I won't wish you a happy new year. I'm happy and I intend to stay that way for a lot longer than just the next 52 weeks (and I always get what I want). As for you and everybody else, well, I couldn't care less.
As you know, New Year is a time for resolutions. Mine is this: I've decided to declare 2006 the International Year of Me. That means I'll be expecting to be shown the appropriate level of respect wherever I go. The appropriate level of respect for any "normal" creature in the presence of a goddess such as myself is, of course, worship, humble adoration and total submission. That goes double for males.
This is even more my year than any other. This year I won't be showing my soft, caring, easy-going forgiving side at all. I've had enough of inferior beings. I'm going to be putting myself first. Anyone who doesn't think that's a great idea should stay very far from my way.
As you can no doubt tell, I'm still very much in the party mood. I gatecrashed an excellent new year's event which was terrific fun. I say "gatecrashed" because there was a twenty-foot high, chained and padlocked, bared-wire-topped, electrified metal gate... I planted my hands on my hips, thrust out my glorious chest and just "crashed" though it.
Parties on army bases are always enjoyable. First, there's all the fit young men trying to hurt me with their noisy rifles, machine guns and grenades. I love the way those things tickle! Then, after letting the firearm-play last as long as possible before everyone left standing has surrendered, you can play "line up the remaining men and force them to try and satisfy you sexually", which is always a firm party favourite with me. I didn't leave until the very last soldier fell unconscious at my feet (his ribs cracked where I'd pulled him against my large, sexy breasts).
I got home and took a nice long bath in front of Duane. He's still experiencing a lot of pain every time he becomes "aroused." Of course, the sight of my naked perfection as I slowly caressed each of my fabulous curves was more arousing than anything he'd ever dreamed of before. His yelps of agony were a lovely accompaniment to my soak.
Tuesday 3 January 2006 17:00 GMT
I’ve been looking at the picture of Ultragirl’s new costume that she’s posted on her blog. And all I can say is… if she wants a power boost, all she has to do is ask. Girl, that look is hot. So hot, I might not even wait for her to ask me…
I’ve also been getting a lot of insubordination from a correspondent in the US. I think tomorrow might be a good time to pop over there and put a few things straight. Get the red carpet ready, folks. This is no ordinary visit. Remember, 2006 is the International Year of Me. That means I expect even greater respect when I travel abroad. Or else.
Wednesday 4 January 2006 16:59 GMT
Regular readers will know that I never brag. I just report what happens in my life. If that seems like bragging, it's just because I (and my life) are so amazing.
Anyway, purely for reporting purposes and not for bragging, here's a picture of what I had fun with this morning:
Yes, Ultragirl is looking pretty hot these days, isn't she! Almost, you could say, as hot as me. Almost.
Anyway, here's what happened:
I flew over, as planned, to the North Western U.S. It's a 5,000-mile journey as the Blogger flies, but, as I was taking my time, it took almost half-an-hour to get there. I landed on the lawn in front of the house I'd thrown a tree through the other month. Even though the trunk had been removed, the damage I'd caused to the building was still clear to see. Putting my hands on my hips I shouted up at the house: "Hey! Is this anyway to treat a visiting goddess? Where's the red carpet?"
Eventually the man I'd been hoping to meet came out to greet me. "I wouldn't even put out an old towel for a bimbo like you," he said, stupidly. "No woman is worth that kind of trouble."
I laughed. "Do you know who I am?"
"Yeah. You're the bag-of-bones bitch from the internet. You don't scare me."
"There's more to me than bones." I pointed out, thrusting out the magnificent swell of my breasts. I picked up the inevitable acceleration of heart-rate. He just couldn't help but stare. I chuckled.
"You need a slap, bitch." He said, trying to hide the way my body was distracting him.
"You're welcome to try." I told him. He approached me, and actually did try and whack the palm of his hand on the side of my face. Of course I didn't blink. His hand went bright red. There were tears forming in his eyes as he tried to hide the obvious pain he was in.
"Let me show you how it's supposed to be done." I smiled, slowly extending the middle finger of my left hand. I used it to flick him in the chest, a blow strong enough to lift him off the ground and send him hurtling backwards twenty yards until his back hit the wall of his house. By the time he'd shaken the dizziness out of his head, I was already standing over him, hands on hips.
"Still not scared?" I asked him as he climbed awkwardly to his feet.
"Fuck off, bitch!" was his "clever" comeback. He balled up a fist and drove it at my stomach. He was so slow! I didn't bother letting him hurt his knuckles on my flat abdomen. Instead I caught his fist in my hand and held it. And slowly squeezed. He fought like hell not to cry out, but of course, I won and he was forced to scream in agony.
I let go of his fist and took a hold of his throat, raising his whole body off the ground with one hand whilst my spare palm rested casually on my hip. "Now you're really going to feel pain." I told him. I was going to slam him against the side of his house when I heard a familiar whooshing sound behind me. Immediately I dropped the jerk and whirled around. That's when I saw Ultragirl in her new costume. Even I was stunned by that sight.
"Leave him alone Blogger." she said.
"No," I retorted. "He's mine. You can watch if you like, though."
"I said: 'leave him alone'." she repeated, insistently.
"Get lost, blondie," said the jerk, surprising both Ultra and I. "I don't need some big-titted bimbo to rescue me from a chick!"
"Fine, then." Ultra said, making me laugh. "He's all yours, Blogger."
I picked him up by the throat again, this time turning around to face Ultragirl as I held the jerk. For her benefit as much as anything else, I brought his head down to my chest and stroked his face across my large breasts. "Ow! Ow!" he cried as each of my mounds smacked his head as hard as a boxer's punch. A bruise began to form on his cheek.
I could see that Ultra was watching my display of "breast-power" intently, so I pulled the idiot's head back across my upper body, making him scream twice more and bruising his other cheek. I was starting to have fun.
I tugged his face full on against my right breast and heard the satisfying "Crunch!" of a man's nose breaking. There was blood pouring over his lips.
"That's enough now. You've made your point." Ultragirl said.
"Not ‘till he begs." I replied, slamming his head into my other mound. This time, he really screamed. A fresh trickle of red appeared just under his eye. The surrounding flesh turned rapidly purple and began to swell impressively. I merely positioned his face for the next blow.
"OK. OK." the jerk croaked. "I've had enough." I smashed his mouth against my chest, splitting his top lip and breaking several teeth.
"Aaaargh!" he yelled.
"Come on," said Ultragirl. "He's asked you to stop. Leave it now."
"I said: Not ‘till he begs." I reiterated, rubbing the guy's battered features hard across my bosoms, making him shout:
"Ow! Ow! OK! You win! Please! Please! Stop! Ow! Please!"
"OK, he's begging. Lesson taught. Let him go now," said Ultra.
"Just one more for luck." I said, lifting his face away from my body and preparing to slam it one last time against my feminine glory.
"No, don't!" Ultragirl called. "You'll kill him!"
"And?" I asked.
"That's murder! I can't let you do that!" Ultra said.
"Please! Please! Don't kill me please!" the jerk begged, tears rolling down his messed-up face.
I laughed. "As if either of you could stop me!" I exclaimed, readying myself for the final impact of idiot against breasts. But something made me stop in my tracks. Something I saw, out of the corner of my eye. Ultragirl had slipped one strap of her sexy top over her shoulder, offering a tantalising glimpse of her wonderful chest.
"Blogger," Ultragirl called. "wouldn't you rather be playing with me?"
I needed no second invitation. I let the jerk fall at my feet, forgetting him instantly as I stared at the vision of female beauty. In less than a microsecond, I was standing in front of her, slowly lifting aside the other strap of her top. The material fell away, revealing her breasts in all their glory. Hungrily I reached up to stroke her fantastic mounds. Then I kissed each of her nipples, one after the other.
My hand made its way inside the waist band of her blue-and-red panties. Ultragirl sighed and pressed her body against mine. I left her chest to plant my lips over hers, our tongues playfully flicking in and out of each other's mouths.
"I... I'm not sure about this." she said, as I lowered her to the ground. I flung myself on top of her.
"Anything that feels this good must be alright." I told her.
"No," she said. "Please, I... I... don't think I'm ready." She tried to get up but I pinned her effortlessly.
"Shhh." I said, kissing her, holding her down and slowly grinding my body against hers. I didn't notice any more protests after that.
When we were finally done, I was still lying on top of her, but now at the bottom of a ten-yard wide, twenty-foot deep crater. We must have created it with our passion. Ultragirl stood up, putting her costume back on. "I... I have to go." she said.
"Stay." I said, reaching for her arm. She pulled it away, and took to the air. She hadn't been flying before we made love. She must have gained some power from me once again. I was about to fly off after her, but decided against it and instead headed back for home, leaving the badly battered jerk lying in front of his house. There was no point creating a scene with Ultragirl. She and I both know I'm vastly more powerful than she is right now.
And she is so gorgeous....
Thursday 5 January 2006 17:20 GMT
I've been doing some more experiments with Duane's mind control theories.
He really did make some startling discoveries before his brilliant scientific career was so abruptly cut short. But that was his fault. I had to cripple and imprison him. No-one can expect to mess me around without facing the consequences...
Anyway, to ensure there were no weird accidents like last time when I ended up wandering around my own thoughts for a week, I changed things around. I still kept the controlling side of things with me (I'm much happier when I'm in control) but I switched the receiving end to a convenient "guinea pig". Well, it would have been a crime against irony not to use Duane for my experiments!
It was so easy to take control of his mind. I got him to say "Ahh uuu eeeiii uuuaaa iiooa" which would have been a lot funnier if he still had his teeth and the front half of his tongue. For the record, he was trying to pronounce the phrase "I love being Blogger's prisoner".
Much more amusing was his pathetic attempts, on my mental command, to punch himself. His arm, which of course, I broke, is setting crookedly and looks hysterical when he moves it. Then there was his useless fist made of his three remaining fingers which I've left permanently twisted. I could tell he was carrying out my unspoken orders to the letter, but as a result of all that mutilation, he couldn't really hurt himself at all no matter how hard I instructed him to punch himself.
In the end, having declared the experiment a complete success, I broke the mind-link. I thanked Duane for his co-operation by using my own, perfect, hand to give him the punch he was incapable of managing. Just a light one, naturally. He should come round in a couple of days.
Friday 6 January 2006 17:12 GMT
To the victor, the spoils.
Of course, I was the victor. The competition wasn't even my idea, but, as ever, I won. The "prize" was my idea, but I fully deserved it. And fully enjoyed it.
Let me set the scene: I got a message yesterday evening at home: "Would you like a race?" Normally of course I'd have laughed and either ignored the message or ignored the message and beaten up the sender. But this was different. The sender was Ultragirl. And the race she was proposing was interesting enough to pique my curiosity. She sent me a map of the race route and the rules: Absolutely NO flying allowed.
Written at the end of the message was: 2Of course, if you think it's too physically demanding, or you're scared of finishing second to me, you can always refuse." That did it. I decided to take part, if anything just to prove that nothing is too physically demanding for me, and that I had no fear whatsoever that I might not win.
I arrived at the agreed starting point just seconds before the race was supposed to begin. Travelling several thousand miles might not seem like the best preparation to you, but it didn't make any difference to me. Both Ultra and I chose to run barefoot as the shoes that can withstand the sort of heat and friction we would be generating haven't been invented. I let her count us off: "3.. 2... 1... Go!" Here's a copy of our route:
I discovered pretty much straight away that I was a hell of a lot faster than Ultragirl over land. I could have streaked ahead in no time at all, but I chose not to. In fact, I held back considerably for most of the course. There was a very simple reason for this: I couldn't see her wonderful tight arse when I was in the lead. So I went slow, keeping myself just behind her as we streaked across the continents.
Flying was forbidden, and for once I thought it would be more fun to stay within the rules. We were allowed to jump over border fences and other obstacles, but we had to run over mountains and swim across seas and oceans. I made sure my slip-stream caused plenty of inconvenience to thousands and thousands of people who had no idea what was happening as I shot past in a blur.
I only started to approach my normal speed towards the finish. I moved effortlessly past Ultra into the lead. In fact, I built up such an advantage so quickly, that I had time to take a tiny detour from the prearranged path just to have a bit of fun with a couple of big navy warships. With my hands clasped behind my back, I tore a big hole in the thick armour on the side of a destroyer using just my breasts. Then with a carefully aimed jet of superbreath, I made another smaller vessel spin on the water until the crew passed out. Laughing, I returned to the actual race at my leisure.
Despite all that, I had to wait an age for Ultra at the finish line. I was bored, and thought about starting a second lap (35,000 miles is nowhere near enough to tire me out) but decided to hang on for her. When she eventually arrived, she looked exhausted. She was puffing for breath and ready to collapse. When I had finished I had been as fresh as when I started!
"I won! I won!" I cried as she practically crawled across the finish line, a very, very distant second.
"Huh?" she gasped. "How... long... have... you... been.... here?" she asked, incredulously, still struggling for air.
"Ages!" I laughed. "So what's my prize?"
"Prize?... I... hadn't.... thought... of...."
"Never mind!" I said. "I know what I'll have." I leapt on her.
"Not... now.... please.... Blogger...." she panted as I easily held her down, completely ignoring her attempts to push me off. I held both her wrists with just one of my hands and removed her costume, squeezing one of her wonderful breasts. She squealed. If she resisted any further, I didn't notice.
She was even more exhausted by the time I'd finished with her.
"Thanks for the race," I said, standing up as she stayed on the ground, trying to recover. "That was fun. Let's do it again sometime. But let's make it a proper distance next time, eh?" And with that, I took to the air, full of the joys of victory and the joys of making love to Ultragirl. It's great being me!
Monday 9 January 2006 17:52 GMT
Let me start today with a rebuttal.
I did not as Ultragirl claims in her blog and on the superwomenmania.com forum, cheat in the race last week.
I did not take any short cuts. I took a long cut (of sorts) by taking time out to play with a couple of ships, but that was in addition to the race route. I covered every single inch of the course.
Truth be told, had I run at something approaching full speed from the start, I could have gone round the route twice in the time it took Ultra to do it once. And she was out of breath (quite dramatically) when she finished, regardless of what she might say.
How can someone who boasts of living her life according to some ridiculous “code of honour” tell such blatant lies? One minute she comes up with some nonsense like “Oh Blogger, don’t hurt those poor men, it’s ‘wrong’” (whatever that means). The next she’s showing herself to be a very poor loser and an out-and-out liar!
If she wasn’t so pretty, I’d pound her through the centre of the Earth and back out the other side for those remarks. But I suspect she’s only trying to get my attention. She says she wants a re-run. She just wants a re-run of the post-race fun. If she had the courage to ask me outright, I might even consider it. She is, after all, the best I’ve ever had in the sack. By quite a margin.
Anyway, I’m going out tonight to visit a lab (they don’t know I’m coming. I love surprises!) where some arrogant scientist thinks he’s created an “indestructible” cloth. If he has, I’ll order a couple of outfits. More than likely, however, I’ll prove him wrong. I mean, “indestructible” is one thing. “Blogger-proof” is another thing altogether…
Tuesday 10 January 2006 16:40 GMT
“Hi,” I said, “I’m looking for the indestructible fabric.”
“Er…” the security guard replied. His lack of verbosity was hardly surprising given that I’d just entered the building by leaping over a twelve-foot barbed-wire fence and kicking a ferocious attack dog as good as into orbit before smashing right through an inch-thick sealed steel panel as if it were aluminium foil.
In order to encourage the mumbling fool into divulging the information I was after, I gently took hold of his throat and lifted him a few inches off the ground. People generally react in one of three ways when I do that to them. This guy (again, unsurprisingly given the nature of his employment) was a kick-shins, punch-belly, try-to-prise-fingers-off-throat kind of fellow. I let him struggle for a full thirty seconds until he’d broken one set of knuckles and contused both his feet (he must have really kicked me hard to do that kind of damage to himself, because he was wearing heavy-duty boots). I, meanwhile, would have experienced more discomfort being stroked with a feather.
“I take it you now realise that I’m superhuman and that all your efforts are about as effective as trying to extinguish the sun with a drop of water?” I asked.
“Wh… Who… are…. you?” he gasped. It’s not easy for a man to talk when I’m holding him off the floor by his neck.
“I’m asking the questions.” I told him. “Now, do you accept that I am superhuman and you are powerless against me?” I tightened the fingers around his windpipe for effect. For a frantic few seconds he tried to loosen my grip with his good hand, but he quickly understood that it wasn’t going to happen.
He made a strange sound and then, realising that he couldn’t speak at all with my hand restricting his vocal chords so effectively, nodded his head. I relaxed my hold a little, and he eagerly gulped down air, all the while staring at me in shock.
“Great. I’m glad we’ve got that straight.” I told him. “Do you also accept that I could snap you in two more easily than you could snap a twig?” He hesitated for a moment. I helped him out by using my free hand to tear a small strip of steel from the door I’d walked through. Bringing the piece of metal up in front of his face, I squeezed it in my fist until it began to ooze out between my fingers. “Put it this way,” I suggested, “is your flabby body as tough as this steel? If not, then you have to accept that yes, I could snap you like a twig.”
“I accept! I accept!” he blurted, looking at the semi-molten steel in my hand.
“Well done.” I patronised. “Now we understand each other, we’ve got a great basis for a relationship. So, can you tell me where I can find the indestructible fabric or am I about to kill you? It’s your call. I really don’t mind which option you choose.”
“Second floor! The textiles lab is on the second floor! Please don’t kill me!”
“Thanks.” I said. “You’ve been most helpful.” I released my fingers around his throat. He didn’t have far to fall, but both his feet were injured so he yelped when he landed on them and fell in a most undignified way onto his rump. I didn’t spare him a second thought as I flew straight up, the crown of my head smashing through the plaster, concrete and steel support beams in the ceiling as though they were as brittle as ancient parchment.
By the time all that debris had rained down on top the security guard, I’d already shot through the ceiling of the floor above, dislodging and breaking more material (including some rather expensive-looking specialist ceramic floor tiles) which fell through the two new holes onto the prostrate man below. It just wasn’t his day, I guess.
I emerged in a small prep room and brushed all the small bits of broken stone and metal from my hair and the front of my T-shirt. The little room had two doors. Helpfully, there was a sign on one of them that read “Textile Laboratory.” The door might have been unlocked, but I took no chances, walking into it with my hands behind my back and my chest thrust out, my large, perfect breasts stretching the material of my T-shirt until I could actually hear the fibres groaning. Of course, my prominent nipples barely got to make contact with the door before it was forced off its hinges by the pressure I exerted through them.
The dislodged door travelled until it hit a heavy workbench and smashed into firewood. Ignoring it, I scanned the lab. It was dark in there (the lights were off and there were no windows) but that’s never stopped me. I spotted a large square glass tank in the middle of the room in which a single piece of cloth, about the size of a handkerchief, was mounted on some kind of cloth-holder. That had to be it.
I used my heat-vision, narrowing my eyes and projecting a beam of energy that warmed the casing of the tank to beyond the melting point of glass in a split-second. The glass case just seemed to collapse into goo, leaving the object of my visit utterly exposed. I reached in and took it.
It felt a bit like cotton. I was excited at first, thinking how it could be used to make all kinds of indestructible costumes. Not to mention lingerie. I wondered if it could be dyed, or stitched or cut. Then it occurred to me that I needed to test its strength first. I took a corner in each hand and slowly pulled them apart.
Nothing happened for the first instant. “Wow!” I thought “This stuff really is indestructible!”
Then, with a loud Rip! the whole piece just tore down the middle. It wasn’t indestructible at all! Maybe it had withstood a few lab tests. Maybe it had survived being stretched by powerful heavy machinery. But in my delicate hands, it had lasted about three-quarters of a second. I swore and stamped my foot in anger at my wasted time, making the entire building shake and causing quite a few bottles and jars to fall off their shelves.
I’ll bet the scientists involved with that pathetic experiment were men. It would be so typical of a man to call something “indestructible” when in reality it just falls apart in my hands.
I’d had enough of the lab. I sprung up off my toes, smashing through the lab’s ceiling. My body tore though quite a lot of electrical cable and air-conditioning ducts that were hidden up there, sparks arcing through the darkness as I burst out of the roof. I headed straight for home, in a foul mood.
On the doormat I found a small card that had been pushed through my letterbox. Printed on it, in some fancy font was the heading “Magician Zara”. Underneath was written, in fountain pen: “Hi, I’m a friend of Ultragirl. I called ‘round, but you were out. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve borrowed your little man-pet. He looked like he needed a little bit of Zara-care. Love, Zara.”
“Who the fuck is Zara?” I demanded, out loud as I stormed into the bathroom. To my shock, there was no sign of Duane in there. The chains that had been binding him to the lavatory had gone too. In their place there was nothing but a series of short paper-chains (the kind people hang for decoration). No trace anywhere of the mind-control geek. No footprints, no crawl-marks. Nothing. I couldn’t even pick up his scent. It was as if he’d just vanished into thin air.
I opened the window and flew out, tracing ever-growing circles around my flat in the hope that I would spot him making his get-away, but I drew a complete blank. How the hell can a mere man (a badly crippled man at that) escape from me? He can’t. That’s how. Someone must have helped him. My next move has to be: track down Ultragirl and see what she knows about her “friend”, this “Zara”. Duane is my property. No-one pisses about with my property.
Wednesday 11 January 2006 17:35 GMT
Since I posted the last entry, things have been a bit, well, weird.
I finished the blog and, without bothering to make any preparations, flew off out of the window, heading West towards Ultragirl. I had a few questions for her that I was eager to have answered, and I wasn’t holding much back in terms of speed. As a result I broke the sound barrier just yards from my building (and in the process broke half the windows in the street) as I rocketed away.
Travelling at those kinds of velocities creates dramatic displacements of air. Millions of people must’ve experienced unusual weather (streaking clouds, sudden short bursts of violent rain and freakish gusts of wind), but that’s the price the world has to pay when I’m in a hurry.
Anyway, I was over the Atlantic Ocean inside minutes. I was expecting a quick and uneventful journey and I’d already decided that I wasn’t going to stop for anything. If any aircraft crossed my path, well, that would have been their bad luck. I was on a mission to get back what had been stolen from me and nothing was going to distract me from that.
Or so I thought.
Well, what would you have done? I mean, there I was, streaking across the globe at tens of thousands of miles an hour, maintaining an altitude of around fifteen thousand feet, when I heard a distinctly feminine voice beside me saying “Ah, there you are!” Of course, I turned to look. This is what a saw:
“Floating” alongside me, matching my pace precisely, was a young woman with long black hair, large green eyes with thick black lashes and rich dark lips. She was dressed in a long black dress which was cut so low in the front that almost all of her voluptuous chest between her nipples was visible. She wasn’t flying as such. It was more like sitting crossed-legged, her dress covering her knees so that only the long high heels of a pair of black boots were visible. And here’s the really freaky bit: she was sitting on what looked to be a small pink cloud.
Was it some kind of aircraft? No! I used my X-ray vision to examine it, and saw nothing inside the pink cloud but… well, pink cloud. Just as strange, my X-ray vision seemed completely unable to penetrate the girl’s gothic outfit. (I was curious, OK.)
“Who, and more to the point, what the fuck are you?” I demanded.
“They said you were a charmer,” the young woman replied with a patronising smile. I did what seemed to be the most natural thing in response. I swung at her with my right fist, making sure that I put plenty of power behind it. As you know, “plenty” of my power equates to a force greater than anything your minds can imagine. In other words, it was a punch that would easily have split a mountain in two or capsized a battleship. Or reduced a person to a collection of scattered atoms.
In this case, there was no collection of scattered atoms. In fact, there was nothing. Nothing at all. Literally. My fist and forearm just went right “through” the girl in black. I felt nothing but air.
“You didn’t expect me to actually be here?” she asked, in mock astonishment. Her smug tone was really beginning to piss me off. In anger more than anything else, I aimed a fierce blast of heat vision at the centre of her head. The energy beams passed right through their target and vaporised a large cloud some distance away. “Er, hello?” she said “Can you hear me? I’m not here!”
“Then where the fuck are you, bitch?” I demanded.
“Oh, here and there,” she said, disinterestedly. “it doesn’t really matter. I can talk to you just fine like this and it’s a lot more comfortable than shooting through the sky like a demented rocket. Such an undignified way to travel.”
“I’ll undignify you!” I threatened.
“Really!” she feigned disapproval. “A little politeness goes a long way, you know. You’d be amazed how people respond when you act civilly towards them.”
“I get what I want from people without all that ‘act nice’ crap, thank you.” I told her.
“Yes, yes, they tell me you’re very good at throwing your strength around.”
“Who’s ‘they’?” I demanded. “Who’s told you about me? And who the fuck are you?”
“Tsk, tsk,” she shook her head, “you really do need to learn some manners. Ask me nicely, and I’ll think about telling you. But if you’re just going to be rude and use coarse language, well, I have better things to do.”
I knew I was being wound up. I decided that losing my cool would just be handing this mysterious girl a victory of sorts. Then again, there was no way I was going to give in and ask politely.
“Tell you what,” I offered. “We (or rather just me seeing as you’re not actually here) will be over the east coast of America in a minute or so. If you would be so kind as to tell me who the fuck you are and who the fuck told you about me, I’ll be lovely and polite and not destroy New York. Is that civil enough for you?”
There was a tiny flicker in the girl’s superior expression. Just a hint of shock. She hid it quickly, but I definitely saw it. “You wouldn’t!” she exclaimed.
“You’re most welcome to stick around and find out.” I said.
“You really are a special case,” she said, shaking her head. “Very well, then. I shall tell you. My name is Zara.”
I should have known, of course. “You have something of mine.” I said, calmly. “I want it back.”
“All in good time, my dear.”
“No. Now.” I insisted. “Or I swear I’ll kill millions!”
“So impatient!” she criticised. “And so unnecessarily melodramatic!”
To add weight to my threat I altered my trajectory, going into a shallow dive that saw me pointed precisely towards the centre of Times Square which was still about fifty miles away. Nonetheless, Zara read my intentions. “There really is no need for this,” she said.
“Tell me where I can find you FOR REAL or you’re going to have a lot of blood on your conscience!” I warned her.
“On your conscience, too,” she pointed out.
“I don’t really have one.” I said, truthfully.
“No,” she said, suddenly less confident, “you don’t seem to. Alright. Perhaps it is best if we continue this discussion in a more…. traditional setting.”
“So, where are you?” I reiterated the question.
“Why, in your apartment of course. I’ve been here all the while.”
“You’d better not be lying!” I said as I executed the tightest and fastest U-turn in the history of aerodynamics. In the split-second it took to right myself in the air again, the pink cloud and its bizarre passenger had disappeared.
I’ve never crossed the Atlantic so fast. Nothing has ever crossed the Atlantic so fast. I can only guess at the amount of force I had to withstand decelerating so as not to destroy my entire district when I got home.
As for what I found when I got there…. Well, you’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out, won’t you.
Thursday 12 January 2006 21:40 GMT
OK, OK. You want to know what happened when I got back to my place...
I flew through the window only slightly faster than the speed of sound, decelerating to zero in the space of half a yard. The displaced air of my arrival knocked over most of my furniture and smashed a picture on the wall. That annoyed me (it was a picture of myself). All the chairs tipped over. Except one.
The one that Zara was sitting on.
Her jet black hair was blown back by the brief gust but otherwise she didn't seem affected. "My, you are fast!" she observed, before destroying the compliment by adding "for someone who has to travel by boring old conventional means."
"Conventional?" I admit I was pretty flabbergasted by the adjective.
"Non-magical." she said, by means of explanation, offhandedly.
I rolled my eyes. "I've never been impressed by conjurers" I told her, truthfully.
"Me neither." she smiled. That caught me off-guard. "Then, again," she added, "conjurers couldn't do this-" She lifted a long arm, the material of her loose black sleeve flowing with her movement, and pointed at nothing in particular. There was a sound, like an animal's scream and then, in mid-air, right in the middle of my living room, a dark circle began to form. It grew more intense and began spinning and in a short moment what appeared to be a swirling, infinite vortex opened up. It must have been four feet in diameter, its lowest point three feet above the carpet.
Immediately, I dashed around the other side of the apparition to see if I could spot a projector (that's how the villains did it in Scooby Doo) or some mirrors or perhaps a couple of nylon cables. Instead, I got a shock. Because, from the other side, the swirling tunnel was completely invisible. The room looked utterly normal. I moved at superspeed around to where I'd been before. Sure enough the mysterious, never-ending hole was there, clear as day.
"It only exists on one plane." Zara told me, as if that would clear up my confusion. "From behind, a moth can fly right through it unharmed. But anything that enters from this side vanishes into infinity. I can see you're curious. Why don't you try it?"
I couldn't resist. I picked up a fallen chair and tossed it towards the black shape. A brief flash of light filled the room, and I swear I distinctly saw the chair join with the swirling blackness, spinning and getting ever smaller until it completely disappeared from sight. I tried to hide how impressed I was. "Where's the chair now?" I asked, sounding as only-mildly-interested as I could manage.
"Still spinning on its way to infinity." Zara said, proudly, making it clear that she detected my surprise. "It takes a long time to get to infinity, in fact-"
"-Don't tell me," I interrupted. "It takes forever?"
"Well, until the end of Time, anyway." Satisfied that her demonstration had been successful she waved her hand casually through the air and the vortex instantly disappeared.
"You should get those into the shops in time for next Christmas." I said.
"Perhaps not. I think it would be far too dangerous for ordinary people to play with," she answered. There was something about the way she said the word "dangerous" that seemed to carry a threat. Was she intending to shove me into one of those vortices?
"OK, enough party tricks." I announced, regaining control of the meeting's agenda. "Time to hand my property back."
"Your property?" she pretend to be thinking for a second before suddenly announcing "Oh, the boy! I don't think he wants to go back to you. He seems so much happier with me."
"I don't give a shit how happy he is. He's mine. Where is he?"
"He's safe. But he really doesn't like staying with you. He told me. Why don't you let me keep him for now?"
"Because…" I was getting angry. Truth be told, I was almost shouting. "He's MINE! He's not supposed to LIKE being with me. Get your own pet!"
"He really was most insistent about not going back to you." Zara said, calmly, clearly enjoying my increasing annoyance. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"
"Where is he?" I demanded, through clenched teeth. I vowed that Zara would die the instant she had told me.
"He's right here," she said.
Now, folks, you must remember that I've seen the very core of the planet Jupiter. I've seen the inside of thousands of fireballs. But I'd never seen anything like what happened next.
Zara calmly lifted her arm, extending her long thumb and forefinger and lowered them towards her chest, placing them into her deep cleavage. She extracted the two digits a moment later with something pink, grey and black dangling from them. I zoomed in with my super-vision.
"What the f-" I started to say. But even I was lost for words. In the end, I managed only the one syllable: "Duane?"
I recognised him at once. Even if he was only five inches tall. He was still wearing the same clothes he was wearing when I'd last seen him, chained to the toilet in my bathroom. But all the wounds I'd inflicted, the busted hands and feet, the missing fingers, the bruises, bent limbs, cuts… they'd all vanished. Other the fact that his acne had now disappeared, he looked just like he had when I first found him hiding in that hospital basement. Only now, he was five inches tall.
"The very same," Zara answered my question, just a hint of a smug, triumphant smile on her face. She looked at the little creature hanging from her pinched hand, suddenly smiling. "Oh, you do love it in there, don't you? Wedged in, safe and warm between Zara's big, soft breasts. Much nicer in there than with that nasty Blogger, isn't it, my little man?"
"What have you done to him?"
The smile vanished as she started to answer me. "I've fixed him. I much prefer my boys in mint condition."
"But he's tiny!"
"Oh that!" she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "That's just for my travelling convenience. I do so hate carrying luggage around."
"You can make him bigger again?"
"Bigger? Of course I can! Bigger, smaller, any size I want. Very basic magic. Kid's stuff, really. Isn't it, Duaney?" she brought the tiny figure dangling from her two fingers up to her face to pose the question. Then she pursed her lips, air-kissing him with a loud "Mwah!" His whole miniature body began swinging from her grasp as it was buffeted by her breath. She muttered some words in a language I'd never heard before and then she flicked her wrist, opening her fingers so that the tiny man was flung into the air.
Just when I was about to move at superspeed to snatch him before he could fall, he started to glow bright orange. In less than one microsecond he changed before my eyes from a five-inch doll to a full-sized man. He was a little disorientated from the size-alteration and, no doubt, from being tossed into the air. Although his feet suddenly reached the floor, he had no balance and immediately fell onto his rear.
Zara had done an amazing job healing every single last wound I'd given him. I couldn't help but smile when I thought about all the hurting I was going to have to do all over again to get him back into the state he'd been in prior to the "magician's" interference.
Out of curiosity I brought my X-ray vision into play. I swear I was only checking to see if she'd healed all his broken bones correctly. I was not interested in any other aspect of his anatomy. I just couldn't help noticing what else Zara had done to the miserable jerk.
"What have you given him?" I gasped.
"Just a quick fix-up. Nothing special." she replied, again, as if there was nothing unusual about it all.
"But.. he's..." There was no other way to phrase it "..fucking huge!"
"Well, obviously I just had to give him a bit of a boost down there. I do that for all my boys. It makes them more, well, fun, to be with."
"You've been screwing him?" I asked, frankly amazed. She seemed far too good-looking to settle for that fool, even if she had given him a perfect complexion, fixed his teeth and extended his cock by something like 150 percent. Although, actually, thinking about it objectively now.... Anyway, at the time, I was totally stunned by the idea.
Zara seemed equally stunned by my surprise. "What else is a boy for?" she asked.
"This one is for my sport. He's mine." I repeated. I realised I was beginning to get distracted by the girl's repertoire of (admittedly remarkable) tricks. I needed to assert my natural superiority. It's very, very rare for me not to be (and to feel) in total command, and frankly, I don't like it. "I'll tell you what, Zara." I announced, putting my hands on my hips to remind her (and, yes, me too) of my power, "you return my property," (I nodded in the direction of Duane who was now sitting on the floor beside Zara like a faithful dog at his mistress' feet) "and teach me how you did that shrinking trick, and I'll let you leave in one piece."
"You could never learn my magic!" she scoffed. "Do not underestimate me." she said, coldly. "Besides, I'm not sure I don't want to keep little Duaney for myself. He's quite entertaining... for a boy. I've got an alternative proposition for you: I'll fight you for him."
I laughed. I mean, I rocked with hysterics. I've never lost a fight in my life and these days I'm stronger and faster than I've ever been. "Fine." I chuckled. I couldn't help adding "You're so dead, Zara" as I strolled towards her.
"Wait! Not here!" she said, a bit too quickly for someone as supposedly sure of herself as she seemed to be before.
"Scared, Zara?" I smiled, one eyebrow raised. I was looking forward to tearing her apart and then re-wounding Duane.
"There's a wood thirty miles due North of here." She offered, dodging my question.
"You are scared!" I declared, delighted.
Then, almost unbelievably, she vanished. Just disappeared. I'm the fastest thing on Earth and I would have spotted her moving at super-speed. She didn't. She simply vanished. And so did Duane. One nanosecond they were in my living room, the next they weren't. Then, most amazingly, I heard her voice, as clear as before. "See you there!" she called, from the "ether".
What choice did I have? She was beginning to really get on my nerves. I took off, out of the window, heading due North out of town.
And I think I'll leave what happened after that for next time.
Friday 13 January 2006 22:10 GMT
So, where was I? Oh yes…
Flying twenty miles in the frame of mind Zara had put me in took seconds. And not a lot of seconds, either. Likewise, finding her, dressed entirely in jet black, in a forest, at night from the air, took me a small fraction of one minute. You can guess how much time I needed to zoom down and land ten yards from her.
"Where's Duane?" I demanded as I touched down. There was no sign of him anywhere.
"I said ‘where is he', bitch!" I really was angry by this stage. Believe me, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry…
"If you must know, he's with Ultragirl."
I snorted in fury. I felt betrayed, but, with hindsight, what did I expect?
"In that case," I said, between clenched teeth (how many millions of pounds per square inch of pressure must there be between my clenched teeth?), "after I'm done with you, she's going be next."
"Not every problem can be fixed with violence, you know." Zara said, calmly.
"I know one problem that can." I practically spat out the words, following them up with the most intense blast of heat-vision I've ever generated, aimed right at the middle of her smug face.
The air all around her glowed white and the leaves and trees for about fifty yards in every direction instantly ignited as I unleashed untold amounts of pure heat energy on the magician. I maintained the beam for a few seconds, enough to reduce maybe thirty or forty thick trunks to ash and start thousands of miniature fires.
But not enough, it seemed, to harm Zara. I heard her laughter amongst the flames before I adjusted my vision to see though the fire. She was unmoved and, apparently untouched. I was stunned. Nothing should have been able to withstand those temperatures.
"Oooh," the bitch mocked. "That might have really hurt if I wasn't properly dressed for the occasion. You see, Blogger, this elegant gown, as well as being so much more elegant than your, frankly, common, undersized T-shirt, is also what we magicians refer to as a ‘Gown of Invulnerability'. Totally unnecessarily, and in an infuriatingly patronising tone, she added "That means no harm may ever befall the wearer."
"Oh yeah?" I steeled myself, preparing to blast her with the biggest burst of heat-vision I've ever used. I summoned every last scrap of energy and concentrated on channelling all of it into my eyes. I've turned massive, solid blocks of steel to liquid in an instant with about one-tenth the power. I could feel the phenomenal force building in my eyeballs. I was about to unleash a massive bolt of pure heat the like of which has never been seen. And then something utterly bizarre happened.
No twin death-lasers came forth from my eyes. Instead, and I cannot explain how this came about, two streams of (I know it seems amazing) water flowed out. Not even powerful streams. More like strong trickles.
"Now I know you're very upset, Blogger dear, but there's really no need to cry about it. It's so undignified." crowed Zara.
"What have you done to me, bitch?" I shrieked.
"Oh, just a bit of very basic magic," she boasted, "you know... fire into water... blah, blah, blah... nothing special."
I was so furious, I found myself running before I had a plan. Finding the nearest surviving big tree, I drove my small fist into the centre of its massive trunk, burying my arm beyond the elbow amidst a shower of splinters with ease. Then, using just that single arm (and the hand deep within the trunk for leverage) I tore the entire, gigantic tree from its roots, hoisting the enormous weight over my head.
I pulled my hand back, and screamed "Die bitch!" as I hurled the tree at full force right at her. A trunk that big, tossed with that much power would destroy a big, strong building. In fact, it would probably destroy a whole street of buildings. Whether or not it could hurt a magician with a "Gown of Invulnerability" I just can't say.
I can't say because the tree never reached Zara. Halfway through its supersonic flight it changed (yes, just "changed"!) into a large bunch of daffodils. They landed, rather pathetically at her booted feet. I was simply stunned.
"Flowers? For me?" Zara exclaimed. "How lovely!"
That was it. No more games. I was going to charge at her and pull her apart, piece by piece. Starting with that hateful gown. But... But, when I tried to, I just couldn't move. Not a muscle. My legs, my arms, my head... No part of me would move. It was like being frozen. As though someone had invented a glue that could hold me (I mean, me the strongest thing on Earth!) I simply could not budge.
She began to walk towards me slowly, not smiling, but somehow still looking sickeningly pleased with herself. "Don't just stand there..." she said in triumph.
I wanted to shout. I wanted to kill her with my hands. But I could not, could not, could not move.
Zara stopped only a couple of yards from me, placing her hands confidently on her hips. "Well, if you're done then it must be my turn now." There was a horrible, excited glint in her eyes.
Of course, I wasn't afraid. I don't do "fear", but I'll confess to being a little worried. After all I'd seen from this girl, I just didn't know what to expect.
And I was right to be worried.
But I'll leave that for next time.
Monday 16 January 2006 17:41 GMT
Your recall isn’t as good as mine. Don’t argue. It doesn’t pay to disagree with me.
Anyway, because your recall isn’t anywhere as good as mine, a little reminder of the story so-far:
Having kidnapped Duane and healed his injuries, Zara had left him with Ultragirl and invited me to fight her for him in a forest outside of town. Her “Gown of Invulnerability” protected her from my first attacks, then she turned my heat-vision into a trickle of water and the tree I threw at her into harmless flowers. After that, she somehow paralysed me, so that I couldn’t move any part of my body.
As I struggled to budge, she approached, taunting me.
“I’m guessing,” she said, smugly, “that you’re none too familiar with feeling pain. Am I right about that? Blogger?”
If I could have answered, I would have hurled a choice insult or four at her. But I could move my jaw, my lips, my tongue (or even my vocal chords) no more than I could move my hands or feet.
“Oh, you can’t answer, can you?” Zara mocked. “I’d ask you to nod, but that’s off the menu too, isn’t it? Poor thing! You can’t move a muscle! Well, we’ll just have to assume that your experience of pain is limited. So, you’re probably not going to like the next bit very much. In fact, I’ll have to do the enjoying on your behalf.” She raised her left palm and pointed it towards me, her right still staying on her hip. Her thick dark lips moved in silent recitation. I tried to lip-read her words, but they were not in any language I know of.
When the “spell” or whatever it was had been completed, she closed her fingers slowly and then, dramatically, re-extended her long index digit, pointing it at my knee. Instantly, something happened.
It’s hard for me to describe. I felt something, not on the outside of my skin, but actually inside my knee. I didn’t even know I had sensation in there! It started as a strange tingle but then it grew and grew until… well, until it became uncomfortable. The intensity of the feeling increased. It was although something was breaking apart in there. It began to occupy all my thoughts. I wanted it to stop. Still, the sensation grew stronger. I felt like yelling. I wanted to pull my leg off to end it there and then, but I remained frozen in place.
And then, quite suddenly, the feeling ceased. I’d never, ever, known a sense of relief to match that which washed over me at that moment. “If that was true pain,” I thought, “I don’t ever want to feel it again.”
Unfortunately, even I don’t always get what I want. I watched, horrified, as Zara once more pointed at me with her finger. Perhaps I was also (for the briefest moment and to the smallest degree) a little scared. Perhaps. I was certainly not happy as she aimed that finger at my paralysed face.
I’ve heard ordinary people on many occasions speaking about having a “headache”. I’ve always assumed it was either an invented condition or else just another sign of ordinary people’s pathetic weakness. But Zara’s magic gave me an aching head, alright.
If I could have done so, I would have brought my hands up to my temples. My brain felt like it was expanding and pressing against the inside of my skull. I could not even think as all my mental processes were overcome with the throbbing, screaming sensation. My eyes were open, but it was hard to process the information that they were receiving, as though every part of my mind had been crippled by the feeling.
Finally, it was over. It felt like a knife blade had been removed from my head (I know, it’s impossible to imagine a knife that could pierce my skull, but I’d think that, if there was such a weapon , it would feel just like that). My vision became clear again and I saw Zara, looking more pleased with herself than ever, standing only a few yards from me. She was raising her hand again!
“Well, that was different, wasn’t it?” she asked, knowing she would not get a reply. I pictured myself killing her very, very slowly. If I could have moved, I would have done more than just picturing. “Now, what can I do now?...” she wondered out-loud, clearly enjoying my unease. “I know!” she waved her hand. “Remember this?” she asked.
Right in front of me, no more than six inches away from my body, the air began to move and blur in a circular motion, ever faster, ever darker until a black vortex, identical to the one she had conjured up in my living room, appeared. I stared straight into the infinite swirling void, recalling the site of that chair spinning away into eternity. Was I about to follow the furniture?
“Taking a good look, Blogger?” Zara asked, a strong hint of amusement in her voice. “Well, I can’t blame you. It’s good practice to plan your route before embarking on a long journey.”
So, she was intending to feed me into the vortex! How dare she try to kill me! I vowed to tear her into tiny pieces for that.
“I’d ask you to jump in yourself, but I know you’re having a few difficulties with movement at the moment,” she bragged. “Never mind. If Blogger won’t come to the vortex, then the vortex will have to come to Blogger.” She pointed her finger once more.
Slowly, at a rate of about an inch every three seconds, the spinning “disc” started to move. Towards me. For the first time since I first saw her, Zara started to laugh. “Too easy! Just too easy!” she chuckled. Instant by instant, the infinite blackness loomed closer. It was as though Eternity’s jaws had opened and I was about to be swallowed whole.
Anyway, that’s enough excitement for you for now. I’ll leave the reporting of subsequent events for next time.
Tuesday 17 January 2006 17:48 GMT
There I was, face to face with an ever-nearing, swirling vortex of black infinity and I couldn’t move a muscle!
Now each of my muscles, as you know, is more powerful than any machine or engine ever built. I knew that I could effortlessly overpower Zara if only I could momentarily use even one of them. But it was me, not her, staring at defeat and an indescribably horrid fate.
Unless I could find a way to disable her magic.
Mentally, I ran through each of my fabulous powers. Strength and superspeed were no use without movement. Invulnerability would keep me alive, maybe forever, spinning inside that terrible void, but it would not stop me being sucked in. My heat vision lasers, even if they could harm the vortex (which I doubted) had been cruelly “changed” into harmless ocular water-pistols. I couldn’t even open my lips to try using my normally all-conquering superbreath. And, of course, I couldn’t fly.
Something; some force, some invisible shield, was holding me perfectly still, resisting my efforts to move any part of myself. The more I tried to struggle against it, the more convinced I became that the effect worked like a wall built all around my body.
The whirling disc of eternity was close now. I was beginning to feel the air in front of me being sucked into the unending dark within. I knew I had only seconds before I would be captured within its irresistible gravitational pull. I was mere instants away from becoming yet another object forever spinning helplessly towards the end of time.
I had to think fast. If I could work out what was going on, why I couldn’t move, then maybe I could figure out how to counter it. I kept returning to the idea of the “wall”. It wasn’t something Zara had done to me. I could tell by the way the various parts of my body responded when I tried to manipulate them. She had not switched off my ability to move. She had merely created a force field that made movement impossible.
What assets were left for me to use? Zara’s magic had cancelled the use of my body…
No, I couldn’t use my body to move… but…
Suddenly I had it! Rather than using my powers to evade the looming vortex, I need to use them to resist it. It wasn’t about moving at that moment. It was about not moving.
I used my new powers of flight, not to propel myself across the solar system at half the speed of light, but instead, to stay exactly where I was. In short, I rooted myself to the spot, using ever last drop of power I could generate internally.
The disc was almost upon me. My hair was being pulled, strand by strand, towards its black, infinite heart. I could feel the remarkable power of it now tugging at my face and my chest. It got so close that I lost sight of everything around it as it filled my vision. Now I was aware of being dragged violently forward by an indescribable, inanimate force.
But I did not fly into the vortex. I did not move at all. My powers held me exactly where I was. The ground at my feet was beginning to lift up, tearing off in chunks that shot into the swirling circle to spin away to nothingness. Leaves from nearby trees were being torn off and sucked up by the sheer force of the supernatural vacuum cleaner. Twigs and then smaller branches then large bits of tree brushed against the side of my face on their way into the void. But I remained on the outside.
Despite the racket of winds rushing past as air raced into the swirling “disc”, I could still hear Zara’s triumphant laughter. Then, I heard it slowly fading. I heard her shout: “You cannot resist the vortex. You cannot resist the vortex. The vortex does not get resisted!”
I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I detected a note of unease in her previously super-confident speech. It gave me the first glimmer of hope I’d had for a while. A new sound, like a very distant, very faint moan, reached my sensitive ears. The pull on my body seemed to grow. Suddenly, I could no longer see anything but pitch blackness. I realised in horror that the disc must be touching my face. I concentrated on resisting the forces trying to grab me from within the dark.
The moan rose in volume and pitch. It took on an eerily, almost human tone, like a man being stretched to the very extremes of his physical tolerance. It reminded me of the countless times I’d been responsible for making men yell in that way. I imagined the vortex as just another weak, hopeless man, completely at the mercy of my overwhelming power, and drew strength from the thought.
Now the sounds coming from the “disc” were just like a voice. A voice that was screaming that it could not take much more, that the efforts it was being forced into were too great to be sustained for long. It gave me pleasure to hear it. I continued to resist.
“No! You can’t!” Zara yelled, like a spoilt child having her favourite toy confiscated by an adult.
“Oh yes I can!” I thought, even as the remaining earth beneath me was torn up in one huge chunk that smashed into small pieces against my body before streaming into the swirling, screaming void. Still I did not move.
“No!” cried Zara.
Light suddenly hit my retinas. The sound, the rushing movement all around ceased in an instant. The disc had disappeared. Zara was on her knees. I wanted to finish her off, but I found that I still could not move. That particular spell seemed to be holding.
Slowly, she rose to her feet once more. “You… you… you’ve broken the vortex! Nothing should be able to do that! What are you?” she demanded of me. I would have smiled if I had been able.
Zara recovered her composure and narrowed her eyes, to look at me. “At least you cannot break out of the Shell of Paralysis,” she commented.
“Shell of Paralysis”! This girl’s gimmicks had such melodramatic names. But I was right about the way she was preventing me from moving. It was an external, rather than internal force.
That gave me an idea. Maybe there was a way to crack that shell from within...
Anyway, I’ll let you know what happened next time.
Wednesday 18 January 2006 18:15 GMT
Can you remember where we are in the story?
You can? Well, so what! I can remember the license plates of the two thousand three-hundred and eight cars that I flew over yesterday. But I’m not bragging…
Anyway, I had resisted the vortex (even “broken” it as Zara complained) but I was still trapped in the magician’s ludicrously-named “Shell of Paralysis”. I had to find a way to break out from within.
My hands and feet were held completely fast by the “shell”. I knew that I could not move them enough to exert any pressure on the bizarre force-field. Conventional body movements were out of the question.
Something different was needed. Something that would test the strength and integrity of the shell by pressing against a small area of it. Something that did not require me actually moving my body…
I was thinking. Not about how to escape my current predicament (I’d already formed a theory for that, remember). No, I was thinking about, well, things I like. I mean, things that I really like.
I was thinking about well-built muscular men, begging me to stop as I bounced on top of them. I was thinking about tough soldiers, staring in shock as they sprayed my glorious naked body with gunfire. I was thinking about hurting them. Scattering them into the distance just by blowing gently at them.
I was thinking about the wonderful thrill of power I get seeing sights like that, knowing I have caused all that chaos with just the minimum of effort. Knowing there’s nothing the men I’m hurting (or throwing) can do against me.
And I was also thinking about Ultragirl. Her wonderful body, pressing against mine more firmly than anything has ever pressed against it. Her hands squeezing my large breasts with a force second only to my own fingers. Her lips embracing mine, her tongue resisting the unstoppable power of my own for an instant before inevitably yielding…
I couldn’t even close my eyes because of the temporary paralysis. Instead, I had to access my memories and my imagination with them open, ignoring the sight of Zara studying me with intense curiosity and concentrating solely on the images in my mind.
Images chosen with one single purpose: I was trying to turn myself on.
I could already feel the tingles in my big nipples as they responded to my thoughts. So much harder than diamond during “relaxed” moments, the points of my chest swell and become dozens of times tougher when I’m “in the mood”.
The more I thought about sex and sexy things, the more I felt the very tips of my nipples push against the inside of the mysterious “shell”. I imagined the feeling of Ultragirl’s large breasts flattening slightly against my own big mounds and noticed the resistance as my nipples tried to push the force-field back to accommodate their increasing size.
I incorporated this sensation into my fantasy, pretending that the points of Ultra’s chest were trying to compress my nipples, rather than the “shell”. It worked. I definitely felt a tiny quivering of the “wall” all around me. It was the first sign that the “Shell of Paralysis” might not be unconquerable.
Encouraged, I tried to increase my ardour and, in turn, the size and hardness of my teats. I envisaged a mile-long queue of beautiful men that I could help myself to one-by-one, using each according to my fancy of the moment. I tried to recreate in my mind the sensations of Ultragirl licking me with her strong tongue all over.
All around me, the “shell” began to vibrate, as if it were fighting and weakening against the incalculable force my expanding nipples were exerting on it. I found I could move my fingers. It was only a fraction of an inch but it told me all I wanted to know.
I could move my lips too, just enough to slightly part them and run the very lip of my tongue over them. That feeling, coupled with my on-going erotic train-of-thought, drove me wild inside. I felt the desire surging throughout my body, my nipples becoming almost electric as they swelled more and more rapidly.
The invisible “wall” was shaking now, as though it were frightened. It had good reason to be. I knew I was almost free. I thought of the way I always feel when I use my body to triumph, to conquer, to dominate. I found I was smiling.
The mere fact that I could smile was very pleasing. It meant I had enough room to manoeuvre. Enough room to move my upper torso backwards a little and then slam it forwards, fully engorged nipples pushed to the fore.
I don’t know how much force I used. I didn’t have a lot of space to pull back to generate top power. I’d guess I smashed my chest into the “shell” with the same kind of strength I’d use to break a two-yard cubed block of solid granite into powder.
The exact amount of force in the blow isn’t important. All that matters is that the shell, like the imaginary block of granite, shattered completely on impact. I felt little bits of it flying away from my body as suddenly, I became free. All of me. My nipples had proven powerful enough to break me out of the unbreakable “Shell of Paralysis.”
“Noooooo!” Zara screamed, putting her hands on her cheeks in genuine horror and amazement.
I placed my hands on my hips and proudly thrust out my truly unstoppable breasts.
“How… how did you do that?” asked the stunned magician. Then, trying to provide her own answer, she muttered, “Your… your… breasts…. They must be stronger than… than…”
“...Than anything you can imagine.” I finished the sentence for her.
“I… I… never…. knew…. ” Zara stuttered.
She looked and sounded defeated. But I wasn’t through with her yet…
Although that can keep for next time.
Thursday 19 January 2006 17:48 GMT
Quick recap: I’d smashed my way out of Zara’s “Shell of Paralysis” by thinking sexy thoughts to make my nipples expand and push against the force-field with enough insistency to weaken it, before “smashing” the “shell” by slamming my chest into it. But even a mere male would probably remember that!
I kept my hands on my hips, partly to emphasise my successful defiance of Zara’s magic and partly to show my newly-proved dominance. Mostly, though, my hands were on my hips so that I could show off my perfect upper-body, especially my large, firm and upstanding breasts. It was their sheer power which, having defeated the “Shell”, was now fascinating the magician.
As I walked slowly and confidently towards her, she stared at me in (what seemed to me to be) awe. I smiled slightly, and put a tiny wiggle into my walk. Distinctly, I heard Zara drawing a sharp, stunned breath.
“What…. What… are you?” she stammered, her eyes not flickering as they feasted on the sight of my glorious chest.
“I’m the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen.” I boasted in reply. “Aren’t I, Zara?”
“Ultragirl said she thought you might be a g-g-goddess,” she stammered, her voice lacking all traces of the arrogance it had carried earlier. “Is that true? I mean, are you? Are you a Goddess, Blogger?”
“Maybe I am.” I answered honestly, without any hint of mystery. I mean, I could be a Goddess. I do feel like one these days.
Zara tore her eyes from my mounds to look at my face for a moment. I could tell she was searching my features for any indications that the “Maybe” remark was a joke. She found none. Pretty quickly, her gaze flickered back to my chest.
“You… you smashed the Shell of Paralysis with your breasts!” she said, clearly still struggling to come to terms with the fact, “You stretched it with your nipples! I saw you! No-one has ever been able to disturb a “Shell” spell before, but you… you did it with your nipples! And then you smashed it to pieces with your breasts!”
“I know Zara,” I said, slightly bored, “I was there, remember.”
“But… how… how can you have so much… so much power in… in those?”
“Yes,” I smiled, pushing the subjects of her wonder out, making her gasp, “they are fabulous, aren’t they?”
“Are they…. are they real?” she asked.
“They’re super-real.” I said, genuinely proudly.
“Can… can I… can I touch them, Blogger?” Zara breathed.
“You may.” I told her, magnanimously.
She took a step towards me, lifting up her palms. She was almost trembling as she lay them over my chest, each of my mounds proving much too big for her feminine hands to cover. Her touch was so light, just like a “normal” person’s. I was hoping she’d turn out to be another Ultragirl and give them a proper superhuman squeeze. But she continued to merely caress.
“So soft to stroke,” Zara mumbled, “so large, so… so round… but I… I can’t… I can’t dent them at all…” That was the first proper indication I got that she was actually trying to squeeze me. “So warm, so… so erotic!” Zara’s enthusiastic, murmured monologue continued. “So perfect!”
Keeping her hands on my breasts she looked away from them for a moment to speak to my face. “Maybe… maybe you are a Goddess.” she said, before turning her attention back to her (frankly) pathetic rubbing.
“That’s enough,” I told her. With an obvious reluctance, she lifted her hands off my chest. “It’s my turn to touch you now.” At superspeed, I swiped the back of my hand casually across her right cheek. The blow (which would have knocked an express locomotive off its rails) caused her head to turn sharply to the side as her body lifted from the ground. She sailed in an arc through the forest, crashing down around fifty yards away. Instantly, I flew off after her.
I landed before she’d even begun trying to climb back onto her feet. She shook her head and rubbed her cheek which had turned bright red. “It… It hurts!” Zara said, as though she couldn’t quite believe what she was saying. “It’s not supposed to hurt! The Gown of Invulnerability always protects its wearer from even the most powerful blow.”
I laughed. “Maybe you need a wardrobe update. That outfit is so last season!” Before she could answer, I drew back my foot and swung it forwards into her belly. I felt my toes sinking into her abdomen for a moment and heard the air being forced out of her lungs as, once again, she was airborne. My punt sent her on a curved flight which peaked about thirty feet up and carried her around a hundred yards through the forest.
I didn’t really have to hurry to be standing over the spot where she landed before she even crashed down there. Once she’d slammed into the ground and come to rest, she immediately opened her eyes and saw me.
“You…. winded…. me….” she puffed.
“Why aren’t you dead yet?” I demanded, slightly annoyed.
“Gown… of… Invul… nera… bility.”
I reached down to tear the low-cut long black dress off her body. But when I tugged at the thin material, instead of ripping as I expected, it held fast. I found myself lifting the dress and its wearer. I might as well have been lifting an empty gown for all the girl’s weight taxed me.
Which is why I hardly noticed the change when, from one instant to the next, she vanished. I know it wasn’t superspeed, because nothing is as fast as me. She must have teleported magically from my grasp.
“Where are you, you coward?” I thundered.
“Over here.” She replied. “It seems I still have some tricks which even you cannot match.” I whirled around, spotted her standing a couple of dozen yards behind me, and zoomed at her fast enough to ignite the leaves under my feet. To her credit, she managed to perform the teleport trick within the split-second it took me to launch at her with a kung-fu style kick.
I sailed right through where she had been, my leg slicing a huge thick tree trunk in half. The bulk of the above-ground tree came crashing down onto my head, bouncing up a few feet off my skull before slamming on to the ground behind me.
“This could go on all day and all night.” Zara said. She was now standing about ten feet to my left.
“Fine. I don’t get tired.” I told her, charging at her once more. Again, it only took me a fraction of a second to reach the spot and again, she’d already “vanished” by the time I got there.
“No, you probably don’t,” she conceded from her newest location, making me spin around to face her, “but I could always just magic myself to the other side of the world. Or a different world.”
I knew she was right. That’s why I didn’t attempt to run at her. “You tried to kill me,” I reminded her. “I will catch you in the end.”
“You may well be utterly unique, Blogger, but only a magician may kill another magician. I made the mistake of underestimating you once. I will not make the same mistake again.” Zara said, the confidence returning to her voice. “Perhaps it would be in both of our interests if we could come to an understanding.”
“No deals.” I said.
“You forget, Blogger, that I still have two of your possessions,” she said, suddenly more pleased with herself. I hadn’t forgotten as such, but I admit I hadn’t given much thought to it when I dismissed her offer.
“Here’s what I propose:” she began, “I will return Duane to you and I will restore your heat-vision. In return, we call a truce. Live and let live.”
My supersensitive hearing picked up the sound of a minivan pulling up about half a mile away. I listened and heard the two front doors and the rear hatch opening and counted six sets of feet climbing out. People were coming, presumably to investigate all the noise and small fires that Zara and I had caused.
“So, what do you say, Blogger? Do we have a deal?”
This time, I replied. Next posting, I’ll let you know how I replied.
Friday 20 January 2006 17:43 GMT
So, Zara had offered me my heat-vision and my pet (Duane) in exchange for a truce.
As should be clear by now, I don’t do “deals”. I issue instructions.
The trouble was, I didn’t fancy spending weeks breaking out of “Shells of Paralysis” and fighting the pull of two-dimensional infinite vortices. Not to mention the magician’s annoying habit of disappearing just when I was about to land a killer blow on her. And then there was that infuriating “Gown of Invulnerability”. It seemed to be made of the undamageable material I’ve been seeking out for years.
I knew prolonging the fight with her would be a waste of time and energy (in as much as anyone can waste what they have in unlimited supply). But to let her go so that she could try and repair and improve her “Shell” and her vortex did not seem like a clever idea to me either. I knew she had been deeply shocked (awed, even) by the display of my body’s power. Would that mean she would stay clear of me or renew her resolve to take me down?
Then again, what choice was there? For either of us?
“Ultragirl is waiting for you. Duane is with her too.” Zara announced, as if that would help me make a decision. “She’s calling for you now.”
“How do you know?” I demanded.
“The “Eye of Distant Vision”,” she said. “It allows me to observe events far away. Ultragirl is wearing a ridiculously tiny bikini top with the letters “U” and “G” rather tackily inscribed on the two cups. It’s barely covering her at all.”
I chose to believe her. Firstly because Ultra had mentioned owning such a garment in the past but mostly because I was enjoying the image Zara’s words placed in my mind. I was impressed with the trick, but tried not to show it.
“Your ‘Eye of Dysentery-‘ “ I started, mockingly.
“-Distant Vision.” Zara corrected me, before allowing me (briefly) to continue.
“Whatever it’s called, it might be great for checking out my girlfriend’s tits, but-“
“-Oh, I absolutely assure you,” Zara gushed, “I have no interest whatsoever there.”
“You seemed quite keen on mine a moment ago.” I reminded her.
Zara seemed a touch uncomfortable answering. “I… I… I was just a little… um… curious about how they might, er, feel… you know… after they had… well, “smashed” the “Shell of Paralysis”. A purely um… professional interest. I only do men as a rule.”
“Sure, doll. Whatever you like to tell yourself.” I teased. “You keep using your magic to check out Ultragirl on another continent. Just a shame it can’t pick up the people walking towards us five hundred yards away in that direction.” I pointed.
“People? Headed this way? How do you know?”
“Er, Zara? I’m a superbeing remember? Never heard of superhearing?”
She closed her eyes. “Ah, yes, now I see them. Six of them. All men. Goody! Two of them look just lovely. I think I might just… have them for my collection. One can never have too many toys.”
“They’re mine.” I said emphatically.
“Surely you can spare a couple of them for me?” she asked. “Must we remain in perpetual conflict?” She had a point. About the “perpetual” thing, anyway.
I paused a moment. The men would only be brief sport for me. Much more durable fun in the delightful form of Ultragirl awaited me four thousand miles away. It might have taken weeks to finally defeat Zara in a fight. I could always do that some other time.
“I swear, Zara,” I said, “if you ever cross my path or interfere with my property again, I will kill you.”
“So you are accepting my offer?” she asked.
“I’m letting you live for now.” I tried to put a better “spin” on my decision. She opened her mouth to reply, but obviously thought better of it, closing her jaws without making a sound. “You may have the six men.” I proclaimed.
“And you may have your heat-vision back.” She echoed my superior tone, waving her hand. I narrowed my eyes at a nearby tree and shot a beam of pure heat, setting it on fire.
“Know any tricks for putting that out?” I asked. Zara pointed at the tree which momentarily disappeared behind a flash of light. When the light dimmed, there was nothing where the tree had been save for a two-foot high model of the tree standing where the base of the trunk had been. Strolling over to it, she extinguished the few remaining flames by stamping them out.
“Can you make anything small like that?” I asked, genuinely impressed.
“Almost anything.” Zara said. “It, ah, didn’t work on you when I tried it. I think you’re molecules are too… er, dense (in the nicest possible way, of course.) Quite a few of my usual party pieces don’t seem to work on you. And some of yours don’t seem to have the desired effect on me, either.”
She was right, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “They still hurt, don’t they?” I reminded her. “Just remember, next time I will kill you.” I said, rising into the air. I took off for the clouds, intending to make Zara believe that I was streaking towards Ultragirl.
In truth, I was hovering in the atmosphere, five miles directly above the forest. Ultragirl could wait a little more for me. I wanted to see what Zara did with the six men.
Next time, I’ll tell you.
Monday 23 January 2006 21:46 GMT
Motionless in the sky, I stared down at the scene miles below.
Despite the dark of the night and the density of the forest, my superhuman eyes and ears could follow every detail of what happened down there. I saw Zara disappear from the spot where I’d left her, only for her to reappear, in the very same instant, a couple of hundred yards away. I suppose the ability to teleport oneself is a pretty impressive trick…
The six men, who were dressed in rural fire service uniforms, were certainly shocked to see her, judging by their reactions. Zara raised her right hand, palm towards the fire-fighters and muttered some incomprehensible incantation. Even I was shocked to see the effect of her magic. All half-dozen men, as one, fell to their knees before her, as if in worship.
She put her hands on her hips, and though I couldn’t clearly see her facial expression from my vantage point directly overhead, I could tell that she was smugly grinning. After her run-in with me, she was obviously enjoying an encounter in which her supremacy was not in question.
A few moments passed before she removed her palm from her side and used it to gesture the men to stand. Again, there was no hesitation and no resistance. All the firemen rose quickly from the ground onto their feet. The magician clearly has quite a lot of power. Over men, at any rate.
With her hand still extended, she clicked her long fingers. At once, the six began to strip off their clothes. When each was done, he stood naked, facing her, his hands behind his back as though ready for some kind of inspection. I was left wondering how she communicated such detailed (and impeccably carried out) instructions without proper words? Duane’s mind-control device was never that good.
It soon transpired that the men were, indeed, presenting themselves for inspection. Zara took a few arrogant steps towards them until she was only half-a-yard from the nearest. She made a show of slowly scanning his body from the top of his head to his feet, pausing to stare at length at the key points. Then she moved on to the next man, taking even longer to study him inch-by-inch.
She seemed to like the third man particularly. She examined his face for an age and then spent quite some time looking at his sexual organ. She even prodded it with her extended index finger a couple of times. Finally, she moved on to number four.
This one was clearly not to her taste. She looked him up and down quickly and turned rapidly away, moving on to the fifth male. Number four hung his head, apparently in shame at the reaction he had elicited, but otherwise, none of the men moved or spoke.
Zara bent low to be at eye-level with the fifth man’s penis. She slowly took it in her hand, and I saw it quickly swelling in her grasp. She stroked it for a moment, as if checking out its feel, before releasing her hold and moving on to the last man. A quick up-and-down glance was enough for her to make her mind up.
She stepped back from him and looked over the group. Pointing at numbers 3 and 5, she beckoned them to approach. They moved forward in unison, halting when she signalled them to stop. Then she indicated the other four, and waved her hand dismissively. They fell instantly, as if shot by simultaneous, silent bullets. It took me a moment to focus in on them and realise that they were breathing slowly, as if deeply asleep.
Having made her selection, Zara clicked her fingers for a second time. The two men she had chosen reacted as though she had thrown a bucket of freezing cold water over them. They shook their heads quickly, suddenly looking down, apparently confused as to how they had become naked. Evidently, she had put them into some kind of trance before. But why was she releasing them now?
The answer, as far as I could see, was that she was releasing them for sport. Her sport, of course. She lifted her arms, extending them fully in front of her and stretched a finger from each hand towards the men. Then she muttered something incomprehensible. Phonetically, it was "Griz haflur verinkee floopjig" (but don't bother trying it, it won't work. I know. I've tried it.) But, when Zara said those strange words, the effect was amazing. In a twin flash of light, the "chosen" pair of men shrunk from near-enough six foot each to more-or-less six inches.
It wasn't a gradual process. One instant they were big, then the light obscured them (yes, even from me) for a millisecond, then they were small. Not small, but tiny. I heard the men's pathetic little screams as the magician stepped towards them. It wasn't easy to spot things so minute so far down amongst the leaves under the trees in the dark, but I managed. The pair began running in opposite directions. I can only guess what they hoped to achieve by attempting to flee, but Zara didn't seem to mind the turn of events.
"You can run, my little boys, but you can't escape Zara!" she cried gleefully. "Ready or not, here I come!"
Naturally, she covered the same distance in a single stride as the men managed in a dozen. She caught up with the first tiny male in seconds, swooped down and scooped him up in her fist. She brought him up to her face. "They'll be no more running for you," she smiled. Even from that height I could see his hair being blown back as she blasted his face with her voice. "You belong to me now. Let's put you somewhere nice and safe."
Using two fingers from her free left hand, she reached down the front of her low-cut dress (the so-called "Gown of Invulnerability") and inserted them deep into her vast cleavage, parting her two big round breasts. Into this gap she forced the shrunken man trapped in her other fist, pushing him right down into that womanly valley. She removed her hands, letting the natural firmness of her chest close her cleavage once more and the miniature fireman disappeared from view, completely engulfed by her "charms".
"Make yourself comfortable in there." she spoke down to her breasts. I could hear the little guy's muffled yells from five miles up (although that probably says more about my superhearing than the loudness of the cries).
"Oooh, I love the way you feel in there, wriggling around, trying to get free." cooed Zara. "But, you can't get free, can you? You're trapped, you poor little thing. You can't even push my lovely big soft breasts a tiny bit apart can you? They're just too much for you, aren't they? So large... so heavy... that's right, keep trying. It won't do you any good of course, but I like it. Look at you! Struggling with all your might, but you're so tiny. No wonder you can't move my breasts! Each of them is bigger than you are now!"
Whilst I could only wonder how the fireman felt, being engulfed in the magician's voluptuous chest, I had a fairly good idea what was going through Zara's mind. "Oooh, you're so little and helpless in there. I just want to give you a big squeeze! Oh, stop complaining. Wouldn't you like Zara to give you a nice hug with her lovely big breasts? Wouldn't you? Yes, of course you would! Mmmm..."
She clasped her hands in front of her abdomen, using her upper arms to press the edges of her generous chest, squeezing her mounds together and pressing the shrunken man wedged between them. Up in the sky, I heard his scream, quickly muffled by the feminine flesh that smothered his entire body.
"Oh, yes, isn't that nice?" Zara asked, looking down at her now narrower, but even more pronounced, cleavage. "Feeling my big breasts all around you, pressing so tightly against you... Oh, I could just squeeze you to death..."
I saw her hugging herself a little more, and watched as her bosoms compressed, the large soft mounds mashing together as she pressed them into each other. I had no trouble at all hearing the muffled, distant crunching sound that escaped from her pressured cleavage.
"Oh dear!" there was such a heavy layer of mock concern in Zara's exclamation that I couldn't help bursting out in laughter. "Did my big breasts squeeze the little man a bit too much?" She brought to fingers up to her chest and extracted her victim, holding him by the back of his neck between two long, perfectly manicured, black-painted fingernails.
"Oh you poor thing!" she smiled at him. "You're all bloody and crooked. Let's see how many of your tiny bones my big, naughty breasts broke..." She held him right up in front of her eyes, studying him. "Ohh," she said. "Looks like they're all broken. Never mind, we'll just get you home and fix you up better-than-new with some clever magic." And with that, she stuffed the bleeding, contorted figure back into her cleavage.
Facing forward, she asked "Now, where has your little friend got to?" Now, I could see the other tiny man, but I'm superhuman. He'd made it about ten yards, clambering over twigs half as tall as him and leaves that he could have slept under. Given that there was no artificial light, no normal person would ever have spotted him. Zara must have used magic to find him. I was impressed by how efficient she was, needing only about two seconds to locate him.
"There you are!" she cried, excitedly, jogging over to the poor little fellow. He screamed as best he could, but her hand was around his body in a flash. "That's right, kick and punch away!" she mocked his efforts to fight against her. "Oh, are you trying to bite me, little man? That almost tickles! Oh, I can see you're going to be loads of fun. Let's get you home before you hurt yourself."
Her other hand went to her chest, prising open her blood-speckled cleavage. I saw no movement from the misshapen tiny man already in there as she carefully inserted his colleague alongside. "Do be still," she tutted, "You might hurt yourself. I don't want two smashed-up little boys to repair. Ooops! Too late! Well, you just stay there with what's left of that leg until we get home. Stop crying, it's nothing I can't fix."
Zara took her hands away from her chest and her breasts settled into their naturally (or maybe magic assisted?) perky positions. Looking down from the atmosphere, not a trace of either of her prisoners was visible to me. She clicked her fingers and simply vanished.
I thought she'd teleported herself out of there, but a second later I heard her voice, clear as before, from exactly the same place. The only explanation was that she had, somehow, turned herself invisible. I have to admit, this girl freaked me out more than anyone else I've met. I just can't explain what she did or how she did it.
"Boys, you can wake up now." invisible Zara said. The four (full-sized) naked firemen she had put to sleep earlier began to stir. They looked disorientated, confused and cold, but otherwise undamaged.
"Home, James!" the magician's voice rang out. I heard no further sound (nor saw any further sight) from her. The firemen began to dress themselves before, with increasing urgency, starting to search for their missing colleagues.
I left them to their futile task and zipped through the sky, West, towards where Ultragirl lay in wait for me. Oh, and Duane too.
Next entry: what happened when I got to her place.
Tuesday 24 January 2006 22:32 GMT
So, with Zara out of the picture, there was only one task left for me: picking up Duane.
Of course, the fact that my toy was being "babysat" by Ultragirl made the chore into something quite different from what it might have been. A lot had happened in the previous hours, and I flew towards her home at a comfortable pace, thinking through it all. Despite that, I crossed the Atlantic and swooped down into Ultra's back yard within a quarter of an hour.
She wasn't in the garden, but the back door had been left invitingly open. I knew it was meant as a signal, but what's the point of having the power to see through walls if I don't use it? Before I strolled into the house, I'd already located Ultragirl and Duane. Naturally, I pretended to completely ignore the (patched up better-than-before) dweeb as I made a bee-line for Ultra. I couldn't help detecting the obvious signs of terror (increased heart-rate, trembling, shallow breathing) as I passed a few yards away from him.
"I was told you were wearing a bikini." I said, strolling into Ultragirl's bedroom. She was splayed out, utterly naked, lying on top of the bedsheets on her belly. Her gorgeous, pert, superhumanly-firm rump was on full display (in my honour I presumed).
"Um, I took it off. I thought you'd like me better like this," she drawled seductively. I'll admit I was stirred by the show. Deeply stirred. But I had unresolved issues with her.
"You think offering yourself up on a plate for a quick bit of loving will make me forget you sent a magician to try and kill me?"
"I... I didn't ask her to kill you." she protested. "I just told her to... to... reel you in."
"Reel me in? What are you talking about?" I demanded.
"I... had to. You're so... um, powerful these days, I just couldn't not try something. It would be a dishonour to my code and -"
"Your code?" I asked, astonished. "Your pointless, hypocritical, holier-than-thou code?"
"It's part of whom I am," she protested.
"Well, it's a part of you I don't like." I retorted.
With a wise sense of timing, Ultragirl rolled over on her bed, so that she was lying on her back, legs slightly apart, arms out by her sides. "At least I have a few parts you do like." she bragged.
I was about to let loose with a tirade of abuse about her code, but the sight of the second-most-beautiful woman in the world (after me) laid out in front of me was distracting. I hate to confess it, but yeah, she does have a few parts that I like. More than a few parts, actually.
I floated up off my feet and turned in the air so that I was "lying" face down about six feet above the ground. Then I drifted until I was hovering directly over Ultragirl. Slowly, I peeled off my clothes, tossing them over my shoulder.
"I have a theory," I said.
"What's that?" she breathed.
"All your attempts at 'reeling me in' have nothing to do with your 'code'. You're not worried about my power allowing me to commit crimes and go unpunished, no matter what you say. It's not about my power over ordinary people, is it? It's about my power over you. You're terrified of the way I make you feel, aren't you? You just can't help yourself."
She said nothing in response. I pressed my point: "Admit it, Ultragirl. You're head-over-heels hooked on me, aren't you?"
She cast her eyes down momentarily. "Yes." she whispered. I smiled.
Having put her in her place, it was time for fun. "Duane!" I called. "Come in here!" I could hear him breathing in the other room Breathing, but not obeying. "Now, Duane, or I'll kill you." That worked. Immediately I heard his footsteps. A second or two later I heard his gasp when he saw the two of us superwomen naked. "Kneel in the presence of your Owner." I instructed him. At once, he did.
"Crawl into the corner." I ordered. He shuffled and puffed to the edge of the room. "Stand up and face the wall!" He did as he was told. "If you move from there (or try and turn your head to look) until I give you permission, you will die. Understand? Nod your head." He nodded.
For the next two and a half hours, I made loud, energetic, glorious, superhuman love to Ultragirl. I pinned her down and licked her all over. I let her clamber on top of me and pleasure me. We caressed and squeezed and kissed every inch of each other. We peaked and peaked and peaked. And finally, we came down in one another's arms.
As Ultragirl recovered her breath, I jumped up (as chock-full of energy as ever) and pulled off one of the sheets. Walking up to Duane who was still staring at the corner six inches in front of his face, I wrapped the bedclothes around his head and body at superspeed, keeping hold of the corners. I slung the make-shift "bag" over my shoulder, making sure its contents impacted hard with my unyielding back, bringing a satisfying yelp of pain out of Duane.
"See you around, Blondie." I called out as I took off, with the wrapped-up geek on my back. I deliberately avoided the open doors and flew through the closed window, the glass shattering on my invulnerable skull. Of course, I was left utterly unmarked but a stray shard must've caught Duane because he cried out and a small red stain began to appear on the sheets.
"Wait!" Ultragirl cried. I ignored her. I couldn't fly very fast (or very high) with my "precious" cargo, but I made sure his ride was anything but smooth. By the time I was unwrapping him in his old familiar home (my bathroom) he was covered head to toe in bruises and barely conscious. Just awake enough, in fact, to hear me promise "Tomorrow, we'll start undoing all Zara's mending magic."
I didn't have the chains I originally used to tie him on top of the toilet. Instead, I improvised by leaning out of the window and ripping a length of steel guttering off the side of the building with one hand. Although I manipulated the metal with consummate ease, Duane was obviously not going to free himself. I blew him a kiss goodnight, my superbreath knocking his head back against the wall, putting him to sleep.
Satisfied, I walked out of the room.
Wednesday 25 January 2006 18:15 GMT
“Duane, has no-one ever told you that big boys don’t cry?” I asked him as I walked in on him bawling his eyes out this morning.
“Please!” he sobbed. “Just kill me now!”
“Tsk, tsk.” I disapproved. “That is no way, no way at all for a big boy to behave. And you are a big boy now, aren’t you?”
“I… I… “
“Come on, don’t be shy. Zara made you a really big boy, didn’t she?”
“She… she fixed me up…” he began.
“How lovely.” I commented, my words dripping with sarcasm.
“…and then she… she… used me,” he finished, the tears still flowing.
I laughed and reached behind him, using one hand to effortlessly untwist the thick steel pipe that was binding him to the toilet and letting it fall to the tiled floor with a loud Clang!
“Stand up.” I ordered him. “I want to see what she did to you.” Slowly, he rose.
“Quickly,” I said, “or I’ll break every last bone in your body.” He jumped up the rest of the way, his hands folded in front of his crotch. I could see his “enhancement” just fine through his palms, but I was enjoying his discomfort so I commanded him to place his hands behind his back. Then I bent down and lowered my face right in front of his groin.
“Wow, Duane.” I said. “That’s really impressive.” He flinched as I reached for it, but with nowhere to back off to, he was helpless as I took hold of his magnificent organ. If I thought it was exceptionally large when flaccid, it soon became absolutely huge in my grasp. He squirmed uncomfortably as I gripped him securely, but not painfully.
“That Zara must be one kinky magician.” I chuckled, looking down at the remarkable gift she’d given Duane. Slowly, I lifted my arm, not relinquishing my hold on his shaft as I did so. He groaned, moved onto tiptoes and then yelled as his feet came off the floor.
I continued to lift his entire body by his erection until he was hanging, in considerable pain, from my single fist. You should have heard him scream as I swung him around the room like that. I haven’t laughed so much in ages.
Sadly, my fun was cut short as he passed out. Maybe the agony was too great for him. I put him back on the lavatory and wrapped the steel pipe around him once again. His massive penis remained erect for a minute or two. As it started to droop, dark purple bruises began to appear where my fingers had been.
I bet those will hurt tomorrow.
Thursday 26 January 2006 20:38 GMT
Well it's seems that I was completely right about Ultragirl.
She's totally obsessed with me and my power. She's even confessed it on her webpage. Can't say I blame her for the way I make her feel. (Don't tell anyone but even I feel a little in awe of myself every now and then).
I'm not so sure about all this chasing glimmers in the sky, though. Maybe I've left her seeing stars....
Anyway, on to a letter from a reader (remember you can mail me by clicking the "Email" link above):
Have you ever given a man a blowjob -"
Well, thousands of times in one sense. It depends on your interpretation...
"- and I don't mean a clever answer of using your super-breath to send him flying elbows and teacups?"
Ah, right. Shame. There must be thousands of men to whom I've given that treat. Some of them are still alive, even...
"I would like to know if you have ever put a man's penis in your mouth and SUCKED!
In awe of you greatness,
Good sign-off. I approve.
As for the sucking, well, yes. A couple of times. Once when I was having a laugh with a businessman who had looked at me a few seconds too long in the street. I lured him into an alley, made him think that I was about to go down on him and sucked very gently until he screamed. Then I sucked a little more until he was permanently injured. It was so funny!
Maybe, as I have, thanks to a certain meddling magician, the most remarkable penis I've ever seen (you know, the one that's attached to Duane) within easy reach, perhaps I should try it again sometime soon...
Tuesday 31 January 2006 21:01 GMT
Well, regular readers of Ultragirl's blog (http://ultragirlspeaks.blogspot.com - can't your non-super brains remember anything?) will know that I was disturbed the other morning by a sound just outside my window.
If you've never checked out her page, you should. It's probably the second best blog written by a superhuman. (Of course, you already know that this blog is the best.)
Anyway, the sound was Ultragirl crashing down from the sky. She was in a terrible state. She didn't look very "super" at all. In fact, she barely even looked "Ultra" to be honest.
Seeing someone else in trouble usually makes me want to laugh, but I helped her in, mostly because I was curious to know who or what had left her so battered. She lay on my sofa and told me everything. How she'd discovered a vast alien armada in our solar system. How she'd tailed a scout craft until it lead her to a huge mothership. They'd tried to kill her, but she'd wasted nearly a hundred small fighter-ships until the mothership's main weapon (some kind of energy beam) had blasted her halfway into next week.
I left her resting on the couch and flew through the window and out into space to see for myself. To my amazement, I saw that she hadn't been lying about the armada. Immediately, I returned home. I wanted more information from Ultra.
"I think they're about to invade." she said.
"How do you know?" I asked. "Maybe they're just sight-seeing..."
"Not with that kind of weaponry and in so many numbers. And they definitely wanted to kill me," she pointed out. "This is it, Blogger. The big one. I can't fight them alone. You... you have to help me."
"Me?" I laughed. "Sorry, but you're on your own with this one. None of my business. I don't go round calling myself a "protector". That's your bag."
"But... but they could be about to attack the Earth! They might kill millions!"
"That's not my problem." I said.
"Blogger, please!" Ultragirl pleaded. "I think they may be about to try and enslave the entire human race. Why else would they come in such numbers?"
"What?!!" I hadn't really considered things fully up to that point. It was true. It did seem that invasion and occupation was the extraterrestrials' likely intent. "There is no fucking way I'm going to share my playground and my toys with anyone." I announced.
"So... you'll help?" she asked.
"I'll defend what's mine." I confirmed, making sure my motivation was clear.
"We have to act quick," Ultragirl announced, sitting up. The effort seemed to have made her dizzy.
"You're not going to be much use in a fight like that." I pointed out. Slipping my T-shirt over my head and revealing my perfect upper body, I suggested: "Perhaps I should 'power you up' a little first?"
"There's isn't time!" she protested, unconvincingly.
"There's always time." I told her, floating off the floor, turning my body towards hers and slowly drifting nearer to her.
"What about the aliens?" asked Ultragirl, yielding before she'd even begun to resist.
"Let's wait and see what they do next." I told her. "We have more important business to attend to first." I kissed her as I finished speaking, hard, on the lips. I could feel her responding to me with every inch of her being.
Tomorrow, I might suggest we take a little trip back into space to check out that mothership. Or I might continue to bide my time. After all, I need to make sure that Ultra is fully charged...