It's been a while since my last post; in fact it's been about two weeks.
Bearing in mind the full extents of my amazing superpowers, you must be wondering what I've been up to in the meantime. After all, I can fly a complete orbit around the Earth in under a minute (if I bother to exert myself) and I can reduce entire mountains to dust in just a fraction of that time, so imagine what I could achieve in a fortnight...
Two weeks would be more than enough time for me to conquer the world: confronting, defeating, humiliating and then (for good measure) destroying its armies one by one, forcing the leaders of every nation to publicly surrender their "power" to me and then subjugating the entire civilian population...
Or, in the same time-frame, I could have frozen all the planet's oceans,seas,rivers and lakes completely solid by blasting them from the air with my coldest superbreath so that not a drop of liquid water remained on Earth.
Equally, a fortnight would be sufficient for me to travel under my own power to another solar system, find a nice-looking planet, and then push it using my unfathomable strength all the way back home to park it in orbit, say, somewhere between Mars and Jupiter.
All of those seemingly impossible feats are well within my remarkable capabilities. In fact, fourteen days is longer than I'd need to complete any of them. Then again, I suppose if I was going to have so much fun on such a big scale, I'd want to take my time and savour the enjoyment. Especially if I was doing something as entertaining as conquering the world...
Anyway, seeing as the Earth is still in the hands of puny males (for now), the oceans are not frozen and there's no new planet suddenly arrived in our solar system, you still don't know what I actually got up to during my break between posts. The answer is either "not very much at all" or "something mind-blowingly amazing", depending on your viewpoint.
As there are two of them, let's start with by far the most important viewpoint: mine. I'm in the "not very much at all" camp. Basically, from my perspective, I went exploring in space and discovered a curious phenomenon. There was no great excitement; my strength and invulnerability were never fully tested and, in the process I lost approximately twelve days' worth of time although, when you're immortal like me, a dozen days is nothing to get bothered about...
Now for that other, much less significant, viewpoint. The one probably held by everybody else apart from me. (I told you it was insignificant). The one that says what I achieved during my posting absence was "something mind-blowingly amazing":
As I was flying through space just admiring the scenery, I became aware of an increasingly insistent force that was trying to pull me off my chosen course. Naturally, the gravitational effect wasn't powerful enough to actually drag me away from where I wanted to go, but my vast experience of feeling extreme forces acting on my beautiful body told me that this particular pull was strong. Not "strong" compared with my delicate, slender feminine limbs (but what is?), but "strong" compared with, say, the pull of Jupiter's gravity.
Curious as to both the nature and the source of the effect, I relaxed my muscles, and let myself drift in space. Immediately, I felt myself being pulled in one specific direction. I looked to see if I could spot what was causing the phenomenon and saw nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just space.
And yet I was being dragged, ever faster, towards the invisible source of the pull. As I watched, hoping to catch even a tiny glimpse of something, I noticed a number of tiny fragments of material, perhaps debris from a planet or pieces of a smashed-up comet, travelling ahead of me, in the same direction. Suddenly, the furthest of those objects disappeared from view. And it really was "sudden". From one instant to the next. I mean, in the superhumanly fast, superspeed blink of one of my superhuman eyes, the piece of space rock appeared to vanish completely.
As I watched, intrigued, other bits of debris started to disappear. In fact, soon enough, I was able to work out the exact location the invisible "thing" that was doing the pulling and the vanishing. Judging by the angles the debris was flying it at, and the timing of each piece's disappearance, I calculated that whatever it was was flat, round, utterly stationary and no more than a foot in diameter.
I was still being dragged towards it with ever-increasing speed. I was intrigued, so I let myself be drawn in still further. When I was about two miles from were I believed the "thing" was positioned, something unusual happened. It began to grow darker all around me. There was no reason for the diminishing light, but I had to use more and more of my superhuman eyesight powers to compensate for the increasing darkness.
Powerful enough to suck in light as well as matter, the "thing" was clearly some kind of black hole. Experimentally, I zapped it with a blast of my heat-vision. As the rays reached the target, they stretched out into streaks of red light that seemed to fly down a narrow, infinitely long tunnel. Sparks of energy erupted from the edges of the invisible object, finally giving it some kind of shape. It appeared to be a perfectly round, flat disc.
I increased the power of my beams, making the sparks of energy around grow ever more ferocious. All the while I was being dragged closer and closer. Realising that my eye-lasers were having no effect beyond making the shape of the "hole" visible, I cut them off. Now I was just a hundred feet or so from the object, being sucked in at impressive speed.
Experimentally, I tensed my muscles to test my flight powers against the immense gravity. To my delight I found myself moving away, the pull on my body noticeable, but far from difficult to overpower. Reassured of my supremacy, I let my curiosity get the better of me and executed a graceful turn in mid-space so that I was facing the invisible "hole". Then, rather than just relaxing at letting it suck me in, I used my own power and flew straight at it.
That was the weird part. One moment I was flying through space as normal (if you call travelling through an almost-vacuum at almost absolute zero at half the speed of light under your own power "normal", which I do...) The next moment I hit the front of the "disc" and everything, the stars, planets, distant galaxies... everything just disappeared.
Suddenly, I was surrounded by pitch black on every side. Not even my amazing eyesight could make out any details. Just pure black all around and in front. I continued to fly forwards through the bizarre tunnel. All the while I could feel an increasing pressure building on my body, as if a gigantic hand was gripping me, trying to squeeze the life out of me.
Trying, and of course, failing. A while ago, I travelled into the clouds of Jupiter and descended all the way to the gas giant's solid core. The pressures there were amazing, unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. The feeling of being squeezed on all sides was even more intense inside that dark tunnel. As the force grew, it became less and less easy just to ignore the sensation.
I realised that the pressure my sexy naked body was withstanding was great enough to reduce an entire planet to a few hyper-heavy specks of dust. For a moment, I started to believe that there was a possibility that the forces could become great enough to actually be painful.
It was only a brief moment, however. Just when I was beginning to wonder if I should think about getting concerned, it stopped. I must have come through the other side. There was no barrier to break through; the squeezing and the darkness just stopped. In an instant, all that crushing pressure simply vanished. At the same time, as if someone had flicked a great cosmic light switch, the stars reappeared all around me.
It took all of a hundredth of a second for me to get my bearings from the twinkling lights. Amazingly, I was exactly where I had been what seemed like minutes before when I had flown into the strange phenomenon. It was as if I hadn't moved, yet I'd been flying, at speeds which would blow your mind, for what seemed like several minutes.
Logic dictated that the strange "hole" was now behind me. Knowing with even more certainty than before that I had nothing to fear from it, I turned one-hundred-and-eighty degrees and tried to fly back through it in the opposite direction. There was nothing there. Not a hint of pull, or pressure or the slightest dimming of starlight. Just empty space.
Intrigued, I reversed my course once again. Now I was repeating the path I'd taken the first time when I flew into the object. But this time, it was completely different. This time it was like... well, like nothing. Nothing at all. Because it was nothing. There simply was nothing there where the strange thing had been. It had gone. Disappeared.
Or maybe, I thought, it hadn't just disappeared. Maybe it been destroyed. By a force more powerful than itself. A force that it could not defeat. A force that had challenged its very existence... and won. Such a force would have needed to be more resilient than all the hyper-dense matter and light energy that the hole was devouring, and more powerful than the fundamental laws of physics that had created it. Or, in other words, me.
Ever since the time I first went beyond the Earth's atmosphere and unlocked the true potential of my wonderful superhuman abilities, I've known that I am staggeringly powerful. I've tested myself against natural and man-made extremes and I've always triumphed. Always.
Nothing, be it a nuclear detonation or the surface of the sun, has ever left so much as a scratch anywhere on my perfect skin. My lovely, silky skin. It must be hard for normal people to comprehend how so much endless power can be contained within the slim, shapely, magnificently erotic body of a devastating gorgeous girl. But it is.
The question of that moment was: had that supremely powerful, sexy girl just broken a black hole?
I looked back at the empty patch of space where the thing had been. It looked the same as every other one of the infinite empty patches of space all around me: empty. I shrugged and smiled. Maybe I had broken a black hole. No big deal. I mean, I break things all the time...
I didn't really give the matter any more thought as I rocketed back towards home. Only when I got back to Earth did I find any reason to think about my encounter with whatever-it-had-been.
That reason? When I flew through the atmosphere and started to descend towards my city, my amazing eyes spotted the date on a newspaper three miles below me. Bizarrely, even though I felt as if I'd been gone for about nineteen hours, I realised that twelve days had passed...
I suppose you can add "Inventor of Time Travel" to my already massive list of remarkable achievements. Maybe it would be easier to just use a single word to express my glory: Goddess.
Incidentally, in my last post before my weird little trip, I was telling you about a visit I paid to a guy who was stashing weapons under his kitchen floor. In my next post, I'll continue where I left off with that little tale.
Thursday 9 August 2007 21:41 BST (GMT+1)
Right then. Before my strange time-bending experience in space, I had just started to tell you about a little visit I paid to someone's house.
A quick recap for those without my perfect recall (and everything else that's perfect about me):
During a high-speed X-ray vision/super-eyesight scan of my town, I spotted an ordinary looking house that "hid" a secret. Of course, nothing and no-one can ever hope to hide from me, which is why I discovered that secret without intentionally looking for it merely by casting my gaze over the area from several miles away...
What I saw was a large cache of weaponry, mostly of the automatic variety, hidden in a specially-constructed space under the kitchen floor. Naturally, soon after I had made the discovery, I was making the acquaintance of the ageing gun-dealer who lived there and insisting in my usual charming (and unopposable) way, that he show me his collection.
We'd walked as far as the corridor of his house when he predictably pulled a pistol. Irritatingly, he seemed happy at first just to point it at me. Eventually, after I'd provoked him with a few choice insults, he fired, leaving a big hole in my tight white T-shirt just above my navel but, of course, no mark at all on the flawless flat skin beneath my top.
After partially recovering from the shock of seeing me not just unhurt but unscratched and unbruised, he raised his aim. His new target was my gorgeous face, but it took him a while to adjust the angle of the weapon in his grasp. Not that his hesitation came as a surprise. A million men before him have found themselves distracted scanning upwards from my belly to my head...
Finally, he got the pistol lined up. I remained where I was, standing about three yards from him, looking him in the eye, my hands on my hips and my luscious red lips slightly parted in a superior sneer that revealed a tiny glimpse of my perfect teeth. My left leg was slightly bent at the knee, the bare foot at the end of it tapping impatiently.
My host spoke through clenched jaws in an angry hiss. "I don't know how you're pulling these tricks, girl..." (I guess by "tricks" he meant the way I'd physically overpowered him to get in the house and the way his first shot had bounced of my stomach. Regular readers will know that I don't do "tricks". I just happen to be several million times stronger than any male and completely invulnerable. Those aren't "tricks". That's just how I am.)
Anyway, he went on: "...but the game ends here. It'll be a shame to put a big hole in that pretty face of yours, but that's what I'm going to do if you don't do exactly what I tell you. Now put up your hands!"
I chuckled dismissively. I did not move my hands from my hips. "The game ends when I've had enough of it," I informed him, flatly.
"No," he insisted. "It ends now!" And with that, he squeezed the trigger.
Before the bullet had travelled a tenth of the distance from barrel to me, I had already calculated its trajectory. It was headed for my forehead. The guy was clearly quite experienced in firing guns. Had his target been any normal person, he would have achieved a certain instant kill.
Unfortunately for him, his target was anything but a "normal" person.
There now follows a selection of items from the list of feats I could have achieved using superspeed in the time the shot took to travel the few yards from gun to me:
- vaporise the slug and the pistol and the arms dealer with my heat-vision.
- create a sudden wind powerful enough to deflect the bullet and smash the man to paste against the far end of the corridor ten yards behind him with my superbreath.
- take flight, smashing through the roof of the building, turn a half-somersault in the sky, dive back downwards, snatch the shot from mid-air between my teeth and spit it back at the dealer with a hundred times the force the gun had originally leant it.
Instead, I didn't move. I didn't even blink. I didn't have to.
With a dull Clang! the point of the bullet struck my forehead slightly left-of-centre. For a few milliseconds, the little lump of hot metal tried to penetrate my silky skin. As it pushed insistently, and my silky skin refused to yield in any way, the bullet found itself squeezed between its own momentum and me and it began to shorten and widen.
My skin would have resisted forever of course, but the slug's forward momentum soon ran out. The bullet stopped deforming and bounced away, lodging itself with a little shower of plaster dust in the wall a couple of yards from me.
The arms dealer's face became suddenly paler. His mouth opened and stayed open. I counted eight as the number of times he looked slowly from my unblemished head to the misshapen bit of metal in the wall and back again.
Finally he spoke. "What... the... fuck..?"
I chuckled. With my hands still planted on my hips, I started to stroll slowly towards him. His look of shock became a look of fear and in response, my smile became broader.
Continued in my next post...
Friday 10 August 2007 20:21 BST (GMT+1)
It's funny how fast moods can change.
Take the arms dealer confronting me in the corridor of his house for example. One moment he was so sure of himself, pointing his pistol at me full of confidence, hissing orders like a man who truly believed he was the master of the situation. Thirty seconds later, he was staring in confusion and shock, the gun now vibrating in his shaking hands, his formerly commanding voice now uncertain and weak. And I hadn't even done anything during that half-minute!
Of course, the male's semi-disintegration from in-charge gangster to nervous wreck was all down to me. In truth, he was reduced to that state by the very fact that I had done nothing throughout those thirty seconds. Seeing as he had shot me twice from short distance during that time-frame, he would have expected me to do things like "bleeding", "falling down" and various other normal reactions to being hit by bullets in the torso and head, such as "dying". The very last thing he would have expected was for me to fail to react in any way whatsoever...
But his shots had no effect on me, not even causing me to remove my hands from their station on my hips, and he had been stunned completely by my invulnerability. To make matters worse (for him) I'd shown how little concern his weapon caused me by starting to casually stroll towards him.
Now, I was the only one displaying an air of dominance. Total dominance. With my easy, confident strides, the superior curl of my lips, my hands planted on my sides and my incomparable, big, superbly-rounded and superhumanly firm chest thrust defiantly out. The pathetic man was powerless to do anything but watch the hypnotically sexy undulations of my perfect body as I approached him. And I made sure that there were plenty of undulations for him to watch: My long, shapely arms and legs swinging. My curvaceous hips swaying. And my large breasts bouncing inside my tight T-shirt.
But whilst most of his mind seemed preoccupied with following my every, glorious movement, apparently some small part of the arms dealer's feeble male brain was still functioning. It was only a small part of a brain that was inferior to begin with. I imagine the male's thought-process went like something this:
"I can't believe how sexy she is! But... she's also shown hostile intent... I shot her twice and the bullets just bounced of her body... Oh! That body! But... Can it also be bullet-proof? She's walking towards me... That fabulous body getting closer and closer to me... Look at the way it moves! But... Why didn't the bullets have any effect on her? It doesn't make sense. She doesn't make sense... Why is she approaching me? So sexy... The way she looks so sure of herself. It's like... like she knows she has nothing to fear from me... But, I've got a gun! But... it doesn't work on her. And she seemed to know it wouldn't... Just like she seems completely confident she's in no danger now... What the hell is she? So beautiful but... But scary too. Why's she walking up to me? What does this stunning girl who cannot be shot want with me? Do I want to find out? No. No, I don't. I wish she'd stop. I wish she wouldn't come any closer... Got to make her stop! No time.... Use the gun! She can't be b
As I mentioned, it was only a small part of his brain that was working properly. Enough to send the necessary movement commands to his trigger finger but not enough to move the arms actually aiming his pistol. I was much, much nearer now than when he had shot me in the head, but he fired his third shot without changing the angle of the weapon.
The bullet took the same path as its predecessor. If the shooter had wanted to target my forehead again, he should have raised his aim to compensate for the new, shorter distance. Instead (I realised long before impact) the same trajectory as before put the slug on a collision course with my chest. Again, I chose to simply ignore the supposedly deadly threat.
I was mid-stride when it struck, but the fluid rhythm of my walk was unaltered. The bullet burnt a neat round hole in the stretched out material of my T-shirt, exposing a tiny portion of the erotic flesh of my left breast. It pressed insistently against the generous upper curve of my perfect female orb, as though attempting to nuzzle it, the solid metal projectile bending almost into a right angle in its futile attempt to dent my rounded glory. My breast merely dismissed it, deflecting it away with utter disdain, refusing to yield or even so much as redden under the assault.
Because it struck the upper curve of my oh-so-magnificently rounded chest, the shot was deflected upwards where it met my impenetrable jaw. It had an equal lack of success there, suffering further mutilation against my silky skin before bouncing down to the floor in total defeat.
Meanwhile, I just continued to walk steadily towards the increasingly nervous man with the gun, my hands remaining imperiously upon my hips throughout.
Continued next post...
Monday 13 August 2007 19:41 BST (GMT+1)
What is it that makes males so stupid and so stubborn?
That arms dealer was supposed to be an especially intelligent and skilled specimen of his sex. You would think then, that having shot me now three times from close range (in the belly, the head and, most recently, the chest) and having seen the total lack of effect of each of those shots, he would have worked out that he was wasting ammunition on me.
In reality, however, his weak masculine mind was apparently incapable of reaching the obvious conclusion; namely that he was firing at a completely invulnerable target. Perhaps he was awe-struck by my incomparable beauty as I continued to walk towards him, the erotic, fluid movements of my perfect body proving too much for him to take in, thus jamming his thought-processes as a result. Perhaps it was arrogance on his part; a total refusal to believe that the combination of his firearms-skill and the deadly power of his handgun could fail.
Or perhaps he was just stupid enough to believe that a forth bullet could succeed where three previous attempts had so miserably failed.
As I continued to unhurriedly stroll up to him, my hands resting on my swinging hips, he squeezed his trigger once more. Compared with the third shot he had fired, I was a step closer to the end of his barrel when the fourth slug emerged. That meant it hit me lower on the body than its predecessor. Where the third effort had bounced off the top of the shelf of my chest, this latest one smacked into the underside of my heavy, round right breast (but only once it had put another hole in my T-shirt).
The bullet tried and failed to penetrate my glorious big orb. It tried and failed to move my lovely feminine flesh out of its path. It started to crumple up on itself as it tried and failed to leave any kind of mark on my flawless smooth skin. Then, all its power spent, it fell at my feet.
Meanwhile, I had taken another stride towards the man with the gun, my progress unaltered in any way by the futile struggle of the bullet against my breast. I hadn't moved my hands from my hips. In fact, the only detail of my appearance to have altered was the new hole in my T-shirt. My upper garment was starting to resemble a Swiss cheese, with three large circular tears in the ultra-tight white material through which patches of my beautiful, desirable flesh were visible.
The male was beginning to get scared. I could gauge his state of mind merely by listening to his heartbeat. I could also sense the rising levels of lust in his thoughts which my glorious body was provoking as it neared him. That lust was no doubt further increased by the extra skin now on display, particularly the two freshly-revealed areas of breast.
The fear and the desire pounding through his mind had a paralysing effect on him. He seemed unable even to fire off another shot as I took the final few steps up to him. His eyes grew huge as I loomed in front of him. He stared, apparently helpless to move, as I leisurely reached for the gun in his hands...
Continued next post.
Wednesday 22 August 2007 21:55 BST (GMT+1)
OK, a quick re-cap of where I left off at the end of my last post:
I’d confronted an arms dealer in the corridor of his home. He’d wasted four shots on me, and was staring in awe and fear as I strolled casually up to him, supremely confident with my hands on my hips, little areas of my perfect unblemished flesh visible through the bullet-holes in my tight T-shirt.
There was plenty of time for the dealer to shoot yet again as I stood right in front of him, reaching for his gun with my right hand whilst my left remained imperiously on my hip, my movements deliberately slow to show how unconcerned I was by his firearm. Even a ponderously slow male, his mind addled with lust (a perfectly normal reaction when I’m near), could have squeezed the trigger of a hand-gun several times during the three or four seconds it took me to stretch my fingers towards the weapon.
But my stunned host did not manage to fire a single bullet as I leisurely stretched out my hand. Apparently, all his mental and physical faculties were fully occupied with the task of staring at the thin material of my white T-shirt where it clung so tightly to the breath-taking curves of my chest. He was especially fascinated by a one-inch diameter patch of exposed skin. More precisely, exposed skin on the upper curve of one of my glorious breasts which had been placed on display by a bullet-hole of his making.
He wasn’t even looking as I slowly closed my thumb and the tip of my index finger over the end of the barrel of his gun. Despite the casual nature of the hold, when I gripped tightly, the steel groaned beneath my petite fingers and flattened slightly to accommodate their fantastic strength. He was still grasping the other end of the pistol in his fist, but I didn’t notice any resistance as I effortlessly pulled the thing away from him with my two fingers.
As it happened, he must have been holding on fairly tight (by the standards of such a pathetically weak creature) because my gentle tug broke three of his fingers, almost tearing one of them completely from his hand, making him scream as blood gushed from his fresh wounds.
I held the captured weapon in the space between our faces and, in a relaxed fashion removed my other hand from my hip, lifting it slowly to his face. Curling that fist into a ball, I left only the index finger extended and laid it gently over his lips in the familiar “Quiet!” position. To emphasise my point I whispered “Shhhhhh”, letting my warm, fragrant breath blast his features. He quickly got the message, and managed to moderate his yells of agony to mere sobs. Blood continued to drip from the base of his almost-amputated finger...
Continued next post.
Thursday 23 August 2007 23:58 BST (GMT+1)
So, I'd quietened the arms-dealer's screams of pain by putting my finger over his lips and breathing "Shhhh."
Once he’d calmed down enough to listen to me, I smiled at him and, still holding up his gun in my right hand, I let my left return to its position on my hip. Regardless of the painful, horrific-looking injuries to his hand, his eyes were still locked on me. Or rather, his eyes were still locked on my chest, particularly that little visible circle of silky, erotic skin where a bullet had burnt through my T-shirt before bouncing off my invulnerable breast.
"Well, it seems I've discovered two things you like. One of them is guns..." I raised and lowered the pistol I'd taken from him in my right hand as if estimating its weight, "...and the other thing you seem to like is..." Keeping my left hand on my hip, I swivelled at the waist, making my upper body, especially my big, heavy breasts, move enticingly across his field of vision as I finished my sentence: "...my body."
I knew his attention wasn't on my face as I spoke. It wasn't on my hand holding his gun either. He hadn't even noticed that I'd pinched the barrel slightly closed when I'd first taken hold of it. Not that he cared to know, but the gun was no longer usable. I fixed that my adjusting my grip on it and repairing the damage, reopening the barrel merely by poking my index finger inside it, the steel yielding like soft clay to the fantastic strength of my digit.
Now that I had a working gun again, I could put it to use. I opened my fingers, letting the weapon slip through them for a moment only to retighten them again on the handle. My finger curled around the trigger. Slowly, I began to move my hand, changing the direction in which I was pointing the gun.
The roughly widened end of the barrel passed into the arms dealer's field of vision, not far from his face which quickly drained of colour.
"Oh no.. no.. no... please... no..." he sobbed, sweat pouring down his terrified features.
Continued next post.
Friday 24 August 2007 16:16 BST (GMT+1)
There I was, holding the weapons-seller's gun in my right hand, ready to shoot.
My left hand was posed dominantly on my hip as I slowly moved the other arm, moving the barrel of the weapon past the pleading, petrified male's face.
Of course, I'd just laughed off four bullets from the very same gun, letting them bounce off me without leaving so much as the tiniest scratch on my glorious body. True, my T-shirt had fared less well and it now featured a couple of round holes through which could be seen glimpses of the superhumanly-perfect, superhumanly-firm and superhumanly-erotic flesh of my chest. But, aside from my thin, tight white top, being shot repeatedly hadn't affected me at all.
Clearly, the arms dealer did not believe that his own, rough, blemished and aged masculine hide was as resilient was my smooth, flawless, young feminine skin. In fact, judging by the way he was begging and crying as I waved his gun in his face, the prospect of being shot, even just the once, terrified him. I couldn't help but smile as he tearfully pleaded with me not to shoot.
Obviously, his words served no purpose other than to amuse me. If I had intended to fire the gun at his head, I would have done so. His pleas for me not to do it would have been wasted. As if I cared about the sobbing supplications of some vastly inferior male!
But it was never my intention to execute him in that manner. I don't need a gun to kill a man. There are so many other much more fun ways to kill them. Why would I use a weapon when I can effortlessly cause more damage with my hands? Or my legs... Or my lips... Or my tongue... Or my breasts...
The relief on his face as I slowly turned the gun away from him was enough to make me giggle. "Imagine being scared of a silly little gun like this!" I chortled. I moved the barrel around into I was pointing it at myself. With a mischievous glint in my eye, I lowered the gun slowly down my body until it came to my chest. Then I carefully positioned the reopened tip of the weapon an inch above the hole in my T-shirt, aiming it from less-than-point-blank range directly at my big, round right breast.
Given the gun's proximity to the object of my host's deep fascination, I knew that he was watching intently as I pulled the trigger. The initial exhaust of burning gas from the primary explosion instantly burnt through my top, making the pre-existing hole much larger, exposing a large area of perfect breast, ready for the bullet to hit, tip-first.
The slug gave its all in its desperate and futile struggle to put even a tiny dent in my glorious round flesh. Instead, it wadded up against my big feminine mound, unable to even bruise me. Then it bounced away. The compressed lump of lead only had an inch to travel before it impacted against the barrel of the weapon that had fired it. It had considerably more success denting and even tearing the steel of the gun than it had against my breast, but with me holding the other end of the gun, eventually it was knocked back once more. That sent it into me again.
The poor bullet ricocheted a total of six times between the increasingly battered tip of the weapon and the unchangingly unblemished upper curve of my breast before it finally fell under the spell of gravity and clattered to the floor, barely recognisable.
The arms dealer was panting, his eyes flickering from that large patch of exposed unmarked feminine flesh to the twisted, torn, smoking end of the gun. But I hadn't finished showing off yet...
Continued next post.
Tuesday 28 August 2007 21:19 BST (GMT+1)
arrel of the arms-dealer's pistol had been badly damaged.
I'd fired the gun into my magnificent breast from a distance of barely over an inch, and the bullet had bounced between my big, invulnerable bosom and the barrel several times. Of course, whilst the ricocheting slug had significantly bashed and bent the end of the gun, it hadn't managed to leave the slightest mark on the rounded feminine perfection of my mound.
Judging by the way my host was staring at that little portion of my erotic flesh laid bare by the large bullet-hole in my tight T-shirt, he was highly impressed by what he had seen. Not to mention what he could still see through the circular tear in my top.
I decided to show him just how mismatched his gun and my chest were. Still holding the damaged weapon in my right hand just as when I had fired it, I kept my left palm on my hip and shifted my weight from one leg to the other, moving my hips and my torso and causing my glorious bust to be thrust out. Whilst the dealer gasped at the sight of my sexy body, I smiled and slowly began to lower the gun onto that patch of bare skin on the upper curve of my breast.
As I pressed down on the weapon, it began to emit an ever-more high-pitched groan. With the unstoppable force of my superhuman strength pushing it into my body, and the immovable obstacle of my magnificent, large, round, heavy breast directly in its path, the steel had no option but to surrender its very existence. The groaning became a scream, as if the metal was desperately trying to communicate its agony.
I crushed the pistol slowly against my breast, letting the steel first bend, accommodating to my splendid curves and then boil away to nothingness as I effortlessly increased the pressure. Of course, the metal was too weak to even momentarily dent my bosom, and the sizzling-hot steel caused me no discomfort whatsoever. When I was done, my breast was as superhumanly perfect as ever and the gun was just a memory. I placed my right hand on my hip, mirroring the left.
My shocked host looked on the point of passing out. "How... how...did you...." he mumbled.
"Oh," I answered, truthfully, "that was easy." He swallowed hard. I carried on in a breezy tone: "Now, are you going to just stand there staring at my tit until I have to crush your neck like I crushed that gun or would you prefer to live?"
"Live!" he said. "I want to live!"
"Oh well," I sighed. "If you're sure that's what you want..."
"Please don't kill me!" he begged, making sure that I got the message.
I tutted at the pathetic display and turned my back on him, setting off towards the kitchen. "Follow me!" I ordered, without bothering to look over my shoulder. I waited until I heard him complete a single step, then added a secondary command: "On your hands and knees!"
The arms dealer obeyed without hesitation, following me on all fours like a faithful dog as I strode into the kitchen. I stopped by one side of the "secret" and "invisible" floor panel that hid my host's illegal arsenal of weaponry.
"You and I are going to have some fun with your little box of toys under here," I announced with a grin.
Continued next post.
Wednesday 29 August 2007 22:13 BST (GMT+1)
The secret panel under the kitchen floor had been painstakingly designed and installed to be invisible to the human eye.
I can't really comment on its quality, other than to say that with a superhuman eye, the panel itself and the compartment under it and its contents were all highly visible. Remember: I'd first spotted the clandestine get-up from several miles away. Standing over it, I could make out the exact shape of the cut-out in the flooring, and the precise size of the "secret" hiding place beneath.
There was an elaborate mechanism buried in the floor by one edge of the underground oblong box, which I assumed was a specialised opening mechanism. I didn't bother examining it to see how it worked. I merely bent over, took my hand from my hip, balled its fingers into a fist and rammed it straight through the floor. It turned out that, as part of the hidden compartment's construction, the kitchen's ceramic floor tiles had been laid on a sheet of steel that was set in a thick block of solid concrete. Of course, my fist smashed through all those materials with ridiculous ease.
I pulled my hand out of the hole in the floor I had created. By then, the arms dealer had joined me in the room. Still on his hands and knees as I had instructed him to be, he stared in amazement at the result of my single, effortless punch. Meanwhile I bent for the hole again, this time digging my fingers into the edges of it,making my own ergonomic gripping point. With that, I was able to lift the entire fake floor panel free.
I didn't notice that my host had crawled on top of the panel in the meantime. When I lifted that big oblong with my right arm, the weight of the thick tiles and the steel under them was so negligible, I didn't notice the extra mass of the arms dealer. I just lifted him up along with the fake floor and let the panel, and the man kneeling on top of it, hang from my right hand.
Turning to glare down at the ageing male, I asked him "Were you trying to hold the lid down? Is that why you climbed on? Did you think your weight would slow me down?" I laughed, not really interested in the answer. A flick of my wrist sent the panel, and the man on it, flying across the kitchen. It crashed down, shaking the whole house momentarily whilst the dealer rolled helplessly off, landing on his rear. Whilst he gathered himself back to his knees, I gazed down into the now open-topped box of weaponry.
There was enough firepower in there to equip a small, but pretty effective, army. I licked my lips as I looked down.
Continued next post.
Thursday 30 August 2007 17:46 BST (GMT+1)
There really was “something for everyone” in that box under the arms-dealer’s kitchen floor.
The hardest part, of course, was choosing which toy to play with first. I gazed down on the pistols and rifles and automatic weapons of all sizes. There was more at the bottom of the cache, too, but I decided to leave all that for later and start at the top, working my way down.
I turned to my host who was crawling about on the far side of the kitchen where he’d ended up after I’d tossed aside the floor panel he was kneeling on. “Come over here!” I ordered him. He gave me a nervous glance, but complied, approaching me on all fours. I nodded with my head, indicating that I wanted him to stop at my feet, which he did, craning his neck to look up at me as I towered over him, my hands on my hips.
“I need your help,” I told him. “Which of these lovely-looking toys would you recommend we play with first?”
“Play?” he asked.
I flashed out my foot, connecting gently with his shoulder, forcing him flying over onto his back. Before he could roll away, I took a quick step forward and planted the bare sole of my right foot in the centre of his chest, pinning him to the ground and constricting his lungs in one, effortless movement. I hadn’t even moved my palms from my hips.
The arms-dealer grabbed hold of my slender ankle and tried to pull my leg off his body. But as much as he strained, he was wasting his time. He couldn’t even move my dainty feminine foot a millimetre, let alone free himself. Meanwhile, I waited patiently, keeping him trapped, knowing all the while that I could have killed him at any time with the tiniest flick of my pretty toes.
As I predicted, the futile efforts he was making combined with the pain I was causing him, not to mention the suffocation, quickly exhausted him and his hands fell away in a gesture of defeat. I knew I didn’t have long to get my message across before he passed out, so I was economical with my words as I spoke, glaring down at him with my hands still planted dominantly on my sides:
“When I ask you a question, you answer it immediately,” I told him. “Otherwise…” I increased the pressure I was putting on his chest by pressing my foot down very, very slightly. He winced, but he had no air in his lungs to scream. “Understand?” I asked.
With my superhearing, I could clearly detect the creaking sound of a male rib being tested to its limit. My new friend nodded furiously to indicate that he had heard my words, but I couldn’t resist tapping him lightly with my sole to finish off the rib before I released him by raising my leg. As he gulped down air, he rubbed his chest where my foot had been, and blinked away the tears from his eyes.
I didn’t wait for him to recover. “Where were we?” I wondered out loud. “Ah, yes. On your knees!”
In obvious pain, the arms-dealer had no choice but to obey, kneeling at my feet by the edge of the huge box of weapons.
“Now, which one are we going to play with first?” I asked.
My host reached into the box with his good hand (the hand whose fingers weren’t damaged when I ripped a pistol out of them back in the corridor). I could see the pain etched on his face as he stretched. With trembling fingers, he grabbed hold of the handle of a large hand-gun and pulled it up, holding it out to me, his eyes full of terror.
Continued next post.
Friday 31 August 2007 18:42 BST (GMT+1)
The terrified arms-dealer had selected a large, powerful hand-gun from his box of illegal weapons and was holding it up for me.
I reached down towards where he was kneeling beside me, and took the firearm from his hand. This time, he didn't try to hold on to it. He'd learnt his lesson about resisting my vastly superior strength when I'd broken a couple of the fingers on his other hand… Turning the solid chunk of pistol over in my hand, I examined it with my X-ray vision.
Then I glared down at my involuntary assistant. "What's the point of this?" I demanded, angrily, tapping my foot.
The dealer looked up at me, his face an amusing picture of abject fear, his eyes wide like a drowning puppy, pleading with me not to cause him any further pain. I could tell he was desperately trying to think of an answer that wouldn't dissatisfy me.
"It… It… It's the second most powerful hand-gun on the market!" he blurted, falling back on a standard sales-pitch.
"Not when it's unloaded," I pointed out. I held the gun down towards him so that he could take it back. "Sort it out or I'll crush every single bone in your puny male body to powder. Quickly!"
He reached up and took the gun, wincing as he used his wounded hand to open the chamber. There were a few more gasps of pain as he stretched into his under-floor cache to locate a box of clips. Then, panting with nerves, he rushed to load the gun, fighting against the violent trembling of both his hands. As soon as he was done, he held the weapon up to me.
I grabbed it from his hand, only causing him minor bruising to the palm. "You'll have to do it quicker than that if you want to stay alive," I informed him. "Oh, and the next time I order you to hand me a weapon and you give me something that isn't loaded, I'll fry your genitals. Like this:" I narrowed my eyes and unleashed my heat-vision, focussing a low-strength beam of energy from my pupils onto the ground a few inches from the dealer's knees.
The ceramic tiles glowed red where my lasers touched them. As the extreme heat spread over the floor, my host jumped back with a cry, frantically blowing on the palms of his hands. I cut off the beams by blinking. He turned slowly from his hands to look at me with renewed awe. And renewed terror. Pleased with his discomfort, I gave him a smile.
Then I turned my attention to the big hand-gun. "So," I said, looking at the gun, but addressing the man at my feet. "This is the one you recommended as an appetiser. You'll be hoping that I agree with your selection. Because if I don't, it's going to be very painful for you."
I held the weapon by its handle, turning it round in my grasp, pointing the barrel at my body. I heard my companion catch his breath as I slowly raised the big pistol, tracing the end of it over the magnificent swell of my chest, up past my neck. Slowly, I parted my luscious thick lips, opening my mouth wide. I pushed the tip of the weapon's barrel between the two perfect rows of my exposed teeth and sensuously sealed my lips around it.
I had to be careful not to crush the steel with my soft, sexy lips as I pulled it unhurriedly into and out of my mouth for a few seconds. The eroticism of the moment was not lost on my audience. Without even looking, I could hear and smell his growing arousal as I pretended to fellate the hand-gun. I turned my face down towards him and gave him a little wink just before activating the trigger.
The hot gases that filled my mouth in the instants before the bullet emerged nearly tickled me. Then, a flash of flame warmed my tongue. Finally, the shot itself tore from the end of the barrel. It slammed into the back of my throat (quite a pleasant, tingling feeling) and rebounded back into my mouth, hitting the surface of my tongue (also a reasonably enjoyable sensation), bouncing into the roof of my mouth (not bad) and finally down onto my tongue again (a bit flat by then, to be honest).
I swallowed the hot lump of lead in a single gulp, and then pulled out the gun, letting the smoke curl from my mouth. Down by my feet, the kneeling arms-dealer looked up at my face with stunned amazement.
"Not bad," I told him. I opened my mouth wide again and thrust the gun inside once more. This time, I bit down, clamping my superhuman jaws down on the steel, my lovely teeth slicing through the machined metal as if it were half-molten ice-cream. A couple of chews and I had reduced half of the barrel of the big pistol to an unrecognisable lump which I easily swallowed.
The next bite finished off the rest of the barrel. Then I sunk my perfect teeth into the handle, chewed and swallowed three more times to polish off every last trace of the weapon. When it was all gone, I theatrically licked my lips. "Not bad at all for an appetiser." I commented.
Then I added the immediate consequence of my approval: "You may live."
The arms-dealer probably couldn't help the audible sigh of relief caused by my words. His respite was short-lived, however. I planted my hands back on my hips and glared down on him once more.