I couldn't help but mock the state of the two senior partners. I stood over them, my hands on my hips, tapping my foot impatiently. From all the grunting and panting, it seemed they needed every ounce of strength left in their puny male bodies just to obey my command to stand up. Finally, using the wall behind them for support, they hauled themselves back onto their feet.
I shook my head disapprovingly. "Useless males!" I muttered under my breath. They looked ready to pass out at any moment, but I hadn't had my fill of fun with them yet. Fortunately, I knew just what to do.
"Maybe this will perk you up," I said, opening my Santa costume, pulling it off in a single wave of my arm and tossing it aside where it landed like a shroud over the unconscious body of one of the other partners.
Two gasps in unison greeted the revealing of my carefully-chosen seasonal underwear. Two already fast heartbeats accelerated to dangerously rapid speeds. Two eyeballs seemed to expand as if about to burst. Meanwhile, the man standing in the corner facing the wall could only guess what had caused the gasps...
Here's what I looked like (with my face obscured so I can't be traced by the police or the secret services or the military...)
And in my next post (that's tomorrow, Tuesday) I'll tell you about the game I went on to play with the two drooling lawyers.
Tuesday 2 January 2007 16:55 GMT
“Steady on, boys,” I warned the two over-exhausted, over-excited senior partners. “Don’t go blowing a fuse until we’ve finished playing…”
Judging by all the salivating, enraptured staring at my now more-exposed-than-covered chest, my caution may have been a fraction too late. What little brains those two had to begin with were now fully occupied with the task of processing the information sent by their bulging eyes.
Of course, I’m used to such reactions. After all, I am the most physically perfect and sexual desirable woman on Earth. However, it can be quite frustrating trying to explain something to a male (or males) whose entire mind (or minds) is (or are) focussed entirely on one (admittedly stunning) part of your anatomy. Which is why I felt it necessary to issue the command “Look at my face when I’m talking to you!”
One of the two men obeyed fairly quickly, meeting my lovely clear eyes with his own dull, tired and terrified gaze, with just a couple of quick glances back at my breasts. The other seemed to be finding it impossible to look away from my glorious mounds. His pupils would flicker up towards my face for a moment, but they kept falling back towards my chest.
“OK,” I said. “Let me put this in terms even a couple of men can understand.” I pronounced the word “men” in a pejorative way, not bothering to hide my contempt for the lesser sex as I reached forward with both hands. I had to lean a little towards the men, which resulted in my superhumanly firm bust being presented even more irresistibly. Neither of the pair could prevent himself stealing a peak at the unmatched erotic curves of flesh. By then, my hands had reached their targets. Through the material of their trousers, I took a firm, but not crushing grip, on each man’s erection.
Their faces simultaneously contorted in agony as I grabbed their throbbing members. Expletives and cries of pain followed immediately. Four hairy, supposedly strong, masculine hands set to work trying to remove my dainty feminine fingers. Naturally they failed to even so much as soften my grip.
Ignoring the wasted struggles, I smiled. “Would either of you like me to show you what happens to males who look at my cleavage when they’ve been told not to?”
“No! Please!” hissed the senior partner whose masculinity was in my left hand.
“No! I swear I won’t look!” wheezed the senior partner who was at the mercy of my right.
I gave each of them the gentlest possible squeeze between the thumb and forefinger of each of my hands. It really was just the lightest of two-finger hugs, almost certainly not enough to cause permanent damage. Yet they both instantly screamed as though they were in unfathomable pain. Maybe they were. I was too busy laughing at them to care.
After a few seconds, I released them and brought my hands back to my hips, keeping my big, sexy bust thrust out towards them, daring them to feast their eyes on my glorious flesh as they both so desperately yearned to do.
The pair rubbed their new bruises, all the while keeping their eyeballs unflinchingly fixed on mine, clearly terrified of being caught in the act of looking downwards. Of course, I was under no such threat, so I took my time to examine, with the help of my X-ray vision, the dark purple patches spreading along each of the two unimpressive lengths.
Once I had stared to my heart’s content, I addressed the pair. “So, who’s ready for our next game?” There was no reply, but I didn’t really expect one.
Anyway, I’ll continue the story in the next post (tomorrow, Wednesday).
Wednesday 3 January 2007 17:52 GMT
"I don't know if you guys have realised," I said, beginning my explanation of the final game, "but I'm quite a lot stronger and faster than you. Have you noticed?"
There was no answer. I persisted. "Well, have you?"
"Yes," they both answered in unison, making a big show of staring into my eyes as they did, no doubt terrified out of their little male minds of being caught stealing a glimpse of my wonderful chest.
"I thought you might have done," I teased. "You probably think it's unfair having to compete in all these games against someone as, um, special, as me. Here I am, a superwoman with powers that are way beyond your ability to even comprehend and you're just a couple of men. Of course I keep winning!"
I chuckled. The two senior partners did nothing but stare at my face. "Not to worry, boys. It just so happens that I like winning." I paused for a moment, before continuing, "Anyway, what we're going to do now is have a little boxing match. I know that two big, strong men against one little girl -" (I couldn't help shaking my big breasts a little from side to side as I said the word 'girl') "- is hardly a fair fight..."
The pained expressions on the two masculine faces in front of me as their owners struggled for all they were worth to resist the temptation to watch the incomparably erotic movements of my bosoms almost made me burst out laughing. I kept my composure however, to finish my sentence: "...so to make it more even, I'll keep my hands behind my back. Does that sound fair?"
Once again, no reply was immediately forthcoming. So I repeated the question adding a little extra incentive: "I said 'does that sound fair?'. Answer me if you want to live!"
"Yes, yes!" said one of the men.
"Very fair." said the other.
"Great!" I smiled. I moved my hands from my hips, clasping them behind my back. "Off you go then," I ordered, "Start punching!"
A full and unbiased fight report will appear in my next post tomorrow (Thursday).
Thursday 4 January 2007 23:56 GMT
A quick ‘story-so-far’ recap:
The previous owner of my home turned out to be a senior partner of some jumped-up law-firm. Along with his colleagues, he’d threatened me with legal action, claiming I’d “forced” him to sign over the property. So I did what any fun-loving, incomprehensibly beautiful and unstoppably powerful young woman would do: I smashed through the roof of the company’s HQ and found out where the top man and senior partners were holding their Christmas party. After that, I just turned up (in an sexy seasonal costume, of course) and started to have some fun.
At the point I’ve reached in my account of that evening, most of the party guests, including the boss, were scattered around the floor, dead or unconscious or halfway between the two states. I had exiled the former owner of my house to one corner and made him face the wall so he could hear the screams and crashes and crunches and tears of his colleagues without being able to see anything. Meanwhile, I’d whittled the rest of the party down to just two senior partners and, with my hands behind my back, challenged them to a fight.
Now, it won’t surprise regular readers when I confess that I’ve been punched by men countless times in the past. Nor will it come as a shock when I reveal that out of all those tens of thousands of blows, the total number that actually hurt me is zero. My invulnerability means that the greatest heavyweight’s greatest punch would feel like a gentle caress to me. But that doesn’t mean I can’t differentiate between a “hard” (by normal male standards) hit and a “weak” one. Or rather, between a pathetically weak attempt at a punch and an even more pathetically weak attempt at a punch.
I don’t know if the two senior partners whom I’d ordered to hit me were completely drained by all the games we’d already played or if they were only being half-hearted in their early punches because they thought that’s what I wanted. The third possibility is that the useless, feather-like strikes against my flat, perfect belly were actually the best that they could manage...
Whatever the reason, I was far from impressed with the men’s first four punches. “Oh, come on!” I chastised. “I told you two to start punching not tickling! Now, both of you hit me properly before I get bored.” I couldn’t resist adding “Believe me, you wouldn’t like me when I’m bored.”
The two men looked at each other, balled up their fists and with their faces contorted in desperation, drove them with all their might, side-by-side, into the flawless silky plain of my midriff.
I’ve always enjoyed the sound of a male bone breaking. As the men’s fists hit, I was treated to that sound sixty-three times within a second. A block of solid steel would have been far more forgiving than my lovely belly. The two hands appeared to simply dissolve into themselves as my perfect flesh utterly refused to yield so much as a nanometre.
The double Cccrrrunnnchhh! was still ringing in the air as the screams of shock and agony began to emerge from each man’s throat. As they bent over, both clutching a ruined hand with a good one, I smiled broadly.
“That’s better!” I grinned, once the yelling had subsided. “At least now we can say you gave it your best shot. Too bad your best was so pathetic! Oh well, my turn now!”
Anyway, I’ll describe my turn tomorrow (Friday)...
Friday 5 January 2007 22:57 GMT
So, the two big, "strong" men had their turn, destroying their hands on my harder-than-diamond midriff without even making me blink, let alone leave so much as a bruise on my flawless, creamy skin.
Now, it was my go. Of course, unlike the men, I didn't have the convenient luxury of being able to use my fists. My hands were clasped behind my back. I had to find some other way of attacking them, using a less conventional part of my anatomy. I smiled as my mind raced with almost endless possibilities. In the time it took my adversaries to blink twice in terror, I was able to imagine each of the (fourteen thousand, six hundred and twenty-three) ways I could hurt them using my beautiful, desirable, perfect female body.
For a while, I considered kicking them, safe in the knowledge that my dainty bare toes alone are strong enough to propel a man thirty feet into the air. That would've been messy as the ceiling was only ten foot from the carpet. Then again, the power of even my most effortless punt would shatter bones and rupture organs before the recipient even left the ground.
In the end, I decided on an approach that I am uniquely suited to employ. I took a step towards one of the senior partners, arched my back and thrust out my superlative chest. Giggling, I coquettishly swivelled my body at the hips, causing my bust to swing through the air. On the return swing, the outside of my large, round left breast slammed into the lawyer's shoulder. With a satisfyingly loud "Crack!", my superhumanly firm flesh instantly smashed the bone beneath the point of impact.
As it continued in its path, not slowed at all by the heavy, masculine obstruction, my breast simply knocked the man in its way to the side with such force that his feet left the floor and he flew for a few yards. He would have flown a lot further were it not for the wall he slammed into. And then slid down, finishing in a misshapen pile on the carpet.
I didn't need my superpowers to know that he wasn't breathing. In fact the only thing that wasn't clear was which collision had actually killed him. He might well have been dead before he hit the wall, having already been killed by the sheer power of the initial blow from my glorious breast. I'd certainly like to think that was the case.
I turned to the other senior partner who was playing my delightful little game. With a big grin that I don't think I could have hidden if I'd wanted to, I purred "And now for you..."
You can read about that in tomorrow's post.
Sunday 7 January 2007 01:22 GMT
The last remaining competitor looked from the body of his former team-mate to me as I announced his time had come.
It was no surprise when he started to back away from me. As he shot terrified glances around the room, looking for someone or something that could help him in his predicament, he would have seen nine people lying on the floor, and only three still standing. He was one of those three. Another was the idiot who used to own my house, still banished to the corner, facing the wall according to my orders.
The third member of the still-standing brigade was, of course, me. With my hands still behind my back, I smiled as I happily skipped towards the retreating lawyer, keeping the distance between us equal. When he had backed to within a yard of the wall behind him, I stopped and gave him a slow, sexy wink. He stared at me in that hysterical mixture of confusion, fascination and horror that men so often show me. I took advantage of his conflicting thoughts and emotions, taking my time as I relaxed my smile, reshaping my lips into a pout that I stretched out towards him. Then, in a deliberate, erotic slow-motion, I parted my mouth very slightly and began to exhale.
My breath was directed by the roundness of my lips into a jet of warm air that at first merely ruffled his hair. Then, as I enjoyed myself gradually increasing the force I was using, he began to stagger back, fighting a losing battle with the face-on gale I was so effortlessly producing. I blew a little harder and he lost his footing and slammed, back-first with a loud “Oooof!” into the wall. How amusing it was to see him having all the air driven out of his body by the impact, whilst I continued to demonstrate the almost endless, superhuman capacity of my own lungs!
Maintaining the strength of my constant exhalation, I began to tilt my head slowly upwards. The jet of my breath that was pinning the lawyer to the wall was steered in accordance with the movement of my head and as it continued to press him against the wall, it now also began to lift him, his feet leaving the floor. I carried on raising my face, pushing him further and further up until the top of his head was barely an inch from the ceiling.
All the while, my hands were clasped behind me. With the senior partner held firmly in place I started to walk towards him, adjusting both the tilt of my head and the power of my breath as I approached so that he was immobile. When I had approached to within a step of the wall and his feet were level with my face, I suddenly stopped blowing.
Without my lung-power holding him, he immediately began to slide down the wall. He would have slid all the way until he was a heap at my feet if I hadn’t leant forward just as his head passed mine. By pressing my fantastic chest onto his face as he slipped by, I overcame the pull of gravity on his body by once again pinning him to the wall. Only this time instead of securing him with a stream of my breath on his chest, I was holding him with my breasts on his face.
“Mmmmm! Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm!” Whatever he tried to yell at me was muffled by my big, round mounds pushing against his mouth and nose. He tried to pound my flank with his uninjured hand a few times, but gave up as his fist bruised badly. (My flank was, naturally, unmarked).
When I shifted my body, moving my chest just an tiny fraction of an inch towards the wall, my breasts refused to yield to the shape of the lawyer’s face. As their power is unopposable, the lawyer’s face had no choice but to yield to the shape of my bosoms. My hands remained behind my back as I had promised they would. It was only my breasts, my beautiful, perfect breasts, that caused the “C-rrrack!” of his skull.
I stood back and let the corpse of the penultimate party guest slump by my ankles.
“It’s just you and me now!” I announced to the man standing in the corner as he shook with fear. Still, he dared not turn around.
There’ll be more from my delightful Christmas party in Monday’s post....
Monday 8 January 2007 22:15 GMT
“Turn around!” I commanded the man facing the corner of two walls.
Up until that moment, he had been just one more guest at the party. Just one more toy for me to enjoy myself with (albeit a toy that I had carefully placed aside for later). Now that there was no-one else left (all other people in the room were either dead or out cold) he became mildly significant once more. After all, it was him and his threatened legal challenge to my home-ownership that had brought me there.
Visibly shaking with terror, he started to rotate towards the room. When he’d last looked around he’d seen people. Now as he slowly took in the scene, he saw nothing but bodies, some moving very, very slightly, the rest not moving at all. They were everywhere, littering the floor. Ten bodies altogether, three female, seven male. Each one belong to a co-worker of his, and none of them were in any position to help him in any way.
Now, he faced me, alone, knowing that I was the reason why each one of those co-workers was dead or unconscious. He had heard the various hits and the screams and the crunches, but this was the first time he was actually seeing the results. I had given him only a tiny taste of my power when we had first met (when he signed his house over to me). This latest demonstration appeared to be having a much more impressive impact.
“If... if... if this is about the h- house...” he stammered, scared out of his wits. I raised one perfect eyebrow at the mention of the word ‘house’, “...we c- can n- n- negotiate!” I glanced at the ceiling in mock boredom. “Er.. I mean, I’ll d- d- drop the ch- challenge,” he hastily responded. “H- Have the house. It’s y- y- yours!”
“It already was mine,” I said curtly.
He couldn’t back away from me as I approached him, because he was already in the corner. All he could do was tremble and sweat. And blab. “My c- car’s outside. Maybe y- y- you c- could t- take that... er... as a g- g- goodwill gesture. It’s a M- M- Mercedes...”
“If I wanted your car, I’d have taken it already,” I replied, dismissively.
“W- w.- well.. wh- what do you w- w- want?” he asked.
I gave him an enigmatic half-smile in response and continued to walk towards him. Even without superpowers, his fear would have been detectable to almost all my senses. I could tell he was frantically searching his brain for possible answers to his question. As he was only a pathetic male, I graciously helped him out by providing the correct response. “I want you to die painfully,” I explained, dead-pan, still walking towards him.
The little colour that remained in his features drained away and his eyes, wide with fright before, became now became huge with rampant terror.
“L...L... Look... there... there’s p- p- people who know wh- wh- where I am...” he fought to retain the power of speech as he tried to dissuade me from immediately fulfilling my stated desire. “I h- h- have l- l- lots of f- f- friends who won’t r- r- rest until they a- a- avenge m- me....”
I laughed. “I don’t believe you have any friends who care if you die,” I said. My stroll across the room was finally done. I was standing, with the prominent points of my magnificent chest just eighteen inches away from his shaking wreck of a body.
“I do h- h- have f- f- friends!” he responded, in the manner of a tearful child having a playground argument.
“Yeah, right!” I sneered.
Realising that his latest, desperate tactic was failing, he tried another tack. “I- I h- have m- m- money,” he blurted.
“So I saw when I read the bank statement in your wallet.” I told him. “Well, you won’t be needing it after tonight. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to spend it on something nice .”
“P- P- Please! T- take the m- m- money, b- but d-don’t k- k- kill m- me!”
I sighed theatrically. “I just told you I’m taking the money,” I said, with mock exasperation, adding (as if it was an afterthought) “And I already said I was going to do the other thing...”
“NO!” he cried (in both senses. He yelled the futile denial and there were big tears in his eyes.)
“Yes!” I grinned, calmly.
He sank to his knees in front of me. For a moment, I thought he was fainting, but a quick supersenses-scan of his vitals showed that he was fully alert. It soon became clear what he was up to.
“P- Please!” he wailed tearfully, looking up at me in supplication from his humiliating, on-all-fours position. “I’m b- begging y- you! Please! H- hurt m- me if you m- m- must, b- but p- please l- let m- me l- l- live!”
“Hmmm...” I said, looking at the ceiling as if I was pondering it over. “Hmmm...” I repeated, stretching the agony of the moment, touching my chin with one finger as though in deep thought.
His tears dripped onto my feet. I let about ten seconds pass.
“No.” I said.
I bent over, reaching down for him with my right hand.
And I’ll continue from that point in my next post.
Tuesday 9 January 2007 21:21 GMT
“Oh god! No! Please! No!” the senior partner and ex-owner of my house screamed.
And that was before I’d even touched him! He was still on his knees and I was still just reaching down for him. (I was taking my time so that I could enjoy his anticipation as much as my own). Tears rolled down his cheeks, wetting my bare feet where they fell. His trembling was uncontrollably violent now, and he’d long since abandoned plans to cling to any remaining shreds of dignity.
“Please! I’ll give you everything I own!” he blubbed. “Everything! And I’ll do anything you say! I swear! Anything you want! Please! Anything!”
I laughed. (Well, the male’s little display was not entirely unamusing.) “The only thing you’ve ever had that I wanted was the house,” I pointed out, “and that’s already mine.”
“Please, no! There must be something!” he wailed. “I have another house! And two cars… and money and… and…”
“-And just minutes to live.” I completed his list for him, with a chuckle.
“No! Please! I don’t want to die!” he cried.
“Well,” I smiled, “you should have thought about that before you made threats against me.”
“I… I didn’t realise… I… I’m sorry!” blurted the grovelling lawyer.
“I bet you are now,” I said, agreeing.
“I’ll never do it again, I swear!” he promised.
I laughed. “I’m sure there’s quite a few things you’ll never do again.”
My arm had reached down as far as his neck now. Slowly, I curled my fingers under his chin.
He grabbed my wrist with both of his hands. If he had been the strongest lawyer in history, able to call upon years of training, and enjoying the benefit of a good rest, he would not have been able to budge my shapely feminine forearm or my dainty fingers even a millimetre. As it was, he had been weak even by normal male standards at the start of the evening, and was now utterly drained and exhausted. He could hardly even move the hand from which I’d torn off a finger earlier. All-in-all, he had more chance of stopping the rotation of the Earth than of pulling my hand away.
Ignoring his pointless struggles, I jerked him onto his feet by his chin, taking care not to snap his neck and end his misery too quickly in the process. That left us both eye-to-eye. As he shook and wept, I smiled.
It’s at times like those that I wish I had the power to read minds. I’d love to be able to tell you just what he was thinking at that moment. It would have been wonderful to have really seen his terror, to have realised just what it’s like to be so totally, completely, utterly helpless. I’d also like to find out how a creature that weak feels facing me, an all-powerful goddess. Oh, and I could also know exactly what happens in a male’s mind when he’s confronted by my perfect feminine beauty and my unrivalled sexual desirability...
Sadly, I don’t have such powers. All I have is strength beyond your ability to comprehend, complete invulnerability to every force and weapon in the universe, heat-vision that can melt solid steel in an instant, superbreath that can freeze an Olympic-sized swimming pool in five seconds or rip an entire forest out of the ground and hurl it over the horizon, the abilities to move at almost the speed of light and to see right through solid objects, not to mention fantastically powerful supersenses. Oh, I can also fly. To Mars. In under an hour.
Anyway, although I can’t tell you what the senior partner was thinking, I do know exactly what was going through my mind as I held him by his chin.
I was thinking “Which bit of him should I break first?”
I’ll tell you which bit I chose next time.
Wednesday 10 January 2007 22:50 GMT
Men are great. No, really. They are.
They have so many bits that I can twist and pull and rip and crush. Plus there's so many ways I can taunt, tease and humiliate them. And they scream and yell and plead for their lives so entertainingly...
The only problem with using one of them in that way for my amusement is, of course, that they break beyond any hope of repair far too easily. Often, I'm just starting to enjoy myself playing with some pathetic male and, even though I might have left most of him more-or-less intact, he just fails on me. They're no fun when they stop reacting and just go completely limp.
Anyway, if you read yesterday's post, you'll recall that I was standing, holding the ex-owner of my house by the chin. That effortless, three-fingered grip was more than enough to prevent him moving and left me with a free hand which I put to good use ripping off all his clothes, yanking his shirt off, tearing open his leather belt as if it was paper and roughly peeling away his trousers and underwear.
Naturally, I was unable to resist the temptation to mockingly sneer at his naked form. "Is that shrivelled cocktail sausage supposed to be a penis?" I teased.
Scared, and now feeling exposed and embarrassed as well, he placed his hands over his groin. I leant towards him, holding my perfect body close to, but not touching, his imperfect bulk. I kept my hand on his chin, but brought my lips close to his face and, with the index finger of my other hand, started to gently caress his bare chest. "Aw, don't be shy," I breathed. "There's no secrets you can keep from me."
Glancing down, I saw that the touch of my finger and my nearness to him was already having its customary effect as his little member began to straighten out. "You see," I smiled, letting my warm breath wash over him, "it wants to come out and play." All the while I stroked him with that solitary finger.
He shut his eyes, screwing up his face as if he was desperately trying to concentrate on some thought in his head. "You're wasting your time fighting it," I exhaled, my lips only about two inches from his now. "There's nothing you can do. You can't resist me. Look! You just keep getting harder and harder."
He did look, opening his eyes, glancing down at his unimpressive erection, then glancing back up and catching a glimpse of my body, which was enough to make him fully upstanding inside a second. "See?" I taunted. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"
No reply, so I exerted a tiny bit more pressure through the finger caressing him. That was enough to make him wince. He probably would have yelled, too, if my single digit hadn't already forced all the excess air from his lungs. The skin under my petite, feminine fingertip started to discolour with bruising almost immediately. After a few seconds, I let up the pressure and resumed stroking his chest before reminding him of the question "I said: 'You just can't help yourself can you?' "
"I- I- I-" he stammered hopelessly.
"You can't even talk!" I laughed. "You're so excited by me, you can't speak. It's like you're in love!" I paused for a moment, but kept on caressing him with my index finger. "Are you? Are you in love with me?" I asked.
The lawyer glanced at me, clearly nervous about how he should answer, or even if he should answer at all. My half-grin would have given him no clue in that regard.
"No... Yes... I- I - don't know!" he blurted.
"Yes you do!" I exclaimed. "You do know! You know that you love me..." I stopped the stroking movements of my fingertip, with my digit near his left shoulder. I raised the finger, keeping it in contact with him all the while as I changed the angle of digit-to-body until I was only touching him with the edge of my long, perfect nail. The merest push drove the fingernail through his skin and a little into the flesh below, drawing both a trickle of blood and a scream of agony.
As he screamed, I moved my finger sideways, slicing a quarter-inch-deep incision into his chest. He grabbed my wrist, fighting for all he was worth to pull me away, but I chose to merely ignore him. Besides, his puny efforts had absolutely no effect on the movements of my hand.
I took my time, letting him fully experience the pain as my sharper-than-any-scalpel, harder-than-any-diamond nail carved through his skin, taking it on a tour around his torso until I had drawn a big red outline of a heart-shape on his body. The blood poured out all around the wound, dripping down him. I removed my finger, but only to plunge it back into him once more to draw an arrow through the heart.
By the time I was finished, my design was barely visible for blood. Effortlessly, I pulled my hand out of his grip. "There," I announced, leaning back slightly to admire my work whilst still holding him by the chin, "now everyone can see that you're in love with me."
Showing typical male ingratitude, he seemed too busy gasping for air and shuddering with pain to thank me.
Continued next post...
Thursday 11 January 2007 22:10 GMT
The man who had once thought he could challenge me stood with his back to the wall.
Big, fat tears rolled down his cheeks. I don't know if they were tears of pain or fright or defeat or impending mortality. To be honest, I couldn't care less about the precise reason. The knowledge that I was directly responsible for his distress was satisfying enough...
Anyway, as I said, the typical, pathetic male was crying. The salty water must've stung terribly each time a drop of it found its way into the bloody heart-shape outline complete with piercing arrow that I'd carved across his torso. And there were lots of drops.
I admit that I probably didn't help to soothe his agonies by tracing over the line of the wound with my finger, not hard enough to significantly deepen the scar, but more than firmly enough to bruise the tender flesh all around it. From the way he screamed at my touch, I'd say that the lawyer didn't enjoy it very much. But that didn't matter, because I was so pleased with the pretty heart-shape I'd drawn.
The male's cries finally died down, and he gasped for breath, still shuddering and snivelling. I caught him looking down at his redecorated body.
"Nice, isn't it?" I asked, not really expecting a reply. I didn't get one anyway, so I went on, "Your very own sign of your love for me." He had nothing to say to that, either. I let a few seconds pass, pretending to be lost in thought. Eventually, I broke the silence.
"Isn't love a beautiful thing?" I sighed exaggeratedly, blasting him with a waft of breath that pressed his head back against the wall. As he recovered from that, I placed my hand over my heart in a pantomime-style "love-struck" gesture. "Oh, It's making my heart go all a-flutter!" I claimed. (Of course that was a complete lie. An atomic bomb exploding between my legs doesn't make my heart 'flutter'.)
"Would you like to feel my heart fluttering?" I asked the confused, terrified senior partner. "Would you?" I repeated. Before he could start to formulate an answer, I provided one for him. "Of course you would!"
I was still holding him by the chin, so although he tried to move his arm away as I started to reach for it, his attempts at evading me were doomed. I just leisurely captured his wrist and lifted it upwards towards my voluptuous chest. He balled his fingers into a fist, but as I was holding his forearm between my thumb and forefinger, he couldn't actually punch me. I gave his wrist a careful squeeze at exactly the right point to make his fingers open and very quickly released the arm, repositioning my open palm on top of his.
At first I only pressed his hand gently onto my big, round left breast. The sensation of intense contact with the feminine perfection of my magnificent bosom was clearly highly erotic for him at that stage. His little manhood jumped back to attention almost at once. I smiled down at it. "You really did want to feel my heart!" I said.
That's when I slowly started to increase the pressure. His hand was becoming more and more uncomfortably squeezed between the incalculable strength of my palm on one side and the superhuman firmness of my large heavy breast on the other. He yelled. My grin widened. He yelled some more. I chuckled. Something went "Crack! in his hand. He screamed. I started to laugh.
I pushed him harder against me. "Crack! Crack! Crrrack! Crack!". The scream became a continuous shriek. My laughter became peals of hysterics. I threw my head back, roaring with amusement and pressed his hand into my breast. My mound retained its perfect rounded symmetry as the male's flesh tore and folded against itself to accommodate it. Warm blood soaked my bikini-style bra, and flowed down the wonderful curves of that part of my chest. Male bones were ground to powder against my breast, mixing with the gore to make a paste whilst the lawyer screamed and screamed and I laughed and laughed.
Soon enough, I was touching my own, blood-soaked flesh. Only when my own hand made direct contact with my chest was my mound finally (very slightly) squashed. By then, there was nothing recognisable left of the man's hand. I let him pull the bleeding stump away, but he carried on yelling none-the-less. It took me a few moments to recover my composure and stop laughing, too.
More next post...
Friday 12 January 2007 23:56 GMT
Eventually, the lawyer stopped crying out in pain.
Judging by the state of his fresh amputation, he had simply exhausted his ability to yell. Certainly, my vast and varied experience of damaging men told me, the levels of pain he was experiencing could not have receded so quickly. Naturally I took advantage of the temporary silence to offer him a few comforting words.
“No more tying shoelaces for you,” I chuckled.
I looked down at him, following the trickles of sticky dark red liquid that ran down his torso. Not so much bleeding-heart, more bleeding heart-shape...
“Aw,” I complained as my gaze passed over his naked groin and I noticed that his screams of pain were not all that had died down, “I thought you loved me! How come your little thing has gone all floppy again? Is that because of what I did to your hand? Did I make you go limp? Did I? Well, then, let me make you go hard again!”
So saying, I floated effortlessly just over a foot off the carpet, standing on air as solidly as I had been standing on the ground. My right hand had remained fixed on the senior partner’s chin the whole time, holding him in place. With my feet now almost level with his knees, I used that hand to pull his head forwards and down towards the mostly-exposed, exquisitely rounded perfection that is the shelf of my breasts.
I was careful merely to touch his face against my flawless, irresistibly erotic flesh and not to grind his features to mincemeat on my chest like I had done with his hand. Instead I merely kept his head close enough to the glory of my bosoms to overload his senses with their superhuman femininity. Immediately, I heard his heartbeat reaching a dangerously fast tempo. I also smelt the arousal leaking from his pores.
After about ten seconds, I pushed him back away from me and held him at arm’s length. A quick glance confirmed what I already knew.
“I can make you erect so easily!” I laughed, delighting in my complete ownership of the latest in a long, long line of males. He merely stood where I held him and stared at me in terrified awe. I gave a long, slow look at his under-sized penis and then caught his eye seductively.
“I think I know just what to do with that little rod of yours...” I breathed.
I’ll reveal what that was next time.
Monday 15 January 2007 23:58 GMT
So, there was no-one left in the room save me and the lawyer who used to own my house.
To add to the finger I tore off him earlier in the evening, I’d scratched a torso-sized doodle deep into his skin and amputated his other hand by pressing it against one of my glorious breasts. Of course, I was only just getting started with him.
With all those pains still fresh, I took a break from, er, breaking him to show off another aspect of my total superiority: my complete control over every aspect of his body, even the smallest parts. And in this case, I do mean ‘small’.
Despite his various agonies and his profuse bleeding, when I floated upwards and pulled his face oh-so-very-very-gently into my chest, his tiny penis jumped up to full attention within ten seconds. No amount of pain or terror or loss of blood could prevent his mind and his body betraying him. He simply could not hide his uncontrollable lust for me. I'm just too irresistibly gorgeous, too extraordinarily sexy, too superhumanly desirable...
I knew that if I'd let his face rest any longer against my breasts, the overwhelming feminine eroticism of my perfect body would have tipped him over the edge of an orgasm within a few instants. Such intimate contact with the flawless, silky flesh of the big, round orbs of my chest is more stimulation that any normal male can handle and the lawyer would have released his semen onto my flat, bare stomach without his actual organ being touched in any way (as many men have done in my presence in the past.)
In those situations, my sexuality is like an extra superpower. (As if I don't have enough superpowers already!) It's yet another way I can dominate and defeat a male. When I chose to show my womanly charms, none of them have any self-control. Instead, I have all the control. Even the innermost workings of their bodies become mine to manipulate at will. I can make them want me with every fibre of their being. I can make them burn with yearning and lust. And I can make them cum at precisely the moment of my choosing.
As far as the senior partner was concerned, that particular moment had not yet arrived. I was not in the mood to allow him a swift and satisfying release. As I held him by his chin at arm's length, I looked down at his rather pathetic excuse for an erection. Smiling contemptuously, I began to raise my arm, keeping him pinned to the wall but now lifting him off his feet, raising him higher and higher, his weight less-than-nothing to the goddess-like strength of my slender, shapely arm.
I continued to lift him by his chin until my arm was fully extended and his navel was level with my mouth. With my superhuman eyesight, I could have studied the individual follicles in his skin from a mile away, so it was purely for show that I bent my head down, close to his groin, and pretended to closely examine his genitalia. Naturally the proximity of my sexy face to his already over-excited reproductive equipment caused him to teeter even more precariously close to ejaculation.
"What a lousy lover you'd make," I observed, staring at his throbbing, undersized member. "So small! And so quick to finish! I mean, look at you! I let you touch my breasts for a couple of seconds and you're on the verge of shooting your puny little load! You'd explode if I so much as touched your little cock with a finger!"
To prove my point, I started to reach for his manhood with my free hand. My fingers were still an inch away from its purple dome when I noticed the telltale spasming that always precedes a male orgasm. Evidently, the mere thought of me touching him was enough to send him over the top. I had to move quickly to prevent him squirting his juice at my face.
Fortunately, I can move at almost the speed of light. I only actually needed to act at something like a thousandth of my fastest speed to grasp his quivering shaft near its base between my thumb and forefinger. I had plenty of time to judge the firmness of my grip to perfection: not hard enough to emasculate him or irreparably damage him, but just enough to pinch his internal tubes shut, and trap the first jet of seed inside him.
He screamed as what should have been a massive release of inner tension became instead a new, agonising pain within. I could feel the growing pressure in his groin under my fingertips. The very same fingertips whose touch was stimulating his testes to ejaculate more and more sperm whilst at the same time squeezing his erection to stop that sperm leaving his body.
The lawyer's face contorted almost unrecognisably and his eyes bulged as though they were being pushed out of his head by the backed-up torrent of his seed. With what must have been a supreme effort he managed to briefly transform his screaming into something approaching intelligible language. "Aaaaaarrrrgggghhhh! Please! Let me cum! Aiiiieeeeee!"
"No, I don't think I will," I told him, calmly.
"Nnnngggggg! Please!" he pleaded. "I can't take anymore! Aaaarrgghhh!"
"You can't take anymore?" I echoed. "Then you're not going to like this..." I extended my tongue and let the very tip of it brush lightly against the ultrasensitive crown of his manhood. Instantly, I felt another wave of ejaculation under my fingers. Of course, nothing came out of him. I licked him briefly and lightly, noting several more bursts of semen with nowhere to go adding to the trapped, volcanic-style pressure. His yells reached a new, high-pitched, animalistic peak.
"It just keeps on building and building, doesn't it?" I teased, letting my hot breath blast his penis as I spoke, provoking yet more seismic activity in his groin.
At that moment, he would happily have surrendered his life in exchange for the release he so desperately needed. I kept my hand firmly on his shaft, however, continuing to deny that release, making it more and more needed by the second. My other hand remained aloft, holding his body up, neither tiring nor feeling any strain supporting his turmoil-wracked body.
"Building and building," I repeated. "And it's just going to get worse..."
I moved my head back slightly away from his genitals.
I started to unbend my back.
I stood up straight. My large, proud breasts stood out from my chest with their customary, superhuman defiance of gravity. The deep, narrow cleavage between them, the very essence of billions of male sexual fantasies, was so very very close now to the senior partner's throbbing erection.
"Much, much worse," I predicted.
Continued in my next post...
Tuesday 16 January 2007 23:50 GMT
I’m sure you can all recall where I “freeze-framed” the action last time...
I had one hand under the lawyer's chin, holding his head at full stretch, high above me. My other hand was gripping the base of his erection, trapping the ferocious orgasm I'd provoked. The arm keeping him aloft was also pinning his back was against the wall. His feet dangled some distance from the floor while the pressure within him as his body tried to eject more and more sperm, only to find the exit route closed by my delicate grasp, had passed well beyond agonising onto excruciating.
The epicentre of that desperate-to-erupt build-up, his groin, was level with my superhuman chest. I grinned as I carefully aligned my deep cleavage with the throbbing tip of the senior partner's penis and, using my powers of flight, floated effortlessly towards him until his sensitive dome was resting between the inner curves of my two large, and perfectly rounded breasts.
Under my fingers, I could feel the renewed tensing and contracting of his shaft caused by the touch of my most feminine flesh. He screamed as his testicles spasmed and the need for release became yet more urgent still. But my casual, two-fingered hold was thousands of times more powerful than the internal muscles of his crotch that were fighting to break it. The more I let his shaft touch my breasts, the more the pressure increased. With each spasm, those muscles tried ever more desperately to relieve his pain by forcing his frustrated ejaculation through the tubes I was pinching shut.
I knew that if I loosened my hold for a second, my chest would be splattered with the most voluminous orgasm of the lawyer's life. So I had to be quick when I removed the hand holding his organ.
I opened my fingers, pulled them away and leant aggressively into him all in a single instant. The forward movement of my body thrust my chest over his groin, forcing his erection deep into the warm, dark valley of my cleavage, surrounding the length of his shaft with my flawless, silky, erotic flesh. Because of the speed with which I moved forward, his penis was driven a considerably further distance between my big, heavy, superhumanly firm breasts than would otherwise have been possible. So much so, in fact, that the male's organ was well and truly wedged in.
Of course, contact that strong with such goddess-like femininity only made him explode with lust to an even greater degree than before. My hand was no longer gripping him, yet still, the growing flood of sperm inside him remained trapped. But, where my fingers had previously been providing the pressure to prevent the eruption of man-lava, now it was the unchallengeable firmness of my breasts that squeezed him shut.
While he screamed, I smiled, enjoying the irony. It felt wonderful to glance down and see my lovely breasts; the softest parts of my glorious body, the ultimate symbol of my ultimate femininity, so completely overpowering the ultimate symbol of his masculinity: his "hardness".
"Oh god, please!" he screamed down at me. "Let me cum!".
I tilted my head towards his, my grin widening as I saw the agony etched on his face. "I told you it was going to get worse!" I chuckled.
More in my next post...
Wednesday 17 January 2007 20:49 GMT
Have you ever held a grenade in your hands and felt the casing bulging in the milliseconds before detonation?
Of course you haven’t. You wouldn’t be reading this if you had, because even a tiny little explosion like that means instant death to an ordinary person. And even if you could survive a grenade blast (Big deal! I’ve had nuclear warheads going off between my thighs without even suffering a temporary reddening of my perfect, silky skin) the process of it blowing up would happen far, far too quickly for you to observe it in detail…
Once again, it’s down to me to tell you what it feels like. With my superspeed, I can observe things like a grenade exploding in my hands in the most minute detail. I’ve experienced the way the metal casing deforms, ballooning irregularly in the instant before it ruptures into millions of fragments. I know the precise moment (give or take one or two millionths of a second) that the grenade is going to explode from the way the shell warps.
Anyway, the reason I mention this is that I was reminded of the immediate pre-blast feel of a grenade by the throbbing, pulsating movements in the lawyer’s groin as I kept his on-going orgasm trapped inside his body. Of course, it wasn’t the palms of my hands that detected those movements; it was the inner curves of my fabulous breasts. Then again, my breasts are even more sensitive than my palms, and besides, I’ve felt plenty of grenades exploding in my cleavage…
It really was uncanny, the way the senior partner’s penis felt like a bomb in the process of going off. The main differences were weak male skin instead of marginally-less-weak metal casing and jets of sperm instead of explosives. Oh, and the fact that the desperate-to-go-off man was many, many times easier to contain than a grenade. (Not that I find grenades in any way difficult to contain.)
I did not have to press my breasts together with my hands to keep the lawyer’s penis gripped so tightly he could not cum. The natural firmness of my mounds, and the superhuman musculature that holds them so high and so proud on my torso, supporting them, showing them off to the world (as such magnificence deserves) in a way that no bra will ever match, was more than enough. I didn’t even have to tense my chest muscles.
He, or rather that one, key, part of him, was trapped in a vice more powerful than any on Earth. His erection was wedged between by big, round, supremely sexy breasts. A hundred men combined would not have possessed sufficient strength to remove it. I held him, effortlessly, imprisoned in my indescribably erotic cleavage.
My left hand (the one which I’d used to squeeze his tubes shut until my breasts had taken over that role) was now free, hanging by my side. My other hand was still under his chin, pinning him against the wall, carrying his weight as I held him above my head. Enjoying the full extent of my complete dominance, I pulled that hand away, leaving his head unsupported. Now, I was no longer holding him off the floor with my hands. But he did not fall back to the ground. He stayed just where he was, the soles of his feet level with my knees.
He didn’t fall because his penis was being held fast by my breasts. My beautiful, big, breasts. Unsurpassed for sexual desirability, indestructible and irresistible in every way. And now, holding a large, fully-grown man off the floor by his organ and accomplishing the feat with utter ease. With both my hands now free, I was able to let them rest, in a sign of proud and complete dominance, on my hips.
To be honest, I barely noticed the change of strain as my chest took the burden of supporting the entire weight of his body. The same, however, could not be said of the senior partner. He definitely did notice the difference as the strain changed. The forces of gravity were using all his bulk to try and draw him out of my cleavage. But mere gravity is no challenge whatsoever to my chest. His erection remained stuck fast, no matter how much his considerable mass pulled on it.
In effect, he was being stretched. Or rather his penis was being stretched, held immovably by my breasts at one end and dragged by the weight of the rest of him at the other end. Obviously, it was painful. Fresh screams tore from him, rising ever higher in pitch and desperation. But, as well as the agony, the sensation of having his organ tugged in that manner was also stimulating. I could feel the contractions in his shaft that would normally have precursored new spurts of sperm shooting from it. Only, the pressure exerted by my breasts meant those spurts remained trapped within.
Perhaps it was all getting too much for him. Whatever the reason, he slumped forward, still yelling. With his sex unable to move, his body bent at the waist and his upper body fell towards me until his chest was resting on the top of my skull. I took a couple of steps backwards, away from the wall. The lawyer, of course, was powerless to do anything other than be carried with me.
"I don't recall inviting you to use me as a pillow!" I admonished.
I moved my head forwards, throwing his torso off. His back bent backwards from the force of my gentle nod and he would have been thrown completely clear of me, were it not for the unbreakable hold of my breasts on his penis. He ended up hanging helplessly from my cleavage with his arms dangling behind him and his head almost at the same height as his trapped erection.
I had to chuckle at his extraordinary predicament as I stood, palms on hips, carrying him around by his organ without even needing to use my hands. He cried out again and again as his body shook helplessly with my laughter and that, naturally, only made me laugh more.
"Look, ma!" I joked. "No hands!"
I'll continue from that point in my next post.
Thursday 18 January 2007 22:48 GMT
Before I even got to touch the lawyer's penis he was on the brink of shooting his load.
When I got my hand on his most unimpressive shaft, preventing that release, he became desperate. Then I'd licked it, and he looked ready to explode. Can you imagine his frantic, urgent, burning need to relieve what must have been massive inner pressure once I'd wedged that pathetic organ between my stunning breasts so tightly that he was stuck and still unable to cum?
As for me, I was enjoying myself. Enjoying making him suffer for daring to challenge me. Enjoying dominating him both physically and sexually. And enjoying carrying him around without using my hands, my fabulous breasts gripping his penis so tightly that escape was impossible.
He felt so light to me, that he may as well have been weightless. I found I could move my body as though he wasn't there at all. I laughed as I strolled around, carrying him with complete ease, my perfect, sexy mounds proving themselves more than powerful enough by themselves to handle his bulky mass.
As he dangled, painfully, from my cleavage, I teased him. "Aren't my breasts wonderful? I bet they feel fantastic, surrounding your little prick so snugly, hugging and..." I tensed my chest muscles very, very slightly, drawing an instant scream from him as my big bosoms moved a couple of millimetres closer together for a second or two, "...squeezing."
I chuckled at his fresh agonies. "Did you like that?" I asked. "Would you like me to do it some more?"
"No!" he screamed. "No! Please! No!"
"Too bad for you, then," I told him, preparing to tense those superhuman muscles once again...
Continued next post.
Monday 22 January 2007 20:24 GMT
Having power over a man is nothing new for me.
I’m sure you can sympathise: I walk down the street, and as I pass people, I can’t help thinking to myself “I’m vastly superior to all of them.” I know I’m stronger, faster, more attractive, more everything. I know that nothing can harm me whilst they are all very, very vulnerable. I know that I have power over them, and, as regular readers might have guessed, I enjoy feeling that way.
Of course, there are moments when the sensation of power is more intense than others such as when my power is extended beyond mere physical domination, and my beauty has enslaved another helpless victim. Another good example is when I can feel my perfect body damaging a lesser being, knowing that I am in complete control of what happens to that being, how much it suffers, how permanent its injuries will be, whether or not I will let it live…
Now, returning to the last minutes of my Christmas party… Remember? That last lawyer, the one I had saved for the end… I had driven him wild with lust and made him orgasm in huge convulsions, only to deny his fluid the exit it craved, first with my hand and now by carrying him around by his throbbing erection which was wedged immovably tightly in my magnificent cleavage.
My control over him at that moment was complete. In a split-second, and I mean any split-second of my choosing because the senior partner’s screams and pathetic struggles had absolutely zero effect on me, I could have done any of the following:
I could have prised my big breasts apart with two fingers, easing the pressure on his shaft. That would have allowed him to finally have the massive relief of the most productive and violent orgasm of his life. An orgasm inspired by, brought about, and provoked by the irresistible sexiness of my glorious body.
Or, I could have caused him pain of any level, from bad through excruciating to unbearable, at that most sensitive and needy part of his existence, merely by tensing the superhuman muscles of my chest, narrowing my spectacular cleavage as my large breasts moved closer together, squashing the already-compressed erection they were holding as their prisoner.
Alternatively, I could have ended his life in an instant in any of a thousand different ways, like frying his head with my heat-vision or freezing it with cold superbreath or slicing him in half with a swipe of my hand, or crushing him to paste against my body with a single, slender arm around his back…
I didn’t consider my options for too long. I was having far too much fun “controlling” the lawyer to end the party early by killing him outright. And I certainly wasn’t about to let him enjoy even the few seconds’ worth of pleasure that letting him cum would have allowed. So instead, I settled for a few rapid squeezes of his shaft by tensing my chest muscles, loving the way my breasts pressed his organ firmly enough to make him scream each time even though I was deliberately using just a tiny fraction of the strength available to me.
Of course, the erotically perfect, soft-to-the-touch, warm flesh of my mounds, as well as holding him, was also still stimulating him, prolonging the orgasm whose very escape they were denying. As the male’s body hung, battered, bleeding and almost exhausted from my cleavage, I looked down with pride at my chest.
I felt no strain, holding all that weight by the erect penis between my breasts. With my hands on my hips, I started to twist my torso to one side and then the other, making the lawyer swing through the air and bounce, each time with a cry, against first one shoulder and then the other. No matter how much I threw him about with my movements, no matter how much his arms and legs were flung helplessly through the air, my unorthodox hold on him remained fast, my round breasts gripping his organ with unbreakable strength.
Unfortunately, if I had continued to toss him about by moving my upper body, sooner or later something crucial, like maybe his spine, would have snapped. As I said that would have been unfortunate, because I wanted him as alert and capable of feeling pain as possible for as long as possible in order to get the maximum potential enjoyment out of his demise. So with that in mind, I stood still once more and let his wildly swinging body and limbs settle once more in front of me.
He was having trouble focussing on me, but I could tell he could follow my words as I spoke, sneering down at his face where it hung at about the same height as my navel. “I’m bored with your little prick now.” I announced.
More in the next post.
Tuesday 23 January 2007 21:49 GMT
The lawyer had screamed himself utterly hoarse.
Although he still felt the need to express his anguish and torments vocally, even with his mouth open wide, the sound that came out when he tried to scream was so quiet, I was able to talk over it without raising my voice.
"You really aren't much of a man, are you?" I said, looking down contemptuously on the bleeding male hanging helplessly by his unimpressive erection from my cleavage. I fixed my sneering gaze on the little rod of man-flesh trapped between my large, round, superhuman breasts. "Surprising how something so small can cause so much pain," I observed.
A tiny flexing of my chest muscles forced another almost-silent cry from him. Just by squeezing his little shaft oh-so-gently with my lovely "soft" (ha ha!) breasts. So weak! So fragile! So completely at my mercy...
But I wasn't feeling merciful.
I let you all know what I mean in my next post.
Wednesday 24 January 2007 21:16 GMT
The novelty of carrying the lawyer by holding him purely by his erection, using "just" my fabulous big breasts to grip him, had worn off.
There was little more fun to be had with the penis trapped in my cleavage. Besides, having a bleeding, mutilated, pain-wracked male dangling from my chest was going to start cramping my style sooner or later. And I couldn't have my style cramped by a mere man...
As I just mentioned, there was little more fun to be had with the senior partner's erection. But "little" does not mean "none".
Throughout the time I'd been carrying him around by that unimpressive organ, I'd kept my hands on my hips. (Well, I certainly didn't need the strength of my arms to support the lawyer. My breasts are quite capable of bearing the weight of a thousand men.) Now I lifted my palms from their station and repositioned them higher up my perfect body. Carefully, I placed one hand on the outside of each of my large, round breasts.
I've told you in the past about the many times I have reduced big diamonds to dust by crushing them in my cleavage, grinding Earth's "hardest" substance into nothingness by pressing my breasts together. I've also recounted some of the occasions I've squeezed a block of solid metal between my superhuman, invincible mounds until it vaporised. Back at the lawyers' Christmas party, there was nothing nearly as hard as diamond or steel in my cleavage as I began to slowly exert pressure on the outside of my chest.
The senior partner thrashed his entire body around like a madman as hoarse, desperate screams tore from his open mouth. I could see the little cylinder of flesh wedged between my ever-closing breasts start to take on an increasingly oval shape. The battle between my bosoms and the lawyer's penis, my glorious feminine power against his shameful, pitiful manhood, was underway.
There could only be one conclusion.
As I squeezed my breasts together, they refused, with total disdain, to yield to the piece of man trapped between them. Rather they insisted, with irresistible force, that the piece of man made way for them. Regardless of the consequences.
There's no actual bone in an erection. So as I crushed the senior partner's penis with my chest, there was no crunching sound. Just a sort of wet "Squelch!". Even that didn't last long.
I had hardly even started pressing on the outer curves of my chest when the lawyer's organ burst like a piece of ripe fruit, covering my cleavage in blood and flesh and much of the semen that had been so painfully trapped inside his body.
Suddenly, my hold on him was gone. Or to put it another way: where I'd been gripping him by his organ, he no longer actually had an organ. So, without me holding him he fell, back-first, to the floor.
He struck the ground hard, writhing around in panicked agony, red liquid splurting from what was left of his groin. A continuous stream of useless, rasping yells left his lips. His pupils were rolling crazily around his wide-open eyes. More blood was trickling from his mouth, indicative of the less spectacular (but just as damaging) internal wounding I'd caused. I admit I was highly amused by the sight of him as I loomed above, rocking with laughter.
I'll continue the story in my next post.
Thursday 25 January 2007 19:25 GMT
So, the lawyer was lying on his back, rocking madly in bleeding, mutilated agony at my feet.
I could have stood there all day, just laughing at the state of him and admiring the emasculating injury I’d given him with my wonderful breasts. But I didn’t have all day. Or, more to the point, he didn’t have all day. I could see that it wouldn’t be long before he succumbed to his wounds. Even though I’d done little more than apply gentle pressure with my perfect, superhuman flesh on his pathetic, ordinary body, he was already well beyond hope of recovery.
In short, I knew I had no time to waste if I wanted to make his last few minutes even more painful than they were already promising to be. And that was exactly what I wanted to do. It was the least the worthless male deserved for daring to think he could challenge me.
“Oh dear, oh dear,” I said, looking down at the senior partner and shaking my head as I brought my laughter under control. “You are in a mess! All bloody, with bits of you missing… no hand, no little prick any more… at this rate there’ll be nothing left of you soon! Oh well, that’s what you get for writing threatening letters to a goddess.”
I smiled at him. “How do you feel about the whole idea of taking me to court now?” I asked, knowing that even if he wasn’t too torn up with pain to speak, his hoarse throat would deny him the facility of replying.
“Not so sure about it all of a sudden?” I teased. He continued to writhe around on the ground before me.
“Hmm. I’d say you’re probably starting to think it might not have been such a good idea after all.” I postulated. “In fact, I reckon you’re getting cold feet about it.”
I almost giggled as I made that last remark. Sometimes the anticipation of showing off my powers is almost as enjoyable as actually using them. I had to rein in my broad, smug grin in order to give the “cold feet” jibe its proper meaning. My smile temporarily gave way to a pursing of my thick lips and I blew a quick, very, very chilled blast of superbreath at the bottom half of the lawyer’s legs.
My exhalation was barely a couple of degrees above absolute zero. Everything it touched was instantly frozen - the senior partner’s skin, the blood beneath it, the muscles below, his bones. Everything from his knees downwards became a solid, icy block, coated in a layer of frost. He would have screamed, but he could only croak and thrash his head about like a fish on dry land.
“Look, now your legs have frozen solid!” I chuckled. “You must feel absolutely -“ I lifted my left foot from the carpet and held it over his iced-up ankles "- shattered!" I slammed my bare sole down.
The effect was a bit like a sledgehammer dropping onto a piece of stone. My breath had cooled his legs so thoroughly that every last molecule from his knees down was solid. As my foot hit them, his ankles smashed like glass and turned to powder under my sole.
His feet remained intact, frozen motionless, detached from the rest of him, on one side of my freshly-planted heel. On the other side were the jagged stumps of his shortened legs. There was no bleeding from the truncated limbs. He would have needed several hours defrosting in order to bleed...
Amazingly, the lawyer was still conscious, although it was clear from the way he was writhing around that he was only barely aware of what was happening to him. To my mild disappointment, I realised that my fun was drawing to a close. I could see there was only time for one last game...
More in the next post!
Friday 26 January 2007 21:24 GMT
“Hey! Down there!” I called down to the dying man rocking about on the ground. “Stay with me! You wouldn’t want to miss the end, would you?”
I could tell from his vital signs that his consciousness was slipping away by the second. His blood couldn’t circulate through (what was left of) his frozen legs. Elsewhere, it was pouring from the horrendous injuries to his groin and his amputated hand, not to mention the deep narrow trench I'd scratched into his torso.
I was still standing with my foot planted where his iced-up ankles had been. I lifted that leg clear of the frozen flesh it had shattered, and repositioned it on one side of the lawyer’s hips. I placed the other foot on the other side so that I was standing right over his prostrate body, straddling him, and then I lowered myself gracefully to my knees, placing my hands by his head.
As I knelt over him, leaning my face towards his, a few strands of my long, straight, dark brown hair slipped over the crown of my head and dangled onto the senior partner’s mouth. I used my right hand to tuck most of the cascading hair over my ear, but left a couple of hanging strands to caress his face while he writhed around in his agonies, thrashing his head from one side to the other.
I leant over the doomed male, the big engorged points of my large, heavy breasts hanging mere inches from his blood-covered chest while I grinned down on him, my lips less than twelve inches from his, my hair in his face. With my hands I carefully cupped his cheeks, not actually hurting him, just holding his head still so he couldn’t move it about (although his bulging neck muscles betrayed the fact that he was still trying to) and waited until his eyes met mine.
Once our gazes locked, I smiled brightly at him. “Not long now,” I whispered, breathily, letting my warm, fragrant exhalation bathe his terrified features and overwhelm his fading senses.
Sadly for him, he no longer had an organ to respond to the seduction. If he had done, there’s no doubt that even in his damaged-beyond-repair, overloaded-with-pain, dying state, it would have risen to salute my irresistible, all-conquering sexual allure.
I lowered my upper body slightly over him until my big pendant breasts did actually touch his bloody torso. More of my hair fell onto his face. My mouth was only a hand-span from his. “It’s such a shame,” I breathed erotically, “that the party has to end. I’ve had a really good time tonight with you and your friends. Especially,” I added, slowly undulating my shoulders so that my breasts dragged lightly across his chest from one side to the other and back again, “with you.”
I smiled as I saw in his eyes the confusion brought on by the new wave of lust passing through his brain. Even in his last moments I had effortlessly made him a slave to his own desire for me!
“I have to go very soon,” I whispered, my lips so close now I was practically speaking into his half-open mouth. “It’s time to say ‘goodbye’.”
Continued in my next post.
Monday 29 January 2007 20:55 GMT
I’ll start off today with a quick recap of the scene I was describing in Friday’s post.
I was on my knees, straddling the naked, bloody, mutilated and dying body of the senior partner. Leaning over him, I let my hair dangle over his face and my magnificent, pendant breasts rest on his chest, while I sexily whispered to him, my lips almost touching his.
I’d already told him it was time to say goodbye. I lowered my head until our lips met and kissed him. Not superhumanly hard. I didn't need to crush his lips and jaw. Just an ordinary, tender kiss. I timed it carefully, making sure the embrace was not too brief (I didn’t want it to seem like a friendly peck) and not too long either (so that in any other circumstances, it would have left him wanting more).
Pulling our lips slowly apart, I kept my mouth very close to his and breathed “That was my little thank you for being such good sport tonight.” There was no reaction other than incredulous, out-of-focus staring from the rapidly fading lawyer. I could tell from the expressions on his face that he was hearing and understanding my words, but he was well beyond replying.
I knew that if I just got up and left him alone, he would die of his injuries within minutes. There seemed no point in doing that. Not when I could have the double pleasure of both chosing the precise moment of his demise and making his final seconds even less enjoyable. So I leant back towards him once more, resting my heavy, super-firm chest on his battered torso.
“And this,” I whispered sensuously, “is for daring to challenge my supremacy.”
Once again, I kissed him, passionately. But this time I did not break off the lip contact after a few moments.
Keeping my mouth locked over his, I slowly began to move my shoulders downwards, lowering my hanging breasts. A normal girl’s chest would have compressed more and more as it pressed against the male’s body until discomfort made her stop. But I’m not a normal girl.
My superhuman chest could never be compressed by the mere body of a mere male. My magnificent, big, round breasts remained just as big and round as they pressed downwards. This left the masculine chest beneath them with no choice. Unable to resist their unstoppable power, it, along with the bones and muscle it contained, began to bend around them.
At the same time I started to draw my knees (which were still planted either side of the senior partner’s hips) together. A normal girl’s knees would have hugged the male’s sides tightly and would have been prevented from closing any further by his pelvis. But, like I said, I’m not a normal girl.
My superhuman knees and thighs could never be prevented from closing by the mere pelvis of a mere male. The silky, perfect, unimaginably firm flanks of my legs felt no resistance as they moved together, hugging the lawyer tighter and tighter, exerting more and more pressure on the fragile bone beneath his fragile flesh.
Pop! A rib yielded to my chest.
Crack! My knees had squeezed his pelvis beyond breaking point.
Pop! Pop! A couple more ribs.
Crrrrrack! His pelvis shattered completely.
Pop-p-Pop-p-p-p-Pop! Crrrrrrrunch! The senior partner's body surrendered entirely to me, his skeleton seeming to dissolve as my thighs and breasts collapsed it.
Still pressing my lips to his in that final kiss, I tasted his blood as it gushed up his throat and lifted my face away.
That was it as far as the party guests went. I'll describe how I ended the party itself in my next post.
Tuesday 30 January 2007 20:55 GMT
I rose fluidly to my feet to stand above the broken, misshapen and bloodied corpse of the man who once thought he could challenge me.
The party was over. There was no-one left in the room to have fun with. I looked about. Scattered around on the floor, amongst the broken furniture, were the well-dressed senior personnel of the law-firm. Some were still breathing, others were not. Some were bleeding badly, some had limbs contorted at unnatural angles. None were moving.
There were a couple of splats of darkening, sticky crimson liquid on the walls and more than a few pools of the stuff soaking into the carpet. There was also quite a bit of mess on me: sweat, blood, tears and so forth. Of course, none of it was mine. I don’t perspire, not even in the centre of the sun. It’s just not hot enough. And I don’t bleed because nothing, no laser or blade or diamond, can even scratch my flawless skin, let alone cut it. And I certainly don’t ever cry. Nothing bad could ever happen to me, so I never have any reason to shed tears.
Anyway, I was covered in dirt from the fragile creatures I’d been amusing myself with and the room was full of the evidence of my good time. I could have just left immediately (well, there’s no force on Earth that could have prevented me!) but, being the model citizen of the world that I am, I kindly decided to do a little clearing up before I left.
A quick glance downwards with my X-ray vision stripped away the carpet, floorboards, and foundations beneath my feet to reveal what I was looking for: a network of pipes running under the building. Most of them were water and sewage conduits, of no interest to me. However, I quickly spotted the one that wasn’t carrying liquid and made a mental note of its location.
After that, I needed to use my powers of flight, but not in the usual way. I merely stood still where I was and activated my ability to propel my body under its own, incalculably immense power. However, instead of soaring up into the air, I moved myself downwards. The floor immediately succumbed to my bare feet. As I forced myself down, the concrete foundations of the building cracked and crumbled under my soles, the sheer force of my flight powers driving me steadily through the solid stone like an oil drill, but much quieter, much faster and much, much better looking…
In about ten seconds, I’d created a vertical shaft about twenty foot deep. My feet burst through the bottom of the concrete base of the building into the clay-rich soil below and my descent continued until I stopped it with the skin of my soles touching the casing of the pipe I had singled out. Then, an effortless curling of my pretty toes tore into the copper tube, rupturing it and allowing its pressurised contents to escape with a loud, constant hiss as I floated leisurely back up into the body-strewn party room.
By the time I settled onto the carpet again, the shaft I’d created had already filled with natural gas. Very quickly, it began to fill the room. Within two minutes, the air in there would have been unbreathable for an ordinary person. That’s “unbreathable” as in fatal. Not that I noticed. I don’t actually need to breathe to survive, and anyway, I could have swallowed millions of cubic feet of the stuff without suffering so much as a mild tickle.
I didn’t actually swallow any of the gas. Instead, I let it fill the room. And then, I shot a quick, weak blast of my heat vision at a light-switch on the wall. Just enough to make a spark.
Instantly, the gas ignited. In the ensuing fireball, everything in the room was incinerated. The carpet, furniture, the clothes, the unconscious and dead lawyers. My sexy Santa outfit turned to ash and fell away. The muck on my body boiled and vaporised. Only the perfect flesh beneath survived. In fact, there wasn’t a mark anywhere on my glorious body. My hair, my complexion, my magnificent curves were not touched by the extreme heat.
The explosion burst the walls of the room, flinging them outwards in all directions. A large chunk of ceiling, having initially been blown away, came back down right on top of my skull. It shattered into a thousand pieces that rained down all around me without leaving so much as a bruise. I shook my long hair to get rid of any residual debris and, as the building was still falling apart around me, rose up off the ground.
“Well, bye then guys! It’s been fun. Let’s do it again sometime!” I called out as I flew, through the flames and smoke, at a speed no man-made rocket could ever hope to match.
I made a brief stop to recover the clothes I’d stashed before arriving at the party, but didn’t bother to put them on for the journey home. They would have been destroyed by the friction of my supersonic passage through the air.
Less than six minutes later, I was several hundred miles away, flying back into my house through an open window. By then, the emergency services were probably only just beginning to arrive at the scene of the gas explosion…