"..Visit this woman in the US. Allow her to try to arouse you. If a little fluid were to be exchanged... perhaps she might become a little more than human. You could let her experiment on a few men, with you there to see to her safety, if necessary. If any enhancement occurred, and after some practice on some others, she might be able to address her concerns with her brother herself. You might enjoy the show."
Just one of the emails I received on this theme. Here's another:
Now that you're so powered up, why don't you see if you can't share some of that power with your new lady-friend? The two of you could go on a rampage together. That'd be great!""
And one more:
"...If the other girl gets the same power as you, you two can make Ultragirl be your slave forever."
Well, it's a sweet thought. Thanks for taking the time to send it.
Truth is, I don't think that will happen. Certainly no man I've ever been with has emerged any less pathetic than when I started. Those that got to emerge in any way at all, that is. Why should it be any different with a woman?
If you want some love you should ask me. I can give you something no woman can."
You sound like just the sort of man I love to hurt. No sex, just some good-fun, casual violence. Bring your friends. (If you have any.)
I still haven't made up my mind on this one. I will permit you to send your thoughts, however, to: email@example.com
Monday 5 December 2005 18:16 GMT
So, I haven't gone running into the arms of my wannabe-friend in the US. I'm still thinking about it.
Something else I've been thinking about is Ultragirl. She's got her own blog now, it seems, at http://ultragirlspeaks .blogspot.com/. She says some interesting things about me. I can't decided whether I should find her and smash her into the centre of the earth, find her and show her the true meaning of super-love or just ignore her completely.
The only other thing of note (that I'm prepared to share with you) is that I gave Duane a haircut this morning. He was beginning to look a bit scruffy. I know, being a useless, pathetic male he can't help all the bruises and scars and so forth, but as I told him, he really should make more of an effort for me. Anyway, I helped him out with the coiffure.
Of course, I didn't have time for scissors. Never believed in them anyway, as they certainly don't work on me. (Not that my lovely hair ever needs cutting, but that's another story.) I did Duane's hair by simply pulling it out of his skull handful by handful. With my strength it was much easier than plucking blades of grass. You should have heard him scream as I did it, though! There were tears rolling down his face. If I could, I'd have cried too (with laughter).
Tuesday 6 December 2005 17:29 GMT
So, Ultragirl is telling the world how confused she is towards me.
She's not even afraid to admit that she's scared of me! And now it seems, her powers are wearing off (or at least at a low ebb right now). She can't even fly! Imagine that. What a role reversal. When I first encountered her, she was the one with mastery of the skies, and I was stuck on the surface of the Earth.
Now of course, I'm more powerful than ever. Never mind the skies, I have mastery of the universe while she gets a black eye. From a single bullet! One little, ordinary pathetic bullet. A nuke could detonate in my eye without even making me blink. And she gets bruised by one tiny bullet. Bruised!
She's so weak right now. She's there for the taking. I could do whatever I wanted with her...
I'm on my way!
Wednesday 7 December 2005 16:10 GMT
"You! What are you doing here?"
Not the best greeting I've ever received, but it was nice to see that Ultragirl was slightly taken aback by my arrival. Then again, I did zoom down from the sky towards her out in her garden rather fast (rather fast, that is, by my standards. That translates as "Unthinkably fast" by yours). I stopped dead in my tracks, hovering about fifteen feet above the ground.
"Well, don't you know how to welcome a special guest? Don't just sit there! Come up and join me." Her angry face fell a little at that. "Oh yeah, sorry," I said, insincerely. "I forgot. You can't these days. How ironic, eh? If it wasn't for you, dragging me out into space trying to kill me, I wouldn't be able to fly at all. Remember when we first met? How you were flying and I couldn't? How times have changed!"
"What do you want, Blogger?" she asked.
"So much for the famous Texan charm!" I joked. I started performing small loops through the air, teasing her with my flying skills. "You must really miss being about to do this!"
"Why don't you come down here and talk to me face-to-face?" she asked.
"OK." I agreed and came gracefully down onto my feet right in front of her, our noses just a few inches apart, our chests even closer to each other. As we eyeballed each other (she must have known how much more powerful I was than her at that moment, but to her credit, she maintained a defiant front), I said "You know, I never did get back to you after that time you took me into orbit. You were trying to kill me then, weren't you?"
"Now, Blogger, let's not do anything too hasty..." she started. It was the first indication that she was aware of my power superiority. It gave me confidence. I decided that I was going to punish her for what she had done, and punish her to the very limit of my (almost limitless) abilities. I was going to pummel her right through the centre of the Earth and back out the other side and then through the cores of a couple of other
planets. I was going to crush her until even the individual atoms of her body were broken. I drew back my fist and looked at the centre of her face where I intended to land it.
That face. That beautiful face. With its superhuman radiance. She was blinking her eyes in anticipation of the blow I was about to land, and that just seemed to make her even cuter. Suddenly I couldn't hit her. I dropped my fist and instead placed my palms on her cheeks and pulled her rich lips to mine for a kiss.
She squirmed a little, but she wasn't strong enough to escape my grasp. I could hear her muffled protesting. Then, she must have gathered all the strength she had to try and push me away. Her hands, shoving against my breasts with more force than any other hands (other than my own) have ever used, filled me with such an intense sensation that I removed my hands from her face and broke of the kiss for a second. I gasped. She gasped. Suddenly her hands were back on my chest, not pushing me away now, but actually cupping and massaging my mounds. She leant back towards me, her gorgeous lips pouting, inviting mine to press against them.
We kissed again, longer this time, my hands going behind her back, pulling her towards me. Ultragirl's hands left my chest and grabbed my rear, tightening our embrace. My large breasts met hers. Her own impressive chest squeezed against me, compressing my mounds further than any substance they've ever encountered. Her extended nipples dug exquisitely into my softest flesh and my own teats responded in kind to the warmth of her lovely breasts.
I felt her tongue brush my lips and opened my mouth to allow it inside. We explored each other's mouths for a while, playfully wrestling our tongues whilst our hands worked their way over the contours of each other's body with increasing fervour. I held her tight and floated off the ground, allowing her to enjoy the experience of flight for the first time in a while. And then we really got into it.
We're just having a brief break now so I can update my blog. Ultra's kindly allowed me to use her computer. Now, where were we?
Thursday 8 December 2005 16:19 GMT
I don't get tired. If I did, I'd be exhausted right now.
In the end, after posting yesterday's entry, Ultra and I just got right back to business again. I don't think I've ever known pleasure like it. We did everything... in every position. And then we did it again and again.
At one point, I was flying us about 1000 feet up, lying on my back, with Ultra on top of me, my fingers interlocked with hers. Suddenly, I noticed that she was not resting her whole body on mine. Only her lovely chest was touching me. "Ultra!" I said, moving out from under her, whilst continuing to hold her hands. "You're flying again!" And she was.
When we came back to ground, I noticed that she was squeezing me a lot tighter than before, too. It seems she picked up a little bit of power from me while we were "entertaining" each other. The thought of her suped-up intrigued me. I started to think of the fun we could have together and suggested we go looking for a well-equipped army to play with. For a few moments, I could tell that the idea was appealing to her, but in the end she let her pointless "code" get the better of her and declined.
I was disappointed. I knew I could probably force her into joining me, but that would not have been as much fun. It was all a bit of a reminder of how different our personalities are. I mean, sure the sex was fantastic, but other than the fact that we're both gorgeous, superhuman girls, we don't really have anything in common. That kind of broke the magic for me. Ultra and I had one more roll in the clouds before going our separate ways. I'm sure we'll hook up again soon, though.
Monday 12 December 2005 19:22 GMT
Everyone knows how useful it is to have friends in high places. Naturally, I have more than my fair share of that type of influential contact (as if anyone would refuse me a favour and still be capable of holding down a job afterwards..) Sometimes, however, it's the people you know in low places that can be the most rewarding.
How else would I have found out that a group of long-term inmates in a high security jail somewhere in the world were planning a mass breakout? And how could I turn down the chance to be present at such an auspicious social event? I shan't tell you where it took place. Suffice to say thousands of miles from my home or, to put it another way, quarter of an hour's recklessly fast flight which must have caused severe weather disruption for millions of ordinary people.
Anyway, I was on hand outside the perimeter of the jail, well in time. My superhuman hearing detected a disturbance within the complex so I used my X-ray vision to take a look. I could see immediately that the shouting was merely a diversion to draw the guards whilst a couple of the would-be escapees prepared a crude explosive. The prison staff did not have the benefit of my supersenses, and were completely fooled by the plan.
I waited patiently for the little bomb to go off, injuring a couple of screws and blasting a hole in a brick wall. The runners dived for it, sprinting across the yard to a rope that had been prepared to help them scale the outer perimeter. They were faced with a twenty foot drop on the other side, but fortunately for them I was waiting to catch each one, in turn, in my arms.
Unfortunately for them, however, after catching one, I would toss him thirty feet to the side with an effortless flick of my wrists. I soon built up quite a pile of shocked convicts.
When the last man had come over the wall and been thrown onto the heap, I made my way over and began pulling individual men out of the mass. They were all in excellent physical condition, and although I had to reject the ones that were already unconscious, I still found eight who were up to the job of pleasing me.
I tore their clothes away roughly and took them, one by one, up against the cold stone wall of their prison until the constant slamming of my hips against theirs and the continual crushing of their chests between the solid wall and my vastly more solid breasts was too much. Whenever that happened I just grabbed another until, finally, the supply was exhausted.
After that there was no more fun to be had, so I left the prison staff to clean up the damaged wall, their injured colleagues and all the broken, battered and used-up convicts I'd left scattered around whilst I flew, leisurely, home to force-feed Duane and amuse myself chaining him up to the toilet in a variety of painful (for him) positions.
Truth be told, those eight men combined gave me less than a tenth of the physical pleasure I experienced making love to Ultragirl. But I always get a huge sexual thrill out of completely dominating a man, so you can try to imagine how much I enjoy completely dominating a dozen men, all of them violent and supposedly fit and "strong"...
Tuesday 13 December 2005 19:48 GMT
I'm physically perfect, as you all know, but even I have to take a bath sometimes.
Not that I suffer from any body odour issues, naturally. My flawless skin always smells more fragrant than the finest perfume and dozens of times more alluring than any mere pheromone. The only thing is, from time to time, I feel a bit dirty. Nothing sticks to me, sure, and a short supersonic flight or run generates more than enough heat through friction to vaporise any impurity (if it's not part of me, it's impure) but some things make me want to bathe.
Like when I've been a bit careless (or just rough) with a "normal" person and ended up with a piece of them splattering on me. Or when a man has particularly pathetic control and releases his juice on me. (I always punish that especially severely.) Or some unpleasant chemical like napalm has been poured over my body. (It doesn't hurt, but I get looks in public and anyone who touches me for a while afterwards burns.)
Anyway, last night was bath night. Without going into how, I managed to get guts, sperm and napalm all over myself. (They thought they were playing war "games"! Well, I guess they were until I dropped in...)
Of course I don't bathe with clothes on. Which means Duane, a fixture since I chained his crippled body to the lavatory, got to see me naked. Even in his awful state, he could not help being affected by the glory of my beauty. His pathetic member (probably the only significant part of him I hadn't yet permanently injured) did its best to salute me. I sneered at its worthlessness and unleashed a very carefully controlled and directed blast of heat vision which badly burnt his most sensitive "manly" skin, without doing any damage inside his sorry excuse for a body.
Now, hilariously, he suffers terrible pain whenever he gets erect. What fun I've been having, parading my lovely curves in front of him, keeping him as hard and as agonised as he can get. Twice he spontaneously orgasmed, driven wild with lust by my body (thankfully without me even having to touch him) but each time I'd made him stiff again within a minute.
It was so entertaining that I've stuck some pictures of me posing all around his little "throne" to keep him in that amusing state of pain even when I'm not around.
Wednesday 14 December 2005 19:28 GMT
Here's one thing that all the superhuman strength, invulnerability, speed, intelligence and judgement I possess can't help with: no matter how hard I try, I can never underestimate the pathetic fragility of a man.
Case in point: Duane. You see, thanks to my amazing powers of hearing, I can tell that the constant state of pain and sexual arousal that he's been in for the last twenty-four hours has put a heavy strain on his heart. If things go on like this, his feeble ticker will fail completely. The consequences of that would be unacceptable; his punishment would be cut short, and so would my fun.
So, I've had to take down the pictures of myself I'd plastered on the walls around him to keep him "inspired". Instead of leaving him with a constant agony-inducing erection, I now give him periodic, temporary agony-inducing erections whenever I feel like it. It's so effortless. All men are easy to manipulate in that way. It's just another power I have over them. So many ways to dominate...
Thursday 15 December 2005 16:52 GMT
“Where are my guns?” I asked the colonel when we met as arranged in the middle of the dark forest last night.
Last time I met him, I’d made my requirements absolutely clear: he was to bring me some nice new, state-of-the-art, fully-loaded toys. I’d also carefully explained what would happen to him if he let me down.
Of course he refused to help at first. But that was before I’d pinned him to a wall with just the smallest finger of my left hand while standing in a casual pose, one knee bent, spare hand resting on my hip. He went through his entire repertoire of martial arts moves before breaking his hand on my face while I laughed at him. Then I released the pin and hoisted him two feet off the ground with a single hand under his chin without moving my right hand from my hip. “Don’t forget to bring the guns.” I told him as I dropped him and walked away.
So, here we were, meeting as scheduled. Surely he could not have gone to the trouble of turning up empty-handed?
I wasn’t to be disappointed. “You want guns?” he asked. “Have them!”
The speed at which he “whipped” out an Uzi was ridiculous. I could have run ten miles in the time it took him to “surprise” me with the weapon. It was as if he was moving in slow motion. I waited patiently for him to point the gun and pull the trigger.
A quick burst of bullets pinged across my stomach, ruing my T-shirt but feeling pleasant. “Do me a favour,” I started to say as he opened fire again, this time at my face. It felt like confetti being sprinkled over my eyes, nose and mouth. Even the shots that smacked directly into my eyeballs barely tickled. I rolled my eyes. The colonel’s jaw hung open and the blood drained from his face.
“As I was saying, colonel,” I kept my voice calm and chatty, “do me a favour and point that thing where it can do some good.” He didn’t reply, so I gave him a little prompt. “Come on, shoot me here.” I said, seductively tracing the outer circumference of one of my prominent nipples.
“Wha-?” The stupid male had obviously been so shocked by the sight of his gunfire bouncing off me like hailstones off a concrete roof that he’d lost what limited powers of thought he had to begin with.
“Shoot my tits!” I ordered. He looked up, perplexed and more than a little afraid. I decided to use that fear to provoke him into action. “Shoot my tits now, or I’ll kill you.”
That worked. A delicious sprinkling of hundreds of lumps of hot supersonic lead caressed my breasts, reducing my T-shirt to a few scraps of material, caressing my large womanly mounds and teasing my nipples. A couple of bullets got trapped in my deep cleavage so I hugged my chest and let my breasts squeeze the slugs first flat and then completely out of existence. Sadly, not longer after that, the colonel ran out of ammunition.
“Didn’t you bring any more bullets?” I pouted.
He shook his head, now visibly trembling.
“Then you’d better get back here same time tomorrow night with as many as you can carry.” I told him. “Oh, and bring a few friends. If you have any. And remember,” I floated off the ground as I spoke for dramatic effect, “I know where you live.” And with that, I took off for the sky.
Friday 23 December 2005 16:19 GMT
The mind. A dark, complicated and little-understood place.
That is where I have been for the past week. On a journey vastly more incredible, more awe-inspiring and more "impossible" than my trip to the core of Jupiter. People, I have been inside my own mind.
I'd been doing some experiments with the information I extracted from Duane before I broke his tongue, teeth and hands. I was trying to make myself immune from the effects of any other mind-controlling devices that might be out there, so that I never fall victim again.
I thought I'd found a way to be invulnerable to psychic attack. But I needed to test it. I needed to come under attack from a mind-controller device. Trouble was, I couldn't trust anybody else not to "do a Duane" and use me as some kind of tool to carry out their pathetic power-dreams or, worse, touch my perfect body without my permission (or my command.)
So, I had to use the device on myself. To try and use my mind to control... my mind.
To cut a long, weird story short, the machine went into a kind of feedback loop as part of my mind was electronically projected into itself.
Apparently, I should have died. I felt every emotion I've ever felt (enough to blow most brains, but with me it was mostly horniness, to be honest). I'm told that a normal person would also have experienced all their fears coming at once which would have caused certain heart failure. I guess I've never really been afraid of anything, because I don't remember that part.
But I do remember all my memories playing. All the men I've hurt. And raped. And killed. The violence. The destruction. For a week I was there, inside my thoughts with all those scenes on a constant loop.
To be honest, I quite enjoyed it. That’s why I waited seven days to switch the device off. I need to do some more work on my theories though…
Friday 30 December 2005 10:30 GMT
Enjoying the holiday season? Not as much as I am, but that shouldn't be a surprise. I do everything more than you.
My end of year has been packed with fun. I've created a new party game, called "Pin the Duane on the Ceiling". During one game, I accidentally pulled off a couple of his toes. It was hysterical. (For me, not him...)
And the gifts! I prefer cash to actual presents, obviously, but this year I got plenty of gold which is just as good. And no, I didn't steal it. It was voluntarily given to me. (I gave all the donors free choice: "Give me your wedding ring or I'll drop you over the edge". OK, so I did dangle them from the roofs of various buildings, but they still chose to hand over the rings. Is there any sight more entertaining than a big "strong" (ha ha!) man pleading for his life as he hangs helplessly from my single, delicate hand, all his
weight barely noticeable to my slender outstretched arm?)
The funniest present of all was hand-delivered all the way from America. On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me... Wait a moment. I can express that more accurately: "On the fourth day of Christmas, my occasional lay gave to me..." That's better. Anyway, here's what happened:
I got a ring on the bell at home and went down to open the door. There was no-one there but a large, square box wrapped in bright stripy paper had been left on the ground. The label read "To Blogger xxx." I was intrigued. Of course, unlike normal people, I don't have to open boxes these days to examine their contents. X-ray vision is so useful. However, someone had gone to great lengths to hide the inside of the gift from me, as the box was heavily lead-lined. That's when I realised it had been hand delivered by
someone stronger than the average feeble male. No man I know of could have lifted that much lead!
Not knowing of anything that can harm me, I wasn't afraid of opening the box, despite not knowing what was inside. I found out quickly anyway. As I tore off the paper and plunged my fingers through the thick lead casing (about as easy as plunging my fingers into soft butter, if you must ask) I saw a bright flash of light.
Fortunately for the entrance to my block, I have much, much faster than lightening reactions. Realising that the present was just a big bomb, I wrapped myself around it, partly to contain the explosion and save the building but mainly to ensure that I got to enjoy as much of the effects of the blast as possible.
It was nice. Red-hot chunks of torn lead slammed all over the front of my body, shredding my clothes before pinging off my invulnerable skin. Some shrapnel got caught in my cleavage and I amused myself pressing my lovely breasts together and watching them compress the solid chunks of metal until they vaporised. All in all, a very pleasant seasonal surprise.
I knew the only person who could have arranged and delivered it was Ultragirl. Too bad I didn't get anything for her in return. I was thinking of going over to the States next week to deal with some other unfinished business. Maybe I'll pop by Ultra's and say thank you in my own, unique way.