So, I left things last time mid-way through a report on my latest piece of experimentation…
The point of the experiment was to see whether or not it is possible for a man to make enough noise inside my home for him to be audible in any of the neighbouring buildings. If you remember correctly, I’d selected (or “abducted against his will” if you prefer) a test subject, and installed (or “dropped and then kicked”) him in my house.
He was lying on the ground, still moaning about his broken ribs where I’d prodded him lightly with my toes. As he slowly recovered from the shock of what must have been the gentlest kick I have ever given a man, his flank bruised deep purple beneath his shirt (but, of course, not hidden from my X-ray-equipped eyes), he looked up at me in frightened awe.
I have to say, I have always enjoyed that “I don’t know what’s going on but your beauty overwhelms me and your strength terrifies me. Please don’t hurt me!”-look that most men end up giving me at some point. It’s even better when the male is prone on the ground (usually because I’ve knocked him down in some way) and I am standing over him, looming dominantly with my hands on my hips. I can’t help myself. I’ll never tire of it. I just love that feeling of total power over a hopeless creature!
Anyway, for the purposes of my experiment, I needed him to make noise. He was so confused and frightened already, I probably could have asked him politely and he would have obeyed. But where would the fun have been in doing that? Plus, for some reason, screams are so much more entertaining when they are caused by agonies that I’ve inflicted.
Before I got down to the business of noise-generation, I teased him a little with my unique “charms”, bending over him and letting him see my fabulous big breasts in all their pendant glory until his heartbeat had accelerated to something approaching humming-bird speed and his modest erection, thanks to the bulge in his jeans, was visible even to “ordinary” eyes. Naturally, there was no scientific reason for getting him so aroused. I just like exercising all my powers over men.
Having succeeded in demonstrating the irresistible effects of my sexuality, I then proceeded to the actual experiment. Obviously, the best (and most likely to be enjoyable) method for getting him to scream and shout was to cause him pain, but it wasn’t as simple as that. I had to remember that I was conducting my experiment on a weak, fragile male. If I caused him too much damage there wouldn’t be any noise at all. And if I damaged him in the wrong place (anything involving upper ribcage, lungs, throat and so forth) his ability to produce loud sounds would be impaired.
I was glaring down at my prostrate test subject, wondering which part of his puny, fragile frame I was going to use for my game. Sorry! Did I say “game”? What I, of course, meant was “serious scientific study”…
The guy noticed me studying him, and no doubt was slightly disturbed by the aloof sneer on my face (not something I do consciously, just a natural result of contemplating so inferior a being). Perhaps in a misguided attempt to allay his growing fears, he asked, in a rather pathetic voice “Wh... Wh…What do you want from me?”
I smiled at the question. “I want you to scream,” I explained. “I want you to shout and scream as loudly as you can.” A look of pure bafflement came over his face. “Don’t worry,” I reassured. “I’ll help you. Like this-“.
I concentrated a faint beam of my heat-vision, probably only several hundred degrees centigrade at its focus, on his knees. The fabric of his jeans began to smoulder and then turn brown. “Ow! Ow! Ow! Stop it! Stop it! Please!” he shouted. The material caught flame. “No! Please!” he yelled.
Encouraged by this promising start, I moved down to his ankles, burning away his trousers and heating the exposed skin until it blistered and then started to cook. He screamed, making several short bursts of noise. That was good, but I knew we could do better.
“You call that screaming?” I taunted, even though I had to shout to make certain he could hear me above the desperate sounds of his own voice. I moved up his leg, setting fire to the cloth around his thighs and then slowly burning the surface of the flesh. I passed over his genitals, singeing his pubic hair. Terror gripped him as the pain took over his mind save for a tiny corner that was filled with the fear that I was about to neuter him. His mouth opened wide and a single, continuous, horrified cry left his lips, louder than almost any I’d ever provoked before.
He kept screaming until he ran out of air, trashing around in sheer panic and agony as I continued to “massage” him with the lasers produced by my eyes. Of course, I could have vaporised his entire body in a split-second if I’d increased the power of my heat-vision, but I showed admirable consideration for his weakness as I kept the beams at an extremely low intensity throughout.
When the cry finally stopped so that he could try and gulp down some air, I realised that any noise he made thereafter could not hope to match the levels he had already reached. Unlike me, men have virtually no stamina and tire amazingly quickly. There was no point trying to make him shout any louder. I knew he simply wouldn’t be able to.
Using my remarkable powers of vision, I turned slowly on my heels through a complete circle, casting my gaze all around, peering through the walls of my house, across my big gardens and through the walls of the buildings up to a half-a-mile away in every direction. Although I saw plenty of people inside those other houses, not one of them showed any sign of having heard any screaming.
Of course, the man at my feet was still yelling and moaning (only not nearly as loud as before). I’d stopped my heat-vision, so he was really just making a big fuss over the burns I’d already inflicted. Now that the experiment was over, his cries were a waste of time.
“Oh, do shut up!” I told him. When that instruction was not met by immediate and complete obedience, I rolled my eyes and sneered down “So you’re too hot to be quiet? Let’s cool you off.” I puckered up and blew a stream of ultra-cold superbreath over him. One instant he was a living, yelling man and the next he was a frozen, unmoving ice statue. I got rid of him by carrying him out into the garden and throwing him straight up into the air with a flick of my dainty wrist. There wasn’t even time for him to defrost before he burnt to nothingness at the edge of the atmosphere.
My experiment had been a complete success. The conclusion? It is not possible for a single male located in my home to shout loud enough to be heard by the neighbours. Needless to say, now that I know it for sure, I intend to take full advantage of my discovery…
Wednesday 4 October 2006 17:08 BST (GMT+1)
I’ll start today by acknowledging those readers who sent in their suggestions for ways of getting men to scream and yell as loudly as possible. I trust you will all be presenting yourselves as volunteer subjects for experiments so I can properly test your theories...
In the meantime, because my last experiment was so successful (not to mention such great fun), I’ve decided to spend the next few days conducting further research. Obviously, I am doing this purely to push back the boundaries of knowledge, and not for any other reason. To suggest that I’m engaging in these activities simply because it’s as good excuse as any to dominate, hurt and humiliate a bunch of useless males would be doing a disservice to my magnificent contribution to science.
Everyone knows how beneficent I am, so it will come as no surprise that I will be revealing the results of my experimentation on this blog. Lesser beings would keep the information gathered from their research to themselves. Only a generous goddess such as me would share the details of every cry, every scream, every pleading supplication, every snap and every crunch. Earth doesn’t know how lucky it is to be graced by my supremely powerful and breathtakingly beautiful presence!
Right now, I’m off to select the subject for the next in my planned series of experiments. By the time of my next post, I should have the answer to the following question: “What lengths would the average male go to in order to touch my glorious body?”
Tune in next time to see the result (and how I go about finding it)…
Thursday 5 October 2006 18:50 BST (GMT+1)
It took me all of ten seconds to find a fresh test subject yesterday evening.
Remember my scientific aim? To discover what lengths the average male will go to in order to touch my glorious body? Well, I needed an average male for the experiment.
I didn’t bother dressing up as, frankly, with a body as awesomely irresistible as mine, it’s not necessary. I was wearing a plain red T-shirt which was tucked into the waistband of a pair of black jeans. Black ankle-boots completed the outfit. As an ensemble, it probably wouldn’t attract a second glance on most other people.
Of course, with me inside them, the clothes took on a whole new dimension. As always I looked fabulous. The top stretched oh-so-tight over the magnificent swell of my chest so that the outline of each of my two big nipples was clearly visible and both the narrowness of my waist and the roundedness of my posterior were on unmissable display thanks to the body-hugging cut of my trousers.
I went into a bar full of men in suits and before I could even walk as far as the counter to order a drink, I’d caught the eye of just about every single person in there. The few women in the place stared in cold jealousy as I cast my gaze about the room, choosing a suitable candidate for experimentation.
“Can I buy you a drink?” an eager youngish face appeared by my side as I got to the bar. I scanned him up and down briefly, rather like normal people scan a piece of fruit in the supermarket before deciding whether or not it’s fit to go into their basket. He wasn’t anything special, but then again, no-one is compared to me. I decided he would do for my purposes.
“Let’s skip the drink and go straight back to my place,” I said, not so much making a suggestion as giving an order. The idiot nearly fainted in shock as he took in my words. As he swooned, I turned and started to head back towards the door, leaving the guy several paces behind me. I heard the sound of his thumping, over-excited heartbeat as he hurried to catch up with me.
I didn’t hold the door for him as it shut behind me, so he had to run for a few seconds along the pavement to draw level with me after he’d managed to re-open it. Already panting, he reached for me, probably hoping to hold my hand or even walk arm-in-arm.
“Not here - wait till we get to my place,” I told him, keeping my arm down by my side. He looked disappointed, and made a “valiant” effort to console himself by stealing a succession of unsubtle sideways glances at my stunningly feminine profile as he struggled to match my pace. I strolled purposefully back towards my house and he puffed with the effort of keeping up with my easy pace.
He was red in the face and his forehead shiny with perspiration when I opened the gate at the edge of my property.
“Wow!” he panted, seeing the expansive gardens and the long drive that leads up to my magnificent domicile. “It’s almost as beautiful as you are!” I fought hard to resist the temptation to break both his legs there and then as punishment for the corny line, but when he tried to put his hand around my shoulder I couldn’t stop myself flicking it away with a casual movement of one finger, breaking a few bones in the process.
“Ow! Shit!” he exclaimed. “My hand!” He clutched it to his belly and looked at me in surprise.
“Not until we’re inside.” I re-iterated, making no effort to hide the annoyance in my voice. He looked a little taken aback by that. I think he’d been expecting an apology. We walked on up the drive in silence and he made no further attempts at physical contact as I climbed the steps to my grand front door and opened it.
“Inside!” I instructed him curtly, with a nod of my head. He paused, his face slightly bemused, but then his eyes fell on my body once again and all hesitation ceased immediately. He walked into the entrance hall and I followed, closing the door behind us while he looked around himself in awe at the grandeur of my home.
The first thing he saw was the statue of me. He kept looking from the sculpture to me and back again, as if playing one of those “Spot the Differences” games on the back of a cereal packet. Evidently, he couldn’t find any discrepancies, because he muttered the words “Perfect copy of a perfect original” under his breath.
Obviously, I wasn’t supposed to hear that. Equally obviously, he hadn’t reckoned with my superhearing. “You’re only half right,” I told him. “There are a few imperfections in the copy. It was done by a man, after all.”
He laughed, mistakenly thinking that I was joking.
“It’s not funny,” I said flatly. He stopped laughing instantly.
“I… I can’t see any imperfections,” he said, leaning closer to the statue. His head was just below the groin of the monument.
“That’s because you’re only a man and your eyes are weak.” I told him. “I can see a number of inaccuracies.”
“Eh?” he said, confused by my words and my sneering tone.
“Look,” I pointed out, losing patience rapidly, “See the outer curve of the left breast on the statue?” He had to crane his neck to look up at the area I was referring to. The sight of my chest, even replicated in cold, lifeless marble, had a powerful effect on his body, quickening his pulse and his breathing. When I concentrated, I could actually hear the blood surging into his sexual organ. With my X-ray vision, I could also see the stiffening effect the surging was causing.
While he stared enrapt at the statue for a few seconds, I quickly pulled off my T-shirt. My breasts, as well as being gloriously large and shaped to the utter peak of erotic perfection, are firmer than the ordinary human mind can hope to comprehend, so I never bother with a bra. By the time my test subject had managed to tear his eyes from the marble monument, all traces of my upper garment had vanished and I was standing topless before him.
His gasp was loud when he realised. His heart paused for a beat and then went into overdrive. The bulge in his trousers grew as his penis went from three-quarters erect to as upright as it could get. His jaw hung open and he started to pant. If he had openly drooled onto his shoes, it would not have been a surprise at that moment.
“Now, compare that with the original,” I explained. I used a single finger to sensuously trace around the outside of my left bosom. The idiot’s eyes bulged, as if trying to jump out of his head entirely to get a closer view of the silky female perfection beneath my fingertip. He was trembling very slightly as the electricity of desire overwhelmed his whole body.
“You see?” I asked, “The curve on the statue is out by almost a whole degree. My breast actually has a perfect arc.”
“Ah, er, ah…” Not the first time a male has been completely lost for words contemplating my chest.
“Look!” I insisted. “Can’t you see the difference? Look at the statue again!” I could tell it was a real effort for him to remove his stare from me and direct it at the sculpted stone once more. His trembling eased slightly as he finally focussed away from me, but not for long because after only a few moments, I instructed him: “Now compare that curve with mine.”
He turned back and the whole-body vibrations kicked in once more. “Closer!” I commanded. He leant towards me, shaking now quite violently, his eyes like pinballs, the tip of tongue visible as it hung slightly out of his partially open mouth.
”Do you notice it now?” I asked. “Can you see the difference?”
“I told you, didn’t I?” I said, letting my finger absent-mindedly caress the edge of my mound under his awe-struck gaze. “My breast is perfect, whereas the one on the statue isn’t.”
“Ah, erm, -“
“You do agree, don’t you?” I enquired, arching my back very slightly to bring the magnificent nipple crowning the breast in question a little closer to the guy’s enraptured face.
“You do agree that my breast is perfect, don’t you?” I repeated.
“Eh… ah, yes, um, perfect, yes, er, perfect, ah…”
“Of course you do. How could you not agree? Anyone can see that it is perfect-“ I turned my upper body slightly in front of him, so that the other breast moved into his narrow, close-range field of vision, “- just like the other one. They’re both perfect, aren’t they?”
“Perfect, perfect, perfect” he murmured as if in a trance. He shifted a little, still trembling. Clearly his burning, ready-to-erupt-at-any-moment erection was causing him a little discomfort.
“Well, I’m glad we agree on that,” I said, pretending for an instant that I actually cared about the opinion of a worthless male.
“They must be perfect,” I observed. “I mean - look how horny you’re getting just looking at them! Imagine what would happen if you touched one of them!”
The idea was not lost on him. The trembling increased in ferocity and I detected a couple of involuntary spasms in his penis that indicated he was on the point of spontaneous orgasm.
“So…” I teased, with a mischievous smile, my finger now following the contours of the other breast, taking its time as it climbed and then descended the glorious smooth round slopes, “…you’d really like to touch wouldn’t you?”
His breath was rasping now. I saw his shaky hand rising, fingers opening, moving slowly, as if afraid, towards my chest. I laughed. “You really want to touch, don’t you?”
“Yes!” he panted, his vibrating fingertips just a few inches away from their goal now.
You can imagine the simple, hormonal creature’s anticipation. Here he was, an ordinary, weak, unworthy male about to lay his hand upon the magnificent breast of a goddess…
Anyway, I’ll continue the report next time.
Friday 6 October 2006 19:34 BST (GMT+1)
A quick recap for the benefit of inferior beings:
I was conducting an experiment to test just to what lengths the average male will go to touch me. I'd found a test subject, led him home and let him see the magnificence of my body. Enraptured, and fairly exploding with desire, the subject was reaching for my glorious breast, thinking that the greatest experience of his life (making physical contact with my supremely erotic chest) was mere inches away...
Of course, I couldn't let him achieve his all-consuming ambition so easily. With his trembling, out-reached fingertips just a hand's span from my feminine glory and closing by the instant, I quickly brought my own hand up between us and gave him the gentlest of two-finger prods in the belly.
I was careful (very careful in fact) not to cause any permanent damage. I just poked him exactly hard enough to make him bend over double and cry "Ooof!" as his feet left the floor and he flew a couple of yards backwards before landing in a painful, chaotic heap of his own limbs. Like I said, it really was nothing more than a very gentle, very careful jab with two fingers.
I didn't move from my position as I waited for him to recover sufficiently to stand up again. He rubbed his abdomen (I could see through his shirt of course, and spot the big, dark bruising already forming) and looked at me in confusion. Well, he looked at my chest in confusion anyway. Despite everything, he still couldn't tear his eyes away from my perfect bust.
"H.. how did you do... that?" he asked, predictably enough.
"Didn't I tell you?" I casually replied. "I'm superhuman."
"S.. su... superhuman?"
"Yeah," I said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world (which, to me, it is), "that's why my body is perfect. When you touch me, you'll understand. You do still want to touch me, right?"
I had resumed tracing the superb outline of my breast with my finger as I finished speaking, a fact which probably influenced him when he answered "Yes! I want to touch you! I want to touch you so badly!"
I smiled. Slowly, I removed my hand from my bosom and placed it on my hip. I rested my other palm on the other hip, too, pulling in my waist and thrusting out my breasts towards him. "Well, what are you waiting for?" I teased.
He shot me a nervous glance which I met with a sexy, inviting grin. Then his eyes returned to their breast-watching duties as he took a nervous step in my direction. After a momentary hesitation, he tried another stride. And then another. He was just two yards from me now.
I let him have one more free step. Then, parting my luscious lips very slightly, I exhaled a soft stream of breath over him. His hair flew back from his face as the strong wind I generated hit him. I increased the force of my blowing very very slightly until I was starting to push his body backwards.
In imminent danger of losing his footing, he leant into the gale, arms out by his side for balance. I knew I could up the power of my exhalation (for the record, I could have blown several thousand times more powerfully if I'd wanted) but I kept the strength of my breath down so my test subject would think he could fight against it.
"What are you doing?" he yelled over the roar of the wind.
I smiled, sharply cutting off the wind in the process. Naturally, my test subject was caught by surprise and fell forward onto his face with a yell. He slowly gathered himself up, his nose bleeding profusely (he had landed quite hard right on it).
"I'm not doing anything," I answered his question. "Just waiting for you to touch me. Unless-" I started to rotate my hips a little from side to side, so that my torso moved invitingly, "-you don't want to touch me..."
He stood up fully and began to walk towards me again. Immediately, I started to blow again. Valiantly, he struggled against the wind. Bending forwards, my breath blasting his body, he fought for all he was worth just to take a single step. The closer he came, the harder the struggle was for him. I watched in great amusement as he struggled against the "hurricane" that I was producing with such total ease.
When he came within half a pace of me, I just upped the power of my breath a tiny amount and was rewarded with the sight of my test subject staggering backwards five or six steps before falling over again.
"Come on!" I said with mock exasperation. "I'm not going to wait forever you know. I thought you wanted to touch me..."
"I do... But you won't let me!" he protested, almost on the point of bursting into tears of frustration.
"All I'm doing is blowing a little," I said, truthfully. "You'll just have to try a bit harder if you really want to touch me."
There was a momentary pause as my words sunk in. Then the test subject's feeble brain managed a (rather dim) flash of "inspiration". Instead of walking towards me, he tried to sprint. I suppose he thought he could catch me off-guard. Imagine! A pathetically slow, ponderous male taking me by surprise...
Of course it was never going to happen. I waited patiently for him to get almost within touching distance and then, at my leisure, puckered up and casually blew him back to where he had started from. Now, there really were tears of frustration in his eyes. I chuckled at the sight of them.
"Oh you poor boy!" I said, still laughing. "OK, no more blowing, I promise."
"So... you... you'll let me.. touch you?"
"Yes," I said, taking my hands from my hips for a moment to hug the outer edges of my chest, raising my breasts a little and making my normally spectacular cleavage look indescribably inviting, "you can touch me."
Nervously, he started to make his way over.
I'll conclude this experiment report in my next post...
Tuesday 10 October 2006 20:50 BST (GMT+1)
So, the conclusion of my experiment report…
Remember, I’d offered my test subject (some random guy I’d picked up in a bar; his name and details don’t matter as he was only a man) the opportunity to touch my incomparable breasts. Of course, he was unable to resist such a once-in-a-lifetime chance.
The first few attempts he’d made at approaching me had failed because I was blowing very gently in his direction and he was too feeble to resist the power of even my gentle exhalations. Rather than changing his mind, the frustrations only served to increase his desire to lay his weak male hand on my superhuman feminine perfection.
The way I was standing, “presenting” my chest in all its large, rounded, astoundingly firm glory by hugging it with my arms, was stoking the fires of his lust. I could see that he was on the verge of an orgasm even though he was still several feet from me. Just the sight of my wonderful naked breasts seemed almost more than he could take.
To be fair, most males react that way. I suppose the sheer erotic perfection of my body really is yet another superpower in its own right. The effect it has on men certainly adds a further aspect to my superiority (as if I needed one!)
Anyway, to entice my subject still further, I glanced slowly down at the stunning valley of my cleavage and then shot him a knowing look. “I know why you want to touch them so much,” I teased. “It’s because they’re so hot, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh,” he agreed, his mouth apparently too dry and his brain too overloaded with sexual yearning to formulate proper speech.
“How hot would you say they are?” I asked him.
“Uh…” was the best he could manage by way of a reply.
“Oh come on,” I said. “You’ll have to do better than that! How hot would you say my breasts are?”
Suddenly concerned that his lack of a response had displeased me and fearing that I would withdraw the invitation to let him touch me, he struggled to form a recognisable word. “V…v… very.” he stammered.
I turned my gaze back to my two big mounds, pretending to be studying them. “Very?” I asked, with a smile. “You think they’re very hot?” As I spoke, I focussed my heat vision downwards, centring the twin-lasers of pure heat energy in turn on the top of each of my perfect, generous breasts.
The sensation was lovely, of course. Even nicer than when a missile explodes against their rounded glory, but that was no surprise. My heat-vision generates temperatures far hotter than any mere explosion and for much, much longer. As long as I want, in fact.
I continued to warm my breasts until the flawless silky skin started to glow. My breasts are quite capable of absorbing astronomical amounts of energy but my eyes are also capable of producing it. When I blinked to cut off the beams, my chest continued to give off its own light but, of course, the perfection of my flesh was unaffected by the extreme heat. Naturally, my skin was cooling superhumanly fast. But as I had warmed it to something similar to the temperature of the surface of the sun, it remained exceptionally hot for quite a while.
“Still think they’re very hot?” I enquired of my test subject. “Or would you now say that they are extremely hot?”
“Ex… ext…. ext….” he spluttered, too astonished by what he had just seen to pronounce more than a single syllable.
I laughed at his inability. “Never mind,” I chuckled. “You just concentrate on touching them. Leave the difficult stuff like thinking and talking to me.”
He looked at me confused, took a step towards me and stopped. “Well, do you want to touch them or what?” I asked, sounding a little exasperated.
“I… I… can’t!” he said, nearly in tears. “Too hot!”
“Too bad for you then,” I said, beginning to turn away.
As I expected, the thought of failing to take advantage of my offer was too much for him. “Wait! Please!” he cried. He moved a little closer. The heat still radiating from my chest forced him to turn his face away. His hands trembled as he stretched them blindly and slowly towards my breasts. I could see his palms reddening as they came within a foot of my big, pert, pink nipples.
“Ow!” he yelled, pulling his hands away and blowing on them. His face, even though it was turned to the side, was coated in sweat and also beginning to turn crimson. I could see the perspiration starting to soak through his clothes. He wiped his brow in a useless attempt to clear the sweat. Fresh beads appeared immediately.
“Oh well,” I mocked. “I guess I’m just too much woman for you.” I dropped my arms to my sides, as if about to walk away.
“No!” he exclaimed. “Please! Let me touch you!”
“You already tried,” I observed. “And failed miserably. Why should I waste any more time on you?”
“Please!” he begged.
“Alright, then.” I told him. “I’ll give you one last chance.”
“Thank you” he sighed with what sounded like genuine (if misplaced) gratitude.
I placed my hands on my hips and thrust my chest out towards him. Re-positioning the heat-source in that way (even though it was only by a couple of inches) had an immediate effect. He staggered back half a step before recovering. The sweat was now pouring all over his body. He clenched his teeth, and, hissing as he breathed, started to reach for me once more.
His hands shook wildly, betraying the conflicting drives in his brain. All his self-preservation instincts were telling him to get his hands (and the rest of him) away from me, but all his longing and desire was forcing him to keep approaching. "Ow!" he muttered, under his breath, as his palms turned bright crimson, "Ow, ow, ow!"
Smiling at his discomfort I waited patiently as he forced his hands to within four inches of my magnificently prominent nipples. "Shit! Ow!" he continued to moan. His face was turned completely away and he leant his body back to try and protect as much of the remainder of himself from the excruciating heat. I could see blisters beginning to form on his hands. The pain must have been terrible.
Despite that, he continued to stretch his arms towards me, reminding me of a moth approaching a flame. His cursing took on a new dimension as he fought to ignore his agonies and touch my womanly glory. "Fuck! Fuck! Ow! Fuck!" The skin of his palms was bubbling up into blisters now. My sensitive nostrils detected the saline odour of tears mingling with the sweat dripping from his face. I also noticed the smell of skin starting to burn.
He was only an inch from achieving his ambition now. The swearing had ceased, replaced by a continuous, primal moan of pain. Terrible pain. Smoke was starting to rise from his hands. But still, he did not give up. I could tell that he was lost. He simply had to touch me, regardless of the consequences.
Finally, he made it. The brief touch of his burning flesh against my flawless breasts was so weak, I could barely even feel it. But his scream of sheer agony was impressive. As was the hissing as the moisture in his skin boiled. The air filled with the smell of barbecuing meat as his fingertips and palms turned rapidly into a charred black mess. Thick smoke rose from them.
He was still screaming as he tried to pull his hands away. Unfortunately for him, a few burnt bits of him were stuck to me and they tore away as he removed his palms. I casually picked the bits of overcooked meat off my chest as the test subject, yelling constantly all the while, stared in shock at what was left of his hands. It was not a pretty sight. Amusing, sure. But not pretty.
You may recall that I established in my previous experiment that a man screaming inside my house cannot be heard in the neighbouring properties (at least not by weaklings with puny hearing, or "normal people" as I sometimes call them). So I was not concerned by the on-going cries of pain, shock and distress from my latest test subject. In fact, I let him shout himself hoarse whilst I leisurely leant forwards and tore a strip off his shirt to clean the last bits of his flesh off my breasts.
Once I was done, I grabbed him using just a single hand by the back of his neck and carried him (ignoring his feeble struggles) to the front door. As I opened it, I called down "Thanks for helping with my experiment!" Then, with nothing but an easy swing of my long, shapely, fabulously strong arm, I flung the used test subject away. He was still arcing towards the clouds when I turned my back on him and closed the door.
Experiment findings: A man will cause himself serious harm just to touch me. (I admit I sort of already knew that, but it was fun getting scientific confirmation).
I have to say, I'm really enjoying conducting this research. I've already planned experiment number 3. I'll tell you about it in my next post.
Friday 13 October 2006 14:04 BST (GMT+1)
OK, Experiment number 3….
Purpose of Experiment: To determine how much damage I can cause to a typical male by thinking alone.
Test subjects: 3 “typical” males. Subjects selected at random as described below.
Duration of experiment: 20 minutes to procure the subjects and 5 minutes for the actual “causing damage by thinking alone” portion of the investigation.
Report part 1: Selecting the test subjects.
It wasn’t my initial intention to use 3 different test subjects for this experiment, but a good researcher is adaptable. The bonus was that by conducting the test three separate times, I was able to reach a more scientifically accurate conclusion (by finding the average of the three results).
I decided upon the topic for the experiment in the middle of the night. Instead of selecting a subject from a bar as I did with Experiment #2, I took advantage of the cover of darkness and the lack of potential witnesses to procure my subjects from a more convenient source.
Basically, I walked out of the grounds of my house to the road that runs alongside and waited. I ignored the first couple of vehicles that passed as their occupants did not match my test subject profile. Then I heard the noise of an approaching car. My superhuman eyes made short work of the distance, the darkness and the frame of the automobile and allowed me to study the trio of young men speeding towards me.
A quick glance was all I needed. They were ideal for my purposes. My initial plan to use a single subject was quickly modified to incorporate three. All that remained was to transfer them from their speeding car to my house. How I achieved that is the subject of part 2 of this report, which will appear in my next post.
Tuesday 17 October 2006 19:19 BST (GMT+1)
Experiment Report part 2: Securing the test subjects.
If you recall, I'd identified three ideal subjects for my latest experiment.
The only problem was that they were speeding down the road in a car and I was standing on the pavement. Of course, when you're as unstoppably powerful as I am, there are no real "problems", just dozens of potential solutions from which to choose.
As it was the dead of night, the street was deserted except for me and the occupants of the on-rushing car. That meant there were even more options than usual to pick from.
Of course, I could have just jumped out into the road in front of the vehicle. That would have been quite amusing, not to mention spectacular. The whole front section of the car would have folded up around my perfect, slender middle. The driver and front passenger would either have flown through the windscreen or been crushed in their seats. Then the petrol tank would inevitably have exploded, engulfing me in flames and showering me with burning pieces of sharp metal.
Obviously, none of that would have caused me even the tiniest of scratches. But there would have been other undesirable side-effects. Most significantly, my clothes would have been ruined. Oh, and the three males would have been killed, resulting in the minor inconvenience of me having to wait for another bunch of suitable test subjects.
With that in mind, I chose a different solution. One that left my clothes and the three young men in the car undamaged.
I did stand in the middle of the road as they approached, but some distance from them. With my hands comfortably resting on my shapely hips, and my big, round breasts thrust out, I started to exhale slowly towards the car. I didn't blow hard (I didn't want to send the vehicle spinning into the air as it disappeared over the horizon). I just blew hard enough for my breath to act as a wall of wind that slowed the car down.
I kept blowing, overpowering the powerful engine with just my casual exhalation, forcing the car to come to a complete stop just a few paces from me. Then I strolled up to the front of it, and leant forward over the hood, spreading my arms wide to take a grip on either side of the vehicle.
Of course, my posture allowed the men in the car a perfect view (thanks to my low-cut T-shirt) of a signficant portion of my magnificent, superhumanly firm, pendant breasts and the supremely erotic cleavage between them. I think that's why they hardly panicked (they were hypnotised by my overwhelming sexual allure) as I slowly began to straighten my back, lifting the entire car off the road as though it weighed less than a newspaper. In truth, it felt even lighter than that to me.
Leaning momentarily to one side and then the other, I used a couple of quick, well-aimed blasts of my heat vision to weld all four doors shut. Then, holding the car out in front of me with complete ease, I turned on my heels (making the vehicle swing around with me) and strolled, relaxed, back towards my place.
I carried the three men in their handy container (the car) into my grounds and up the steps to my grand front door, but it was too wide to take through the entrance. I thought about compressing the metal a bit, but didn't go through with it because I was worried I would end up fatally compressing one or more of my test subjects.
Instead, I ripped the roof open with a couple of fingers (much like you would peel open a yoghurt pot, but with less difficulty) and reached in, grabbing a bit of each man's clothing with my right hand so I could carry all three of them, dangling helplessly from my one-handed grip, into my house.
Next time, I'll report on the experiment itself.
Wednesday 18 October 2006 19:19 BST (GMT+1)
Experiment Report part 3: Preparation.
Having snatched three young males (and the car that they were in) from the road, and brought them inside, I was ready to make final preparations for my experiment.
The men were far from willing subjects. You'd think that they'd have been more grateful for the opportunity to assist a stunningly beautiful, awesomely powerful goddess like me in Her scientific endeavour. But that's men for you. Ungrateful creatures who constantly moan ("Ouch!", "Let me go!", "You're hurting me!", "I can't take any more!" etc. etc.)
In order to be able to conduct my experiment, I needed to subdue them. Unfortunately, my favourite method for subduing males (beating the crap out of them) was not really appropriate. Remember, the purpose of the experiment was to see how much damage I could cause the typical male merely by thinking. It wouldn't be possible to get an accurate measure of damage caused during the actual experiment if the test subjects were already damaged before I started.
I needed another way of making them behave. Dashing out of the house at superspeed to where I'd left the test subjects' car, I tore the front fender off and raced back inside. I went and came back in the time it took the trio to take two sprinting steps towards the door. Of course, I caught them easily and carefully pushed them back across the entrance hall towards the double-sized statue marble of me.
Lining the three men up directly in front of the monument, I carefully wrapped the steel fender around their waists and bent the two ends of it around the statue's slender ankles. The metal was as easy to remould with my fingers as wet clay, but when I was done, I let the three males struggle together to get free for a whole minute and noted with satisfaction that they'd failed to make even a millimetre's difference to the fender.
With my hands on my hips, I stood back and laughed at their plight for a few moments. Then I began the experiment proper.
I was going to tell you all about that today, but I've changed my mind. You can all wait for the next post instead.
Monday 23 October 2006 21:41 BST (GMT+1)
Experiment Report part 4: Test subject no. 1
Last week I promised you the report of my experiment to determine how much damage I can cause the so-called "average" (i.e. puny, pathetic and fragile) male merely by thinking.
Remember how I'd found three suitable test subjects and brought them to my home? Good. Remember also how I secured them in place by wrapping the fender from their car around them to "tie" them to the base of the statue in my entrance hall? You do? Big deal!
Anyway, the trio of young men weren't going anywhere. Not that they wanted to, I'm sure, because at that moment I pulled my T-shirt over my head, revealing my mind-blowingly fabulous chest to the mega-lucky test subjects.
There was a loud collective gasp as they drank in the sight, stunned by the sheer size and flawless spherical perfection of my breasts. Or perhaps they were shocked by my lack of a bra and the way my superhumanly firm bosoms stand out so high and so proud without any support. Most likely, it was a mixture of both.
I lifted my hands behind my head, locking my fingers at the back of my skull and arching my back slightly, thrusting my goddess-like magnificence towards the trapped men and eliciting another sharp intake of breath from them. I could smell the sexual arousal in the air, even before I gazed downwards, employing my X-ray vision to examine the trio of hardening penises.
One single step brought me right up to the leftmost man. He started to pant and quiver as I leant in until the tips of my large pink nipples were poised a hairsbreadth from his chest. At that point, I wasn't actually touching him. Admittedly, I was millimetres away from making contact, but it's important to record that, when the experiment proper began, his rough, weak male skin and my smooth, invulnerable female flesh were just about separated.
I couldn't move any closer to him without invalidating the experiment. For the test to work, I had to cause damage just by thinking. So, I closed my eyes and started to think.
I thought about my absolute power over every male on Earth, and immediately felt myself starting to become aroused. I recalled just a few of the countless thousands of times my beautiful body has proven too much for a handsome, muscular man. A familiar tingle in my chest told me that my wonderful nipples were beginning to react as they always do when I get turned on, becoming even firmer. And, of course, starting to swell.
I felt the touch as the growing points of my breasts closed the gap to the test subject's body and heard his initial gasp of sexual ecstasy. Ignoring it, I concentrated on the images in my mind, letting myself become immersed in my own lust. The moans of delight shifted in pitch as my expanding nipples started to press with an increasing insistence into the man's torso.
"Ow! That hurts!" he suddenly cried out. I felt myself smiling. Naturally, his discomfort was a big turn-on and my body responded to it.
At the most relaxed of times, my nipples are large and several dozen times harder than diamond. But when I get horny, they grow dramatically and become a hundred times harder still. No wonder the test subject started to scream. My swelling teats were puncturing his skin.
Now, there are few sounds more arousing than a male yelling in agonies that my stunning body is causing. The more he shouted, the hotter I got. The hotter I became, the more my nipples grew. The more my nipples grew, the more they bore into his fragile chest. The more they bore, the more he screamed.
I could feel his blood on my body, trickling down, following the curves of my chest and dripping from the undersides of my breasts.
Unfortunately, my nipples can only engorge so far and it soon became apparent that they'd reached their maximum. Sadly, that meant that I couldn't hurt test subject number one any further without moving. As that would have been a violation of the purpose of the experiment, I made a supreme effort of will and resisted.
Instead, I stepped back, and inspected the damage I had caused. I'd made two reasonably large, very bloody holes in the man's chest. Not deep enough to puncture any organs, but sufficient to leave him in considerable pain. It took quite a few seconds for his screams to fade to sobs, but happily I was able to simply ignore him whilst I waited for my nipples to contract back to their usual (still impressive) state.
Then, without "untying" the sobber, I moved on to test subject number 2.
I'll report on the damage he sustained next time.
Tuesday 24 October 2006 19:14 BST (GMT+1)
Experiment Report part 5: Test subject no. 2
After I stepped back from test subject number 1, it took a minute of meditation to calm my inner desires and allow my amazing nipples to deflate to their normal (but still impressive) condition.
I sped up the process by thinking unsexy thoughts. Mostly that meant imagining nerdy brainwave genius Duane and the (unwilling) host of this blog, the hopeless fan-boy Conceptfan.
The only problem was, whilst I was trying to calm myself down, I kept hearing test subject number one moaning in pain from the wounds I'd given him, as well as the other two's useless attempts to break free of their crude restraint. I had to tune those sounds out and avoid thinking about them so I didn't get all turned on again.
Fortunately, as ever, I was more than up to the challenge and within sixty seconds I was ready to conduct the experiment all over again, this time on subject number 2.
As I stepped towards him he began to squirm. His forehead was shiny with sweat and his eyes darted about, looking in vain for hope of rescue. I could hear the thumping of his heart, betraying his fear.
"Wh...wh... what are you going to do to me?" he stammered, pathetically. Clearly he was worried that he might be about to suffer the same agonies as subject number 1. Such worries were completely misplaced, however: I had an entirely different set of agonies in mind for number 2.
He was quite a lot shorter than number 1 and the closer I got to him, the more apparent it became that lining up my nipples with his chest as I had done with his predecessor was going to be awkward. Luckily, I had already thought of a brilliant alternative plan.
Using my wonderful ability to defy gravity, I floated about a foot up off the floor so that I was "standing" on air. I ignored the shocked exclamations from all three men. (Not my problem if they'd never seen anyone fly before.) I leant in towards number 2, twisting my upperbody slightly to carefully align the centre of my big, round left breast with his wild-with-terror right eye. Once again, for the purposes of the experiment, I stopped moving my body closer to him just before the moment of contact.
If I concentrated on the sensation, I could feel subject number 2's eyelashes brushing the tip of my nipple every time he blinked. I almost felt sorry for him: Possibly the finest sight in the whole universe (my chest) was literally right in front of his gaze and he wouldn't have been able to see a thing because his puny eyes couldn't focus at such short distances. I say I "almost" felt sorry for him, but that's an exaggeration, of course. I never feel sorry for inferior beings (i.e. the rest of existence).
Having found the correct starting position, it was time to begin the experiment. How much damage could I cause subject number 2, purely by thinking?
Tragically, with my left nipple in front of his right eye, the centre of my right breast was nowhere near any part of him. That was a huge pity, as it meant I could only cause half as much damage as I'd have liked. I decided to make the most of the left nipple, and started to concentrate on thinking really sexy thoughts to make it harden and swell as much as possible.
Immediately, subject number 2 screamed. I barely felt the contact as my expanding teat pushed against his eye. Fortunately, the faintness of the sensation didn't spoil my enjoyment much, because, as the yells of panic and excruciating pain started to get me more and more turned on, my sensitive hearing detected the satisfying Squelch! of my nipple piercing and partly crushing subject 2's eyeball.
There was blood everywhere by the time I felt I'd reached the point of maximum expansion. I moved back, brushing a few bits of eye from my glorious breast before tearing a strip from subject 2's shirt to wipe off the worst of the blood. He continued to scream and the red-liquid continued to gush from the impressive wound as I stepped away.
Damage report? Well, test subject number 2 was never going to be able to judge distances again. He looked like something out of a horror film with blood pouring from what used to be one of his eyes. I couldn't help laughing at him.
Then, I began to prepare for subject number 3. I'll tell you about him in my next post.
Wednesday 25 October 2006 22:17 BST (GMT+1)
Experiment Report part 6: Test subject no. 3
So, having wiped myself more-or-less clean of subject number 2's blood, I spent a minute and a half concentrating on uninspiring mental images to dampen my lust and let my nipples soften (if ten times harder than diamond can be called "softened") and deflate (if proud and prominent can be called "deflated").
After that, I turned to number 3 and (for no reason other than to see his reaction) flashed him a smile. His eyes grew huge in horror, so I winked at him. As I'd already experimented on his two friends, even a stupid male must've realised what was in store for him. For some reason, he seemed afraid and, frankly, more than a little reluctant. As if that made any difference!
I took a slow step towards him, enjoying the way I could increase his terror at will.
Panicking, he blurted out a defiant but (obviously) pointless "Leave me alone!"
I chuckled. I had to. It was so ridiculous. The guy was pinned utterly helpless by the car fender wrapped around his waist and he'd seen more than enough to realise that I'm (very, very) superhuman. And yet, unbelievably, he thought he could give me orders!
"I wouldn't say you were in any position to tell me what to do," I said, still chuckling, "what with you being a pathetic trapped male and me being an all-powerful goddess."
He must have realised how right I was. He should have given up. But instead, he tried another tack: "Please! Don't hurt me!"
Begging was a much more apt policy than commanding, but of course it was just as effective. That's to say his pleading had absolutely no effect on me.
Actually, that's not true. His pleading did have some effect. It made me laugh.
When I regained self-control, I leant in towards subject 3, putting my face right into his. His features contorted in fear, much to my amusement as I admonished him, with breezy matter-of-factness, "Can't you see I'm enjoying myself here? Stop being so selfish!"
He swallowed hard. A tear collected in the corner of his right eye and rolled down his cheek. He didn't know how lucky he was! Subject number 2 didn't even have a right eye to cry from...
Anyway, I'll tell the story of the actual third experiment next time.
Monday 30 October 2006 17:59 BST (GMT+1)
OK, OK. Test subject number 3: the final experiment.
Remember, I was investigating how much damage I could cause the “average” male just by thinking. I’m sure you all recall exactly how I went about it: by placing my fabulous superhuman nipples a hairsbreadth from each test subject (or “man” as they are sometimes called) and then thinking sexy thoughts so that those magnificent points expanded and hardened, crushing whatever was in their path.
You may also remember (and if you don’t you could always check the previous entry a little bit down the page) that, after having witnessed my experimentation on subjects 1 and 2, number 3 seemed a little reluctant to take part. Unfortunately for him, he had no choice in the matter. He was pinned against the statue of me in my entrance hall, held immovably in place by a car fender that I’d wrapped around his (and numbers 1 and 2’s) middle.
Of course, the real reason he had no choice wasn’t the fender. If I hadn’t had a convenient piece of car to hand, I’d have found another means of trapping him. The fact was I had decided to experiment on him, and what I want (or fancy) I always get. Without exception. Nothing comes between me and whatever it is I feel like. If people have to get hurt for me to have my whim, frankly, that’s just a bonus.
Anyway, test subject number three was whimpering and pleading as I approached him. I don’t know if he hadn’t been paying attention or if he was just being a typical stupid male, but I think he actually believed he could push me away. He couldn’t move his arms much with the improvised restraints, yet he really did try to hold me back with his hands, pressing them against the smooth, perfectly flat plain of my million-times-harder-than-steel abdomen, gritting his teeth and groaning as he strained.
I laughed at the useless effort. Naturally, I hardly even felt his hands. They did not dimple my immaculate silky flesh so much as a nanometre. They certainly did not force me back, or even slow my advance in any way whatsoever. I could see the sweat beading on his face as he struggled, utterly in vain, to prevent me leaning in closer. What a waste of his limited energy! A thousand puny men like him, pushing for all their worth, would not have had any effect on me.
The pointless effort did however have one useful outcome. It gave me an idea.
I reached down, carefully taking hold of each of his wrists with the thumb and forefinger of each of my hands. He might have been straining for all he was worth, but I didn’t need to exert myself at all to overpower him and move his hands about as I wished. I lifted them slightly, so that his palms were facing me, the backs of his hands resting against his lower chest. Then I bent my knees slightly, leaning a little forward, positioning my glorious breasts in front of his palms.
I used extreme caution as I held his wrists in place, making sure that my grip only bruised him but didn’t inflict any significant harm. Of course, my hold was too tight for him to escape, but I didn’t want to cause damage outside of the bounds of the experiment. I just kept his palms still with my indescribably erotic nipples almost, almost, almost (but not quite) touching them.
Then, I closed my eyes and let my imagination do the rest. As my mind filled with sexy images, I felt the very faint sensation of my expanding points pressing into test subject number 3’s hands just moments before he started to scream with pain. With my eyes still closed, I noted with satisfaction the sensation of blood trickling down the underside of each of my large, round breasts.
The knowledge that I was wounding the male and the sound of his yells of agony were good fuel for my arousal. I could feel my nipples swelling and becoming harder and harder. I opened my eyes and was rewarded with the sight of the engorged points of my chest boring big, bloody holes in the centre of each of his hands. To see the effects of my raw sexual power like that turned me on even further. Of course, my nipples reacted to the increasing arousal, growing bigger and firmer, enlarging and deepening the apertures in subject 3’s hands.
The lower half of both of my breasts was soaked in his blood when I decided that my teats had reached their moment of maximum growth. I stepped back but kept hold of the male’s hands so that I could examine them. I ignored his continued screaming as I studied my work. To my delight, I’d managed to drill a large hole right through to the other side of both of his palms. Blood poured from him as I let him go.
Floating slightly off the ground, I leant in and wiped the bottom of my magnificent firm chest several times on his thick curly hair, the easy side-to-side movement of my big breasts knocking his head to one side and then the other, as if he was being worked over by a heavyweight boxer. I stopped after only three “wipes” because he’d have lost consciousness otherwise.
That completed the experiment. Only two things remained:
Firstly, I had to work out my conclusions. How much damage can I cause the average male just using my naturally swelling nipples? Well:
- Subject number one had two gaping wounds in his chest, through which, under the still gushing blood, a glimpse of ribs could be seen.
- Subject number two had an ugly bloody hole in place of one eye, a thick flow of crimson still rolling down his face.
- Subject number three had two big wounds right the way through his hands that were pouring blood on to my floor. Never having been cut myself, I’m no expert on healing, but I didn’t need to be to realise that number three’s palms had been mutilated beyond their ability to repair themselves.
To answer the question posed by the experiment, I had to take the average damage caused to the three men. So, that was: (Deep holes in the chest + Loss of an eye + Punctured hands) divided by three. In other words, to use a scientific term: a “lot” of damage.
I suppose the result was a little predictable, but I enormously enjoyed the whole experiment, so it was definitely worthwhile.
I mentioned that two things remained, one being to work out my conclusions. The final task, of course, was to clear up the mess and get rid of all the used test equipment. A swipe of my hand sliced the car fender in two, freeing the three men. Smiling at them, I generously said “Thanks for taking part in today’s experiment.” Then, even more generously, I announced “Now, you have thirty seconds to get off my property before I kill you.”
They left an awful trail of blood as they ran and subject number 2 clattered into the door frame in his way out, presumably because his judgment of distances was a little poor with just the one eye. But credit where it is due: for weak (and damaged) creatures, they moved pretty fast. In fact, they almost made it. They were only about ten yards from the end of my gardens when the thirty seconds ran out. Of course, being a girl of impeccable integrity, I had to be true to my word. Three quick blasts of heat-vision turned the trio into piles of ash.
Without a second thought for them, I closed the door and headed for the bathroom to wash the blood off my beautiful, flawless body.
Next time: How I found a fun way to clean all that blood off the floor of my entrance hall…