Blogger's Archives

November 2006



Wednesday 1 November 2006 15:51 BST (GMT+1)

The state of my entrance hall the morning after my “how-much-damage-just-by-thinking” experiments wasn’t great.

Most of the spilt blood had dried into brown stains on the tiled floor. The bulk of it was concentrated near the statue of me, where there were also a few bits of eye scattered about, but there was also a trail of blood-splats all the way to the door. Obviously, it needed cleaning up. Equally obviously, such a menial task was far, far beneath a goddess like me.

However, I’m no snob. I’m quite prepared to roll up my sleeves and do a bit of “dirty work”, provided it can be made entertaining. So, with that in mind, I went out to find myself a cleaner.

In the park, I ignored the lustful stares of various men (and a few women), rejecting them as not suitable. After a while, I spotted a middle-aged fellow with a mass of unkempt, curly hair who looked ideal. I sauntered up to him, wiggling my hips and making sure my superb bust bounced ever-so-slightly with every step. By the time I was a couple of yards from him, he was completely hooked, hypnotised by the subtle, sexy movements of my perfect body.

I flashed him a smile (which was wasted as he wasn’t looking at my face) and then said “Hey big boy! How’d you like to come home with me and help me clean the floor?”

It was a perfectly honest question, but I think he might have misinterpreted me. Oh well. His problem.

His eyes lit up as he took in my words. He stammered in his rush to answer “Y-yeah sure!”

I took him by the arm, almost dragging him along as I marched him, quickly, back to my place. Once we were out of sight, I picked him up and tucked him under my arm, walking around with him secured against my flank, his weight as nothing to me.

Of course, he tried all the usual tactics of hammering me with his fists and shouting, but since when has any of that worked on me?

I grabbed a bucket and filled it with hot water and detergent. Then I pulled the guy out from under my arm and took a new hold of him, gripping him with one hand tightly around his right ankle. I held him upside down, dangling from my casual grasp and laughed at his helplessness for a few moments. Then I raised my arm, lifting him higher, before dunking his head in the bucket.

At that point, he started to scream. I don’t know if the water was too hot for him, or if the detergent was hurting his eyes, but I reminded him “I thought you said you wanted to help me polish the floor!” and then dipped him in the liquid once more.

His crazy hair made a reasonably efficient mop, and I dragged it all over the floor, dunking his head whenever I needed more soapy water, until all the dried blood was cleaned up. The initial screaming faded as I worked, mostly because I was a little bit careless with my mop, submerging it in the bucket for long periods and pressing it down onto the floor quite hard. Then again, that was the only way to get rid of those really stubborn stains.

Unsurprisingly, he was unconscious by the time I had finished. Still holding him by his ankle, I dried the floor off with a couple of warm exhalations of superbreath. After that, I wrapped him up in a large sheet and carried him, over my shoulder, like a bag of laundry, back to the park. Making sure no-one was watching, I left him to sleep it off on a bench without bothering to brush the bits of crushed eye out of his hair.

Even if he does remember what happened, he’ll probably think it was all a big hallucination. Who cares anyway? The important thing is that I got my floor clean.



Thursday 2 November 2006 17:50 BST (GMT+1)

“Aren’t you cold with just that T-shirt?”

As chat-up lines go, I’ve heard worse. Then again, as I get propositioned just about every day (and so would you if you had a body as glorious as mine and a face to go with it) I’ve obviously heard some pretty awful ones. I couldn’t help noticing that, as the guy walked over and said “..just that T-shirt”, his eyes were fully fixed on the garment he was referring to. He was obviously checking to see just how cold I was.

Admittedly, it was barely above freezing out on the street, and I was the only one there not in thick clothes, but I wasn’t in the slightest cold. I mean, I don’t feel cold bathing in a vat of liquid nitrogen. But the guy unsubtly studying the outline of my nipples under my tight sleeveless top didn’t know that.

“You know,” he went on, taking my lack of response as an invitation to continue his pathetic wooing attempt, “my car is just round the corner. I could drive us both to the airport and tomorrow morning we could wake up somewhere warm together. What do you say? You fancy coming somewhere hot with me?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Why not? But let’s not bother with your car.” So saying, I put my arm around his waist. He was clearly overjoyed with the contact and didn’t try to stop me, even when I pulled him close. In fact, judging by the bulge I felt in his trousers as I pressed his chest gently against my wonderful big breasts, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

All that changed a moment later as I activated my amazing ability to defy gravity and took off, straight up, soaring into the sky, still holding him tight against me. “Whoa….. Oh my god! What’s happening?” he shrieked.

“I thought you wanted to go somewhere hot with me,” I said.

“How… how… did… you…” he started to stutter. I put on a little burst of speed (nothing like my full potential) and he instantly passed out.

Two hours later, I woke him up by very gently blowing cool (but not frozen) superbreath into his face. “Wha… Where… where are we?” he asked.

“Somewhere hot, of course.” I said, with a smile. We were still in the air. For a few moments, he looked about confused. Then he looked down and saw the wide mouth of the volcano beneath us. Smiling, I began to slowly descend towards the molten, bubbling lava.

“What are you doing?” he yelled, in panic. I cupped his chin and pressed my lips against his, silencing him with a long, deep kiss that he was powerless to break. Then, keeping us both upright, our lips locked, I floated down into the boiling rock until we were completely submerged. It felt quite nice, actually. Warm and cosy.

I’m not sure my new friend enjoyed it as much as I did. I would have asked him, but by the time I resurfaced, there was nothing left of him but a skeleton. I didn’t bother carrying it home.

At least, with no fragile cargo to protect, I was able to make the return journey in a couple of minutes flat.



Wednesday 8 November 2006 21:34 BST (GMT+1)

“No, no, no. You’re not doing it right!” I shouted at the three soldiers.

I’d spotted them on some kind of covert night-time mission. Not a bad bit of observation, even if I say so myself. You’ll agree with that once I've told you that I was flying at a speed of about three times the speed of sound and at an altitude of 10,000 feet while the men were supposedly "hiding" in a dense forest.

Once I’d found them, I swooped down and landed right in front of one of them, my hands on my hips, my wonderful chest thrust out and perfectly displayed in one half of a tiny, sheer, black two-piece bikini. Maybe it was the dark, maybe it was the surprise, but the guy started to yell straight away, almost a whole second before he started to raise his weapon.

“Nice to meet you, too,” I said, reaching out to casually flick my index finger on the top of his head, silencing him and knocking him out cold in an instant. Despite the pitch black, I had no trouble seeing the submachine-gun in his hand. I could easily have opened his fingers and pulled it out, or even more easily, just ripped the gun free, tearing off a couple of digits with it, but I left it in his grasp.

Standing triumphantly over the guy, I scanned his backpack with my X-ray vision. Locating a length of rope, I bent down and shredded the tough material of the pack apart with a swipe of my fingernails. Then I reached in and pulled out the thick coiled cord. The former owner was too busy being unconscious to mind.

The brief yell he'd managed drew his two colleagues. Although they were shuffling on their bellies trying to be silent, I heard the rustle of their clothing clear as a bell. Not to mention their heartbeats or their "hushed" breathing. And besides, even if they had managed to be completely noiseless, I would have smelt them.

"You might as well give up now, boys." I announced. That prompted one of them to jump out out of the foliage and charge at me, a war-cry on his lips, his gun indiscriminately spraying me and the trees behind me with hot lead. Not nearly enough of his bullets actually impacted with my body, but those that did bounced off bent and beaten, leaving my perfect skin unmarked.

Of course, the gunfire didn't so much as tickle me, but it was just about enough to ruin my bikini. Disinterestedly, I used the hand not holding the rope to pick the remaining shreds of material from my body and discarded them. Then, moving at superspeed so that my attacker wouldn't be able to follow my movements, I ran around to come up behind the guy shooting me. A very very gentle tap on the top of his skull sent him into dreamland.

I put the third guy to sleep by waiting until he was creeping past a tree trunk and just blowing a quick little puff of superbreath at him which knocked him off his feet, sideways. His body slammed into the tree and slid down at its base.

After that, I had plenty of time to fetch the other two, dragging them by their ankles to the tree. I stood up each of the trio in turn and used the rope I'd "requisitioned" to tie them to the big trunk. All three men had dropped their weapons: two of them when I knocked them out and the other as I lifted him onto his feet to tie him to the tree. I really wasn't interested in unarmed soldiers, so I gathered up all the guns.

Finally, I gave my new friends, one by one, a little "wake up" slap in the face. I was sure to be very careful with my slaps, because anything more than my softest effort would have resulted in a messy decapitation. That would have been awful, of course, because it would have brought my fun to a premature end.

All three of them began straining at the ropes binding them to the trunk. They all also strained to peer at me as I stood naked in the unlit forest night right in front of them. One of them began shouting a volley of abuse at me. I walked up to him, placed my hands gently on the sides of his face, and silenced him with a long, deep kiss during which I let my tongue playfully flick around his mouth, knocking out most of his teeth and partially crushing his tongue.

When I pulled away, his mouth was smeared with blood. I licked the crimson liquid from my own lips slowly and erotically and looked at each of the trio in turn. "I like the taste of men's blood," I told them. "I like it a lot. You boys are in big trouble. Big-" I took my hands and started to sensuously stroke the underside of my large, proud breasts. "Round-" I cupped my glorious bosoms, my perfect erotic flesh overfilling my petite feminine hands. "Firm-" I ran the sides of my hands under my sizeable pink nipples. "Trouble." I smiled wickedly.

I held up the three guns I'd collected. "Don't shoot us!" one of the uninjured men screamed. I laughed.

"Actually," I said, "I was hoping that you would shoot me." I handed the guns back, each man looking wonderfully confused as I placed a weapon in his hands. They looked at each other in bewilderment as I took a couple of steps back.

I planted my hands on my sexy hips and leant forwards very slightly, pushing my big breasts out. "Well?" I said, tapping my foot impatiently. "Are you going to shoot me or not?"

They decided they were going to shoot after all. The three guns opened up, peppering my face and the whole of the front of my body with lovely warm lead-caresses. The men's hands were jerking about wildly, and they were just spraying me all over with bullets. That's when I had to tell them they were getting it wrong.

“No, no, no. You’re not doing it right!” I shouted at the three soldiers.

Next time, I'll tell you if they managed to get any better.



Thursday 9 November 2006 16:49 BST (GMT+1)

My words (remember them? They were: “No, no, no. You’re not doing it right”) utterly confused the three men I’d tied to that tree.

I’d imagine that the sight of their three torrents of machine-gun bullets splashing off my perfect naked body like droplets at the bottom of a waterfall also made them a little unsure.

Anyway, they stopped firing, glancing momentarily at one another and then reverted to staring at me in all my uncovered physical glory, obviously waiting for me to explain what I meant.

So, I had to elucidate in terms even the simplest creature (or “man”) could understand: “Your bullets are going all over the place. Some of them aren’t even hitting me at all! Can’t you hold those guns still? Come on! Try again, and do it properly this time!”

The trio hesitated, and then one of them squeezed his trigger once more. His two colleagues soon followed suit. The three streams of supersonic hot metal were much more stable now, not wandering about as they had been before. The bulk of the fire was concentrated on my torso, but far, far too many bullets were being wasted on my flat, subtly-muscled abdomen. Each shot that hit my belly bounced away remoulded into a disc-like shape, squashed almost flat by impacting against my superhumanly firm, flawless stomach. Of course, I could barely even feel them.

“Stop!” I shouted. Quickly, the men obeyed, their guns falling silent. “You still don’t get it, do you?” I said, slightly angrily. “I want you to shoot me where I can actually feel it.” The puzzled looks that greeted my statement told me there was no point skirting the issue. “Just shoot my chest,” I explained. “Stop wasting your ammo elsewhere. I want to feel all of your little bullets hitting my tits. Got that?” The men nodded.

“Good.” I said. “Right, try again!”

More in the next post.



Monday 13 November 2006 20:39 BST (GMT+1)

A quick recap as the last post was a few days ago and most of my readers are only men and find it hard enough just standing up under Earth's weak gravity....

It was night. I'd found three soldiers on some kind of covert operation in a dense forest. Having tied them all to a tree, I'd told them to shoot me with their machine guns. They complied, ruining my clothes. But they were wasting their bullets on parts of me that are too firm to give me any decent feelings of pleasure. So, I'd stopped them and instructed them to only hit me in the softest part of my body.

Now they knew exactly what was expected of them, things were much better. Of course, they were too weak to hold their weapons completely still as they opened fire, and the incoming barrage was scattered over both my glorious chest and the area of my torso around its prominent magnificence, but that was still a vast improvement.

Most of the bullets hit either of my two large, round breasts, caressing those perfect mounds, occasionally dimpling one of them by a few millimetres for a microsecond or two. Every slug that hit my bosoms rebounded away deformed and defeated, leaving nothing by flawless silky flesh behind. Some shots ricocheted from the curve of one breast, only to hit the inside of the other.

A few bullets tried to worm their way deep into my supremely erotic cleavage, only to get squashed as they became trapped between my beautiful, proud, ungiving breasts. No mere piece of red-hot machined steel fired at hundreds of miles per hour could hope to be powerful enough to push apart my superhumanly firm, superhumanly sexy charms!

A very few bullets actually impacted dead-on with my big, pink nipples, producing loud metallic Clang!s and rebounding back from me in exactly the same direction from which they had come from (albeit much slower and squashed half flat) but not before sending a network of delightful tingles through my body. Those were by far the best of all. I love it when bullets smack into my nipples.

Sadly, all too soon and all too predictably, the men, one by one, ran out of ammunition. I sighed as the last gun fell silent. "Aah! That was nice while it lasted. Thanks boys!"

They stared back at me, their expressions a wonderful mix of fear, awe and lust as I cupped my wonderful chest, pinching each of my still-tingling nipples. "If only..." I said, enjoying my audience's reactions, "If only there was some way to thank you... Oh, wait! I know!"

And I'll let you know in my next post!



Tuesday 14 November 2006 20:03 BST (GMT+1)

So, how do you thank three fit, muscular young men who have so obligingly spent the previous few minutes emptying their machine-guns at your chest?

Well, firstly, I collected up their now useless weapons and stretched and twisted them together, the steel bending and yielding to the slightest touch of my delicate-looking, but unthinkably strong fingers. The metal groaned and screeched in futile protest at being so comprehensively overpowered. You'd think it would have cheered at the honour of being reshaped by a goddess, but since when has steel been known for its gratitude?

Of course, the metal become red-hot as I worked it, but I barely felt the warmth and my lovely skin certainly wasn't affected in any way. I just continued pulling and squeezing the steel, remoulding it as if it were wet clay, transforming three guns into a single, solid cylinder that was an inch-and-a-half in diameter and a foot long. Carefully, I pinched it near one end, making a ridge all the way round before I rounded the tip into a dome.

Once I was done, I held it in front of my (captive) audience for their inspection.

"Feeling a trifle inadequate, boys?" I teased them as they gulped at the size of my little creation. I faced the middle one directly. "You especially must be very jealous right now," I observed.

He gave me an embarrassed, guilty and quizzical look, as if to say "How did you know I'm small down there?"

I gave him a little wink and said, simply, "X-ray vision." He looked even more humiliated after that.

Chuckling, I took a couple of steps back from the tree that the trio were tied to, facing them from about five yards away. I held my newly-made sculpture up and smiled, knowingly. "Watch this, boys," I said.

I'll describe what they watched next time...



Wednesday 15 November 2006 20:46 BST (GMT+1)

Giving an unplanned, spur-of-the moment, exotic floorshow without a stage or props isn't difficult. (If you have powers like mine, that is.)

The thousands of bullets that had peppered my body had shredded my clothes so I was already nude. With the new "sculpture" I'd fashioned from the three machine-guns in my hand, I was ready to begin. All I had to do was use my flying abilities to float up off the ground until my crotch was at eye-level with the men tied to the tree. Then, keeping my torso dead still, floating in mid-air, I brought my legs up, keeping them straight in front of me so that I appeared to be sitting on a very tall, invisible sofa with the soles of my pretty feet facing the men.

Very slowly, enjoying the gasps of lust from my audience, I began to part my legs. First, I separated my feet, then my ankles and next my knees opened. By the time my thighs were parting, the three men could see everything. I could tell by the expressions on their faces that they were utterly enthralled.

With a wink that was probably lost on the trio because their eyes were locked elsewhere, I brought the long, round, solid metal object in my hand towards my groin. At first I just caressed the outer edges of my sex with the tip of the cylinder. Next, I began to stroke the dome of the rod across my nether lips.

After that, I gently prodded at my entrance with the tip, keeping my muscles nice and relaxed so that the steel was able to very slightly part the gates. The men were getting increasingly worked up by my display, their breathing and heart rates getting ever faster. Slowly, erotically, I began to insert the cylinder properly inside me...

To be continued.



Thursday 16 November 2006 16:49 GMT

As the three men tied to the tree stared in lust and amazement, I hovered in the air in front of them, my legs spread wide, and pleasured myself.

The big, super-compressed solid steel dildo (which I'd made out of their guns with my bare hands) felt good as I slowly inserted it deeply into my love-canal. So much harder and more resilient than any man, the sex-toy created wonderful sensations as it rubbed against my inner core. I still had to keep myself relaxed just as I would if I was with an actual male, but, with no risk of a gory, premature ending, I didn't have to be anything like as careful.

Experimentally, I briefly let my internal muscles contract (their normal, instinctive reaction to direct stimulation). I felt myself gripping the steel rod within, hugging it tightly with my most intimate core. Then, I concentrated on relaxing my vaginal muscles once again, so that I could extract the cylinder. I took my time pulling it out, enjoying the thousands of feelings it created before holding it up for inspection by me and the three men.

Even in the dark, even with their pathetically weak eyesight (even taking into consideration the fact that they were nothing more than puny males) the trio could all see the massive dents that my inner grip had made in the steel dildo. In fact, just with that natural, easy "squeeze" I'd come halfway to crushing a large portion of it completely out of existence.

For the record, I know from past experiences that if I'd actually tried to compress it hard with my vaginal muscles, most of the solid steel would have vaporised inside me. That's why I always have to be careful when I have sex with men. (Or, more accurately, that's why I have to be careful with men for as long as I want them to be able to try and please me.)

As it was, I was left with a slightly deformed toy. The men were still recovering from the shock of seeing what my sex can do as I plunged the dildo back in, this time, keeping my inner grip as loose as possible.

I started to work the thing in and out of me, quickly accelerating to speeds beyond any "normal" person's ability to see as anything more than a blur. In the darkness, the men wouldn't have been able to see the smoke curling out of my inner sanctum as the friction of steel on invulnerable flesh began to take its toll. They were, however, perfectly able to see the rod when it started to glow red with heat.

They gasped in disbelief, but I was only just getting going. Faster and faster I moved. The heat grew and grew with the feeling of pleasure deep within me. The reddish glow of my steel dildo brightened, turned yellow and then finally white.

And that's when my orgasm hit. I threw my head back, eyes shut, and just revelled in it. My whole body shook violently. If I hadn't been using my flight abilities to float so that no part of me was touching the ground, my superhuman shuddering body might well have caused a massive earthquake. For that matter, if I had given voice to the sensation with a yell, the three men would have been instantly killed by the shockwaves.

Instead, they were still alive (albeit in a state of severe shock) when I came down off my peak. The metal cylinder, now badly deformed, was still glowing white as I held it up to my face. Erotically, I gave it a long, slow lick with my sexy tongue, the extreme temperature not in the slightest bit uncomfortable.

To complete the show, I carefully placed the superheated rod between my two big round breasts and, cupping those wonderful scoops of flawless flesh, pressed them together to crush the dildo. In the incalculable pressures I generated between my bosoms, the steel melted and then boiled, sizzling away to nothingness in my cleavage.

I released my chest, letting my breasts return to their usual (ideal) separation. There was no trace of any metal, or burning, or any imperfections anywhere on my glorious mounds nor in the space between them. I didn't feel hot despite the thousands of degrees I'd been experiencing, but just for effect, I puckered my lips and blew gently down at my chest as if cooling it. Then I looked over at the men and gave them a wink.

"Well, it's been fun, boys," I told them, "but I'm going to leave before the party starts to go flat. Maybe see you again sometime..." With that, I floated straight up towards the sky. Once more, they gasped in amazement at my superhuman abilities. One of them also shouted something up at me about not leaving them tied to a tree in the middle of a dark forest, but, to be honest, I wasn't really listening.



Friday 24 November 2006 16:53 GMT

I’m going to start off today by letting you all into a secret.

You already know that I am the most beautiful young woman of all time, the most irresistibly sexy girl in existence. You know too that my perfect body is also the most powerful force in this solar system.

No bullet, no laser, no flame can scratch my flawless complexion. No speeding rocket, no bomb, no meteor can dent the rounded glory of my magnificent breasts. But there is one threat that is ever-present in my life. A threat I must combat every day. A threat that, unlike all the armies of Earth and all their weaponry combined, I cannot merely swat aside.

I’m talking, of course, about boredom. A girl who can do anything she wants (and I really do mean anything) and who can take anything (or for that matter anyone) she wants can so easily tire of the planet-sized toybox all around her.

It’s at times like those that my ability to fly and my invulnerability to vacuums and extreme cold are most useful. Instead of being stuck on Earth with nothing to do but play with its hopelessly weak inhabitants, I can simply soar away into space and enjoy the beauty of the solar system, safe in the knowledge that I won’t be disturbed by inferior beings.

For example, last week I realised I was bored with swimming in lava lakes inside the volcanoes of Earth. They just aren’t hot enough to get me sufficiently stimulated when I go skinny-dipping. So I decided to explore some extreme geological activity elsewhere. I flew up out of the molten rock, letting the thick red sludge fall from my naked body as I soared up into the upper atmosphere and then out into space.

Io was nice. The average person would last about a hundredth of a second there, but needless to say, I felt perfectly comfortable. Actually, I found bathing in furious eruptions of red hot rock and absorbing massive electromagnetic discharges whilst looking up at Jupiter looming in the sky to be quite a romantic experience. As long as I ignored the smell of sulphur, that is.

After a while, though, I started to miss playing with the hopelessly weak inhabitants of Earth. So, pleasantly refreshed by the temporary change of scenery, I flew home. I slipped into Earth’s atmosphere without slowing, my skin nicely warming to around a thousand degrees centigrade.

I was still glowing red all over as I landed, gracefully, on my bare feet, just two steps behind an unsuspecting pair of hikers. But that’s a story for another time…



Monday 27 November 2006 19:31 GMT

“Miss, I wouldn’t be walking around here alone at this time of night.”

That’s what the far-too-friendly policeman told me as I strolled down a quiet side-road on a typical nocturnal stroll. Well, I say he told me, but to be more accurate, his gaze (and no doubt all his limited thoughts) were entirely focussed on my bust. The dim orange street-lamps did nothing to hide the dramatic magnificence of my curves, and neither did my thin, exceptionally tight, sleeveless black tanktop.

“Why wouldn’t you be walking around here then?” I asked him, slightly impatiently. He seemed more interested in the extended ogling opportunity than in actually answering, but eventually his feeble male brain clunked into gear:

“There’s been a number of attacks on young men in this street in the past few days, mostly at night,” he explained.

I knew that, of course. I’d made a habit of walking that way over the previous nights. I'd come to like that particular street, in fact, as it was as conveniently unobserved and discrete a place as any for having fun. As luck would have it, it seemed every time I'd walked down there lately, I'd found someone to play with.

One night, I flicked a guy from one side of the street to the other with my little finger. Another time, I pinned a nerd to a wall with my big, firm breasts until a couple of his ribs broke and he passed out. A third man I sent rolling head over heels for fifty yards until he slammed into a lamppost merely by sexily blowing a quick, effortless puff of breath at him. And then there was the jerk who broke his foot trying to kick me in the crotch before I broke the leg it was attached to swinging him over my head by it…

Snapping out of my happy memories, I pouted and said to the policeman “I’m sure no one would want to hurt me.” As I spoke, I slightly arched my back to make my chest even more prominent. The copper’s pulse started to race. It was a chilly night (not that I’m concerned with such things) but he was sweating. And panting.

“You should take care.” For all the way he was as good as drooling over me, he might well have added “I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to your breasts.” Instead, he tried to warn me “Whoever is behind this is extremely violent and dangerous.”

I smiled. He didn’t know how right he was.

“Well, good night then.” I said.

“Goodnight,” said the policeman to my bust, failing to hide his disappointment that the object of his lust would be lingering no longer. I could just tell he was staring at my rear as I swayed it down the street.

As soon as I was out of sight, I took to the air and flew back over the street. Hovering about sixty feet above the top of the copper’s helmet, I unleashed a very short blast of heat vision. After that, I hung around for a few seconds, out of sight and earshot in the night sky, laughing as the guy rolled around on the ground, screaming as he tried to extinguish his burning clothes.

That’ll teach him to leer at my perfection!



Tuesday 28 November 2006 18:01 GMT

According to the local paper:

"A police officer was in hospital last night with severe burn injuries caused by an unknown assailant. Colleagues of the victim are desperately trying to trace a young woman who spoke to the constable just moments before the incident. They believe she may have witnessed the attackers fleeing the scene."

Whilst it's always nice to make the news, I could do without the unwanted attention. Fortunately, the only person capable of actually indentifying me as the "young woman" in question is lying in a hospital bed. As I feel (in a small way) perhaps slightly to blame for his condition, I think the right thing to do would be to pay the poor fellow a little out-of-hours visit.

Anyway, I'll tell you all about it next time...



Wednesday 29 November 2006 19:31 GMT

So, that poor policeman lying in his hospital bed…

As I mentioned last time, I’d decided to pay him a sympathy visit. That decision, of course, had nothing to do with the fact that he was the only person capable of identifying me as the much sought-after mystery “potential witness”.

Anyway, getting into a hospital after visiting hours is easy enough. I arrived by air, landing silently on my pretty toes on the roof. There was some kind of emergency escape hatch that was bolted from the inside, but the mechanism’s key component was just a half-inch thick solid steel rod, so naturally I just peeled it open, snapping the bar in half, using only my thumb and forefinger.

After that, I found the emergency stairs. Someone had tried to block them off by affixing a metal grill across the top of them. I didn’t bother to peel it away. I just kept walking, letting the magnificently gorgeous front of my body smash its way through. I barely felt anything as my breasts pushed and bent the metal latticework out of their path.

Once inside the hospital proper, I quickly located the room in which my “friend” was being treated. Of course, being a copper, he had a private little place all to himself. That made things easier for me. Unfortunately, a couple of his co-workers were visiting him when I first approached the room. It was supposed to be out of hours… one rule for them and another for everyone else, it seems. Well, everyone else bar me, of course. There’s no rules at all for me!

X-ray vision allowed me to check out the room before entering, so I avoided having to, um, “deal” with the two visiting policemen. Instead, I waited out of sight for them to leave. Happily, they didn’t stay too long. Soon enough, my “friend” was all alone.

Being the overwhelmingly kind and generous superhuman that I am, I decided he could probably do with a little more company. So, unnoticed by any of the over-busy staff, I slipped into his room.

Next time, if you're very lucky, I'll tell you what I did in there...