After the unqualified success of my first two challenges, I spent a few moments considering my options for the third one.
I was looking for something that wouldn't be too easy to do (believe me, for someone as powerful as me, that doesn't leave much room for manoeuvre). It also had to be something fun. There's no point having the strength and powers to do whatever I please and not using them for my own amusement. I mean, I have total, crushing superiority over every other being on this planet. No-one and no-thing can prevent me enjoying myself in whatever way I choose. So I might as well only ever do as I please. If the other inhabitants of the solar system don't like it, they're more than welcome to try and stop me...
Anyway, that's why I rejected one reader's suggestion for a "Glove Challenge": I mean, what's fun about helping ordinaries build a hospital? Nothing at all. Causing fit young men to require hospitalisation... now that's fun. And later, tearing the hospital apart with my gloriously sexy, indestructible, all-conquering body... Laughing as the terrified, wounded men plead for mercy... even more fun. But building a hospital? Why on earth should I? I never ever get sick or hurt.
Another idea I turned down was raising a sunken galleon loaded with a hundred tonnes of gold. Now, that might have been profitable at least. And I already know that I can lift several thousand tonnes. With a single hand. Easily. But there were two problems with the plan:
Firstly, there's no practical way to travel to the bottom of the sea without getting my hands (and gloves) wet. Salt water plus the high pressures of deep sea diving would definitely damage my gloves. Sure, I could wear an extra layer of protection over my gloves but that would be cheating. And besides, "protection" is for ordinaries, not goddesses.
The other problem with that plan is that there aren't any sunken galleons left with a hundred tonnes of gold still on board. Remember, with my superhuman eyes I can see the tiniest detail on the deepest sea bed on Earth. Whilst I'm standing on the moon. My X-ray vision can pierce the hull of any wreck, and I can scan its contents in a fraction of a second. Naturally, I finished collecting all the worthwhile treasures from this planet's oceans some time ago...
So, instead of hospital-building or shipwreck-salvaging, I opted for a challenge that promised to be both enormously enjoyable and kind to my gloves: Find the most vicious, murderous, violent street gang on the planet and beat them senseless in a fight. Without getting even a single drop of blood or sweat or anything else on my nice white gloves.
In my next post, I'll explain how I did it.
Monday 5 March 2007 17:38 GMT
Finding the right kind of gang for my third “Glove Challenge” did not take too long.
Obviously, I already knew the places to look. I tracked down two dozen groups of young men in ten different cities, and spent half and hour or so watching each gang to see which bunch of males looked the most aggressive. Each time, I hovered a few hundred yards overhead, unnoticed from the ground as I looked down from the night sky, making my observations.
There was no hope of me finding a gang that could give me a proper fight. No collection of ordinary, weak, fragile males could ever do that. Even if all the people on Earth united into a vast army, I’ve no doubt that I could defeat them all. But I wanted the satisfaction (and enjoyment) of knowing that I was coming up against a collection of some of the most violent and fit youths on the planet, so I took care making my choice.
The collection of vicious thugs, killers and rapists I eventually selected would strike fear into the heart of anyone. Except, of course, me. I just don’t do “fear”. (I don’t need to. Nothing can harm me.)
The gang could best be described as a collection of thirty-five young males with an evident love of violent aggression and blood-spilling. They congregated in a disused parking-lot and, whilst I was watching them, I noticed how any unfortunate who wandered within sight of them was chased down then beaten, kicked and stabbed by three or four gang-members, usually cheered on by a bunch of others.
The local authorities were clearly unwilling to confront the young men as their activities could not have passed unnoticed. When they moved out of the parking lot, en masse, they prowled the surrounding streets as if they owned them, beating, killing, smashing and looting with apparent impunity. Personally, I always find males who display such arrogance most amusing…
Anyway, It was about one o’clock in the morning when I decided to make my entrance. I swooped down from the air, out-of-sight of the gang, and, after a final check to make sure my white gloves were clean and spotless, strolled casually into their parking lot. Naturally, as the most sexually desirable, physically perfect, breath-takingly beautiful woman on Earth, I rarely have trouble getting the attention of men, but, just to make sure, I called out a cheerful greeting as I approached the small crowd:
“Hi boys! Who wants to have some fun?”
Continued in my next post…
Tuesday 6 March 2007 22:39 GMT
Everything is relative.
February in the Arctic is cold, but compared to the surface of Pluto it's hot. Midday in the Sahara is hot, but compared to the surface of the sun, it's cold. Personally, with or without clothes, I'm perfectly comfortable in the Arctic in February, or strolling on Pluto, or across the Sahara or on the surface of the sun (although I can tell you from experience that wearing clothes anywhere near the sun is a waste of time.)
Anyway, like I said, everything is relative. To an ordinary person, a car is "heavy" whereas to me, it's practically weightless. Likewise, to the rest of the planet, standing alone in front of forty ferocious, tough, violent and armed delinquents is too terrifying a prospect to even consider. And to me, of course, it's just an excuse to have some fun.
You have to remember: that street gang was not the first large group of males I've battered. Nor the second, third, fourth or fifth. It's something I've done, with ease, many times before. So, you'll have to forgive me if I don't headline my post "I beat up forty young men!". As far as I'm concerned, me boasting about destroying an army is rather like an "ordinary" boasting about lifting a small sheet of paper.
Fortunately, for me, playing with groups of men never gets boring. Males are always entertaining toys. And on this occasion, I was spicing up the action by wearing my elbow-length white gloves. These had to remain pristine throughout if I was to fulfil the terms of my self-imposed challenge.
I should mention that the gloves were the only things I was wearing as I announced my presence to the gang. I thought it would be amusing to see the simultaneous reactions of forty virile young men when they got to see the most erotically perfect, sexually alluring body on Earth in all its unparalleled naked glory.
I was right. Immediately as I spoke, every pair of eyes locked onto me and every conversation stopped. Jaws hung open, heart-rates doubled, eyes grew wide, trousers grew tight. I smiled. After a pause, the boys began to move, edging towards me from three sides, tongues dripping saliva. There were mutterings: sexual single-entendres, promises of violent and varied penetrations and crude comments on my beauty.
Hands moved, some pulling out knives, some guns. I spotted two guys brandishing thick metal chains. Others were unfastening belt buckles and one had already fished his rapidly engorging organ from his jeans and was holding it in his palm as he moved closer.
Of course I didn't even blink. I did keep smiling though. When the nearest man was less than five yards from me, I moved my hands from my side and clasped them behind my back in order to protect my gloves. Then, I passed my gaze calmly over the entire approaching pack of hormonal murderers.
"This isn't going to be much fun for you boys," I predicted.
Continued next post.
Thursday 8 March 2007 23:07 GMT
So, when I left off last time, I was describing how an entire brutal gang of forty young men were closing in on me, some brandishing weapons, some brandishing their erect organs...
Of course I wasn't scared at all. "Scared" is for people who can be harmed or hurt or even scratched. Not me. Even though the nearest thug was just three steps away from me, I knew I had plenty of time. With my superspeed, I could have run a hundred laps of the car park before any "normal" person could complete three strides. But I didn't do any running. I just stayed where I was.
Instead, I used the time to decide what to do with the gang. My superhuman, super-fast brain listed and analysed all the possible ways I could deal with the hostile, over-sexed mob without dirtying my gloves. After considerable thought I decided the most enjoyable plan would be to take care of them one by one.
The nearest male seemed the most obvious choice to be first. I still had time to give him a sexy wink as he took the final step towards me, lifting the long, curved blade of the knife in his fist towards my face. I think he was planning to threaten me with the dagger, rather than actually stab me, but I never got to find out. As soon as the sharp metal was in reach, I quickly opened my mouth, leant my head forward and clamped my jaws shut on the blade.
I had to be careful not to bite hard. My perfect dazzling teeth can bite through any material in existence with the same ease that an "ordinary" person's (invariably less attractive) jaws pass through semi-molten ice-cream. It would have required no effort to bite the knife into pieces and no effort to chew up then swallow the bits, but I wasn't feeling hungry. I never feel hungry.
Instead of eating the blade I just used my sexy teeth to grip it. By turning my head to the side, I was able to rip the weapon from it's owner's grasp, breaking several of his fingers in the process. Whilst he cried out in shock, I spat the knife out. It flew away from me, sideways on, as fast as a bullet. (Well, I didn't put any effort into it. Otherwise it would have flown several times faster.)
The blade passed through it's former possessor's neck, severing bones and arteries and almost entirely decapitating him. By the time his corpse started to go down, the head hanging off to one side, the knife had already embedded itself, handle-first in the chest of the thug immediately behind him.
As that second man started to crumple up, the rest of the advancing mob hesitated. I could sense a sudden change in the mood of the crowd.
"You're going to die for that, bitch!" hissed a male closeby to my right, raising the pistol in his hand.
"Not yet!" interjected a young man on the other side of me. His intentions towards me were made clear by the fact that he wasn't holding any weapon. His hand was in front of his groin, holding his now fully-pumped penis. Meanwhile, directly in front of me, a huge, hairy thug took a careful step towards me over the body of the second knife-victim. He held up his enormous fists and rattled the thick solid chain he was gripping in those big, masculine hands whilst his fat lips parted in an almost toothless smile.
I quickly glanced at the three men nearest me; the one holding the gun, the one holding the chain and the one holding the reproductive organ. I felt like the proverbial kid in a candy store. Which one to chose first? And what to do with him?
For the answers to these questions, read my next post.
Monday 12 March 2007 19:56 GMT
Superspeed is a wonderful ability to possess.
I can, quite literally, run rings (hundreds of rings!) around anybody, or anything. No matter how much of a head-start I give my prey, I know I'll always catch up sooner rather than later. When I want to, I move faster than any ordinary human mind can follow. It's a bit like being a jet-propelled car in a world of pedestrians. For every single mundane action a "normal" person can perform, I can fit in a thousand superhuman actions.
Now, in the context of my little encounter with that gang, you will recall that I left off last time describing how there were three thugs approaching me. They were all walking towards me from the front. Leftmost of the trio was a young man with an evil grin, clutching his ready-to-use erection. Dead ahead of me, rattling some heavy-duty metal chains in his oversized paws, was a huge chuckling ogre. And, on the right as I looked at them, a third thug, his arm outstretched, the hand at the end of it holding a pistol pointed at my head. All three were within a single stride of touching me with their various "weapons".
That single stride, as I explained above, gave me plenty of time to think about how to react. And to smile in anticipation once I had decided.
Glancing slightly to the left, I aimed a quick blast of heat vision at the exposed groin of the left-hand male. I was careful to hold back most of the power of my eyes, not wanting to vaporise the entire gang and melt the whole car park (or, worse, damage my gloves). Nevertheless, the heat generated by the beams of light that shot from my pupils was enough to reduce the would-be-rapist's penis (and the hand holding it) to ash in a fraction of a second.
He was only just beginning to scream in shock as I turned to face the chain-waving goon. Lifting my slender, long right leg, I flashed it upwards between his knees, catching him mid-stride. My pretty bare foot has carved through solid steel on many occasions. It didn't find anything nearly as hard at the top of that male's thighs. Just soft, weak, vulnerable male flesh and bones. It was just as well I only kicked him gently. If I'd used any more force, he would have exploded in gore and some of it might have splashed on my gloves.
Fortunately, I used just the right amount of strength to crush his organs and pelvis and send him flying backwards over the heads of the rest of the mob without causing any extra mess. I must've caused more than enough internal damage because he never he got to yell...
The sight of thirty-six murderous hooligans craning their necks to follow the incongruously graceful and silent flight of one of their number was quite funny. By the time chain-man's corpse crashed down in the far corner of the car park, and the attention of the gang returned to me, the male on my left had stopped yelling and fallen silent too. He'd collapsed near my feet whilst his friend was flying.
All the men seemed to have frozen. Maybe they weren't accustomed to seeing gorgeous naked girls kicking big bullies a hundred feet through the air. Or gorgeous naked girls neutering and amputating medium-sized bullies with an angry glance...
Only the male immediately to my right managed to react. And that was only once I'd turned to him and, looking him in his terrified eyes, raised an mocking eyebrow as if to say "Well? What are you going to do about it?"
In the end, what he did was fire his gun.
I'll tell you what happened to the bullet, and where it finished up, in my next post.
Tuesday 13 March 2007 20:53 GMT
Right then. I promised you the story of that bullet.
The gun that fired it was in the fully extended arm of a gang member whose feet were only two yards from mine. So the end of his weapon, from which the shot (having been preluded by a brief flash of light) emerged was perfectly aligned with, and no more than a single yard away from, my right eye.
Of course a lesser being, such as a man, wouldn't have had time to blink before the slug punched an exit wound in the back of his skull. But not me. I'm superhuman. "Faster than a speeding bullet" doesn't do me justice, frankly. More accurate would be "Hundreds of times faster than a speeding bullet." And, whilst I'm on the subject, "Millions of times more powerful than a speeding locomotive".
I could have plucked that bullet out of the air between two of my pretty fingers. I could have leisurely moved my head and caught it between my perfect teeth. I could have fired a ray of heat energy from my irises and turned it to gas, mid-flight. Or I could have let it hit me. Anywhere on my glorious body. It would merely have bounced away, all bent and crumpled, having failed to leave even the tiniest blemish on my flawless skin.
Instead of any of those possibilities, I tried something else. When the shot had floated (alright, "zoomed" Although it seemed like "floated"...) to within an inch-and-a-half of my face, I snapped my head quickly forward. The tip of the bullet hit my invulnerable eyeball and began to squash down into itself. I just felt a dull, very brief tap against my eye. Nothing unpleasant.
Meanwhile, the rapid movement of my head overcame the shot's momentum and then began to add its own force. Naturally that force (generated by my easy nod) was many times greater than anything any mere weapon could transmit. In an instant, I'd stopped the "speeding" (ha ha) bullet and pushed it away in another direction far faster than it had arrived. A bit like a batter hitting a pitch, except the ball was a steel slug and the bat was my invulnerable, superhuman, sexy eye...
There was one more crucial difference between me and a baseball player. I wasn't trying to hit the "ball" out of the "park". Sure, I could have smacked that steel bullet into space if I'd wanted to. But where would the challenge have been in that? So, instead of good old power, I went for accuracy. (And power).
Just before the shot reached me I glanced at the mob and chose a thug at random. Using my X-ray vision, I found the exact location of his heart. Then, when I whacked the bullet away with my eye, I aimed for the centre of that pounding organ.
Of course, I found my intended target with superhuman precision. In fact, so hard did I "bat" the slug that it ripped right through not just the heart of my chosen gang-member, but also out of his back before travelling another few yards and embedding itself deep in the chest of a second delinquent. The two men collapsed, one quickly after the other, a bit like dominoes.
With a single bullet, fired at me from little more than point-blank range, I'd taken out two men. And my gloved hands had stayed spotlessly clean, clasped safely behind my back all the while.
The gunman looked over at his two freshly-felled colleagues then at his smoking gun and then at me, his expression a charming mix of terror, confusion and anger. I guess he shared those feelings with the rest of the gang, because whilst he fired off a second shot at my face, the remainder of the mob lurched forward, weapons poised, screaming murder.
But that can wait for my next post.
Thursday 15 March 2007 22:27 GMT
I didn’t have much time to deal with the second bullet.
Of course, that’s not to say I didn’t have enough time. A millisecond is usually all I really need to deal with something as feeble and fragile as the average man, and I had several milliseconds to react. However, I had more than several men to take care of. In fact, a whole mob comprising more than thirty of them was charging at me.
Now, normally, I wouldn’t have minded about the mob. Despite their reputation as amongst the toughest, most uncompromising and violent of their species, the members of the gang, when all is said and done, were nothing but a bunch of pathetic males. What could they do to me? Injure their hands trying to punch my perfect subtly-muscled flat abdomen? Break the blades of their knives attempting to stab my gorgeous face? Contuse their feet kicking my sexy legs? Waste their ammunition firing at my irresistibly erotic, full, round breasts?
Whilst none of those things would have hurt me, or left even the tiniest blemish anywhere on my flawless, silky-smooth, sexy skin, I could not allow even one of the crowd to get close enough to hit me. Not that I wouldn’t have enjoyed seeing them damage their big “tough” masculine hands on my slender, feminine goddess’ body. I always enjoy watching that.
But, the whole point of the exercise was that I was wearing my lovely pristine white gloves. What if some feeble male cut himself open against my invulnerable perfection and some of the blood splashed on to my gloves? Or what if a bullet fired from behind me burnt a ugly hole in the white material? I simply could not allow that to happen.
My hands remained clasped behind my back. To protect my gloves, I needed to ensure that every last gang member kept his distance and remained in front of me at all times. As there were almost three dozen of them attacking me, some just a couple of full-pelt strides away, I had to act fairly quickly. Not “quickly” as in “the upper ranges of my superspeed”. Just a nice, relaxed “quickly” as in “too fast for normal people to see anything but a blur at best”.
The bullet streaking towards my head was travelling far faster than the charging mob so it made sense to deal with that first. To the men, my head and shoulders would have appeared to dissolve into a streak of pink and brown as I turned my face to the on-rushing slug and stretched my neck, opening my mouth. With perfect timing, I closed my jaws on the bullet just as it passed my lips, killing its momentum instantly with my beautiful teeth.
I bit down on the steel shot, slicing it in half with total ease. Chewing faster than ordinary people’s brains could comprehend, I chopped the bullet into a dozen small pieces, my flawless teeth cutting through the solid metal with ridiculous ease. Then I used my tongue to push the bits, one at a time, to the front of my mouth. Each time I had a piece of bullet ready, I took aim at a different gang-member and spat the little lump of steel at the centre of his forehead.
I turned my head methodically from right to left as I spat out the twelve tiny pellets, systematically working my way across the front row of the mob, starting with the male who had "provided" the bullet. Although I wasn’t rushing, I fired off the dozen mini-rounds far faster than any machine-gun. And far, far more accurately too: all twelve of my attempts hit its intended target with superhuman precision.
I didn’t spit especially hard, but I didn’t need to. My casual efforts had more than enough force to puncture a neat, small (but utterly fatal) hole right through each target's skull and, in five cases, to also severely wound a second gang-member after exiting the first. Even I was impressed by my efficiency: I'd used a single bullet, shot directly at my face, to take out seventeen males.
My victims collapsed almost simultaneously, tripping many of the surviving thugs. I laughed at the chaotic scene of masculine frailty.
A huge young man with a massive, spherical shaven head staggered from the mêlée waving a length of chain over his head. For some reason, he seemed a little annoyed with me. Maybe it had something to do with me wiping out half his gang. Or maybe it was because I was so amused by what I'd done. Anyway, he was upset about something. His chain rattled furiously as he rotated it like a propeller blade.
"Die, bitch!" he screamed as he ran at me.
In my next post you can find out what happened to the big guy. And his chain...
Monday 19 March 2007 23:23 GMT
I’ll start off today’s post with a quick story-so-far recap:
Always looking for new, fun ways to show off my amazing, unmatched, superhuman abilities and my complete dominance over the rest of planet Earth, I’d invented a new game, “Glove Challenge”. The rules are simple: I have to accomplish a series of self-set tasks, all the while wearing a pair of elbow-length bright white gloves. If the gloves get dirty or damaged, then I fail the “challenge”. So, really, I have to fulfil the tasks without using my hands. Fortunately, every part of my body is powerful beyond most people’s ability to comprehend.
Regular readers will recall that the challenge I’m currently half-way through telling you about involved beating up one of the toughest, most blood-thirsty street-gangs in the world. Of course, without gloves, taking on three dozen males, no matter how combat-skilled, how physically “fit” or how well-armed they are, is no challenge at all for me. To be honest, even with both of my hands behind my back to keep my gloves safe, the gang didn’t really offer me anything more than an excuse to have a few moments’ fun…
But I’m getting ahead of the story. When I left things at the end of Thursday’s post, I’d taken out half of the gang by catching a single "speeding" bullet between my perfect teeth, chewing it up and spitting out the bits one-by-one, each piece fatal to the man it hit. Before that, the whole mob had been surging forward at me. Two seconds later, I’d completed spitting out all the pieces. Suddenly, the ground was littered with bodies and the number of standing men had been reduced by fifty percent.
For some reason, there was a dramatic change in the crowd after that. Only a couple of the males continued to charge at me. Quite a few paused in confusion, still unable to understand how their colleagues had been felled. Some examined the bodies on the ground. Others looked at each other in fear and bewilderment. I spotted three others who seemed to have changed their minds entirely and, instead of running at me, had turned on their heels and were now sprinting away in the opposite direction.
I decided to leave the early quitters for later. First I had to take care of the three men who were still charging at me. The nearest, as I mentioned in my last post, was a big brute of a man. In one huge fist, he held the end of a long length of thick steel chain. He was rotating the free end of it over his head, helicopter-style, as he ran towards me. The chain rattled ominously as it flew through the air, getting ever closer. I could see how it might be an effective weapon. (Effective, that is, provided it was used against a “normal” person. There is no such thing, of course, as a weapon that is effective against me.)
I watched, a half-smile on my face, as the end of the chain flashed ever nearer my head. In contrast to my state of semi-amused calm, the face of the thug waving the steel chain was contorted in murderous fury.
The final link whipped past me, an inch from my nose, indicating that the big man’s next stride would bring the chain within range of me. My response to the imminent threat was to wink at the mad wielder. I don’t think that did much to pacify him.
He took the crucial step that meant I was now well within the rotating chain's circumference. The thick, solid links swung around and a section of them smacked, with a loud metallic Clink! into the side of my beautiful, flawless, feminine neck.
Had I been as weak, vulnerable and fragile as, say, a typical man, my neck would almost certainly have been broken by the blow. No question I would have been knocked to the ground. Possibly even killed outright. But you wouldn't be reading this if that was the case. I'm superhuman. Nothing can hurt me.
In fact, when the links hit, I didn't even blink. And I most definitely did not move. Or flinch. The perfect, silky skin of my neck did not yield or tear or bruise. Even as the momentum of the rotating metal sent the end of the chain hurtling around me in ever decreasing circles, wrapping itself several times around me like a scarf, I didn't experience any discomfort. It goes without saying that, if the steel neckwear was heavy or tight, I wouldn't have noticed.
Needless to say, I made sure my complete lack of concern showed on my face. Still grasping the other end of the chain, the large gang-member had stopped running and was now staring at me in confusion. Tentatively, he pulled at the steel in his hand. The chain tightened with a Clink! but nothing else happened. He seemed surprised by that. He tugged at it again, much more firmly. Another Clink!, but again, no other consequences.
Anger began to usurp bewilderment as the defining quality of the thug's features. He brought his other hand into play, gripping his end of the chain in his two huge masculine fists and leant back, teeth bared, eyes and muscles bulging, face reddening and, with a cry of bestial rage, pulled with all his big, male might.
He was trying to pull me off my feet. To be frank, I didn't really feel any difference in the chains around my neck. I didn't have to make any effort to hold myself, and my head in particular, in place. I just stood there, looking bored, ignoring the noisy struggles of the large man.
There were two more males attacking me by that point. A couple more had decided to flee the scene. Nearby were a small band of others who just seemed to be watching the action for now. The pair coming for me were charging from either side of chain-man, both with long, vicious-looking knives held high overhead.
The one to the right arrived first. As he took the final step before plunging his blade down, I flashed my leg up, catching him in the belly with a carefully controlled kick: not too much so he didn't splatter me with his guts (some gore might have splashed onto my gloves!). It wasn't much of a kick, really. More of a casual toe-punt. He only flew about twenty yards before crashing down.
Before he landed, I had reached up with my left hand to capture the wrist of the other attacker. The tip of his knife was an inch from my skull as I calmly grabbed hold of him, instantly stopping the downward thrust. I squeezed gently, enjoying the Crrrrunch! Scream! and then yanked the knifeman off his feet by his shattered wrist, twirling him over my head just like the chainman had twirled his steel links.
Knife-guy's shoulder popped and instead of screaming some more, he passed out. Bored with him, I released him, making sure that I tossed him away with more than enough force to rocket fifty yards from me and take out two of the fleeing gang-members as his body landed. None of that trio moved again.
That left me face-to-face with chainman. I gave him a smile. He growled, still pulling futilely at my scarf. I narrowed my eyes, focusing two gentle beams of my heat-vision onto the chain between us. The links touched by the lasers from my pupils began to glow red. The iridescence spread in both directions along the chain. An instant later, the big man was yelling in agony as his the flesh of his palms burnt away. He thrashed about madly, failing to unwrap his fists in time to save his hands.
"I guess I'm too hot for you to handle," I joked at him.
Once he was finally free his wounds kept him busy while I shook my head to let the chain unwrap from around my neck. As it flew away, I shot a final, stronger blast from my eyes at it, instantly vaporising the steel. Then I casually strolled up to ex-chainman and brought my knee sharply up between his thighs, crushing his pelvis and launching him twenty feet almost straight-up into the air. His screams ceased the instant my knee connected and he came down in an ugly, misshapen heap a yard from my feet.
That left four young men running from the scene and six more shifting uneasily in a group about ten yards from me. But their fates can wait for another post...
Tuesday 20 March 2007 23:52 GMT
Sharing some of my day-to-day exploits with the world via this blog amuses me.
I enjoy giving my readers a little inkling into what it's like to be me. Although, of course, you could never fully understand. My seemingly limitless powers mean that even though we live on the same planet, we exist in entirely different realities. Sometimes, I have to remind myself that what can seem self-explanatory to me might not be as clear to you. With that in mind, I think this would be a good opportunity for me to explain myself a little:
Why do I do the things I do?
Why do I use my unopposable strength, my utter indestructibility and my irresistible gorgeousness to humiliate and hurt poor, weak, fragile men? Why do I use my amazing superhuman abilities to torment and torture, debase and destroy helpless, inferior males?
The obvious, lazy answer is "because I can", but I don't think that response properly addresses the question. A far more accurate reply is "because it's fun". That's why I never get bored of flaunting my superiority, never tire of humiliating and never get fed up with hurting. To be honest, there's nothing I enjoy more than beating up a bunch of males.
Picture me in that car park, taking on that vicious gang. Such enjoyment! There I am, striding happily towards the group of eight men huddling together, frozen in confusion and terror, caught between attacking me and running away. As I approach them, thinking of the most entertaining way of dealing with them, my smile is even wider, even brighter, even more triumphant than normal.
Why am I so especially happy at that moment?
It isn't merely the anticipation of what I'm about to do to the bunch of quivering males, although there is that, too. However, the main reason I'm really, really pleased is something else.
I know that when I picked up the knife-man moments before and twirled him over my head, his sweating wrist left a tiny, tiny mark on my previously spotless left glove. I'd already "failed" my own challenge. Which meant I'd have to do it all over again, finding another (intact) bunch of hoodlums and this time trying to keep my gloves clean while beating the crap out of them.
Of course, before I could start on that, I still had the remainder of the first gang to finish off. With so much fun to look forward too, no wonder I was happy.
I pulled my now imperfect gloves from my hands as I approached the petrified group, tossing them aside and placing my hands dominantly on my hips.
"The gloves are off now boys," I said. "No more Miss Nice Girl!"
Continued next post.
Wednesday 21 March 2007 22:20 GMT
Can you imagine the state of mind of those seven males?
In the preceding moments they'd seen me survive being shot and then (even if they hadn't been able to spot exactly how it was done) they'd see me take out half of their over-thirty-strong gang. And there was no doubt that they definitely did see me lift one of their members off his feet with just one of my hands, spin him over my head and throw him fifty yards. And they probably also saw the beams of heat energy I'd fired from my eyes.
Standing in that tight little group in the middle of the car park as I strolled up to them, they must have been absolutely terrified. True, they hadn't joined the half-dozen or so gang-members who had decided to run for it, but they'd stopped making any attempts to attack me either. I suspected that the reason they hadn't tried to flee had more to do with being paralysed by fear and incomprehension than any attempt at "making a stand".
That suspicion was confirmed when I tossed my gloves aside. The implication that, having already cut down almost twenty of their colleagues, I was only now properly getting down to business had a profound effect. I used my wonderful supersenses to spy on the inner turmoil of their bodies as I happily walked towards them. Listening to their pounding hearts, smelling the terror leaking from their pores, observing their trembling hands and increasingly frightened eyes.... It all made for first-class entertainment.
Those tell-tale signs of terror reminded me that these violent murderers were, in relation to me, just another bunch of fragile, defenceless males. No wonder I found myself grinning smugly as I casually approached them, my hands on my hips (their natural station given my total dominance over everything I could see).
I couldn't help wiggling my perfect, sexy body, making my big, round, superhumanly firm breasts bounce in the most erotic manner conceivable with every step. Of course, that little display of my overwhelming desirability also had an impact on the men. I could hear their panting breaths and, naturally, I used my X-ray vision to examine all the throbbing erections I had provoked. It's always nice to see how horny I can make a man, even when he's also scared out of his wits by me. So many ways to control, so many ways to dominate...
They began to shuffle nervously back as I got close. Loving the way I, a slender (if magnificently curvaceous) girl inspired such terror in seven big, "tough" men, I couldn't resist teasing them a little by taking a sudden quick step in their direction and saying "Boo!". A couple of them actually jumped into the air. One tried to run and slammed straight into the thug behind him, knocking both of them down and tripping up a third in the process.
As that trio struggled awkwardly to climb back onto their feet, I strolled up to the nearest standing gang-member. Like all the others, he was a man used to violence and fighting, but he was visibly shaking with fear. I smiled at him.
"What's the matter?" I pouted, "Don't tell me you're scared of a girl?" I moved my torso very slightly as I said the word "girl", causing my glorious chest to sway, just to make sure he got the point. The way his eyes widened and moved, precisely following the undulations of my large, proud breasts, told me that he did, indeed, get it.
"I'm not scared of anyone," he defiantly informed my bosoms, his eyes now locked on their unrivalled perfection. But his quivering voice betrayed his true state.
"Liar," I commented, chuckling. I removed my right hand from my hip and placed it on his chin, pulling his face aggressively towards mine until our eyes were just a few inches apart and he had no choice but to stop staring at my chest. He wasn't able to stop shaking as well, however. He used both of his hands to try and pull my arm away from his chin, exerting every ounce of strength in his puny male body without the slightest hint of success. "See?" I pointed out, "You are scared!"
"N-n-no! I'm n-n-not!" he stammered, clearly more terrified than ever.
I tutted. "Lying again!" I chastised. "Do you know what happens to little boys who tell lies?" I was still holding his face close to mine. I knew my warm breath was engulfing his senses, increasing his lust whilst his fear just grew and grew. There was no answer to my question, so I carried on with my admonishment. "Boys who tell lies get punished," I explained. "They get taught never to lie again. Like this..."
I pulled his head right up to mine, stretching out my luscious, sexy red lips until they met his. The kiss momentarily seemed to confuse him. Before he could react, I thrust out my superhuman tongue, knocking out all of his upper and lower front teeth as it effortlessly entered his mouth. He tried to scream but my lips muffled him entirely. Meanwhile I found his tongue with my own, pinning it to the roof of his mouth and then, slowly, crushing it to sticky paste with delightful ease.
I withdrew my tongue, savouring the taste of his blood as I pushed his face away once more, erotically licking my lips. Crimson liquid poured over his chin. He coughed on the blood that was gushing down his throat. "No more lying for you now," I observed with a satisfied smile. I released his chin and he passed out, his legs seeming to fold up beneath him, leaving him in a crumpled heap at my feet.
That was the cue for four of the remaining males in the group to turn and run. Only two remained standing, apparently transfixed with confusion and fright. My right hand returned to my hip as I turned my stunning face to them.
But that's enough excitement for today. I'll continue the report in my next post.
Thursday 22 March 2007 23:49 GMT
Only two gang-members were left in the car park, standing like trembling statues just a few yards from me.
There were nine more who had fled the scene. I wasn’t too worried about those. Not because I’d decided to let them go, but simply because I knew where they were. I’d seen them run, and I could still see them running, despite the streets and buildings in the way. Solid walls are no obstacle to my superhuman eyes. And I knew that, even if they (somehow) managed to jump on the world’s fastest jet-plane, I could give them half-an-hour’s head-start and still catch up with them in minutes…
With all that in mind, I was in no particular hurry as I sauntered sexily up to the semi-paralysed duo. All around us on the concrete ground was the evidence of my power in the forms of the dead and unconscious bodies of half the original mob. A yard from the men, I stopped; my body straight, hands on hips, magnificent bust thrust out, head held high to reflect my superiority and a nice, arrogant, devastatingly sexy sneer on my lips, showing off a hint of my perfect teeth.
"So, am I going to have to teach either of you two boys about lying like I did with your friend over there?" With a brief nod of my head, I indicated the collapsed form of the bloody young male whose tongue I’d just crushed with a kiss.
The two men exchanged terrified glances and then looked back at me. "N-n-no…" one of them muttered.
"And what about you?" I looked directly into the frightened eyes of the one who hadn’t spoken.
"N- N-" he tried to reply, but for some reason he seemed unable to talk. Men! So pathetic! There’s always something going wrong in their fragile bodies…
"I asked you a question!" I said, sternly. "Answer it! Am I going to have to teach you a lesson about lying?"
"N- N-" the guy’s face distorted in pain. It was as though he was frantically searching deep within himself for the capacity to talk. Finally he managed it: "no." His quivering voice was barely more than a whisper.
"So, it's truth only for you two then?" I asked.
They both started to nod vigorously and the one who had retained slightly more of the ability to speak said "Y- y- yes."
"Oh well," I said, "I'll have to think up something else to punish you for." I paused for a moment to let my words sink in. Then, with a single, gorgeous eyebrow quizzically raised, I asked "Are you scared?"
There was silence from the pair. "Answer me!" I demanded.
"Y-yes" said one.
"Y- Y- Y-" said the other.
I smiled. "What kind of pathetic gang is this?" I wondered out loud. "Scared of a mere slip of a girl like me! I mean, look at you, two big tough boys shaking like leaves on a tree!"
Neither of them said anything. I was hoping my taunting would provoke them, but they appeared to be too busy trembling. I let the smile fade from my lips, replacing it with a far sterner expression.
"On your knees, males!" I commanded. The pair of them obeyed as quickly as such ridiculously slow creatures could.
"Crawl to me!" There was no hesitation in complying. I could see that the hard, rough concrete ground was hurting their hands and knees, but neither man let the cuts and bruises he acquired stop him from carrying out my order. They arrived at my feet like faithful dogs, looking up in fearful expectation, their eyes full of the hope that I would not be displeased with them. I glared down at them.
"Kiss my feet!" Two sets of trembling lips pressed down briefly onto my bare toes.
"Roll over!" They lifted their faces from my feet and rolled from their knees onto their backs.
"Kneel!" They returned to their knees.
The two thugs had completely submitted. Having broken their wills, I found myself getting bored with them, so I issued one, final command:
I helped them to obey with a blast of heat-vision that reduced the pair of them to ashes in under a second. They didn't even have time to scream. Fortunately, I had plenty of time to chuckle. Needless to say, I took full advantage of it.
Once I eventually stopped laughing I turned my attention to the various gang-members who had fled the scene. I'll tell you about them in my next post.
Tuesday 27 March 2007 17:31 BST (GMT+1)
There was no-one left standing in the car-park. Except, of course, for me.
Where there had been a thirty-strong gang, now there were just under two dozen bodies littering the concrete (most of them completely still), a few splashes of blood, a couple of hastily-dropped knives, chains and pistols and my slightly soiled, discarded white gloves. So much for the “toughest men on Earth”!
The only gang-members that weren’t dead or unconscious yet were those that had fled the scene. With the car-park now cleared of toys (or “men” as some people call them) I set about looking for all the ones that had tried to run away. With my wonderful superhuman abilities, it wasn’t hard to find the would-be-escapees: X-ray vision allowed me to see inside and through the buildings in every direction and super-eyesight allowed me to see the faces of people miles away in great detail (despite the dark night). If that wasn’t enough, I could have sniffed them out or tracked their heartbeats with my other supersenses.
Naturally, my superspeed allowed me to do all that remarkably powerful searching inside a moment. A quick sweep of my beautiful, bright eyes as I spun once on the spot was all I needed to locate every last man who had run from me earlier. My superspeed also meant that I knew I could catch up with any of them in seconds, regardless of how far away they now were.
The gap to some of them was still growing: four of the men were still running away from me as fast as they could, each weaving through the district’s narrow streets in a different direction. Three others had found more efficient modes of transport with which to put distance between me and themselves, two of them in a (presumably stolen) car and another on a crude, noisy moped. There were also two others trying to escape me not by fleeing the area, but by hiding. It didn’t matter. I soon spotted each and every one of them.
I smiled as I randomly decided which one to chase after first. Picking one of the runners, I floated leisurely up off my feet into the air. Then, with barely any noticeably effort, I shot off after my prey, rocketing parallel to the ground many times faster than the fastest missile. Of course, my ability to fly is just another reason why escaping from me is an impossible task...
The hoodlum had been sprinting at his top speed for a few minutes before I decided to move. He’d managed to put about three-quarters of a mile between us. I managed to close it in three-quarters of a second. (I wasn’t hurrying.) I flew unseen over his head before executing a fluid mid-air turn and dropping to my feet right in his path.
“Going somewhere?” I asked, innocently, as the thug looked up and saw me. His face was flushed with the exertions of running, but the colour drained from it pretty fast once I’d caught his attention. Panting, he turned on his heels and started to sprint back in the opposite direction. I took to the air, soared effortlessly over his head, twisted around and returned my feet to the street, once more blocking his way.
“How… the… hell?..” he asked, breathlessly.
“It’s called ‘flying’, moron,” I answered as I sashayed up to him, erotically wiggling my hips as my palms rested on them. His eyeballs appeared ready to pop from his skull as he stared at my sexily swaying, perfect naked body.
“F-f-f-flying?” he mumbled. Listening to his pounding heart, I wasn’t sure if he was rooted to the spot through fear, lust, amazement or sheer exhaustion. Whatever it was, he didn’t move as I walked right up to him.
“Yeah,” I said, once I was within reach of him. “Flying.”
I lifted my hand towards his throat, slowly curling my fingers around his neck. “You know-“ I prompted, “-like this!”
I pulled my arm sharply back, using the hold on his throat to lift him off his feet and then released it to send him hurtling over my shoulder. He really did fly (for about half a mile before he crash-landed in a heap that rolled for another twenty yards before coming to a complete stop). Sadly for him, the initial jolt had rendered him too dead to actually appreciate the experience…
I’d already brushed off my hands whilst he was still rolling down the street. By the time he’d finally stopped moving altogether, I was in the sky myself, streaking towards another of the running males. I’ll save that encounter for my next post.
Thursday 29 March 2007 23:39 BST (GMT+1)
I decided to go for another of the running males next.
The one I chose had fled the car-park heading in exactly the opposite direction to the thug I'd just caught, meaning this new target was almost two miles away by the time I started to give chase. He was running for all he was worth, obviously scared for his life after what he'd already witnessed of my power.
I was in no hurry as I flew off in pursuit, remaining about twenty feet above the ground as I leisurely floated through the night air at speeds that made me almost invisible to ordinary people. Needless to say, I covered the distance to my target in the time it took him to take three strides.
He was too engrossed in the panting efforts of his long-distance run to even notice as my perfect body, in all its naked feminine glory shot over his head. I flew on another hundred yards before silently landing on my feet in the darkness. Then I waited in the thick shadows at the side of the street until the gang-member came puffing along.
Moving quickly out towards him, I let him finally spot me and experience a moment of panic before grabbing his left upper arm with the pretty (but wonderfully, devastatingly strong) fingers of my right hand.
"Let me go!" he yelled in terror, thrashing hopelessly in my casual, utterly unbreakable, grasp.
"Aww," I pouted. "Don't be so shy!" I started to slowly pull him towards me, enjoying the way I could so effortlessly overpower a big male's frantic struggles.
He balled his free hand into a fist. No doubt, his punches had laid quite a few "strong" men out flat, but when his swing connected fully against the side of my big, round breast with a loud Smack!, the only thing flattened was masculine knuckle. His mighty effort failed to even dent the erotic, spherical perfection of my superfirm bosom. The thug, meanwhile, was reduced to screaming in agony as he stared in shock at his shattered hand.
"Oh you poor thing!" I said with mock pity. "Have you hurt yourself? I removed my hand from his arm and draped both my forearms over his shoulders. He made a quick attempt to get away, trying to duck out of my embrace and step backwards but the loose hold I had proved stronger than anything he could manage.
"Leave me alone!" he yelled in desperation, striking at my belly with his good hand. I waited for the Crunch! of another set of masculine bones and the inevitable scream that followed it.
"There, there," I consoled, patronisingly. Floating up of the ground, I rose about two feet up and gently pulled the yelling thug towards my body. He may have been resisting my easy pulling, but to be honest I didn't notice. I just brought his face to my chest, muffling his screaming in the deep, warm cleavage between my large, beautiful breasts.
"That's better, isn't it?" I asked. He shouted reply was rendered unintelligible by my engulfing bosom. Holding his face fast against my chest with a hand pressed lightly on the back of his head, I opened my legs and curled them around the gang-member's hips, drawing his crotch towards my thighs and pressing the throbbing erection in his jeans hard against me.
"Mmmmm mmmm mmmfff mfffff!" he yelled into my breasts as he orgasmed, soaking his clothes. I lifted my chest away from his face and bent down to kiss him deeply.
Leaving my lips close to his I breathed "I'm going to make you cum until your heart fails."
"Leave me a-" He tried to say, but I didn't let him finish. Instead, I straightened my body, my legs still wrapped just below his waist, and pressed his face to my glorious breasts once again. I turned my torso slowly to one side, allowing my heavy mounds and the big hard nipples at the centre of each of them to drag across the thug's features. At the same time I ground my naked groin against the already damp crotch of his trousers.
"So easy to control!" I bragged, triumphantly.
"Mmmmmfffffff!" he screamed. I laughed as his body convulsed once more.
"Don't stop!" I cried as soon as the orgasmic tremors ceased. I began to rub my breasts ever more insistently across his face, bruising his nose and eyes whilst I squeezed my legs to crush his exhausted, but still erect, penis against my pelvis.
"Mmmffffffff! Fffff! Fff! F... f..." Then he went limp. Immediately, I opened my legs, removed my hand and let the dead weight fall with a thump onto the street. Without even sparing him another glance, I soared upwards, already in pursuit of runner number three.
I'll tell you about him in my next post.
Friday 30 March 2007 20:53 BST (GMT+1)
The first two runners I picked off had sprinted from the car-park in an Easterly and Westerly direction respectively.
The one I went after third had dashed off to the South. The few extra seconds I'd spent amusing myself at runner number two's expense had allowed runner number three to get a little further away. In fact, he was over a mile from number two's end point by the time I set off after him. That's over a mile as the gorgeous supergirl flies, cutting diagonally over city blocks (rather than the two-mile journey on foot through the geometric streets). As I was enjoying my sport so much, I didn't rush, so it was all of four-fifths of a second before I was swooping down out of the sky, coming up behind the still sprinting runner.
I didn't bother to overtake him and turn around. I didn't even give him a chance to know I was there. Instead, when I was still six feet from the ground, my sexy nude body parallel with the street, I reached out with my left hand and grabbed the back of the thug's neck. Before he knew anything was happening, I'd swept him up off his feet, like a bird of prey snatching up a rodent.
"Gotcha!" I said with what I suppose you could call girlish triumph. Well, I was having fun...
"Hey! Hey!" the gang-member yelled as I started to climb, carrying him with me at arm's length, his considerable bulk feeling as good as weightless in my one-handed grip. I giggled as I saw his arms and legs thrashing about uselessly. I think he was trying to hit me, but the way I was holding him meant I was out of his reach. Actually, you could say I was "out of his reach" in a million different ways...
I took him quickly upwards until we were about a thousand feet above the streets. By then, the pathetic creature was actually screaming. Maybe he had a problem with heights. Fortunately, it didn't matter: I was able to happily ignore his yelling and kicking.
From up there, I had an excellent view of the city below. In a split-second, I spotted the last of the thugs trying to flee on foot. I floated sideways through the air, dragging my noisy and reluctant travel companion with me until we were directly over the fourth runner's head. We were too high even for number's three's screams to be heard by the very unsuperhuman male on the ground. He just kept running down there.
"You know," I said to number three as he continued to thrash about at the end of my arm, "I don't think you're cut out for flying at all. In fact," I couldn't help grinning, "I reckon you belong down there, on the ground. With your friend."
"NO!" he cried. "No! No! N-"
The final "No" was cut short. The easiest flick of my feminine wrist, synchronised with an effortless opening my grip, sent the gang-member shooting towards the street far below many times faster than gravity alone would have managed. The initial jolt silenced him, meaning that the man on the ground had no warning whatsoever as his ex-colleague fell like a comet from above.
My aim, as ever, was perfect. My power, of course, was never in doubt. Running thug number three rocketed down from the sky right onto running thug number four, the impact hard enough to leave nothing of either male but an unsightly mess on the street. And a nearby wall.
I paused only long enough to enjoy the Splat! and admire the new red pattern for a moment. Then I turned in the air after the next target. Tune in next time to learn what happened to him...