Blogger's Archives

July 2006

Monday 3 July 2006 16:54 BST (GMT+1)

You can’t run.

Fifteen miles per hour (that’s just the very, very quickest of you) does not count as “running”. Personally, I call any land-speed below 1,500 mph slow walking, but that’s just me. I can jog at two thousand miles an hour. A man “running” away from me as fast as he can, with mortal terror making his adrenaline pump, may as well stand still for all the good his desperate efforts will achieve. I could give him a two-hour head-start and still catch up with him in seconds…

And you certainly can’t hide.

I can see through things, remember? I could spot a coin on the surface of the moon (if there was one) from the basement of my house. Never mind locating a man hidden in a crowd: I once located a small piece of paper that was on the ground underneath a crowd.

And it’s not just my fabulous eyesight that makes hiding impossible. Anyone who’s read this blog for any length of time (even the most feeble-brained male) will know that I can hear a heart-beat through a foot of solid concrete, no matter how much yelling and screaming is supposedly “obscuring” the sound. And the rasping breath of an exhausted, terrified man is many times louder than his heartbeat.

But then again, I often don’t have to use my ears at all. Every member of the species has their own scent and my superhuman nostrils are sensitive and powerful enough to separate out one scent from amongst a million others. And track it to source. From a starting position of several miles away

Of course, the alternative to running and hiding is staying and fighting. But if a nuclear blast, at point-blank range, fails to make me uncomfortable or put even the tiniest blemish on my perfect body, I don’t fancy your chances. Not when you also bear in mind that I could smash a small planet into pieces with a single punch from my pretty little fist or level a city by pursing my luscious lips and blowing…

So, in summary then: you can’t run and you can’t hide.

True, it’s not news, but I really enjoy reminding you about it every so often…

Tuesday 4 July 2006 19:22 BST (GMT+1)

I'll start off today with a couple of responses to some communications I've received.

Now, normally I wouldn't bother, but the sun has been shining through clear blue skies for a couple of days and it's making me feel so powerful. I can just feel the incalculable forces flowing within my slender, sexy, perfect body. Right now, I reckon I could sweep a planet aside with my long, shapely arm or vaporise a world with an angry glance. And I know (I mean: I just know) that nothing in the solar system can even scratch my lovely skin.

So, because I feel more like a goddess than ever, I am amused (rather than angered) by the impertinence of lesser beings. Even the most pathetic of puny creatures. I refer, of course, to males.

One tries to rile me, mentioning yesterday's entry. "2000 mph?" he asks. "Do you think that's fast? Try going 100,000 miles in less than one second...."

What am I? A particle of light? As everyone who was capable of paying attention when they read knows, 2000 mph was the speed I cited as a typical comfortable jog. On the ground. Of course, I can run many times faster, but the damage I cause travelling at such speeds on land is immense (so I like to save such ultra-destructive sprinting for when I'm really enjoying myself).

By the way, I have tried going at 50,000 miles per second. It's fun, and not that difficult to do (for me). I'd describe the experience but you'd never be able to understand it. Your brains and bodies are far to puny and fragile...

The second communication was about cars. (I'm surprised males have any mental capacity to obsess about mechanical vehicles, as so much of their thought-processes are dominated by obsessing over my breasts.) The writer asks about the collection of vintage and classic cars in the garage of my new home.

Remember how I "inherited" them from the previous owner? My correspondent clearly doesn't remember. Not the details, anyway. He forgot about the irreplaceable 1920s automobile that I "parked" on Mars. (Check the archive for May 31st this year.) But, it is true that the rest of the cars are still there. No, they weren't damaged by the bowling ball I blew off my outstretched palm through one wall of the garage and out the other. Yes, they are worth millions (in any currency!) Yes, quite a few are one-of-a-kind and utterly irreplaceable...

Maybe I should combine the two requests and find out how fast a classic car can go before it starts to fall apart. It shouldn't be hard to arrange, even if the engines are untuned. No engine ever built could match the power I can generate just by raising an eyebrow, nevermind a shove from my pretty little finger...

Wednesday 5 July 2006 17:56 BST (GMT+1)

Having senses so sensitive, so precise, so adaptable and so (you know what’s coming) powerful makes life even more fun for me.

Now, you must realise that as an incalculably superior entity, the day-to-day activities of “ordinary” creatures don’t really interest me. I don’t go out of my way to eavesdrop on whispered conversations taking place a mile away. I just overhear them as I fly past overhead. I don’t deliberately search for people engaged in the sort of activities people like to engage in when they think they’re hidden by solid walls. I just see them when I rapidly scan a city with my X-ray vision. I don’t intentionally sniff out helpless isolated males. I just become aware of their scent when I get within a few miles.

Sometimes, (although not often) I end up “accidentally” hearing something interesting. Occasionally, I see someone doing something that intrigues me. And once in a while, when I’m in a certain mood, the smell of a man can (briefly) distract me from whatever I’m doing.

On such occasions, I might choose to detour from my original plans to investigate further and at closer range. Perhaps I might even introduce myself to the person or people responsible for catching my ear, eye or nose.

Yesterday night was a typical example of this. Not ever needing to sleep, I was relaxing out in the gardens, throwing small rocks at the moon. I was quite content making new mini-craters on the lunar surface and I could have carried on doing it all night if my amazing hearing had not picked up the following conversation taking place between two middle-aged men in the cab of a lorry speeding down the road that runs along one side of my property:

“..well they just don’t look like an elite fighting force to me.”

“Save your judgement for after the mission. Those are some of the most experienced and successful private soldiers in the world.”

“I hope you’re right. They look like a bunch of tramps to me.”

“Those ‘tramps’ are hand-picked from the ranks of the most sought-after mercenaries on Earth. These men have been everywhere and done everything. Twice. They’ve gone into hell and come out more times than you’ve had hot dinners. I can personally vouch for each and every one of them.”

“You may have to if we fail the mission.”

“We won’t fail.”

Of course, once my superhuman ears had detected that exchange, I immediately brought my superhuman eyes to the party, looking right through the high fence around my property, a couple of intervening cars-plus-occupants and the side of the lorry itself. It was night and the truck was doing about fifty miles per hour. But that presented no challenge to me. I examined the two men in the cab. A short, chubby man in a dark suit sat in the passenger’s seat. The driver was taller and much fitter, with close-shaven hair. From my angle, I could only see their faces via the reflections in the rear-view mirror. Both had the quietly determined look of men genuinely on a “mission”.

If I hadn’t been so curious about the two men talking in the cab, I’d probably have never swept my super-gaze over the back of the lorry, which would have been such a shame. I was wondering what cargo they might be hauling. It turned out to be the “elite fighting force” the driver had just referred to.

There were nine of them, seated on crude benches that ran the length of the back of the vehicle, four along one side, five along the other. I could tell from just a cursory glance that they were all at the very peak of physical condition. A quick check under their clothes revealed some lovely, tight, well-muscled bodies. My curiosity was growing by the second.

Naturally, I used my long-distance X-ray vision to check the men’s pockets for guns. I’ll admit I was a little disappointed to find nothing but an array of knives, but by then I’d already decided that there was simply too much fun to be had with the lorry-load of men. Besides, while I was looking for weapons, I couldn’t help but notice that a couple of them were well enough endowed to further stoke my interest.

I took to the air and, keeping my speed down (very, very down) so as not to shoot ahead of the truck, I followed its progress through town and onto a motorway. The two men up front had fallen silent after their initial exchange. Unsurprisingly, there was no chat in the back, just nine “tough” mercenaries sitting in moody silence.

I thought about swooping down in front of the cab and just enjoying myself with the eleven of them. But I was intrigued by the “mission” they appeared to be on. I kept my distance, tailing them from a mile up in the night sky, waiting to see where they were headed and what they were planning when they got there, safe in the knowledge that I could intervene any time I fancied, without any fear.

It turned out to be a good decision on my part, but I’ll save the “why” for my next post.

Thursday 6 July 2006 17:49 BST (GMT+1)

So, I left things last time with me following a lorry. Remember? Nine “hand-picked” mercenaries in the back and two guys in the cab discussing some “mission” that they couldn’t afford to fail….

Of course, I was sorely tempted to dive down and join the men in the back for some fun, but I held off, waiting to discover the nature of the “mission” they were on. Instead, I tailed the truck about fifty miles up the motorway, the desperately slow movement of the thing testing my patience to its limits.

Finally, they took an exit road. Another five miles on, they turned onto a side-road that lead, to my ever-growing curiosity, into a tiny village. The driver cut the lorry’s lights about a hundred yards before the road reached the little settlement and pulled onto the side of the road. I suppose, given the total lack of street-lighting, it must’ve seemed like pitch black night to the men in the vehicle. Personally, I had no trouble seeing every little detail, even through the truck’s roof.

I watched from my position, hovering in the sky about fifty feet up, as the men in the back leant forwards on their benches and began exchanges whispered remarks. I might have been twenty yards away on the other side of the steel walls, but that didn’t stop me hearing every syllable.

One of them, a tall, blonde man in his late thirties with well-defined cheek bones and what is commonly referred to as a “strong” (don’t make me laugh!) jaw-line, was clearly the leader. “Everybody is clear about the plan?” he whispered, revealing a strong Central European accent. There was a chorus of nodding. “Remember, number one mission priority is to capture the target alive. Number two priority is no other survivors. Number three is no noise.”

This sounded like it was going to be so much fun! But who was their “target”. It had to be someone in the village. From where I was, I turned to look at the modest collection of small houses and shops. My X-ray vision peeled away brick walls as I peered into each building, examining its darkened contents with precise detail at lightening speed.

I found what I was looking for in seconds, but it was a very subtle set-up: a man asleep in an upstairs room of a small house. The bedroom had been carefully constructed with partition walls so that it was the only room in the building with no windows. The give-away was the fact that two much younger men were downstairs, one sleeping in an armchair, the other awake, staring out of a window at the darkness. Both of the men downstairs had pistols concealed in their clothes. They had to be bodyguards for the guy upstairs.

A dull thud from beneath me caught my attention. The driver of the lorry had thumped the wall of the cab behind him. This was obviously the “Go” signal for the mission, because the men in the back immediately got to their feet and began to pile out of the lorry. A second later, they were running in single-file along the road into the village.

I still didn’t know who the “target” was or why he was a “target” or, indeed, who the people targeting him were. It was time to find out. Flying overhead, I effortlessly overtook the sprinting mercenaries, descending in total silence onto the soles of my bare feet on the roof of the target house.

More next time.

Friday 7 July 2006 23:08 BST (GMT+1)

So… I’d landed on the roof, right above the sleeping “target”.

Glancing down from the tiles and seeing the column of mercenaries running up the road towards the house with great purpose, I was more certain than ever that I had correctly identified their objective.

I still didn’t know who he was or why they wanted him alive (and his bodyguards dead) but I was forming a plan of action of my own anyway. I was pretty sure that the men from the lorry wouldn’t be best pleased with what I had in mind, but as they were men, I saw no need to take their wishes into consideration.

I needed a way to get at the man in the bed on the other side of the roof I was standing on without alerting the two guys downstairs. Of course, there are a million-and-two ways that a girl of unfathomable strength and complete invulnerability such as I can enter a building without using the door, but the vast majority of them involve making noise. On this particular occasion, I wanted to get in silently.

In the end, I borrowed a trick from Bugs Bunny (with a couple of modifications of my own). Instead of sawing a hole in the floor from below like cartoon characters love to do, I used my heat-vision to burn a very neat opening clean through the tiles, brick and wooden beams, the immense heat of the lasers I produced vaporising all the material before it could fall inside the house. In less than a second, and in almost perfect silence (save for a little crackling sound at the start) I made a two-foot wide section of roof just “disappear”.

After that, I effortlessly floated up off my feet and glided noiselessly through the new gaping hole in the roof down into the bedroom. Carefully, I placed my palm over the quietly snoring man’s mouth so that he wouldn’t be able to scream when he awoke. He turned out to be a light sleeper, and the touch of my hand proved enough to rouse him.

His eyes opened wide in panic as he strained to get a good look at me in the dark. His hands came up to my wrist as he tried with all his might to pull my hand away from his face, but of course his efforts were futile. I would have liked to have let him struggle for a while longer but there wasn’t time. I bent my face close to his head and whispered in his ear. “Hi,” I hissed, as cheerfully as anyone can hiss. “I was just passing when I noticed that there’s a bunch of soldiers outside coming to kill you and I thought I would gate-crash the party. You know, for a laugh.”

The panic in his eyes yielded to confusion for a few moments as my words sunk in. “Anyway, I’m just popping downstairs to introduce myself and welcome everybody. Still keeping his mouth covered, I brought my free hand up to his head, and extended my index finger, holding the tip of it just an inch from the back of his skull. “I shouldn’t be too long, but I want to make sure you stay here and wait for me. So, it’s back to sleep for you…”

So saying, I tapped my finger very gently on the back of his head. My petite, delicate-looking digit knocked him instantly unconscious, but it really was the softest of taps. After all, I didn’t want to decapitate him.

Having secured the mystery target, I floated quickly out of the door, and down the stairs, not touching the floorboards. I wanted to catch the two bodyguards by surprise before the mercenaries arrived.

More on that next time...

Monday 10 July 2006 17:25 BST (GMT+1)

Right then. After I’d knocked out the “target”, I made my way downstairs to introduce myself to the two bodyguards…

I floated down the staircase in less than a hundredth of a second, aware of the ever-nearing band of mercenaries. But it’s not just my speed of movement that’s superhuman. It’s my speed of thought too. So that hundredth of a second was all I needed to check out every detail of the two men. And thanks to my X-ray vision, I really do mean every detail.

For mere males, they were both in the very peak of physical condition: well-muscled and supple-looking. Both had attractive faces. Obviously, the musculature was purely for appearance (in reality, I have more strength in one finger than a thousand “fit” men possess in their entire bodies) but I have to say, I did like the way they looked. I made up my mind, there and then, that I was going to have the pair of them, regardless of what else happened in the next few minutes.

When I got to the doorway of the front room, they were both facing away from me, one of them asleep on a sofa, the other seated in a high-backed chair. Wanting to create the right impression, I crossed my arms under my chest, making my already magnificent chest appear even more striking still, my low-cut T-shirt leaving a long, deep portion of perfect cleavage exposed.

“Hello, boys,” I said, sweetly.

They were quick movers by the standards of “ordinaries”. The seated one pulled his pistol from its holster under his jacket as he stood up and spun around, all in one well-rehearsed move. The other awoke, reached for his own gun and sat up. Of course in the split-second it took them to draw their weapons, I had enough time to pull the guns from each man’s grasp, take to the air, fly fifty miles away, dump the pistols and return. More than enough time, in fact. I just chose to do absolutely nothing instead.

“Don’t move a muscle!” one of them instructed me.

“That’s no way to talk to a girl you’ve never met,” I pouted. “Don’t you two realise that I’m your only hope of surviving the night?”

“What are you talking about?” asked the other dishy bodyguard, still pointing his gun at me. I’m sure that he was supposed to be aiming it at my head, but just like his colleague, he seemed to have momentarily forgotten the existence of any part of me from the neck up. They were both staring at (and aligning their pistols with) my cleavage.

“Didn’t you know?” I asked, innocently. “There’s a whole bunch of guys on their way here with orders to kill you both. I can hear them down the road. They’ll be here any second. Nine of them. You boys are so lucky! I’m going to save your little lives and then I’m going to screw you both until you drop.”

The man who’d been sleeping on the sofa stood up, keeping his gun and his eyes locked on my chest, and started to walk towards me. “OK, enough crap,” he announced. “Who are you and how did you get in here?”

I couldn’t resist the gag: “I’m a superhuman girl and I’m a superhuman girl” I said, answering both questions. Even while I was joking, I was using my X-ray vision to scan the scene outside the house. The mercenaries were encircling the house. A couple of them began to climb acrobatically towards the upper floor. I guess they were supposed to be moving silently but I could hear every scrape of clothes, every thumping heartbeat, and every hushed breath.

“Superhu-?” the other bodyguard started to ask.

“-Sssshh!” I interrupted him, putting my finger on my lips. “They’re here! I’ll be back in a moment.” A split second later, I was standing by the side of one of the upstairs windows, preparing to meet the first of the nine uninvited guests…

Tuesday 11 July 2006 17:46 BST (GMT+1)

It was a stealth attack, but of course “stealth” does not work against people with superhuman senses.

And superior numbers are wasted against people with superhuman speed and strength.

Knives (or machines guns, or nuclear warheads while I’m on the subject) don’t work against people with complete invulnerability.

Have I mentioned before that I have superhuman senses to a level which your minds could not even begin to contemplate? That I’m the fastest and strongest being in existence? Or that nothing can hurt me? Sounds awesome, I know. Now put all that in the most gorgeous, desirable, erotically perfect female package in history… I’m quite something, aren’t I?

Anyway, the nine mercenaries thought they could catch the two bodyguards and the fellow upstairs unawares by quietly entering the house via the windows all around the building and on both floors. Presumably, they expected that the nine of would easily overwhelm the two protectors. They had no guns, sadly. I can only presume they were not anticipating any kind of battle but rather only two quick, silent, kills.

That’s not what they got.

Instead, they got me. I’ll tell you about it next time. Till then you’ll just have to wait…

Wednesday 12 July 2006 19:23 BST (GMT+1)

The "deadly" assault had begun.

I could see with my X-ray vision where the various men were climbing around the house. I could even hear their “silent” movements on the other side of the thick brick walls. I’d calculated which one was going to be the first to gain entry and was waiting for him as he finished making a small hole in an upstairs window with a specialist cutting tool (it took him ten seconds. I’d have done it in ten nanoseconds with my heat-vision…)

As the only real reason for my interference in the "mission" was to have fun, I figured I should be appropriately dressed. Or rather undressed. Ten seconds was plenty of time for me to remove all my clothes (without tearing them to shreds in the process) and stash them on top of a chair in the corridor. Then I returned to my position awaiting the man about to slip into the house.

He poked another special tool through the small hole he’d installed and used it to open the window latch. Then he began to climb in. Of course, he didn’t see me floating in the air above him. They never look up!

I waited until he was fully inside the building as I didn't want any of his colleagues to witness what happened next. I used the time he took to climb through the window to manoeuvre myself in the air over his head, bringing my legs up with my feet apart. One step was all I allowed him inside the building. Then, using my flying abilities, I swooped down, laying my legs over his shoulders, trapping his head between my lovely, firm naked thighs, his face pressed tight against my crotch.

He couldn't scream because his mouth was smothered by my intimacy, but his hands soon came up to my legs, trying to prise my knees apart (and, of course, failing utterly). After a few seconds' pointless struggle, he decided to go for his knife. I saw no reason to stop him.

With the blade tight in his grasp, he reached up, unsighted of course, and tried to plunge it into my lower back. You could say he was having a stab in the dark... Anyway, predictably enough, the blade bent as the point of the weapon proved totally incapable of even scratching my perfect skin. And then, loudly, it snapped in half.

I was concerned for a moment that the noise of the knife breaking would be heard by one of the other mercenaries. Number two was just about to push open the window in the room at the other end of the short corridor I was in. But watching him through the intervening door with X-ray vision, I soon realised I'd overestimated his hearing...

Meanwhile, number one was now pounding away at my superhumanly hard, rounded backside with his fists. I could tell he was beginning to tire, but I was conscious of the unwanted noise he was making. So I decided to silence him.

Just the tiniest squeeze of my thighs. The most casual of effortless motions. Rewarded with a muffled crunch as number one's skull yielded to the vastly superior power of my glorious body.

But I did not open my knees. I kept number one's corpse trapped by its (slightly narrower than before) head as I floated towards the ceiling until his feet left the floor and his limp body dangled from between my thighs.

By then, number two had clambered inside. I'll save his fate for next time though...

Monday 17 July 2006 17:07 BST (GMT+1)

A quick re-cap after my short break:

I was in a house in a village. Also in the house: two attractive body-guards (whom I had earmarked for sex later) and the man they were protecting (whom I had knocked unconscious with the intention of interrogating later, after the sex). Attacking the house were a group of nine “hand-picked” mercenaries whose mission was: kill the body-guards and take the other man alive.

You’ll probably remember that, last time, I told you of how the first mercenary climbed into the house via an upper floor window, only to end up with his head clamped between my thighs. I left things mentioning that even after I gave his skull a little (fatal) squeeze, I didn’t let go of him. I floated up until his lifeless body was dangling by the head still trapped against my crotch.

By then, the second attacker had entered the building, by a window on the other side of the top floor. X-ray vision allowed me to watch this latest arrival as he tip-toed his way across a spare bedroom towards a door that led onto the very corridor in which I was waiting. (Although even if I hadn’t been able to watch him through the wall, I’d still have heard his movements, his heartbeat, his breathing….)

No sooner had he managed to open the door then I rushed towards him in “greeting”. I was “sitting” in mid-air, my backside about five foot above the carpet, my legs held straight out in front of me, the dead mercenary hanging from between my thighs.

I moved too fast for the second fellow to react. Using the suspended corpse as a kind of club, I flew straight at number 2 so that number 1’s belly smacked into number 2’s face, knocking him straight onto his back. The speed of the impact was the deciding factor, number 2’s head being knocked back so sharply that his neck snapped. He was dead before he hit the floor.

I wasted no time admiring my work, however, as my superspenses had already detected the sound of the third mercenary about to open yet another window. This time, the entry-point was downstairs. I turned to look, my amazing visual abilities peeling away the infrastructure of the house so that I could clearly see the features of the man preparing to clamber in.

I didn’t have long to get downstairs and intercept him before he could damage the two prizes I’d selected for myself. Keeping my seated posture so that I didn’t drop the man between my thighs, I floated rapidly downstairs. If he’d still been alive, the violent jerking of my movements would definitely have killed number 1 as I carried him to a position immediately beside the still-opening window.

Number 3 climbed onto the window ledge and peered into the darkened room. Before his eyes could adjust, I swivelled my hips, causing the man dangling below them to swing through the air like a gigantic, heavy pendulum. On the return swing, number 1’s legs slammed into number 3’s ribs.
The collision was so hard that number 3 didn’t even get a chance to cry out in shock as he was swept clean from the sill and sent flying across the room until he smacked into the far wall (about three foot up). Despite the lack of light, I had no trouble seeing the huge blood-stain he left on the wallpaper as he slid to a heap on the carpet.

There was no time (sadly) to wait until number 3 came to a complete dead stop, as the next would-be intruder had already opened his window on the other side of the room.

I realised that if I didn’t intercept him immediately, he might see that one (or two) of his colleagues had been killed (or that the body of one of them was dangling from between the thighs of a mind-blowingly beautiful naked woman who was floating on air) and alert the remaining men still outside the building. A blast of heat vision, although it would have turned him to ash in an instant, would have been clearly visible from outside.

Instead, I began to rock my body in the air, forwards and backwards. Each small movement of my body was translated into a wild swing of the corpse I was carrying between my legs. Like a child building up momentum on a playground swing, I let number one oscillate more and more spectacularly below me. Meanwhile, I let number 4 jump down from the window and take one step inside the room. I heard the quick intake of breath that preluded a shout and saw his lips part in preparation.

Timing things very carefully, I opened my legs just as number one was about to reach the apex of his forward swing. The dead body, no longer trapped by my silky thighs, soared away from me in a rapid arc that ended with number one’s body dropping onto number four, catching him by surprise and pushing him to the ground before the cry could leave his mouth.

Winded by the blow, number four struggled for a few seconds to lift number one’s body off his own. By then, I was standing over him, the pointed toes of my bare left foot pressing down onto the centre of his chest with just enough force to deny him the possibility of taking in any much needed air. He looked up at me in anger, then surprise, then lust. As his face changed hue, he used both of his hands to try and lift (then punch, then twist) my foot away. I hardly need to tell you that his efforts were completely useless.

Sensing that there wasn’t long before he passed out and aware that number 5’s entrance (on the upper floor) was mere moments away, I paused only for a brief instant to make sure that number 4 had noticed the bright smile I was showing him before pressing down with my toes. To be honest, his “tough”, “well-trained” and “in the peak of physical condition” torso offered my pretty, feminine foot no noticeable resistance. The quick series of crunching sounds and the spurt of blood from his mouth, however, told me that the effortless pressure I’d exerted was more than sufficient for the task in hand.

Without a glance or a second thought for number 4, I sped through the house again, heading upstairs once more to offer number 5 a similar warm welcome.

And I’ll tell you all about it next time.

Tuesday 18 July 2006 17:35 BST (GMT+1)

OK, back to the action:

I tore through the house (although I did take care not to make any noise that might alert the remaining mercenaries or cause any premature damage to the two men downstairs), making it to attacker number 5’s entry-point upstairs in seconds. I was just in time to see him about to spring inside from the window-ledge as I turned the final corner.

As I was approaching him from directly in front, along the length of a corridor, he spotted me before I was within touching range. My superspeed came to the rescue, allowing me to reach him before he could cry out in warning to his colleagues. He’d already opened his mouth to form a yell. I ran up to him (I couldn’t have been much more than a blur to his eyes) and gently took his face in my hands, placing a palm on each of his rough, scarred cheeks.

Before he could work out what was going on, I’d taken advantage of the pre-shout shape of his mouth to plant a deep, sealing kiss on his lips. I didn’t waste time giving him the opportunity to enjoy being kissed by a stunningly beautiful goddess, however. It would never have worked out between us anyway. Everything about me was vastly superior to him.

For example, I’d say that my lungs are about three hundred million times more powerful than his were. That was evident when, with my mouth pressed over his, forming an air-tight, unmovable seal, I gently exhaled. Instantly, my breath overfilled his lungs. I heard the dull, wet muffled sound of organs bursting within him and tasted blood as he went limp. Removing my hands, I let him fall next to my bare feet, the thick crimson liquid pouring from his badly bruised mouth.

Before his head even hit the carpet, I had looked around using my X-ray vision and located numbers 6 and 7. It’ll be my pleasure to recall their fates next time…

Wednesday 19 July 2006 21:00 BST (GMT+1)

So, number 5's corpse was still settling at my feet as I located mercenaries 6 and 7.

7 was just behind 6, the pair of them about to enter the house via the window in the bedroom where I'd left the mysterious target unconscious. Fortunately, I hadn't closed the door after I knocked the old man out, so I could fly into the room quickly and silently. I hovered with my body parallel to the floor, "lying" on my front on a bed of thin air, the delectable curve of my rear almost touching the ceiling as I watched the two men clambering in below me.

Both men took care to check there was no-one else in the room as they, one after the other, jumped down from the window-sill. They checked in front of themselves, to the left and to the right. If only they'd also checked above themselves, they might have had time to warn the last two members of their group who were waiting on the ground outside the house, immediately below 6 and 7's window. If only...

As it was, they failed to notice me entirely. They began to creep towards the man in the bed. Unfortunately for them, I'd already long since decided that, whoever he was, he was mine. At least until he'd satisfactorily explained to me why he was considered important enough for such a big-scale kidnapping plot. As yet, of course, I hadn't had a chance to chat with him, so there was no way I was going to let number 6 or number 7 get anywhere near him.

With my arms spread wide, as if in greeting, I floated quickly downwards, turning my body to vertical in mid-air in a single, fluid and graceful move that ended with me standing right in front of the two mercenaries, directly in their path.

They were trained military men, full of mission-in-progress adrenaline, and they reacted well by the standards of ordinary males. That's to say, they both noticed me "appearing" and both managed to stop themselves, mid-stride, from clattering into the glory that is my naked body. They almost found time to cry out in surprise and warning, too. Almost...

I moved quickly (too quickly for either of them to realise what I was doing), bringing my arms together behind their heads as I floated about a foot off the carpet and about twice as far forwards towards the two mercenaries. With one of my palms on the back of each man's skull, the proportion of my fabulous strength required to pull the two heads to me, despite the "strong" resistance of their muscular (in appearance, anyway) necks, was as good as zero. Well, I certainly didn't notice the effort.

The two mercenaries, however, would definitely have noticed something, if only for the briefest of moments. If I'd still been standing on the carpet, my hands would have pushed their heads into my body in such a way that their foreheads would have slammed against my shoulders. However, in my raised position, my bare soles nearly level with the men's knees, I forced the two heads violently down onto my large, round, superhumanly firm and unthinkably erotic breasts.

Neither man stood a chance. My beautiful womanly flesh yielded not so much as a millimetre as I pushed the startled faces against them. A splash of blood on either side of my body told the story: the skin and bones of two tough mercenaries had been pulverised and utterly destroyed by my glorious chest, my breasts completely caving in their faces.

I let the two bodies fall, admiring the way they now boasted perfect impressions of my chest where once there had been features. I bent over them, tearing a strip from one of the men's shirts to wipe the worst of the blood from my mounds. Then, discarding the stained rag and letting it fall over the corpses at my feet, I turned my attention to the last remaining pair of attackers.

Tune in next time to find out how I dealt with them...

Thursday 20 July 2006 19:01 BST (GMT+1)

So, zipping around the house like the beautiful, curvaceous, sexy, gorgeous superhuman girl I am, I’d made short, silent (but enjoyable) work of 7 out of the original party of 9 mercenaries.

Even someone as helpless as the average "non-super" male reading this should be able to work out that only two men remained. Let’s call them “number 8” and “number 9”. That’ll have to do, because I forgot to ask them their actual names. I know, I know: it was rude of me. In fact, I never got to find out the names of any of the attackers. I’m sure they’re not offended, though. They’re all too dead to be offended…

Anyway, back to number 8 and number 9. They were still outside the house, on the ground, directly beneath the bedroom window that numbers 6 and 7 had clambered through (just before I smashed their faces in against my breasts. Sigh!).

It didn’t require a mind as awesomely quick and powerful as mine to work out that the plan had been for 6 and 7 to pass the “target” out through the window down to 8 and 9 who were (presumably) charged with carrying him back down the road to the waiting truck. Unfortunately for the attacking squad, the best laid plans of mice and soldiers of fortune tend to become irrelevant if I’m around. Already mercenaries numbers 1 through 7 were nothing more than corpses littering the house.

Seeing as both number 6 and number 7 had nothing but a concave bloody messes where their faces had been, (did I mention how I killed them, pressing them into my big, wonderful bosoms?) 8 and 9 could have waited all night for them to appear at the window had they been following the original plan. However the original plan had gone out of the window the moment number 1 came in through the, er, window. We were now following my revised plan.

As part of this new plan, I checked down the road out of the village, seeing through the dark to the truck still parked a hundred-odd yards away. The two men in the cab had not moved, which meant that the last two mercenaries were isolated from their only potential allies, well out of sight and earshot of the lorry. Taking advantage of this, I flew out of the house and descended to land, silently, directly behind 8 and 9, safe in the knowledge that I wasn’t being watched from the truck.

Trained soldiers at full alert for their mission or not, neither of them noticed me as I put my hands on my hips and cocked my pelvis slightly, my feet apart and my left knee slightly bent in a casual, but utterly dominant, pose. “Evening boys.” I smiled.

I love the look of confusion and surprise melting into lust that I always get in these situations. Both men whirled around at the sound of my voice, hands reaching for their knives (which were “hidden” inside their clothes, but fully visible to me, of course). Before either could speak, I threw them even further off-guard with a casual “Looks like you two are missing all the fun. You should see the inside of the house!”

“Wh… What are you talking about?” number 8 finally asked, his eyeballs looked on to my naked (and still fairly blood-splattered) chest, his voice hoarse and heavily accented.

“You’re seven friends,” I explained. I nodded towards the house. “In there.”

I saw number 9’s fist tighten around the hilt of his knife without actually drawing it out (yet) as he asked “What about them?”

I’m not sure how interested he was in any possible reply. I got the impression he was planning to stab me whatever I answered. That was, if his eyes didn’t completely pop out of his skull first in their constant effort to study my magnificent nipples.

“They’re all dead,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Eh?” number 8 enquired, pulling out his own knife. He seemed confused that I didn’t show any fear when the long, shiny blade was finally revealed. Obviously, we hadn’t met before…

“Yeah,” I said, “all of them. Dead.”

Number 9 pushed the knife threat a little harder by holding the sharp edge of his dagger up towards my flawless throat. “Why do you think they are dead? How do you know what is happening in the house?” he demanded.

I ignored the blade nearing my neck and answered the two questions with a single statement: "Because I’ve just come from killing them."

“You?” laughed number 8. “You think we are stupid?”

“Yes.” I replied.

“That’s enough!” snapped 9, now angry. “I don’t know who you think you are, bitch, walking around naked, but you’ve made your last mistake.” He dragged the edge of his knife across my throat. The blade made a scraping sound as it failed to even scratch my immaculate silky-smooth, warm skin whilst my immaculate silky-smooth, warm skin, for its part, completely blunted the weapon.

Whilst number 9 looked in astonishment at my neck and his knife, I reached up and took the blade between my thumb and forefinger. It required no effort to overpower the big, toughened male fist holding the weapon and I pulled it oh-so-easily from his grasp, making him cry out in pain and grasp his right palm with his left hand.

“How did you…” number 9 began to ask, before changing his focus and shouting to his partner: “Kill her!”

I let 8 stab me in the belly with the point of his blade. I let 8’s blade bend as it tried (oh, how it tried! And how it failed!) to break the flat, perfect skin of my abdomen. And I let 8’s blade snap in half when the steel was forced to concede defeat to my stomach. I also let the broken bit of blade spin upwards, strike me on the chin, bounce off and land on top of my breasts, without leaving any kind of mark on me.

I placed the palm of my free hand on top of the snapped-off piece of blade and pressed it down, hard, into my chest. With nowhere to go between the impenetrable, unyielding flesh of my breasts and the unthinkable pressure being exerted by my hand, the steel could do nothing but melt, boil and vaporise. I removed my palm and let both 8 and 9 stare at the small trickle of solidifying molten steel that ran over the curve of my left bosom like a shiny bead of metallic sweat; all that remained of the piece of metal that had lain there moments before.

“Oh shit,” breathed number 9. To complete the display, I crushed 9’s knife in my fist until it began to ooze out between my fingers. To the two men, the strength I was exhibiting must have been completely mind-blowing. But it was just the most gentle of little squeezes to me. I opened my fist and brushed the liquid metal away, before placing both of my hands back onto my hips, as if to say “So, what else have you got?”

“Now, where were we?” I asked, rhetorically, “Ah, yes. I was telling you two about how you missed all the fun inside. Anyway, being a generous girl, I’ve decided to let you have your share, too.”

They both looked utterly perplexed. I took my palms off my hips and quickly grabbed hold of the pair, taking one man’s arm in each of my hands. I didn’t hold them hard (I wasn’t trying to crush their bones) but they both winced and fought to pull themselves free of my grip. Needless to say, despite their bulging muscles, their gritted teeth and their curses, neither of them succeeded in budging my delicate-looking feminine fingers.

“Now,” I said, once they had exhausted themselves enough to calm down slightly, “I told you I’m feeling generous tonight. Lucky you! You get a choice: legs, thighs, tummy, breasts or lips. Which part of me would you like to die by?”

Next post: 8 and 9’s “final” (hehe) decisions…

Monday 24 July 2006 17:58 BST (GMT+1)

Where was I? Oh yes…

The last two mercenaries, number 8 and number 9. I’d grabbed them by an arm each, and once they had almost completely exhausted themselves trying and failing to get free from my effortless (but unbreakable) grip, I’d given them a choice.

And what a choice! It was: legs, thighs, stomach, breasts or lips. What a generous offer I made. Each of the two of them with their pick of my magnificent body. The sexiest, shapeliest legs on Earth. The roundest, firmest thighs in the solar system. The flattest, most flawless belly in existence. The most rounded, erotic, gravity-defying, glorious breasts in the universe. Or the most luscious, rich, desirable lips in history.

Unsurprisingly, faced with the dilemma of selecting just one area of physical glory from the menu, the two mercenaries were reluctant to make their decisions. Perhaps another factor in their unwillingness to make up their minds was the fact that I’d made it clear that I was going to kill them with whichever body-part they selected (although I’d have thought death was a small price to pay for the awesome privilege of close contact with me).

After a few seconds had passed, I gave the pair of them a gentle shake to hurry them along, their feet lifting from the ground monetarily and their legs and free arms flailing wildly in response to the tiny shaking movements of my delicate-looking wrists. Once they’d stopped flapping around, I yanked number 8 towards me so that his torso slammed into mine and all the air was driven out of his lungs.

Our eyes were just a few inches apart and I stared deeply into his terrified pupils as I told him: “You’re first. You’ve got ten seconds to decide which part of me I’m going to kill you with. So, what’s it to be? Legs, thighs, belly, breasts or lips? Six seconds… Five… Four…. Three… Two…”

“I, er, I…” was all number 8 could think of to say. That was not one of the acceptable answers.

“One… Zero. Time’s up!” I announced. “You didn’t express a preference, so you can die without the honour of touching my body.” So saying, I narrowed my eyes slightly and shot two beams of pure energy from my pupils.

In less than a tenth of a second, the phenomenal heat of my lasers turned the upper half of number 8 to ash. Number 9 tried to turn away from the heat, but with my hand holding his arm, he couldn’t really move. My heat-vision warmed the air surrounding its focal point to hundreds of degrees, burning 9’s skin badly enough to make him cry out. I didn’t even notice the warmth myself. Then again, I hardly even noticed the effort required to generate the beams from my eyes…

I let the powder that had previously been number 8’s arm fall through the fingers of my left hand and then, as the remaining intact portion of number 8 collapsed to the ground, placed my now spare hand on my hip as I turned to number 9. His face was bright red and already starting to blister from his exposure to air made hot by my heat-vision and I could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes as I looked into them.

“Your turn now,” I told him, with an easy smile. “Have you made your mind up or will you be accepting the default option like your friend?”

“Please… no… don’t….” he blubbed, almost incoherently.

“So, default it is then.” I announced, beginning to focus my eyes. Although I didn’t quite get as far as generating the actual beams of energy, I had started to produce heat with my eyes. It wasn’t enough to vaporise number 9’s head but I did give him a couple of new blisters and singe his eyebrows. And, it seems, I also gave him enough of a taste of death by heat-vision to make him reconsider.

“Wait!” he screamed. “I choose breasts!”

I smiled, and relaxed my eyeballs so that the heat quickly died down.

“They are magnificent, aren’t they,” I said, proudly thrusting my chest out. Number 9 just swallowed hard.

I think the next bit of the story can wait until my next post…

Tuesday 25 July 2006 21:11 BST (GMT+1)

Number nine had decided, and all that remained was for me to oblige.

Languidly, I placed my arms over his shoulders, resting them casually. I could hear the thump of his heartbeat getting ever faster and louder, perhaps because he realised his time was almost up, perhaps because my fabulous chest was so close to him and would soon be much closer still. More than likely, the accelerated heartbeat was due to the usual mix of lust and fear; the two emotions I just can't help inspiring in males...

I met his terrified eyes with my own, happy, gaze for a second and then glanced seductively and more than a little mischievously down at the top of my breasts. His eyes followed mine, and the sharp intake of breath as he looked down on my glorious curves and the deep, inviting valley between them told its own story. He didn't look back up at my face again after that, choosing instead to continue to stare at my perfect, naked breasts.

"Well," I said, flippantly, "it's been nice knowing you."

My words must've reached some inner part of his brain (or more precisely, the one tiny area of his mind that wasn't completely preoccupied with the sight and proximity of my chest). "No!" he cried out, placing his hands on my flat abdomen and trying to push himself away from me. I merely used my two slender forearms, draped casually over his shoulders, to hold him inescapably in place, despite the desperate efforts he was making. (Not that I could feel those efforts, but I could see them in his bulging, trembling biceps.)

Ignoring the pathetic struggling, I began to pull his shoulders towards me with my arms. He continued to fight with all his strength to keep our torsos apart and I effortlessly brought them closer together with the tiniest fraction of my own power. As the gap between us diminished, I enjoyed seeing the way his fully tensed, thick muscular arms were forced to bend at the elbows simply because of the effortless movements of my slim, feminine upper limbs.

After a while, I began to press down on his shoulders. Now, he could use the huge muscles in his thighs and legs to try and resist me. His teeth clenched. I could hear him straining. But I didn't notice any opposition to my will as I pushed him lower, forcing his knees to bend until I got his head level with my bust. Then I leant forward.

I was careful with my movements, not wanting to kill number 9 instantly and spoil the fun. The first contact was merely to brush the perfectly round outer curve of my right breast against his cheek. I didn't hurt him with the light contact, although he did shudder afterwards. That, of course, was due to something other than pain.

Shifting my body slightly, I then caressed his chin with my other mound, slightly harder this time. His head flew back as if he'd been punched and he would have staggered back if I hadn't been holding him in place. I smiled seeing the bruise already starting to form.

"This is fun!" I declared as I started to turn my torso one way then the other, letting my big, firm breasts take turns to strike the side of his face, knocking his head around as if it were a punch-bag.

"Ow ow ow ow," number 9 yelled as the repeated blows began to take their toll. His cheek was bleeding now. He finally took his hands off my stomach and tried to use them to shield his head, but I effortlessly swatted them away (hard enough to break a bone, much to my amusement) with my chest before continuing the assault on his face.

As his skin started to swell and darken, his shouts began to get more and more desperate and less and less loud as what little oxygen and strength he had possessed to begin with was gradually consumed. He opened his mouth wide to try and gulp down a precious lungful of air, only for my superhumanly firm and flawless left breast to whack him hard enough to dislodge a few teeth. The force of the impact threw his head to the side, a streak of blood passing through his lips.

That just put him well within socking range of my right bosom which slammed against the other side of his face, breaking his jaw with a satisfying Crack!. There wasn't even time for him to try and scream as my swinging body carried the supposedly soft flesh of my left mound into the side of his head, my sexy, perfect breast hitting him harder than a boxer's fist, sending his head reeling back in the other direction again.

Of course, the silky flesh of either of my generous mounds was more than capable of finishing him off in a single impact, but I was holding back (holding back a hell of a lot) so that my enjoyment would last longer. Nonetheless, the various bruises and cuts on his face were beginning to multiply and expand. With every relaxed, easy swing of my breasts, the injuries worsened until, all too soon, there wasn't a single bit of undamaged skin to be seen around his bleeding, battered features.

Why can't males be just a little less pathetic and fragile? Why do their useless bodies always break or fail after the tiniest bit of playing? They never last long enough to amuse me fully! This one was already less than semi-conscious and barely able to stand up despite the near-infinite strength of my arms giving him a goddess' support. And his face was no more now than a beaten, broken mess. The flesh around his eyes had turned dark purple and had swollen to the point where he probably couldn't see much at all.

It was all so disappointing. Having let him make his choice, I wanted him to witness the sheer feminine glory and the sublime erotic power of my wonderful, perfect breasts as he surrendered everything (and I really do mean everything) to their immeasurable superiority.

It's not that guys like him are too easy to kill. I don't mind that at all. In fact, knowing that every creature I encounter is easy to kill is one of the things that makes me feel most like a goddess. I had no issue with number 9 being easy to kill. My complaint was that he died too easily. There's a big difference.

It just happened without me even trying. If I hadn't been amusing myself watching his ever-increasing internal injuries with my X-ray vision, I might have missed it entirely. As it happens I saw the whole thing. A not-very-hard slap of the outside of my left bosom put a crack in his skull, my lovely, "soft", most feminine flesh effortlessly defeating his ugly, "hard", masculine bone. Half a second later, my right bosom caught him square on the other side of his head, causing the fissure to lengthen noticeably.

I did not increase the pace or the force with which I was turning my upper body to and fro. The next blow, with my left mound, was no harder than any of its predecessors. But, I guess, the integrity of number 9's bone had been weakened too much. As my heavy round breast slammed against his face, his skull collapsed like an eggshell. Blood splashed from his gaping mouth all over my chest. I leant back and let the last of the nine mercenaries from the lorry fall to the ground.

The corpse settled at my feet and I glanced down, over the rounded glory of my proud, triumphant bust, at the remains of number 9's face. The traces of his blood on my fabulous curves bore witness to the role my bosoms had played in his battering. Of course, the blood would be easy to rub off. And then there would be not a single mark, nor tiny scar, nor minute blemish on my beautiful breasts. Even though they had just beaten a man to death.

Number 9 was history. Truth be told, I'd already almost forgotten him as I leapt back into the house through one of the many windows that the mercenaries had thoughtfully left open for me. There was still the small matter of the two attractive bodyguards. I'd promised myself a different kind of fun with them...

Wednesday 26 July 2006 22:38 BST (GMT+1)

"Alone at last, eh boys?" I said, cheerfully, as I entered the living room.

"The other men..." one of the bodyguards asked me, staring in poorly concealed lust at my glorious, naked body, "..what happened to them?"

"Oh, them?" I replied, casually, "They're dead."

"All.. all of them?" asked the other man, stunned (or perhaps just nervous in the presence of my feminine perfection).

"Why don't you take a look around the house for yourselves?" I offered.

"I'll go, you stay." one of them told his colleague, before walking out of the room. He managed no fewer than eight lingering backward glances at me on his way.

While we were waiting for his return I smiled at the other guard and said "I hope you both had a good dinner."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because you're both going to need every last bit of energy." I told him.

"What for?"

I grinned. "You'll see." I said, enigmatically.

The other fellow came back into the room, looking a little pale. When he looked at me, I could sense a little fear had crept into his mind along with the obvious desire. "It's true," he told his colleague, "they're all over the house, all killed. Most of them look like they've been crushed or something..." He turned to me. "How... how did you..?"

"Oh it's easy if you have the right talents," I said, modestly.

"But, how did you get them all so quickly?" the other one wanted to know.

"Like this," I explained, moving at superspeed from my position by the window. To the two men, with their "ordinary" senses and brains, I was so fast, I probably didn't even appear as a blur. I would simply have "disappeared" from my spot on the other side of the room and "rematerialised" six yards away, with my hands on my hips, standing close (very, very close) to the one who had asked how I'd been so quick.

"Shit! H-how..?" he began to ask again, as soon as he became aware of me suddenly standing right in front of him, my prominent, sexy nipples almost touching his shirt. When he glanced down and saw them, and the big, round breasts on which they sit so proudly, he seemed to forget the rest of his question.

Despite at least one of the two bodyguards being distracted from his curiosity about me, I felt a little further explanation was in order. "You see, boys," I stated, "I'm not your everyday fabulously gorgeous girl." I paused, making sure I had the attentions of both men. At least my nipples had the attention of one of them. Slowly, I extended the index finger of my left hand, keeping my right hand on my hip. I brought the single finger up, under the chin of the bodyguard whose personal space I was occupying.

He was surprised when I used my finger to raise his chin until he was looking at the sky. But it was only when the pressure on his neck became painful that actual panic and terror took hold of him. Both his big hairy hands clasped my petite, silky wrist. For all I know, he used all his considerable weight to try and pull my hand away from his chin. I didn't really feel his efforts and they certainly didn't have any influence whatsoever on the continued upward movement of my finger.

The muscles of the bodyguard's thick neck had to work at the very limit of their puny ability as his heels were lifted from the carpet. I didn't notice as the burden of his bulk was transferred to my fingertip. His toes came off the ground and I was supporting his entire weight without feeling any strain. I just kept on lifting him higher and higher with my finger.

I stopped when my left arm was fully upstretched, the big bodyguard dangling from the end of my pretty digit with his feet kicking out my knees (I didn't feel that either). My right arm was still resting casually on my hip, and the slight smile on my serene face showed how weightless a large man is for me.

"As I was saying," I continued, "I'm not your everyday girl. I'm what you might call..." I pulled my finger sharply away from my new friend's chin. Without me to keep him two foot off the floor, gravity took over and he began his descent. Just before the soles of his shoes hit the carpet, I puckered up and blew a tiny, gentle puff of superbreath at him. My exhalation hit him like a truck and his trajectory changed instantly from straight down to straight sideways across the room. "... a supergirl."

"Fu..." said the other, still standing, bodyguard.

"Ow..." said the one I'd blown through the air as his gingerly picked himself up off the floor.

"So... um... who do you work for?" asked the uninjured man.

"Work?" I chuckled, "I don't do 'work'! I'm here strictly for pleasure."

"But... who told you what was going on here?"

"No-one. I was just passing and thought I'd drop in and say 'Hi.' Then I just got wrapped up in all the fun."

"Fun? You mean all that killing? You call that... fun?"

"Well, I enjoyed it." I smiled. Both men glanced nervously at each other after that, but with me (naked) in the room, they were never going to be looking at one another for long.

"Then..." the guy I'd lifted was perplexed, scared and sexually aroused. I have that effect on men. He continued to rub his neck, "did you mean what you said earlier... about um...?"

"Screwing you?" I finished his question, with a little arching of my beautiful eyebrow. Both bodyguards swallowed hard.

"Y... y... ye..." one of them stammered. The other could only nod vigorously.

I floated a foot up from the ground, and spread my feet about a yard apart. With my fingers curled casually around my hips, the two men saw just how goddess-like my body is. They gasped in awe.

"Take your clothes off." I instructed.

I think I might as well leave it there for today. I'll continue in the next post.

Thursday 27 July 2006 20:27 BST (GMT+1)

We had fun, the two bodyguards and me.

Well, I had fun and they enjoyed most of it. For two "ordinary" males, the honour of making love (or being raped, depending on your viewpoint) by a beautiful goddess must make any injuries sustained in the process worthwhile.

And, no, I didn't kill them. I can be quite a gentle lover when I choose to be. Having had my fill of violent fun with the nine mercenaries, I was very careful riding the two bodyguards, a fact which is borne out by the fact that I left them both (more-or-less) alive, albeit unconscious and wounded. Then again, a certain amount of injury is inevitable when dealing with such comparatively fragile beings.

For the record, I took each man four times (even though they were begging me to stop after two). It's amazing what a sexy body like mine can achieve. A man says he's exhausted, that he hasn't even got the strength or energy to get another erection and two seconds later, having had his face rubbed across my chest, he's as "hard" as he's ever been...

Actually, two males is quite a good number. Although (obviously) they can't provide as much satisfaction as ten or twelve, the convenience of being able to hold one man's head against my breasts whilst riding the other, and changing them over every so often, is great.

Of course, I had to make sure I didn't get carried away and crush whichever of them I was pressing against my chest, but the biting of my mounds and general struggling to get away was nice. I forgot to make allowances for the engorging and firming of my nipples as I got into the mood, with the result that one of my new pals lost an eye and his colleague had most of his front teeth knocked out, but the important thing is that I didn't mind.

The two broken pelvises were a natural result of my grinding hips and the snapped leg was just for fun, so it doesn't count. All in all, in fact, I think those fellows can count themselves exceptionally lucky.

When they were both too far gone (i.e. comatose) I had to call it a day. I ran a bath in the house to clean all the sweat (the bodyguards', not mine of course) and blood (everyone else's) from my perfect body. Then I went to wake up the mercenaries' target (and the bodyguards' client) who was still unconscious upstairs.

I'll tell you about him in my next post.

Friday 28 July 2006 19:59 BST (GMT+1)

Fresh from my bath (and without bothering to dress again) I shook the mysterious man upstairs awake.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Nevermind," I answered, "who are you?"

He was reluctant to talk at first. Then I picked him up by his chin and carried him around the top floor of the house, showing him the corpses of some of the mercenaries I'd killed. After that, he found it much, much easier to spill the beans (even if he was trembling with terror throughout).

It seems he was a biochemist who had defected from an enemy country. He was staying in the so-called "safehouse" during his de-briefing period. He wasn't sure if the mercenaries were on the payroll of his ex-government or a third country, eager to exploit his expertise. In fact, despite his new-found willingness to talk to me, he didn't actually have anything at all interesting to say. Even his field of expertise was, frankly, boring. And of no use to me.

After a while, I stood up and announced "Well, I've got better things to do than be bored by you." With that, I walked to the door.

"Wait!" he called after me. "Are my bodyguards still downstairs?"

I laughed. "They're downstairs alright, but they won't be doing much guarding for a couple of months. Actually, you might want to call an ambulance for them."

"Don't leave me alone here!" he pleaded.

"Pathetic!" I sneered at him as I walked out.

In truth, I knew he wouldn't be alone for long. Whilst he was telling me about his work, an unmarked van had pulled up near the mercenaries' lorry. Watching with my X-ray long-distance vision, I saw a group of soldiers climbing out. They took the two men in the cab of the truck at gunpoint into the van. As I stood up to go, three of the soldiers began running up the road towards the house.

I didn't know what the soldiers' intentions towards the scientist were but, having had enough fun in the house, I didn't care either way. Deciding not to be around when they arrived, I flew out of an open window, straight up into the sky. Even if the soldiers had, by some kind of miracle, spotted me and alerted the airforce, no jet-plane (or rocket for that matter) could ever catch me.

Indeed, six minutes later, I was back on the roof of my home once again, not a scratch anywhere on my lovely, perfect body.

Sunday 30 July 2006 01:20 BST (GMT+1)

I thought I'd let you all know that I'm not going to be posting for a week or so.

Don't ask why. I'm too beautiful and too powerful to give reasons.