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July 2007



Monday 2 July 2007 17:42 BST (GMT+1)

, that deal I offered the last two standing scientists:

“Here’s what you two are going to do for me, boys: When the others wake up, you and them are going to tell anyone who asks that there was some kind of electrical fault in here that caused all the damage. You’re all going to stick to that story, regardless. Got that?” The men nodded furiously.

“Now, here’s what I am going to do for you: I’m going to rub out all these messages on the wall and then pick up my little pretend UFO and leave the way I came without killing you both in the most painful way you could possibly imagine. Of course, if you, or any of your sleeping friends, ever decide to renege on our agreement, then I’ll come back, track you down one by one and crush each and every last one of you to paste, little piece by little piece.”

I could hear the two heart-beats pounding in their weak male chests. Just for the fun of listening to the fear in their voices, I added: “Is that clear?”

“Y-yes, very c-clear!” stammered one.

“As c-c-c-crystal!” the other spluttered.

I smiled. Narrowing my eyes I began the work of using my heat vision to burn away the top-layer of paint and plaster from the walls of the room, removing all traces of the words I’d burnt into them earlier. As I came to the section of wall immediately behind the two trembling scientists, I didn’t even pause for a moment.

My control over the lasers I produce is so precise that I was able to shoot the beams right through the bodies of the men without affecting their fragile flesh in the slightest, whilst the far end of the rays instantly vaporised the material I was targeting. Quickly, I moved on to the next bit of wall, cleaning all evidence of my “lasered” instructions inside ten seconds.

Then I turned around and strolled back to the twisted wreckage of the steel slab from whose centre I’d burst out. It must have weighed a few dozen tonnes. It was certainly about three times my size. But I gripped an edge of it between the thumb and forefinger of my right hand and lifted it in its entirety from the floor with effortless ease.

Holding the huge piece of deformed metal as if it was nothing more significant than a sheet of paper (well, actually, that’s pretty much how it felt to me) I took off, flying straight up through the damaged roof, widening the hole I’d made earlier as I pulled the busted slab up with me.

Soaring away, I used my superhearing to listen to the two scientists’ tears of relief.

“No-one’s ever going to believe all this was caused by an electrical fault!” one of them commented.

“We’ll just have to make them believe,” said the other.

“We’ll be laughing stocks!”

“What choice do we have?”

“None. I’m not disobeying that… that…. that girl!”

He was right about the “laughing stock” bit though. As I flew out of hearing range, I was already chuckling at him…



Wednesday 4 July 2007 20:01 BST (GMT+1)

ter my little escapade with the fake UFO, I decided that a period of staying away from the limelight was in order.

I’m absolutely certain that none of the scientists in the room where I finally revealed myself will ever tell another living soul about me, but there’s always the possibility of one of the many, many dozens of people I “buzzed” in my metal slab trying to create a stir.

With that in mind, I took care of the evidence of my prank (the twisted, torn slab itself) immediately. My first plan was to just dump the thing on the moon or Mars and wait for it to be “discovered” by some future confused astronaut. Then I thought about reshaping it first for an extra laugh. Solid steel is far softer and more malleable in my beautiful, superhuman hands than, say, wet clay is in yours.

I thought about turning the ex-“UFO” into a number of amusing shapes. In fact, I came within a whisker of squeezing and bending the metal to form the words “NO PARKING MONDAY-FRIDAY” and leaving them at the proposed landing site for the Mars mission.

(Only a tiny handful of people even know that the landing site has already been chosen. They are all sworn to secrecy, of course, but getting a man to talk is hardly a challenge for a goddess of my power. I merely had to get one of the top members of the planning team on his own. That was easily enough done by following his movements whilst I was hiding a mile overhead inside a cloud and swooping down on him the instant he was out of sight of other “normals”. Simply by giving him carefully-selected and precisely-controlled glimpses of my glorious body, I made him burn with lust until, by his own admission, he was willing to do almost anything in return for the honour of being allowed to touch just one of my perfect, irresistible breasts.

A couple of moments later, his left hand reduced to nothing more than a thick bloody paste that oozed between my palm and my big, round, super-firm left bosom, he was willing to do not just “almost anything” but “anything at all” in return for being spared the honour of touching my other breast with his other hand. I only asked him a vague question about the Mars project but he, in terror, blurted out every last tiny detail that his puny male brain could recall. In the end, I had to flick him under the chin with the little finger of my left hand, causing him to lift three feet from the ground and fly ten yards backwards before crashing down in a heap, just to shut him up….)

At the last moment I had a change of heart and decided not to install the joke message on the red planet. Instead, I thought it might be prudent to get rid of the metal all together. Using my heat-vision to melt and then boil the huge lump of steel seemed too boring for me. Tossing the slab into the flames of the sun was the obvious thing to do, but Venus was directly between me and the sun and, although I’m confident that my slender, sexy arms possess more than sufficient strength for the task, I realised that tossing a chunk of steel right through a planet and out the other side was not the best policy for someone trying to maintain a low-profile.

So, I decided to try something different: I ate the slab. All of it. I confess it was far from delicious, but it wasn’t hard to do. My flawless straight white teeth give me a dazzling, breath-taking smile and the sexiest sneer in the history of Earth. They can also slice through solid steel with consummate ease. My soft-looking tongue can squeeze and tear metal without difficulty too. Even my lovely, thick red lips are powerful enough to reshape steel and my jaw muscles alone are far too strong for ordinary people to comprehend.

And my metabolism? Well, I don’t need to eat or drink or breathe. I do those things merely for fun. Anything I consume just seems to… well, just “disappears” really. No toilets for me! I chewed up and swallowed those tons and tons of metal without tiring or feeling full. And let me assure you that my gorgeous flat belly, my shapely hips and my incomprehensibly tight rear showed no signs of the “feast”. I remained as stunningly slender as ever.

It was once suggested to me that a possible explanation for the way I can swallow apparently limitless quantities of any substance is that maybe there’s a black hole inside my fabulous body. Personally, I doubt it. I think there’s something much more powerful than a mere black hole…



Thursday 5 July 2007 23:38 BST (GMT+1)

ere was a terrific thunderstorm today.

Of course, I felt it approaching hours before the weather forecasters and their expensive, state-of-the-art equipment noticed anything. My supersenses are a million times more accurate than any system men could ever invent. Just like my gorgeous, sleek feminine muscles are a million times more powerful than any machine men could ever build. But you already knew all that...

Anyway, by the time the storm kicked in, I made sure I was perfectly placed to fully enjoy it: right, smack-bang in the middle of it. As the rain started to bucket down, I was there, inside the thick, black clouds, laughing at the pathetic people trying to run for cover. It's remarkable how much the tiniest extra weight caused by their clothes getting soaked slows them down so much. You could put a hundred tons on my smooth round shoulders and my movements would be completely unaffected. Then again, why would my movements be affected by something as negligible as a hundred tons? I'd barely even feel it. But that's me. "Normal" people seem almost overwhelmed by the weight of a wet jacket...

Within seconds, large puddles formed on the street below. I saw one "poor" man struggling to run towards the cover of a bus-stop. Kind-hearted as ever, I took pity on his valiant efforts. Deciding a kiss might cheer him up, I pushed out my lips and blew him one. The gentle stream of my breath was just enough to push him off his feet and send him flying, face-first, into the deepest of all the puddles. How I chuckled as he slowly got back to his feet, dripping wet.

Then, I puckered up my luscious lips once more and exhaled his way a second time, effortlessly forcing him back down into the water, actually pinning him to the ground with my easy blowing for a few seconds. This time he stayed down, in the wet, gasping for air. Naturally, there was no gasping on my part. All that puffing hadn't left me short of breath.

After that, I turned my head and blew a few more casual kisses at the people down on the street. I forced one guy slowly backwards towards a wall and then, when he was a yard from the bricks, I exhaled a little harder, my breath knocking him back the final three feet so hard that he hit the wall with his feet twenty inches above the pavement and slid down into a shapeless, unmoving pile.

All the while, the rain was falling at a torrential rate. Obviously, the two recipients of my blown kisses were still lying where I'd put them, but most of the people had found shelter of some kind. A quick blast of my heat-vision vaporised the roof of the bus stop where a small crowd were hiding from the downpour. A couple of them screamed as they were suddenly exposed to the heavens. With the natural lightening forking all around, they must've thought their shelter had been struck. The idiots!

To spice things up for them, I started to rotate slowly inside my cloud, letting a soft stream of hyper-cold superbreath pass through my sexy mouth. My exhalation froze everything in a twenty-yard radius in an instant. The fat drops of rain that had been about to accumulate and fall became giant hailstones.

The chunks of ice I created with my breath rained down on the people by the roofless bus stop, making them cry out with pain and place their hands, their shopping-bags, their briefcases and anything else they could find on their fragile heads. I saw blood trickling from a few hail-inflicted wounds as I continued to exhale, making sure the ice kept hammering down.

Car alarms started to trigger and I heard the cracking of windscreens up and down the street. Two streetlights smashed in a shower of sparks. Above the racket of the hail, more screams reached my ears. I decided to enjoy the moment and stopped my freezing exhalation so I could surrender to hysterical laughter.

Ten seconds later, I was still rocking with mirth when an especially vicious-looking slash of lightening cut across the sky and, like a pointing finger, struck me square on the centre of my flawless back. Tens of thousands of volts ripped through my perfect body. For a moment, my skin glowed with the vast energy it was absorbing. Meanwhile, I found myself laughing with renewed pleasure.

Even a goddess like me enjoys being tickled once in a while...



Friday 6 July 2007 14:57 BST (GMT+1)

was amused to see one of the people who’d been caught up in my little hail-storm being interviewed on TV this morning.

His head was wrapped in bandages (apparently, the feeble creature had needed forty-seven stitches in his ice-battered skull…) and he was talking of his “terror” during the “freak” incident, describing it as “apocalyptic”.

I switched the TV off chuckling to myself. A few little hail-stones and a couple of tiny gusts of wind and he thought it was the end of the world! All I did was use my superbreath a couple of times. And at just a tiny, tiny fraction of its full power…

It made me wonder: how would he have described me actually blowing hard in a sustained, continual blast rather than the few casual little puffs he was so excited about? Of course, the answer is that he wouldn’t have described it at all. He’d have been dead, along with everyone else for several miles in every direction. He should count himself lucky only to have a few permanent scars on his head, the pathetic ingrate!

Something else about the interview also amused me. The idiot mentioned the roof of the bus-stop being hit by “lightening” and simply “disappearing”. No-one seems to have analysed the damage and worked out that lightening doesn’t surgically remove bits of street furniture and make every last trace of them vanish…

It seems they’re all too stupid to realise that a force far more powerful than lightening was involved. So, seeing as the stormy weather is continuing, I’m going to go out and see how much more heat-vision-induced chaos and destruction I can cause before the fools stop blaming it all on freak lightening strikes.

The jerk being interviewed actually said something about not being scared now he had been “struck” as “lightening never strikes twice”. He’s wrong, of course. I’ve been struck hundreds of times. And you’ll never see me in a bandage!



Monday 9 July 2007 20:40 BST (GMT+1)

ightening Causes Chaos!”

That was the headline in my local newspaper this morning. According to the article, "freak" bolts of lightening struck several times on Saturday night in a series of "freakish near-disasters" that have (unsurprisingly) left meteorological boffins baffled.

Some of the damage caused included:

- the roof of a cinema. A "terrifying bolt" blasted a massive hole right through the loft space and exposed a large part of the packed main auditorium to lashing rain. Apparently "dozens" of people were injured by falling debris from the ceiling.

- the chrome doors of a night-club. The paper says that, "in a staggering coincidence" both the main doors and the fire exit were fused shut by a fork of lightening, leaving hundreds trapped inside whilst a "specialist team" worked "through the night" with "state-of the art tools" to free them.

- a major broadcast transmitter tower that relays a number of TV and radio stations. It seems that a "direct strike of phenomenal power" actually "melted the top fifteen meters of the steel mast", leaving thousands of homes without television or radio. The damage is "unprecedented" according to engineers, one of whom is quoted in the newspaper as saying "I've worked all over the world in all kinds of extreme conditions, and I have never even heard of something like this happening before. It's going to take months to fully restore everything."

- a bus. It was hit in the wheel, bursting the tyre and heating the hub to such an extent that it became welded to the tarmac. Another team of experts with expensive tools were required to dig up the road, and a crane had to be hired to help move the stricken vehicle. A spokesman said: "If I hadn't seen it myself, I would not have believed it."

The report went on to claim that a total of thirty-five workers spent the whole of Saturday night carrying out emergency work after a total of six "devastating" strikes, "incredibly, all in the same street". Dozens more workers will be repairing the damage for "at least two weeks."

Naturally, everyone involved is too stupid to work out that all the "chaos" was caused by a lone (staggering beautiful) superhuman young woman with a couple of effortless blasts of her goddess-like heat-vision. They'd rather believe that lightening was responsible, much to my great amusement.

Of course, with my limitless strength, superspeed and the ability to fly, I could undo all the damage inside one minute. But I think it'll be more fun to let a bunch of hopeless males do the work.

I wonder how many thousand "man-hours" will be needed where my one "girl-minute" would have easily sufficed...



Tuesday 10 July 2007 21:50 BST (GMT+1)

was disappointed to see that the weather seemed to have cleared up this morning.

That meant I couldn't have fun today zapping stuff with my heat-vision and pretending it was lightening. Worse still, there weren't even any clouds in the pure blue sky for me to hide inside whilst causing havoc.

Fortunately, I hit upon the idea of bringing some thick clouds over from the other side of the continent. It only took about five minutes' easy flying to travel the two thousand miles to where it was nicely overcast. Then, using my superbreath, I pushed a city-sized mass of clouds across the sky at several thousand miles per hour. I know it sounds like a spectacular thing to do, but it really wasn't hard. I just positioned myself next to the fluffy mass, pushed out my sexy lips and blew, as easily as an ordinary person like you would blow out a single candle.

Driven by the force of my exhalation, that bank of cloud raced into position faster than any jet-plane ever tested. Of course, no project on that scale is free of complications. A light aircraft that crossed my path was tossed around like a dry leaf in a hurricane, its engines completely overpowered by my lungs. I winked at the panicking pilot, but I don't think he saw me. A moment later, he lost consciousness and the craft went into a terminal dive. I saw it explode against the side of a mountain and chuckled as I continued on my way, driving the cloud forwards.

Soon enough, I'd pushed it almost into the precise location I wanted. I stopped blowing, and the freakishly fast movement of the nebula immediately slowed and halted. With a broad, satisfied grin, I hid myself deep inside and looked down at the helpless city below me, using my amazing eyesight to zoom in on people and buildings beneath.

If people were surprised to see a single cloud in the azure sky, zipping in from nowhere at such an incredible speed, they must have been completely shocked when a beam of red lightening shot from deep within it, completely vaporising the temporary plastic sheeting that had been stretched out over the damaged roof of my local cinema.

I was going to zap the new doors that a group of workmen were fixing on the nightclub down the street next, but it occurred to me that someone might (finally) start to get a little suspicious. So, instead, I blasted one of their vans, making it explode in a lovely little ball of orange flame that quickly subsided into thick black smoke.

I spent the next few minutes just watching the ensuing chaos down below. When the firemen arrived, I blew them a little kiss from inside my cloud, sending them all rolling hopelessly about the street, foam spraying in all directions from the hose some of them had been controlling. I was still laughing at them as I flew out of the top of the cloud, completely unseen.

The cloud kept most of the city in the shadows for the rest of the day, but that didn't matter because I was able to enjoy the sun from my position floating directly above it...



Wednesday 11 July 2007 16:51 BST (GMT+1)

n’t it funny how things work out?

Today the city was completely overcast from dawn. No need to fetch clouds from thousands of miles away. The only thing was, I simply wasn’t in the mood for more fake-lightening games. In fact, this morning I simply couldn’t make up my mind as to what I fancied doing. So, in the end, I decided to flip a coin.

Of course, when a goddess of power and beauty flips a coin, the result is not the same as when an ordinary weakling does it. Balancing the little metal disc on my hand, I flicked it very gently with my petite thumb (just like anyone would). There was a loud metallic Ping! as my pretty thumb struck the coin, instantly bending it into a “U”-shape.

Thanks to my casual flick, the loose change rocketed away from my hand faster than… well, it rocketed faster than a rocket. It was just as well I was in the garden at the time, or I would have a small hole to repair in the roof of my house. And all the floors below the roof…

As it was, the deformed coin shot straight upwards with nothing to impede its rise for the first few thousand feet or so. I suppose I could pretend that I hadn’t checked first, and that I was completely unaware of the traffic news helicopter hovering overhead. I could say it was all a big accident. But that would be a lie of course. Truth is, I knew exactly what I was doing when I launched the little metal disc.

With my superhearing, I heard the nice Clang! of metal-on-metal as the coin struck the underside of the chopper. With my super-eyesight I saw the impact putting a big dent in the craft and watched the helicopter being knocked a few yards upwards. With my X-ray vision I saw the pilot and his passenger being tossed around, only their harnesses saving them from smashing their heads on the roof.

As the two men inside the helicopter exchanged curses and the panicked passenger screamed at the equally unnerved pilot to land (“Anywhere! I don’t fucking care! Just put it down NOW!!!”), I watched my now badly-battered coin bounce off and start to descend. If an ordinary person had tried to catch it from that height, it would probably have torn a hole through their fragile palm and continued its fall. But my perfect, invulnerable hand barely even registered the sensation when my fingers closed around the coin.

I smoothed it flat once more between my fingertips, working the solid metal with ridiculous ease and then squeezed a little harder, enjoying the way the alloy softened, then melted and then boiled away to nothing in my ultra-powerful grip.

Going back inside, I switched on the radio, just in time to hear an announcement apologising for the lack of “eye in the sky” traffic reports for the rest of the week due to “technical problems”…



Thursday 12 July 2007 20:58 BST (GMT+1)

at a shame there's currently no "eye in the sky" helicopter-based traffic service on the radio. People could really use the information, what with all the roads that are currently blocked.

Yes, I know what you're thinking: yesterday I told you how I'd put the traffic news chopper out of commission and today there were all kinds of problems on the roads. You probably reckon I'm responsible for all the street blockages.

Well, if that's what you're thinking, you'd be right. Of course.

It's not really my fault though. I can't help it if everything is so fragile. I mean, I didn't put any effort into causing chaos, it just happened in response to my minimal, casual actions.

You can't blame me for the ten-foot wide, six-foot deep hole that appeared in one major road because all I did was jump up and down on the spot a couple of times. I wasn't even wearing shoes. My pretty bare feet slammed through the tarmac and tore up big chunks of the material underneath and in less than a second, the street was unusable.

And the four roads rendered completely unpassable by huge fallen trees... Again, that was the fault of the trees, not me. They might have looked like big strong tall oaks, each one a yard in diameter, but I just leant casually against them, placing one hand on the trunks. I hardly pushed at all, but each tree went Crrrrrrack! and broke like a matchstick, falling right across the street.

Then there was the flood. Honestly, if people build roads out of weak materials and lay water conduits under them that aren't tough enough to resist a quick, half-hearted blast of my heat-vision, then what do they expect? It's harder for me not to blast holes in them...

How I laughed, watching the jams and the ever-angrier drivers whilst I flew, in seconds, from one side of town to the other with ridiculous ease!



Monday 16 July 2007 21:32 BST (GMT+1)

did you have a nice weekend?

Hah! As if I care about your weekend! I've explained how this works before: the only thing that matters is that mine was great. As usual.

I met some really interesting guys and made them beg for mercy as I, with a few half-hearted brushes of my fingers, beat them within an inch of their lives.

All except two of them, that is. That pair I made beg me for mercy as I rode up and down on their increasingly-sore sexual organs. Some of the time they screamed in orgasmic ecstasy. Most of the time they just screamed in pain. I simply ignored their cries as I enjoyed myself, using them for my pleasure, alternating between them over and over, one trying to recuperate while I raped the other and vice versa again and again and again... until they were both battered, bruised and clinically exhausted. Then, I stood up over my unconscious lovers, got dressed and walked out without giving them so much as a second thought.

But it wasn't all "Miss Nice Lady" over the weekend. There were several other encounters that were much less light-hearted. I'll save those for another time. Just like that story of me and the column of tanks which I keep getting asked about. One day, maybe...



Tuesday 17 July 2007 17:24 BST (GMT+1)

was looking around town last night.

No, I wasn’t walking the streets like a tourist. I was sitting comfortably in my living room at home, using my X-ray vision and my fantastic eyesight to peer through walls and buildings for miles in every direction. My super-fast brain processed everything I saw, remembering a thousand little secrets that might be useful to know in the future. Nothing is ever “hidden” from me!

As I swept my eyes along a street in another part of the city about six miles away, I noticed a sign in the window of a building: “Ten-Pin Bowling Alley. Grand Opening Tomorrow 10 a.m.” After a moment’s thought, I decided I would check out this new venue.

Of course, being a goddess I wasn’t going to wait until the following morning. I flew straight over there, landing silently in a nearby alley and then walking around the building to find the back door. It was the middle of the night and there was no-one about, so I just walked right through the locked door. My body impacted the heavy double wooden panels. Well, to be more accurate, my breasts, being the most prominent part of me, impacted.

Of course, no material can resist my superhuman chest. My mounds struck the door like twin battering rams, instantly breaking the thick wood as the force of my entrance tore the heavy-duty hinges leaving a couple of broken pieces of wood hanging at an angle to the doorframe as I strode imperiously in.

There were no lights on, and the inside was pitch dark, but to me, everything was as clear as day. I soon spotted the bowling lanes and made my way to the nearest one. There was a display rack of gloves that had been positioned directly in the path between the rear entrance and the lane. Rather than walk around it, I kept in a straight line and swatted the retail stand aside with an effortless sweep of my left hand. It was only when a few small chunks of concrete floor were dislodged with a brief metallic scream that I realised the display had been bolted down…

Whilst the rack, its chrome supports and all the gloves that had been on it crashed down on a pinball table in a shower of broken glass and sparks, I approached the lane. Bending low, I scooped up a waiting ball. It felt practically weightless to me as I picked it up. I tossed it in the air a few times, catching it on my palm.

Rather than trying the traditional method of releasing the ball underarm and letting it roll towards the pins, I thought I’d experiment with something different. So, balancing it on my palm I held it up in front of my face, puckered up and blew a little kiss at it.

The force of my breath pushed the ball off my hand and sent it hurtling away from me as if it had been shot from a cannon. I only blew for a split-second, but that was enough to carry the ball the length of the lane. My aim, as ever, was spot-on, the ball travelling in a dead-straight line slightly downwards so that it hit the pins from above. And smashed them to pieces. And then crashed into the machinery at the back of the lane. And carved right through it. And smacked the concrete floor behind. And shattered it, finally coming to rest having ground a small area of the stone to dust.

As the equipment for resetting the pins and returning the ball was no longer recognisable (let alone functioning) I realised the game was already over. So much for bowling.

I left the way I’d come in.



Wednesday 18 July 2007 16:33 BST (GMT+1)

peace was momentarily disturbed last night by a passing car blasting techno music at a needlessly loud volume.

There I was, relaxing on the roof, just looking at small chunks of space debris orbiting the Earth when the inconsiderate driver came within earshot. I suppose he was about twenty miles away when I first became aware of him, and his racket got ever fiercer as he drove nearer. By comparing the noise levels of his stereo with those of his engines, I realised just how loud he was playing his music. Even making allowances for the fact that ordinary people’s sense of hearing is about a millionth as sensitive as my own, the noise level was unacceptable.

Not having anything better to do, I decided to make the music stop. Taking to the air, I flew towards the source of the pounding racket and found it within seconds. Down on the street a few hundred feet below me, a typical compact urban vehicle, noise flooding out of its open windows, was momentarily halted at a red traffic light. I swooped down in less time than the typical male needs to blink, landing neatly on my feet right next to the car.

Of course, the driver didn’t hear me stepping up to his side of the vehicle. He didn’t even hear the groan of metal as I curled my fingers around the bottom of the open window and, with an easy one-handed tug, ripped the driver’s door from the car’s frame. It was only at that moment that he turned to face me, looking pretty shocked at first. He was just in time to see me toss the detached door over my shoulder where it flew off into the distance, crashing down far, far away quarter of a minute later. You can imagine how shocked he looked after that!

“Hey!” He started to sit forward. I leant in and used the fingertips of my left hand to press him back against his seat. Although he was clearly struggling, it was no effort at all to pin him in place whilst I used my other hand to reach for the dashboard-mounted stereo. I let my fingers sink deep into the façade of the CD-player and amplifier. Sparks flew out of the equipment, covering my arm but not affecting my perfect skin. Finally, the music was silenced. Then, for effect, I closed my right hand into a fist, compressing most of the sound system into a useless ball of metal and plastic which I ostentatiously dropped onto the seat between the now-rather-nervous driver’s trembling thighs.

Turning my attention back to my other hand, I started to draw the fingers pressing him against his backrest closed so that I could gather a good fistful of shirt. That was just enough leverage to pull his upper-body out of the car and drag the rest of him with it. In no time at all, I had him completely clear of the vehicle, his large frame dangling at the end of my slender outstretched arm.

“Hey! Hey!” he yelled, thrashing about like a fish on dry land. Evidently, he was a man of few words. ‘Few’, as in ‘just the one’…

Like a thousand other men who’ve found themselves in the same predicament (hanging helplessly from my superhuman grip) he tried using both of his arms to prise my fingers apart, and then to try and pull my hand away and then to punch my perfect, invulnerable body. And like those thousand other men, he ended up staring in disbelief through tear-filled eyes at his own damaged hands whilst I continued to hold him at arm’s length exactly as before.

I then let him contuse both of his feet by kicking out viciously in his heavy shoes at my bare knees until he was too exhausted and too wracked by pain to move about much anymore. Only then did I speak to him, peering at him with a contemptuous sneer.

“Your stereo was too loud. It bothered me.” I didn’t think any further explanation was required for what I did next.

Bending my arm at the elbow, I briefly brought the terrified driver closer to my fabulous body. But I only gave him half-a-second to enjoy the proximity. Then, I snapped my arm straight again, my sexy feminine muscles generating massive momentum which my shapely arm transferred to the driver. At the same time, I opened the fingers holding him, allowing that momentum full freedom.

He shot away from me, perpendicular to the ground, with such force that he never even got to scream “Hey!” again. As he flew backwards, his feet lifted slightly and his arms pointed back towards me, but his torso remained at a constant height from the ground.

The same shocked expression was frozen on his face for the entire length of his flight… all twenty yards of it.

He would have travelled a lot further, if it hadn’t been for the lamppost he struck. The Clang! of impact was quite impressive. Unlike the misshapen heap he ended up in once he had slid down to the pavement. I shot a final, satisfied glance at the corpse and shot straight up into the air before anyone else arrived on the scene.

Less than a minute later, I was junk-gazing once again, back on the roof at home.



Friday 20 July 2007 17:24 BST (GMT+1)

mentioned the other day about a thousand little “secrets” I picked up on just looking around with my X-ray enhanced super-eyesight.

Obviously, there’s not much point in being able to gather so much information without actually making use of it. So this morning, I thought I’d do some further investigation into some of the more interesting things that caught my beautiful, superhuman eye.

Remember, I was standing on the roof of my house, using my amazing powers to peer right through buildings and walls, seeing tiny details at great distances in very little light. It’s something I do from time to time, just to see what I can see. And because I can see so much, and so far, I always end up seeing something interesting…

On the night in question, one particular house really caught my attention. From the outside, it looked perfectly ordinary. Looking inside, the exterior walls just “peeling away” as I focussed, the ordinariness of the façade was reflected by the only occupant; a tall, skinny man in his late fifties who certainly wouldn’t make anyone look twice.

My interest was piqued shortly after I noticed some documents piled on a hall table . Despite the fact that it was night and there were no lights on in the house (not to mention the fact that I was four miles away on the other side of a number of brick, concrete and steel walls), I was able to read every page in the pile of papers, right down to the bottom.

Amongst the usual household utility bills and a boring letter from a bank about a temporary overdraft extension, was a sheet of plain paper bearing a single sentence, every letter of which had been cut, ransom-note-style, from newspapers. The note read: “mR. gREEN wIShES TO PuRChaSE sIXTy Of ItEM nuMBer 4. PLeAsE cONFIrm AVAILabILiTy in THE usUaL MANneR.”

I was intrigued. What could “Item number 4” mean? Was this unassuming ageing man some kind of supplier of contraband? And if he was, did he keep that contraband in the house? I set to work, super-speed scanning every millimetre of the building.

In less than two seconds, I found it.

I suppose for ordinary people without the ability to see through concrete or to spot a hair-crack with the naked eye for four miles’ distance, the small, roughly-dug chamber under the kitchen floor was well-hidden. For a goddess like me, it was immediately obvious.

The newspapers would call it a “mind-boggling arsenal of pistols, rifles and automatic weapons”. The police would call it a “highly significant stash of deadly firearms”. The intelligence services would call it a “major cache of illegal hardware”. I called it a good excuse for some fun.

Which is why, at eight o’clock this morning, I rang the doorbell of the house. I heard the footsteps and saw right through the thick front door as the same ageing male approached the door.

“Who is it?” he asked, not opening up. He was stood immediately behind the door. I couldn’t help but notice that his groin was right in front of the letterbox. With lightening speed, I thrust my right hand through the slit, widening the thick brass surround merely by brushing against it on my way to grabbing the end of the man’s organ through his trousers between my thumb and forefinger. I didn’t squeeze him hard, but he screamed in agony anyway.

For a few moments, he beat his fists against his side of the door and tried to use his feet to push himself away, but I held firm, making him yell out with fresh pain. As soon as his cries died down enough, I hissed just loud enough to be heard: “Open the door or I’ll pull it right off”.

Two seconds later, I hear the sound of the latch turning. Letting go of my grip on his penis, I pushed the door open hard enough to slam him against a wall, stunning him for a few moments. That gave me plenty of time to step inside and carefully close the door behind me. I could have simply knocked the whole thing off its hinges, but this way, there was no sign of a forced entry.

Now that we couldn’t be disturbed, I walked briskly up to where the gun-man was still catching his breath. When I’d flung open the door, it must’ve hit him in the face, flattening his nose and causing a river of blood to cascade over his lips and chin. He looked up uneasily as I neared. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Oh dear,” I chuckled. “You do look bad! Mind you, you’re going to look a lot worse by the time I’m done with you.”

“Wh… What do you want?”

“I want to play with that big box of toys under your kitchen,” I smiled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking ab-“ His words were cut short because I lunged forward and encircled the fingers of my left hand around his scrawny neck, squeezing him just enough to get a good purchase so that I could lift him off his feet with that one arm. His eyes bulged slightly as he stared at me in shock, unable to move.

“Let me explain how this works,” I told him, my voice as calm and relaxed as the muscles in my arm as they supported his weight. “I’m a superhuman goddess. You’re a puny, fragile male. If you lie to me, you die. If you fail to obey me, you die. If you speak out of turn, you die. If you displease me in any way, you die. If I get tired of you, you die.” I shook my arm, making his whole body jerk about. “Are you a bit clearer about our relationship now?” I asked.

It was all he could do to nod his understanding. I opened my fingers and let him fall at my feet, where he rubbed his throat, gasping for air.

“Get up!” I ordered him. Gingerly, he obeyed.

“Follow me,” I commanded, walking past him and making a bee-line for the kitchen. Of course, I already knew the layout of the house. I didn’t know that the kitchen door was locked, but it broke in four when I pushed at it so that didn’t matter.

I was just strolling through the broken entranceway when I heard the sound of a pistol being pulled out of the old boy’s trousers.

“That’s enough. Stop right there,” he said, his voice a little unsteady.

I turned around slowly, letting him admire my spectacular profile. As I faced him, I placed my hands on my hips. “Oh good!” I said. “A warm-up!”

To be continued...



Monday 23 July 2007 17:51 BST (GMT+1)

hut up and raise your hands!” hissed the ageing man, the pistol in his hands not as steady as he would probably have liked it to be.

My hands were planted on my hips and I had absolutely no intention of moving them for the time being. As for shutting up, well, if that was what the male wanted me to do, then he was even more out of luck than either of us had previously realised.

“No and no.” I responded to his attempted commands with a sneer.

“I’m going to count to three…” he threatened.

“Don’t bother.” I advised him. “Just cut straight to the shooting.”

“One…” he growled.

I rolled my eyes.

“Two…”

I flashed him my tongue.

“Three…”

I did nothing. And he did likewise. “What’s wrong with you?” I demanded. “Too weak to even pull a trigger? You pathetic creature!”

That, finally, did the trick. With what seemed to me like a great effort on his part, he squeezed the firing mechanism. I was too bored to use superspeed to observe the familiar flash of light erupting from his weapon, or the boringly habitual cloud of smoke from which a tiresome little bullet eventually floats out. Besides, I had no need for superspeed. It wasn’t as if I cared if the shot hit me or not.

As it was, it wasn’t a bad aim. It struck me fairly centrally on the stomach, about two inches above my navel, a little to the left. I was wearing a white T-shirt that was stretched tight over my glorious bust. The bullet left a thumb-sized hole in the cotton, edged with a black ring of burnt fabric. But when it reached the smooth, flawless flesh beneath, it left no mark at all. It just crumpled up like an empty can against my harder than steel abdomen and, spent and wasted, pinged away harmlessly in defeat , landing with a clatter on the wooden floor. Needless to say, it had felt like the lightest of taps to me.

The man with the gun stared for a good few seconds at the hole in my top. He seemed confused by the little glimpse of perfect skin, as if he expected to see some kind of bullet-proof vest or armour plating under my T-shirt rather than just… me. Eventually, a look of determination came over his features. He drew his gaze upwards, pausing for quite a while to stare, unashamedly, at the glorious curves of my chest, before reaching my face and taking careful aim with his pistol. By then I was tapping my foot impatiently.

To be continued…