehicle, ripping the doors off with a one-fingered casual tug and pulling the expensively-dressed occupants out one by one. The driver I just kissed, sucking the air from his puny lungs until he was unconscious, and tossed him aside. He landed twenty yards away.
To say that the remaining passengers were frightened would be a huge understatement. "I can offer you money," one pleaded, "lots and lots of money!"
"I have cash!" blurted the terrified third.
"Me too!" the fourth one yelled, taking out his wallet. Naturally, I accepted every single note he and his colleagues had on them.
"Thanks for the money, boys." I said, insincerely.
"Can... can we go now?" one of them asked.
"Of course not!" I laughed, pushing him in the chest, making him fly through the air until he crashed down on his rear. Before he could stand up again, I had grabbed the three others by their collars, pulled them up and strolled over to the fallen man. I dropped the trio on top of him and let them all roll around in clumsy confusion for a while.
I bent over them and made short work of tearing off all their clothes. I should mention at this point that the temperature last night was only a couple of degrees above freezing. That's significant, because we were still outside, by the side of the road. Naturally, such chilly weather doesn't affect me (have I ever told you about the time I bathed in a vat of liquid nitrogen?) but these guys were shivering like crazy, teeth chattering, hairs on their arms and legs standing up, faces turning blue...
A few gentle exhalations of warm superbreath would have kept them nice and comfortable, so I didn't bother. Instead I stripped, grabbed them one by one, rubbed their faces briefly and gently against my chest until they were bruised but erect and forced their organs rapidly into and out of mine until each had ejaculated inside me as ferociously as he could. As I finished with one, I'd drop him back onto the cold hard ground and snatch up the next. Then I went through the whole group once more.
The cumulative effect of eight pathetic male orgasms was just enough to stimulate a release of my own. Once it had subsided I stood over the collapsed, naked quartet, my hands dominantly on my hips and announced. "Well, that was... OK, I suppose. Now, I believe you were on your way to celebrate Thanksgiving. Don't let me stop you. All of you get on your knees and give thanks to me for not killing you!"
I let them worship me in that way for about half an hour until I got bored. I could tell the exertions of satisfying me, coupled with the damage my body had done to theirs and the effects of exposure to the cold were taking their toll. Personally, I felt absolutely fine, but men, as they are forever demonstrating to me, are pathetic.
I gave them two parting gifts: The first was a blast of my heat-vision that reduced the pile of their already-torn clothes to ashes. The second was a gentle gust of superbreath that scattered them, rolling helplessly, into the bushes. After that I put my own clothes back on, made sure I picked up all the money they'd so kindly offered me, and soared off into the sky.
Thursday 24 November 2005 17:59 GMT
I had to hose Duane down this morning.
He was starting to smell, and although I can tune out even the strongest, most unpleasant odours, I was worried that the neighbours might notice and call the authorities. Besides, it would appear that cat food doesn’t agree with him, judging by the way he’d vomited it up over himself.
You should have heard him trying to scream! If he still had teeth and a whole tongue he’d have made a terrible racket. Such a sensitive soul. Just because the water was a little bit “hot”. The thermostat said 95 degrees C which as I told him, is a full five degrees short of boiling. I turned the hose briefly onto my hands and showed him that it didn’t hurt me in the slightest, but he didn’t shut up, so in the end I gave him a gentle slap. That kept him silent (and unconscious) for quite a few hours.
While he was “sleeping”, I checked his internet accounts. I was intrigued to see that a number of people had written to him during his brief, doomed spell as a mind-controller, asking to join his so-called “fan club”. Those fools must feel pretty stupid now. But that’s nothing compared to what they’ll feel if I ever get to meet them…
Anyway, I also found an order he had placed for a bulk pack of rechargeable batteries. I decided, out of idle curiosity, to pop round to the delivery address he had given. It was a four-storey building, and his flat was on the second floor. As I travelled by air to get there, I had to pass through two other people’s apartments to get to Duane’s. I did quite a bit of damage on the way through, too. Serves those people right for buying a flat in the same building as the jerk who tried to cross me.
Inside Duane’s flat I found the expected large quantity of computer gear, a number of electronic projects in various states of completion and a massive collection of soft-core pornography magazines. These, I obliterated with a blast of heat-vision. I also discovered a couple of academic certificates and a trophy, prominently displayed in such a way as to indicate that its owner was exceptionally proud to posses it. Engraved on the side were the words “Awarded to Duane Parkinson for Excellence in the field of Scientific Research.” I knew “Perkins” wasn’t his real name!
I snatched up the trophy and brought it home. When Duane finally came to, I held it up for him. “Guess where I’ve been, Mr. Parkinson.” I grinned as his eyes grew wide with recognition. He strained violently against his unmoving chains. I could see that the effort was hurting him terribly. Obviously, that trophy meant a lot to him.
I brought it up to my mouth and took a big bite from it, my perfect white teeth slicing through the solid metal with greater ease than your teeth would carve through soft ice-cream. I would have written “Duane’s teeth through soft ice cream” but, of course, he hasn’t got any anymore. Anyway, as he made all kinds of desperate, burbling noises and pulled pathetically (but painfully) against his chains, and tears rolled down his cheeks, stinging his cuts, burns and bruises, I slowly ate his precious trophy, chewing it up mouthful by mouthful, making a big show of swallowing each bite until there was nothing left (not even the wooden base).
When I was done, I licked my lips and with a cheerful “See you later!” turned on my heels and walked out of the bathroom.
Friday 25 November 2005 17:41 GMT
I was a bit bored this morning...
Nothing new there, of course. When you're a goddess, far beyond any challenge that the world (or the solar system for that matter) can set, a little bit of occasional boredom is an occupational hazard.
I was thinking of doing some shopping. I needed more food for Duane for starters. But then I thought, why should I waste any money on that jerk? I mean, I took almost two thousand in cash off those businessmen the other night; did I really want to waste as much as five on something as trivial as nourishment for a mere pet?
So, instead of going to the supermarket, I decided (completely spur of the moment) to look up the addresses of one of the poor fools who applied to join Duane's fan club. Entering through a window, (it was closed at the time so plenty of glass got smashed by my perfect, invulnerable body) I was just in time to find the Perkins-admirer trying to run out of his front door.
Of course, I caught up with and overtook him in an instant. Turning sideways on, I pinned the misguided male to the wall of his apartment without even using my hands. (It's an easy trick when you have a stunning figure like mine.)
Taking care not to crush him to paste with my magnificent bust, I laughed off his useless attempts to move even as much as a millimetre. I could tell that my large breasts pressing into his fragile chest were pushing him to the point of spontaneous orgasm, but I wasn't interested in giving him a sexual thrill. (It's just an inevitable side-effect of my physical perfection.)
"Your pathetic 'master' needs food." I told the fan-club applicant. "As you're such a great admirer of him, you will be providing it. Where's your fridge?"
"Hhhhhhhhhh" he said in reply. That's when I realised I was squeezing him a bit too tight with my chest. Honestly, men are so pathetic! I wasn't even leaning into him with any force at all. If I had been, no doubt he'd have instantly dissolved into a sticky mess and my breasts wouldn't even have lost their immaculate roundness for an instant.
Anyway, I leant back so he could get some air into his useless body and reply. As soon as he could, he blurted "First door on the left!" I didn't bother to thank him. I tore off his jacket and then I just gave him the gentlest of one-handed shoves that sent him flying the length of the corridor and crashing through another door to land in an unmoving heap.
Before he'd even come back down to the floor, I'd entered the kitchen. I ripped the door clean off the fridge and flung it over my shoulder so that it embedded itself in the far wall. Then I emptied a couple of shelves worth of food, wrapped them up in the Duane-fan's jacket and took off vertically from where I stood, smashing clean through the ceiling in a cloud of plaster. An instant later, I was through the flat upstairs and the roof of the building. I heard the shower of debris raining down beneath me, but I was already rocketing towards the sky.
When I got home, I unwrapped the food and force-fed it to Duane. Of course, I didn't bother telling him that his lunch had been "donated" by a "fan"...
Monday 28 November 2005 20:04 GMT
It was a bitterly cold weekend in these parts.
Not that such things mean anything to me (my nipples don't even get hard when the ambient temperature is near-as-dammit Absolute Zero, although they do get harder than any substance in the universe at any temperature when I'm in the right, um, mood...) Anyway, even though a mild cold snap is irrelevant to me, it's highly relevant to "normal" people. Like, for example, Duane.
You see, the heating's not been on in my flat because I don't need it. But chained up, naked, in the bathroom (the coldest room in the place) my slave has been sneezing and shivering and moaning even more than usual. So, to cheer him up (not really!) I decided to take him out to the park last night.
I unwrapped his chains from around his body and the toilet, leaving just one end wrapped around his wrists. That left about twenty feet of free chain. Taking hold of the other end, I went out, dragging the heavy links and the man behind me. Of course, he's too badly damaged (so many broken bones, so much swelling, some bits of him missing) to walk by himself, let alone fast enough to keep up with me, so I just tugged him along, scraping over carpet and then down the stairs like a reluctant dog being taken for a walk.
It was so funny hearing the dull thud, yelp, dull thud, yelp sequence of sounds and I dragged him step by step down three flights of stairs. I was barefoot myself and as soon as I got through the front door, I made a point of stepping on a discarded bottle, crushing it under my sole. Neither the sharp glass fragments, nor the cold bothered me, but you should have heard Duane a few seconds later as I pulled him over the loose shards!
I dragged him to the park, which unsurprisingly for 2 a.m. on a freezing night was deserted. For a while I played, twirling the length of chain with its human cargo at the far end over my head like a lasso. I jerked the chain, watching the shock wave pass from link to link until it flicked the idiot eight feet into the air. I threw him up, holding onto the chain so that he shoot upwards before suddenly jerking to a halt (and screaming in pain) as the thing became fully stretched just before he came crashing hard back to the ground.
Then, for a while, I turned him into a kite. Of course, there wasn't enough wind to make him fly, so I added my own, my superbreath holding him airborne and steering him through a series of ever more complex stunts like somersaults and figure-eights. It was hysterical making a man dance helplessly in the air just by gently blowing at him. In fact, the whole experience was tremendous fun.
All good things (except for me) come to an end, and eventually it was time to drag him back home, through the mud, over the broken glass and up the stairs. I tied him back up on the lavatory, making sure that even if he had a miraculous recovery, he still wouldn't have a chance of escape.
For a would-be ruler of Earth, I've got to say he makes an excellent toy. I'd recommend it to anyone with superpowers. Forget "soap-on-a-rope". Try "Duane-on-a-chain"!
Tuesday 29 November 2005 17:10 GMT
All these overcast days we're enjoying lately are no help when it comes to keeping my energy reserves full.
I remember the old days, before I first went into space and got properly exposed to solar radiation for an extended period of time (thanks for that, Ultragirl. Even if you were trying to kill me at the time, I'm grateful for the results.) I didn't have heat-vision or X-ray powers. And I couldn't even fly! I was just a hundred million times stronger than the average person, ten thousand times faster and completely invulnerable...
I suppose we all have to start somewhere. But I prefer things the way they are now. With me twenty times stronger and faster, able to melt a steel bridge with an angry look, spot a man hiding in the basement of a building from a mile above the thirtieth storey and, of course, fly loops around the fastest jet.
With that in mind, I headed out of the atmosphere to top up my "tan" this morning. I guess I'm getting used to being in outer space. Certainly, the original novelty has worn off. After a few hours of just floating around in the vacuum, soaking up sun-rays, I got pretty bored.
I took off at a relaxed speed, shooting past Mars and into the asteroid belt. Once there, I made up a new game, steering myself into the path of incoming chunks of space-rock and watching the ancient planetary fragments dissolving into so much cosmic dust as they impacted against my big, naked, invincible breasts. Some of those asteroids were large enough and travelling with sufficient velocity to knock a small planet out of orbit, but they barely caused my glorious mounds to slightly flatten. A split second later, the giant rocks were breaking apart and my chest was as round, proud and magnificent as ever.
After that, I was feeling pretty much as “charged up” as I get. No danger of going back to those only-a-hundred-million-times-stronger-than-you times. Oh, and incidentally, if any of the meteors I smashed ends up on an Earth-bound trajectory and crashes through your roof, just think how lucky you are to be so close to something that’s touched my glorious breasts!
Wednesday 30 November 2005 17:39 GMT
I've received an invitation to go and make beautiful music with a female fan over in America.
Normally, I'd turn this kind of thing down immediately. Firstly, if I want sex, well... I choose the partner and just help myself rather than waiting for an invite. Secondly, I'm not that into women. Sure, Ultragirl altered my opinions in that last respect but this person is no superhuman. What intrigues me though is that this female fan wants me to beat the crap out of her brother first. While she watches. It sounds a bit kinky. I may go.
What would you do in my place? Email me and let me know. email@example.com Of course I don't respect your opinion, but I'm curious to hear from other people nonetheless.