Blogger's Archives

December 2007 - February 2008

Tuesday 4 December 2007 23:51 GMT

So, I've been telling you how I obtained the specialist equipment (that "near-invisible" and "strong" nylon rope, remember?) for my latest amusement.

At the end of my last post, I mentioned that all I needed after that was a test subject to try out my idea. It was time to find myself a new plaything. (Or, to use a more conventional label, a "man"). Regular readers will know about my preference for male toys. They're so much more fun to dominate and humiliate and damage...

Of course, acquiring one was never going to be difficult. All girls have a vast array of weapons in their armouries, all of which can successfully exploit the even-more-vast array of weaknesses in the typical male. However, the armoury that is at my own, personal disposal is the equal of any other on Earth raised to the power of several million. As a young woman in my nubile prime (apparently in perpetuity, as I don't ever seem to age), I'm already exceptionally desirable. But that is without taking into consideration my unrivalled superhuman gorgeousness and the irresistibly erotic nature of my perfect, goddess' body. Physically, I am the embodiment of sexiness. Seduction is something I do merely by being seen.

My face is more beautiful than any other; my eyes clearer and brighter, my lips fuller and richer and my teeth more sexy than any woman who has ever existed. My complexion is utterly unblemished, my skin smooth and silky. My figure defies description. No amount of exercise can produce a stomach as flat and as flawlessly subtle-muscled as mine. My rear is tighter than any and so ideally rounded, it draws gasps from those fortunate enough to catch even the most fleeting of glimpses. My arms and legs are long and slender, with fluid feminine curves, immaculately in proportion with the rest of my immaculately proportioned body.

And then we come to my breasts. "Magnificent" is too weak a word to portray such feminine physical glory. To label my chest as simply "beyond compare", whilst factually correct, is akin to saying that the core of the sun is not icy. My mounds are large twin monuments of ideal, staggeringly rounded, superhumanly firm female power, crowned with big, millions-of-times-harder-than-diamond, rose-bud-pink nipples. Positioned ideally to create a cleavage the merest hint of which can completely conquer the beholder's mind, body and soul, they sit so upstandingly on my goddess' torso, oblivious to such inferior forces as gravity, that they are not so much "proud" as "arrogant". And they have every right to be. If every one of the trillions of sexual fantasies that have ever played out in the minds of humanity were somehow to be distilled into the pure essence of eroticism, the result would probably be my breasts.

All of which explains why finding a new toy was so easy. I merely put on a sweatshirt that did not hide the dramatic shape of my upper-body and a pair of tight jeans and walked out of my house towards the street. Standing in the entrance to my driveway, I had to wait all of fifty seconds for a suitable candidate to come along. I graciously allowed him to finish his multiple up-and-down scans of me, listening to his thumping heartbeat until finally I caught his eye. With a finger, I beckoned him towards me, and he obeyed as though hypnotised. Some girls like to use a corny line to pick up a guy. I prefer to use a hand under his chin. It's a much more effective means of demonstrating who is in charge.

And that's how I carried him back into my house, gripping him under the mouth too tightly for him to scream or shout, letting his feet dangle about a foot from the ground as I strolled inside, his entire body hanging from my delicate-looking hand. Until, that is, I closed the door behind me. Then I pulled my palm away and let him collapse at my feet.

"Congratulations!" I sneered down at him."You're mine."

Continued next post.

Wednesday 5 December 2007 17:22 GMT

Last post, I 'paused' the narrative just after I'd picked up a man (in both senses of the expression "picked up"), brought him into my house and dropped him at my feet.

Predictably, it took a little while for him to gather himself up a bit, and rub his chin which was bruised from where I'd been carrying him. Even more predictably, once he'd done inspecting the damage he'd incurred in transit, he had some questions for me. The usual questions. Questions I get asked on a daily basis, over and over and over again. You know: "How did you do that?", "Who are you?", "What are you?", "What are you doing to me?" and so on. Like I said: the usual questions.

If I had a penny for every time some terrified, awestruck or pain-wracked male asked me one of those, I'd be… Well, the old cliché doesn't quite work for me. I'm rich anyway. Just the other day, I flew through a mile of solid rock underneath the centre of a major city and burst up through the thick concrete and steel floor of a bank vault. To me it was a bit like a normal person diving into a swimming pool and re-surfacing, only I did it quicker, using far less effort and a million times more gracefully. The police are still looking for what they believe is a gang of twenty fit strong men. Apparently, at least that number of criminals would have been needed to cut or drill (they can't work out how it was done) through the fronts of a thousand steel safety deposit boxes, remove their contents and haul it all away inside a minute.

Money's no problem for me. It's not as though I ever actually have to pay for anything I want. If I see something that interests me, I just help myself. The fun part comes when someone objects. Then I get to enjoy myself as well.

Anyway, I mentioned the repetitive questions I keep getting asked. I once met a guy who had become so fed up being asked the same things by strangers that he got some cards printed with the answers. As soon as someone started to pose any variation on the usual enquiry, he'd thrust a card into their hands to save himself the bother of verbally responding with the same overly-worn explanation. (Incidentally, did you know that a simple business card, if thrown correctly with sufficient force, can be a highly effective, and completely lethal weapon? That fact came as quite a shock to the "answers-are-on-this-card" guy when I demonstrated it. Although, I must say, he did look funny with one of his answer-cards three-quarters embedded in his forehead…)

I once thought briefly about smashing into a printing plant. I had a vague plan; something like lifting a multi-ton press over my head and tossing it through a wall or compressing it into a small, ultra-dense lump of metal in my hands first and then tossing it through a wall. After that, I was going to force the workers to make me some "answer cards" of my own. Something along the lines of:

"I'm a superhuman goddess with powers that are beyond the capabilities of your puny mind to comprehend. I'm strong enough to move planets and so completely invulnerable that a nuclear warhead exploding against my body doesn't even tickle. I can produce lasers with my eyes that instantly vaporise steel and I can generate five-thousand-miles-an-hour winds merely by blowing. I can see through anything, view with vastly greater detail than any microscope, hear a pin drop ten miles away and find a single man in a crowded city just from his individual smell. I can move at almost the speed of light. I don't ever need air or water or food or sleep. And I can fly."

It would need to be rather small print. Besides, most ordinary people would never believe all that until I demonstrate it. That's why I only thought about the idea briefly. In the end, I came up with my own method for dealing with tiresome, repetitive questions.

I put my method to good use when the man I'd picked up from the street tried to lift himself up off the floor of my entrance hall, and started to ask "How did you do that?".

Rather than hand him some card, I just commanded "Silence, male!" and swiped the back of my right hand casually in his direction, making contact with his flank. An instant later, he was airborne, screaming as he flew sideways-on across the big hall. He hit the far wall about a yard above the floor, sliding down onto his rear.

As he started to come back round, I was already standing over him, my hands on my hips, glaring down on him. Moaning, and clearly in considerable pain, he rubbed his head. Gradually the focus returned to his eyes and he looked up at me, partly in shock, but mostly in fear. "Next time you speak without my permission," I informed him, "you die. Understood?"

He nodded vigorously.

And that concluded the "training" phase of our relationship.

Continued next post.

Thursday 13 December 2007 23:48 GMT

It's been a whole week since my last post, so I suppose a recap is in order.

In case you don't remember, I'd thought up yet another wonderful new game. In preparation, I'd visited a factory and taken away a couple of lengths of specialist, ultra-"strong", thick, nearly-"invisible" nylon rope. And then I'd picked up a toy to play with, brought him home and backhanded him clean across my huge entrance hall to teach him not to speak out of turn.

The backhand (a completely effortless, casual swipe of my hand for me, and a spectacular, painful flight across the room for him) left him dazed. Whilst he was still trying to recover from it, I moved at superspeed, running through my house to where I'd left my new nylon rope, and carrying back two sixty meter lengths. I didn't need to go especially fast, but even at a comfortable pace, I was able to run upstairs and return, special cord in hand, In the time it took my toy to blink twice.

Standing over the still prostrate man, I commanded him "Hold out your arm!"

There was a moment's hesitation. Not long enough for me to demonstrate the consequences of non-obedience with another slap or something even more painful, more just a brief pause whilst my instruction filtered through the fog of his mind. Soon enough, he rather pathetically raised his right arm, the hand at the end of it trembling wildly. I put that down to fear, and smiled, pleased to see the effect I had on him.

Inside one tenth of a second, my hands (I assume) just a blur to my audience, I tied the end of one of the nylon ropes around his wrist, pulling the knot as tight as the cord would allow without snapping. That was many hundred times too tight for my toy if he'd hoped to undo the rope by himself. Satisfied with the binding, I demanded "And now the other arm!"

Again, it took him a second or two to respond. Again, he obeyed completely in the end. I attached a second length of nylon cord around his other wrist. I collected the two attached ropes, gripping them both, about three yards along from his hands, in my left fist. And then I strolled quickly through my house towards the garden.

Of course, as I walked, the two lengths of cord soon became taut. The male had no choice but to let himself be dragged along behind me. "Hey! Ouch!" he shouted as I jerked him forwards onto his stomach and then hauled him through several rooms as if I was pulling a legless dog on a leash. Naturally with the limitless strength in my beautiful feminine body, I didn't notice any resistance as his bulky form scraped over tiles and carpets. I just walked, comfortably briskly, out to the garden, with my toy helplessly in tow.

Continued next post.

Tuesday 15 January 2008 20:58 GMT

It's been a while since my last post. A long, long while.

In fact, it's been a lot longer than you think. You should count yourselves lucky that you've only had a wait of precisely one month since the last entry. If you look at the dates at the top of each post, it really looks as if I've only been "away" for thirty-one days. And yet, the truth is, I've been on a journey whose scale would blow your mind.

No, I didn't go far. Well, not "far" by my standards anyway. Sure, as part of my amazing journey I went further from home than anyone reading this will ever go, but, of course, I go where no man can go in the course of a typical morning. From my superhuman perspective, there was nothing especially remarkable about the distance I covered. What made my trip so astonishing was not the number of miles it involved, but rather, the number of centuries .

Yes, that's right. I said "centuries". Whilst you have lived a month, I have lived hundreds of years. Don't worry, it was almost exclusively fun. When you possess strength without any apparent limit, goddess-like invulnerability, the power to fly and dozens of other fabulous superhuman abilities as I do, it's hard not to have fun all the time. Besides, I wasn't alone on my epic trip.

And, of course, I'm as fresh, young and full of endless energy as when I last posted, four-and-a-half weeks ago by the calendar (or six hundred years in real terms). I always suspected that, in addition to my other amazing powers, I would have an immunity to ageing. Now, I'm pleased to say I was right. After half-a-dozen centuries, I don't look a second older. I'm still as physically perfect as ever.

In six hundred years I've not gained a single wrinkle. Nor have I sustained even the tiniest scratch on my flawless, sexy skin. Nothing I've encountered, from the "mightiest" (ha!) forces of the universe to the most "devastating" (ha ha!) weaponry on Earth has managed to leave any kind of blemish on my glorious body. Quite simply, it seems that nothing powerful enough to harm me exists. No, nothing, any where or any time .

You can probably imagine how much I chortled when I got back last night and saw various e-mails and forum messages speculating on my absence, hypothesising that I had been hurt (tee hee) or even (it's hard to type this as I'm rocking with laughter so much) defeated. Me! Defeated!

I guess some people still don't get it. For their benefit (and because I always enjoy the reiteration) I'll explain it once more: I'm invincible. I'm invulnerable. I'm all-powerful. I can do anything I want and nothing and nobody can stop me. Just because I don't post a blog entry for a week or a month or six hundred years, my total superiority remains constant and unopposable. I'm always somewhere, being vastly more powerful than everything around me. Always.

Now, I'm sure you want to hear all about my remarkable journey, my in-turns-willing-and-unwilling companion and the wonderful time I had in some fascinating and unexpected circumstances whilst being (as usual) supremely dominant throughout. Well, sadly (for you) I don't feel like telling the story right now, and, as I made clear in the previous paragraph, I'm far too superior to ever do anything I don't fancy doing, even if the rest of the population of Earth were to (somehow) combine forces to try and make me.

So, instead, in my next post, I'll be resuming the tale I was midway through before my recent period of on-line absence. (Remember? The special "invisible" rope and the man I captured to play with...)

Maybe I'll tell you about my latest adventure sometime soon.


Wednesday 16 January 2008 23:47 GMT

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, it's been six hundred years since I broke off telling you all about the little game I played with the "near invisible" nylon rope and a man-toy.

As you can no doubt imagine, quite a lot has happened in the meantime. But don't worry, the game is as clear in my superhuman memory as it was the day it happened. Just as standing in the heart of a raging supernova doesn't seem to singe even a single perfect hair on my perfect head, so half-a-dozen centuries filled with events haven't seemed to affect my perfect recall.

Of course, for the readers of this page, it's only been a month rather than six hundred years. But whereas I am a superhuman female, most of those readers are just ordinary males. So, for the benefit of their relatively puny brains, here is a quick recap:

I'd broken into a warehouse and helped myself to several lengths of a specialist nylon rope. The rope is much stronger than standard cord and is as-good-as invisible to the normal (that's to say "non-super") eye. Having brought the rope home, I then went out and got myself a toy (or "man" to use the biological term).

You may remember how I seduced him, hypnotising him with nothing but the irresistibly sexy beauty of my stunning figure and my gorgeous smile so that when I beckoned him with a finger, he followed me in a trance. Then, once we were out of sight, I just picked him up and carried him into my house. Then I gave him a gentle slap (barely enough to send him flying across the room, his feet only leaving the floor for a few seconds) to convince him not to speak out of turn. After that, I'd tied a length of nylon rope to each of his wrists. Taking hold of the other end of the two lengths, I dragged my toy through the house, out into the garden, with him scraping helplessly along the carpets and tiles as I pulled.

And that's where I left off before my unexpected lengthy break.

Back to the story...

Once out in the garden, I was free to use my powers of flight. Not that I wasn't able to use them indoors, but floating twenty feet up would have meant me smashing through the ceiling. Now, normally I wouldn't have a problem with that. Even steel-reinforced concrete ceilings crumble and shatter instantly against my superhuman skull, and of course it never hurts me in the slightest. Plus, smashing through ceilings is fun, and there's often the extra amusement of seeing people hurt by the resulting debris. But this was my house and my ceiling, and I didn't want it smashed. So, like I said, I waited till I'd dragged my toy into the garden before taking flight.

As I rose, the nylon ropes in my hands became taught. The other ends of those ropes, still fastened to the male's wrists, rose too. My toy's arms were soon pulled over his head. I continued to float effortlessly upwards, yanking him up onto his feet, not even noticing the extra strain. Just before I lifted him clean off the ground, I stopped, hovering dead-still in mid-air.

For a while, I enjoyed myself raising and lowering the cords, making the male's arms rise and fall. Then, he seemed to make a conscious decision to rebel against me by keeping his arms overhead even when I lowered the ropes, letting the cords go slack instead of resting his limbs. I knew he'd quickly grow tired of holding his arms up like that, but I wanted instant and total control of him. After all, my plan when I had stolen the rope and captured the male was to make a human puppet.

Luckily, I soon had a terrific idea that would ensure I got just what I wanted. I'd tell you about it right now, but as I'm typing my superhearing has picked up the sound of two young men fighting in a side-street half a mile away, so I'm off to have a laugh beating up the pair of them. And if they're good-looking, I might even take things up a level from there...

Anyway, I'll reveal my great human-puppet-making idea in my next post.

Thursday 17 January 2008 16:58 GMT

Those two young men in the alley were a lot of fun, but very messy.

It's remarkable how much stuff can come out of a male's fragile body when I'm enjoying myself: sweat, drool, tears, blood, semen... I was glad I decided to strip naked before I swooped down on them, otherwise a perfectly decent set of clothes might have been ruined. Fortunately, all I needed was a nice, boiling bath afterwards to leave my lovely skin as flawless and silky as ever. As for the men, well, even if they do have baths in Intensive Care, they'll never be like they were before they met me. Certain wounds never heal and certain bits never grow back. But that's OK: They're only men. There's plenty more where they came from.

Anyway, last time I said I'd reveal my ingenious puppet-making idea. If you remember, I'd brought home a male and tied "near-invisible" ropes around each of his wrists. Hovering twenty feet above him, holding the other end of those ropes, all I had to do was pull to make him raise his arms. The trouble was that sometimes, when I lowered my end, he kept his arms in the air and let the ropes go slack instead of the arms just dropping as they would with a normal puppet.

And that's where my idea came into play. Dropping down from the sky with all the glorious fluid, feminine grace you'd expect from a physically perfect goddess, I landed on my bare feet right in front of my confused and awe-struck toy, dropping my ends of the ropes as I came down. Whilst he gasped (partially because of his amazement at my controlled defiance of gravity, but mostly because of the sudden sight of my beauty at such close range) I lifted my hands and placed them, oh so gently, on his shoulders.

Barely had he noticed the feather-light, silky, womanly touch of my palms when I started to lean my face towards his. As I invitingly pushed out my luscious, red lips I could detect the various involuntary responses of his body; the pounding of his heart, the rasping of his breath, the widening of his eyes and, of course, the tightening of his trousers. And my lips were still several inches away from his!

He seemed to be in a trance again. I'm just so sexy that he became lost in his lust for me as I moved in to kiss him. Males are so easy to control! As soon as my perfect lips made contact with his, he started to tremble, driven almost to the verge of an orgasm through such minor contact. I pressed my mouth against his, but took care not to put any force in the kiss (I didn't want to crush his jaw to sticky paste).

There are times, quite frequent times in fact, when I swear I can feel a male giving up his entire spirit and surrendering his very being to my erotic beauty. But I wasn't interested in this creature. Not in that way anyway. I was only kissing him because it's an extremely effective way of silencing a man's screams. OK, OK. I confess: I was also enjoying the extreme effect I had on his hormones, chuckling to myself as I thought of how quickly and dramatically his mind-set was about to change...

Just before he actually started to cum in his underwear, I used my fingers, which were still lying on his shoulders, to give him a gentle squeeze. Nothing spectacular, but then I can effortlessly crush solid steel to vapour between my delicate-looking feminine digits. My toy was nothing like as resilient as steel and his bones yielded like brittle dry earth to my easy touch. That's where the screaming came in, muffled, as I mentioned, by my smothering kiss. The sounds of bone and muscle crumbling and tearing nearly made me smile, but I kept my lips locked over his until he was too exhausted to yell anymore.

Then I just dropped my hands by my side and broke off the kiss. Now I could smile as broadly as I wanted. Looking at the tears of pain running down the creature's face, examining the big, dark bruises already appearing on his shoulders with the help of my fabulous X-ray vision and thinking how horny I'd made him just instants before, my grin grew and grew.

"My arms!" he half-wept, half-croaked. It never ceases to amaze me how weak these creatures are! I'd partially crushed his shoulders, not his vocal chords, yet to hear him you'd think I'd had my fingers on his throat, not the top of his arms. "I.. I can't m-move them!" he blubbed, hoarsely.

"Of course you can't!" I laughed at him. "That's the whole point!"

I was still giggling as I picked up the ends of the cords again and floated back up into the air high above him to test the little modification I'd made to my toy. Sure enough, now when I raised the ropes his arms came up and when I lowered them, they fell immediately, exactly as I wanted. There was the slight annoyance of his cries of pain every time I caused his arms to move, but I decided to ignore that for the time being.

"Excellent!" I announced, pronouncing my verdict on my work. Delighted, I started to descend back to the ground once more. I was half-way to making my puppet.

"Now for your legs..." I grinned.

Continued next post.

Friday 18 January 2008 21:33 GMT

I love all of my amazing superpowers.

Regular readers of this blog probably know that by now. Using my wonderful abilities on a stunned and helpless universe never seems to grow dull. I love being able to do things that everyone else can only dream about. And I love seeing the way they react when I do: the shock, the fear, the awe...

Of course, part of the fun is choosing which power to use and when. A good example would be my man-puppet. When I first attached the "strings" to his wrists, I did it with superspeed so that I was nothing but the faintest of blurs to him. One micro-instant I wasn't there, the next I was standing next to him having tied the two lengths of nylon rope around the end of his arms. It took him about ten times as long to figure out what had happened than it had taken me to fetch the rope, cut two pieces and attach them.

When it came to the strings for his ankles, however, the element of surprise wasn't there. He'd already had plenty of time to experience what I had done to his wrists and, besides, I'd actually told him that I was about to take care of his legs. Tying those two lengths at superspeed wouldn't have been nearly as enjoyable. So I took my time.

"Stay there." I commanded my toy as I stepped away from him. "I'm just going into the house to fetch the ropes for your ankles. I won't be long."

Of course, I knew that he wouldn't stay. After what I'd done to his shoulders, and everything else he'd seen of me, there was absolutely no chance of that. As I made my way leisurely through the house to where I'd left the boxes containing the rest of the special rope, I watched him through the walls using my X-ray vision. Exactly like I predicted, he wasted a couple of seconds glancing all around himself, and then ran towards the far end of my massive garden. Needless to say, he ran as fast as he could. And equally needless to say, by my speed standards he may as well have remained stationary.

I made no effort to hurry. I knew there was precisely zero chance of him escaping me. If he'd somehow pulled a rocket-ship out of his pocket and blasted off for the stars, I still could have caught him with ease. As it was, his pathetic attempt at running was the best he could manage. When I returned to the garden, I merely rose up off the ground and lazily floated towards him, flying over his head with less effort than he would have needed to blink. I landed, completely unhurriedly about five yards in front of him.

"Oh shit, no!" he panted as he saw me. "I... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

I just laughed. He should have realised that I'd deliberately offered him the chance to run purely so that I could recapture him and punish him for disobeying me.

"I'm afraid 'sorry' isn't good enough," I chuckled. "I'm going to have to teach you a lesson."

He started to sob. "Please... no..." he begged.

"Don't be so pathetic!" I chided.

"Wh... What are you going to do to me?" he asked, tearfully.

"Hmmmm," I said, putting a finger on my chin as if pondering his punishment. "What am I going to do? Oh yes. I know!"

Continued next post.

Monday 21 January 2008 20:54 GMT

So I was telling you all about how I made my man-puppet.

When I left off at the end of my last post, I'd just gone to fetch the nylon ropes to attach to his ankles. Having tricked my toy into thinking he had an opportunity to escape, I then completely dashed his hopes, catching him in the act of fleeing. That was fun in itself, but not as much fun as observing his terror as I pretended to think up a punishment for his disobedience.

Of course, it was all an act. I knew before he'd even started to run what the penalty was going to be. In fact, if for some strange reason he hadn't tried to run away, I'd have had to invent some other reason for punishing him, such as, oh, I don't know... Say, staring at my perfect goddess' body for too long. Or being too weak. Or too fragile. Or just for being a male.

You see, having conducted those few experiments with his arms, I already knew before I attached the ropes to his ankles that I needed to make a few "adjustments" to his legs first. I wanted my puppet to respond exactly to my control without making any movements of its own. Just as I had "tweaked" his arms to preventing him from moving them himself merely by gently crushing his shoulders, so I needed to similarly modify his legs.

So, one way or the other, I would have found a way to "punish" him. As it happened, he fell for my little "don't go anywhere when I turn my back" trap so I didn't even have to be creative. I smiled, and announced imperiously, with more than a little hint of triumph in my voice: "For trying to run from me, your punishment will be that you'll never run to, or from, anything, ever again!"

Then, barely suppressing a giggle, I unleashed my heat-vision, firing two very brief and precisely-aimed bursts into each of his hips in turn. So quick and surgical were my lasers, the male didn't even yell. He merely collapsed to the ground as if his legs had suddenly vanished.

In fact, they hadn't vanished. They were still there, attached to his torso, no different in appearance from a moment before. But now, thanks to the precision and power of my effortlessly-applied heat-vision, they no longer responded to the commands generated by his confused, feeble male brain.

"Get up!" I commanded, looking down on him contemptuously.

He groaned and wriggled on my lawn at my feet for a few moments and then, looking up at me, his eyes full of fear and supplication, pathetically confessed "I... I can't!"

"Oh poor you!" I mocked. "How's a big strong man like you going to escape from a little girl-" (I couldn't help putting my hands on my hips and leaning slightly forward, thrusting out my gloriously rounded, superhumanly-firm bust at that point, just in case he didn't get the full implication of the word 'girl') "- like me, if you can't even stand up?"

There was no reply from the mass of useless limbs at my feet. I shook my head at it, tutting in fake sympathy. "Oh well," I sighed. "Too bad for you!" was my cheerful summary of his plight.

"Wh- What have you done to me?" my toy demanded, tearfully (as much as any creature lying helplessly on the ground, crying like a child, can 'demand' anything).

"Nothing that you or anyone else could have done to me," I replied, deliberately enigmatically, enjoying the way I was able to add confusion to the fear, awe and lust I had already inspired. Even though my little "man-puppet" game was all about me gaining control of his limbs, and without any particular effort, it was clear that I had already taken full command of his profoundest emotions. Power, when you have it in unlimited supply, is wonderful!

I took my time tying two new lengths of my special nylon rope around my toy's ankles. Every so often as I worked, I caught his eye and gave him a little wink or a sexy pout. Being just a man, he couldn't help responding to my irresistible femininity, his organ growing firm even as the rest of him trembled in terror.

But, all too soon, I was done. Having played with his mind by bringing him simultaneously to the extremes of both sexual yearning and fear, I decided I'd had enough mental games. Now, I was in the mood to completely dominate him in a different way for a while. I fancied something more physical.

It was time to "test-drive" my man-puppet.

Continued next post.

Tuesday 22 January 2008 20:57 GMT

I had almost everything I needed to play my game: a floppy "puppet" and four strings (one for each arm and one for each leg).

The only thing I lacked was something to which I could attach my end of the cords which would allow me to manipulate four strings with two hands. Puppeteers normally use short pieces of wood. Casting my superhuman eyes around, ignoring the helpless creature on the lawn at my feet, I spotted a length of metal piping on the wall of a house down the street. "That'll do," I thought.

Three seconds later, I was once again standing over my puppet, a length of freshly torn-off pipe in my hand.

Here's what happened during those three seconds: I rose goddess-like into the air and then, effortlessly, shot towards the house I'd seen. I flew at a relaxed pace, only about ten times too fast for ordinary people to see me, staying around twenty feet from the ground all the way. When I reached my target, I slowed from faster-than-a-bullet to dead-still in the space of half an inch.

Supposedly, such sudden decelerations subject my stunning body to "extreme forces", but, to be honest, I didn't feel anything. I just reached for the pipe I'd decided to make my own, curled my pretty, feminine fingers around it and gave the most gentle of tugs. The metal screamed as I tore a chunk of it free. Then I was off, back to my own garden, landing in exactly the spot from which I'd left, two and three-quarter seconds before. Only now I was holding a length of steel tubing.

Squeezing the pipe in my deceptively strong hands, I remoulded the steel as if it were a child's modelling clay. I compressed the tube between my palms, the metal yielding to even the lightest of my touches as I transformed it, reducing its diameter and increasing its length. Then, with the simplest twisting of my delicate-looking wrists, I snapped it in half.

The next task was to attach a length of cord to each end of the two pieces of modified piping I now had. There were no obvious places to tie the nylon rope, so I created them by poking my finger right through the steel four times. It was as easy as sticking my finger in half-molten ice cream.

In no time at all, I had secured all four ropes. Holding a metal bar with two lengths of cord attached to it in each hand, I once again took to the air, floating carefully above my puppet until the nylon lines became taut. With his legs no longer responding to his brain, he was still lying on the ground. Carefully, I lifted the bar with the two ropes attached to his arms higher whilst keeping other bar (the one with the cords tied to his ankles) at the same height. My puppet was utterly helpless to do anything but let himself be pulled towards vertical. If he weighed anything, and I guess that, technically, he must have done, I didn't feel it as I pulled. Then again, I have limitless strength...

I just kept on raising the "wrists" bar until he was "standing", with his arms held (by me) straight over his head. Then I carefully lowered his wrists, letting his arms drop until his hands were in a more natural-looking position in front of his waist, all the while making sure I kept him balanced on his feet.

In less than a minute, I got the hang of keeping him stable without needing to make him lift his arms. Now I was ready to try making him walk.

I'll tell you about that in my next post.

Wednesday 23 January 2008 14:46 GMT

Once I'd mastered the knack of keeping my puppet balanced and "standing" in a natural-looking way on his feet, making him "walk" was easy.

Each of my petite hands was gripping the centre of one of the two short metal bars I'd created. You'll recall how a length of near-invisible nylon cord was tied to each end of each of the bars, with my puppet attached by his wrists and ankles to the far end of the four ropes. One metal bar's lines were tied to his arms and the other to his legs. As I was holding the middle of each bar, I merely had to twist my slender, phenomenally powerful wrist to lift or lower whichever one of the puppet's limbs I chose.

Obviously, the weight of a mere man didn't even register at the end of my long, shapely arms. I simply hovered in mid-air, making him move his arms and legs according to my whims. A tiny movement of my delicate-looking wrist and his left foot lifted from the lawn, his knee bending to accommodate the taut rope. I stretched my arm a little forward, causing his raised leg to move in front of him. Then I lowered his foot back down to the ground. After that, I repeated the process with his right leg.

Soon enough, I had him marching down my garden. I found that a gentle movement of the other bar, to make his arms swing in mirrored-sync with his legs whilst he walked kept him more balanced and made his gait appear more natural. I kept myself directly overhead all the while, floating along under my own, glorious power, thirty feet above him, laughing as I controlled his every move.

Getting him to turn was a little bit more tricky. Sure, an effortless movement of my wrist could lift his entire body several feet into the air, but that didn't look very realistic. My first attempt at getting him to turn a corner exactly as a man without strings would ended with my puppet over-spinning, screaming as his whirled helplessly, his heel drilling a few inches into the lawn. My second attempt left him off-balance and he would have fallen were it not for my fabulously strong hands holding the ropes. My third attempt, however, was perfect.

After that, it was easy. I spent a while, walking my puppet around my garden, making him step and turn, raise his hands, even skip and jump, exactly as I wanted. Of course, for an "ordinary" person, watching him from the ground, the nylon ropes would have been as good as invisible. My puppet would have appeared to have been strolling and moving just like any other man.

There was only one problem: an irritating noise. It was almost as if my toy was rusty. Every time·I manipulated either of the two strings attached to his wrists, he groaned in pain. No doubt it had something to do with the way I'd crushed his shoulders, effortlessly obliterating muscles under my fingers. But the gasps of agony that accompanied every movement of his arms detracted from the puppet show I was giving.

If he had really been rusty, I could have applied some lubricant. Instead, I gave a tug on both sets of strings, yanking my puppet from the ground and bringing him, screaming, straight up into the sky towards me. I didn't pull particularly hard, but he still would have shot right past me had I not transferred both metal bars to my left hand, freeing up my right to reach out and grab my toy by the throat as he flew by.

Holding him around the neck, tightly enough to stop him breathing, I brought his terrified, reddening face close to the flawless beauty of my own, stern, features. "Your constant moaning is ruining my fun, male." I scolded him. His eyes grew large with renewed terror. He was obviously fearing painful punishment. Unable to speak with my hand clamped over his throat, he did his pleading with his bulging eyes. I returned the desperate stare with a contemptuous sneer. "Pathetic creature!" I scoffed.

A tear formed in the corner of his right eye. Still his swollen eyeballs were locked on my face, begging me to take pity. I held his face in mine as I spoke again. "Seeing as you're so feeble," I told him, "I'm changing the rules. I'm giving you three lives. Each time you scream or moan or make any noise I haven't commanded you to make, you lose one life. When the game's over, so are you. Understand?"

He could barely move his head because of my superhuman grip on his neck, but he nodded as best as he could.

"OK," I said, my face still stern. "Let's play!" I opened my fingers and let the puppet drop from my grasp. He fell groundwards and would have landed with a hefty impact were it not for his strings suddenly becoming taut an instant before he hit the lawn. He was jerked suddenly, from falling to standing, bolt upright, jarring every bone in his body.

"Ooof!" he couldn't help but let out the exclamation.

"Two lives left!" I called down to him, matter-of-factly.

Continued next post.

Thursday 24 January 2008 17:39 GMT

Now that I had (in so many senses of the word) mastered my man-puppet, the obvious thing to do was to go out and have some fun with it.

I knew that no-one would spot the supposedly "near-invisible" nylon strings, but I didn't fancy operating my toy out in the open during daylight hours. Even if no-one guessed I had anything to do with the puppet, being spotted hovering in mid-air twenty-five feet above the pavement would distract too much from the show I wanted to put on with my man-toy. So I had two options: either wait for dark or find somewhere with suitable overhead cover.

As you should know by now, I'm far too powerful and far too gorgeous to wait. My local park, with its tree-lined paths, seemed an ideal location for puppet-practice. I was tempted to "walk" my toy there, but I would have been too exposed floating overhead as we went down the streets. No-one would have paid any attention to the male whilst they could look at the most beautiful girl in the world calmly defying the "unbreakable" (ha ha!) laws of gravity. And then, there would have been all that screaming as I preserved my comfortable, low-profile life of anonymity by eliminating all the witnesses...

In the end, I decided to carry my puppet to the park, and play with it there. So, I floated down to my lawn, landing right next to my toy. Casually, I wrapped my left arm around his waist, hugging him tightly to my flank. Then, I took to the air once more, carrying my puppet with me. My curvaceous hip pushed hard into his thigh as I flew us quickly upwards, but that was minor compared to the way the outer curve of my left breast pressed into the side of his torso. Maintaining my grip on him, I could actually hear his rib-cage creaking as it was forced to bend, almost to shattering-point, by the side of my magnificent bosom.

Enjoying the feeling of his masculine body yielding to my perfect feminine curves, I didn't loosen the one-armed hug, continuing to hold him tightly against my stunningly erotic, superhumanly firm body. I took us straight up to a height of about a thousand feet where we were safe from casual observers on the ground. Of course, despite the pain he must've been experiencing, not to mention the terror and physical discomfort of our rapid ascent, the male didn't dare yell or moan. Under the terms of the game I'd created for him, crying out in agony or fear twice more would be fatal for him.

He didn't even scream as I changed direction, zipping across the sky, staying parallel with the streets far below, dragging him with me, the side of his chest almost being crushed completely by the outside of my mound. Once we were over the park, I started to descend, fast enough to ensure that we remained unnoticed. Of course, I slowed at the last instant before we hit the ground, but my puppet was so terrified, and so afraid of making noise, that he bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood.

I giggled at the site of him when I finally released him from my embrace. Immediately, he gasped for the fresh air that my hug had prevented him taking. While he panted, my X-ray vision revealed, under his clothes, the extensive dark bruising where my breast had pressed against his flank. My beautiful bright eyes also saw the erection he was sporting for me. I smiled at it, proud of that fact that even while my wonderful body had been causing him agony, he had remained helpless to prevent himself responding to its superhuman sexiness.

I mentioned above that I don't do "waiting". At that moment, I wanted to start playing with my toy. I didn't care if it had recovered sufficiently or not from its ordeal. I left it standing on the grass, took the metal bars attached to its ropes in my hands, and floated up into the sky above him, using the tops of trees to keep me out of sight of any passers-by. In seconds, the four nylon lines were taut, and I was in full puppet-mistress mode once more, making my toy "stroll" along a quiet stretch of park pathway.

You know, it's quite amazing just how much trouble a single male can get into just taking a walk in the park. Especially when his every move is being made for him by an all-powerful, staggeringly-beautiful girl. In my next post, I'll reveal some of the funnier moments...

Monday 28 January 2008 23:38 GMT

I chose the ideal time to take my man-puppet to the park.

It was an overcast, cold but dry weekday afternoon. On a sunny weekend, there would have been too many people about, leading to unwanted witnesses. On a wet day, there would have been almost no-one to interact with my toy. The day I picked had an ideal balance.

I selected a quiet path where someone walked by on average every five minutes or so. Having set my puppet up, I floated up overhead, rising imperiously above the ordinary world until the strings I was holding were taut. My toy was powerless to do anything but stand there and wait for me to start moving his limbs about according to my whims. He couldn't even cry out in protest without forfeiting my other game (and also his life). Unsurprisingly, he stayed silent.

I started to make him walk up and down a stretch of the path. Although there were plenty of trees that provided just enough cover so I could remain unnoticed up in the sky as I manipulated my puppet, I wanted to make sure that the strings which were clearly visible to my superhuman eyes were actually "near-invisible" to ordinary people. So, I "walked" my toy right past a middle-aged woman and then an elderly man, examining the two passers-by in detail from my lofty vantage point, checking their pupils for the telltale indications that either of them noticed anything unusual. They both failed to spot that the man they strolled past was being controlled by four strings in the petite, but mind-blowingly strong, hands of a gorgeous girl who was hovering twenty-five feet overhead.

Now that I was certain my puppet-game worked the way I'd planned, it was time to start having fun. The next passer-by my toy encountered as I walked him along was a boy walking a large dog. I waited for the right moment and then gave an extra big pull on the cord attached to the puppet's left ankle. My easy tug caused the male's leg to flash out, catching the dog squarely in the ribs. As the hound landed, growled and leapt, I stopped moving the puppet, giving the animal an easy target. Snarling and barking, the dog sunk his jaws into my toy's leg, extracting revenge on the thing that had hurt it.

Of course, my puppet wasn't allowed to scream, so he bit his own lip to contain his yells as the beast tore into his calf. From up above, I watched the sweat pouring onto his forehead as he fought to keep his silence.

"You deserved that, mister!" said the boy with the dog, showing no great urgency as he tried to pull his pet away. My toy, naturally, said nothing.

Eventually, the youngster calmed the animal, and dragged him away, leaving the bleeding man alone. Without leaving my station eight yards above him, I employed a quick, precise blast of my heat-vision to seal the wound in his leg so that he wouldn't leave a suspicious trail of red on the path. It goes without saying that I didn't bother asking him if he was ready. I didn't care. All that mattered was that I had him walking again within seconds of the boy and dog leaving the scene.

The next person we encountered was an enormous middle-aged man with huge arms, a massive thick neck and a misshapen nose that suggested extensive past fighting experience. I was making my puppet stroll on the opposite side of the track, so the first thing I did was steer him into the big man's path. The giant hurrumphed and side-stepped, so I copied the lateral move with my toy. This went on three or four more times with the large man's face getting more and more crimson on each occasion until, clearly not blessed with much patience, the would-be passer-by yelled "Get out of my way!"

That was my cue to raise the puppet's left arm and very gently brush it against the gorilla's shoulder. I managed to make the action look like a pathetic, failed attempt at a punch. A punch that conveyed the message "I'm weak and I don't know how to fight, but I reckon I can take you." And you can imagine how delighted I was to see the gesture being received in the spirit in which it was intended.

The big guy seemed to pause for a moment as if he didn't know whether to laugh or get furious. Fortunately, he chose the latter. I did the laughing (quietly), high above, as he roared "You stupid little wimp!" and threw a massive fist at my puppet's head. If I hadn't pulled his body back a little at the last moment to cushion the blow, it would have been an instant knockout. As it was, I heard the crunch of his jaw as the punch landed. It must've been extremely painful, because when my toy tried to close his teeth on his own tongue to stifle his instinctive yell, he bit down so hard that he drew blood.

Realising that another whack like that might fracture my puppet's skull (an unacceptable level of damage before I'd finished playing with it), I lowered the strings, making my toy fall as if he'd been completely floored by that first punch. Luckily for my man, his opponent swallowed the deception. The large man gave a satisfied grunt, noisily gathered up the saliva in his mouth and spat onto the head of his prostrate, vanquished challenger. After that he pronounced his brief judgement on the man he believed had tried to hit him: "Arsehole." Then, checking to the left, the right, in front and behind (but of course not above ) and thinking he was unobserved, he strolled off.

No sooner had he gone from sight then I lifted my puppet back to his feet. He had a big bruise and a swollen ear where that huge fist had impacted, but he was still fully conscious. I soon had him walking again.

It was a few minutes before we met anyone else. Eventually, I spotted a girl of around seventeen carrying a bag of books, presumably on her way home from college. I carefully steered my man near to her and then skillfully lifted his left arm, placing his hand precisely against the shocked young woman's breast. Then I moved the string a little to make it seem as if my puppet was copping the most outrageously indulgent feel. My toy blushed bright crimson, but he couldn't stop me doing what I wanted with his arm and hand.

The girl shrieked and jumped back. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded. My puppet couldn't answer, which the girl didn't appreciate. "I said what the hell do you think you're doing, pervert?" she cried. Again, no response. "Haven't you got anything to say for yourself, you disgusting creep?" It appeared he hadn't. "You should be locked up, freak!" The girl was working herself up nicely. "Your type make me sick! You're a disgusting, perverted piece of shit!"

Losing control of herself, she ran up to the man who had groped her and kicked out as hard as she could. Her sneakered foot connected perfectly with my puppet's crotch. I didn't move him out of the way as I thought it wouldn't be fair to spoil the girl's fun. She wasn't superpowered, her kick didn't lift the male from the ground, but it did cause him agony. The proof of that was he way he screamed as her foot fell away from his groin. He'd succeeded in suppressing screams when the dog bit him and when the gorilla punched him. But a good old kick in the balls from a young woman finally proved too much.

The girl turned and ran. Perhaps she was shocked by what she had done. Perhaps she was shocked by what he had done, or frightened of what he might do next. Whatever the reason, she was soon gone, giving me an opportunity to float down from the skies and join my tearful puppet.

"That's your last life," I reminded him, with a happy grin. "Next time you make a noise without me ordering you to make it, I get to kill you." Maybe I should have made that sound more like a threat than a mentioning of something I was looking forward to doing later, but I was having too much fun to bother with acting.

"OK," I told him. "That's enough of a break." I started to rise once more to my position twenty-five feet up. "Back to the game!"

Continued next post.

Tuesday 29 January 2008 23:43 GMT

What fun I had with my toy that day in the park!

My puppet just couldn't stop getting into mischief. Or rather, to put it more accurately, my puppet just couldn't stop me controlling his every movement from above, steering him into trouble again and again purely for my own amusement. Every time someone came walking along the path were I was playing with him, I found a way to humiliate my male, or get him hurt. Most often I managed to arrange both.

At one point, I made my puppet dance prima-ballerina-style twirls around a couple of half-drunk hooded youths. They laughed at first, until he kept twirling into them. After the forth collision they threatened him with violence if he didn't "...fuck off right now. Seriously. It ain't funny anymore." After the fifth collision, they carried out their threat, one of them punching him hard in the belly whilst the other emptied a can of lager over his head. (I had to be careful to keep the puppet-strings out of the way of the kid with the beer, but I managed it comfortably enough).

As expected of a man on a final warning not to make any noise on pain of death, my toy bore his punishment for bad ballet in complete silence. By that point, his tongue had swollen so much he couldn't bite it to keep quiet. So he sucked in his lips and closed his teeth on them instead. I could see the tears streaking down his face, but he somehow stayed mute.

He didn't even produce a sound when I made him run, probably faster than he had ever run before, straight into a six-foot-ten-inch-tall man in a rugby shirt. The impact sent the big man sprawling, but I held onto my four strings making it look as if my puppet had survived the collision without even losing his balance. The egg-chasing fan picked himself up, and very politely asked if toy-man was alright. Of course, my man couldn't speak without forfeiting his life, so he didn't answer. The big man repeated the question and my puppet, using his own initiative and his own muscles for a change, nodded.

"Well, you've just ran right into me. I think an apology is in order, don't you?" asked the man in the rugby shirt with what I can only describe as very civil menace.

My toy, as you can guess, did not offer any apology. His new friend began to narrow his eyes threateningly. Seeing that, my puppet started to desperately mouth the word "Sorry" over and over again.

"What's that? I can't hear you!" said the big guy. My man just kept silently mouthing his single-worded apology.

"Say it properly!" demanded the rugby fan. When that had no effect, he said "Then maybe I need to show you how it feels to be knocked over." And with that, he raised his arms, placing his big palms on my puppet's chest, and shoved him backwards.

I kept the strings taut, holding my man in place despite the hefty push. I could hear the air being forced from his lungs under those large hands, but I kept the puppet bolt upright. The big man looked perplexed. He paused for the moment, before apparently making a decision: namely, to try harder to push over my toy. With renewed vigour he shoved the puppet's torso. I'm no mind-reader, but I am the most accurate and sensitive detector of bodily-signs in existence. I know exactly how badly my man was wishing for permission to cry out in pain as his organs were squeezed by the man he'd collided with. His desperate yearning just to be allowed to scream in agony made me smile.

"Why won't you fall over?" the pusher demanded of the pushee. The former grunted as he tried once more. Of course, for all the rugby-fan's efforts, with me controlling the strings at the end of my long, slender, shapely, super-strong arms, the puppet simply could not be knocked over. That didn't stop the big man causing all kinds of bruising as he shoved and shoved against my toy's body. I realised that more serious damage was becoming a distinct, imminent likelihood, so I finally relaxed the cords and let rugby-man shove my male over at last.

"There. See how you like it," announced the big guy brushing off his hands. I simply waited the thirty seconds for him to walk briskly away and then effortlessly yanked my puppet back onto his feet for more fun.

Continued next post.

Wednesday 30 January 2008 17:43 GMT

Some things are not easy, even for me, a goddess of seemingly unlimited power.

Obviously, I'm not talking about defeating a well-equipped army, or lifting an aircraft-carrier out of the sea or surviving a nuclear bomb blast from point-blank range or being irresistibly sexy. All those things are easy for me. What I'm referring to are the challenges of putting certain concepts into words. Describing, through this blog, the true extent of, say, my endless power over the world I live in, is far from easy. Quite simply, the words do not exist in any language to convey such extremes.

For example, I could tell you that it was enjoyable thinking up ways I could get my puppet into difficulties with passers-by. But "enjoyable" is a weak word, designed for weaklings. It doesn't depict the sheer thrill of power I feel whenever I'm considering my next move. At times like those, it's as if the whole solar system is a big box of toys laid out for me to play with in whatever way I fancy. As you can probably imagine, that's quite a feeling!

The knowledge that my powers and my fabulous strength mean I can do just about anything, and that my invulnerability means I can do it with complete impunity, is a constant underlying theme accompanying all my thought-processes. So if I say I was enjoying thinking up new interactions with each person my puppet encountered in the park, what I really mean is that I was thrilling with the unending possibilities afforded by my total superiority. Where the rest of the world might ask of any given situation "Which (very few) possibilities are open for me, and what are the consequences of each one?", my only question would be "What do I feel like doing?"

One of the things I felt like doing with my puppet in the park was making him walk up to a middle-aged woman and stand still right in front of her. Then I manipulated the strings bound to his wrists so that he started to frantically rub the crotch of his trousers with both hands. I'd originally thought of making him put on the onanistic exhibition in front of a younger female, but I modified that plan when my X-ray vision spotted a can of mace in the more mature woman's handbag.

She didn't disappoint me. After her initial cry of disgust "Eeuch!" she thrust her hand into her shoulder-bag, extracted the metal cylinder and calmly directed a jet of spray into my toy's eyes. As I was in complete control of his arms, he couldn't wipe his face. Neither (as I'd made quite clear to him) could he scream without incurring a death penalty. All he could do against the stinging, burning chemical in his eyes was to blink rapidly.

Judging by the streams of tears rolling down his cheeks, blinking alone was not enough. I could happily take a bath in whatever was in that spray (with my eyes wide open) and then drink the lot and chew up and swallow the metal can for good measure. But my puppet was overwhelmed by the little bit of it that touched his irises. He wouldn't have been able to see a thing. The only thing he could have done was feel. Feel the pain in his eyes. And feel his hands rubbing incessantly over his groin as I continued to play with his strings.

"Stop it!" cried the woman, now outraged by his continuing masturbatory antics. She swung her handbag at his head. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" Each time she shrieked the command, she gave him another whack with her bag. Naturally, he (or rather, I) didn't stop. Not until the shocked female had nearly exhausted herself bashing him with her handbag. Sadly, all that work only achieved a small cut on my puppet's cheek and some bruising all around it. Sometimes I forget how feeble everyone else is...

My toy wouldn't have seen the woman storming away down the path. Not with all that mace still in his eyes. Once she was out of sight, I made him wipe his face with his sleeve until I could tell, from the movements of his eyeballs, that his sight had been at least partially restored.

After all, I didn't want him to miss any more of the enjoyment.

Continued next post.

Thursday 31 January 2008 17:18 GMT

When you're looking for a piece of equipment to do a very particular job, it's often worth doing a bit of extra research to make sure you get it absolutely right.

A good example is the specialist rope I tied around the wrists and ankles of my toy to turn him into a puppet. I didn't just use any old cord. I spent time, finding experts in the field of rope manufacturing. Then I took the trouble to track them down and get to them when they were unobserved. I was diligent; seducing them, hurting them, squeezing their puny bodies against my own, perfect, feminine curves…. doing whatever was necessary to make them talk. That's how I found out about the "secret" transparent, tough rope and the factory that "secretly" produced it.

My preparation was worthwhile. The whole game would never have worked if the cord hadn't been as good as invisible (not to my beautiful, bright, all-seeing, all-penetrating eyes, but to everyone else's vastly inferior versions). Not only that, but the stuff was also strong enough not to break under strain, such as in those moments when my toy was alone on the path and I was waiting for the next stranger to come along.

During those little lulls in the puppet-game, I kept myself amused by yanking the male into the air by the strings, or swinging him like a pendulum. I also practised a range of tricks with him, like making him stand on his head and walk on his hands. I quickly perfected techniques for getting him to hop and skip and crawl. And, every so often, I made him slap himself on his bruised face. I could see how much that hurt him, but he suppressed the urge to yell out, mindful of the fact that I'd promised to kill him if he broke his silence.

It was just as I had him on his head, appearing to the world as if he was balancing on a single hand whilst repeatedly striking himself in the mouth with his other palm, that my superhuman hearing detected the sounds of three youthful female voices approaching. I turned to look, using X-ray vision to see through countless trees, and spotted a trio of teenage girls, headed towards my man.

All three were dressed in tight-fitting street fashions. They looked like the kind of girls who were proud of their physiques, almost certainly no strangers to gym-work. There was a tall one on the left, her long black hair tied tight behind her head. In the middle of the trio came a shorter girl with shoulder-length blonde hair and, to her right, there was a girl with brunette curls. Their body-language as they walked along talking suggested that they were good friends. Despite the fact that they were still a hundred yards away, I had no difficulty eavesdropping on their conversation:

"...reckons he can't see properly since I done it, but that's a lie. I mean I didn't even hit him all that hard. And besides, if I really did, you know, fuck up his vision and all that… well, serves the little bastard right!" said the curly brunette.

"I still can't believe you hit him with your mobile!" chuckled the blonde.

"Yeah, I know," laughed curly. "Completely smashed it."

"So… is he, you know, going to press charges then?" asked the raven-haired girl.

"Nah. I went to see him. Smoothed it all out," the brunette explained.

"I thought they said you weren't allowed to see him…" interjected the blonde one.

"Yeah, well so what? I went anyway," said curly, with a shrug.

"How d'you get him to change his mind? Did you tell him you love him?" asked blondie.

"Nah, I told him I'd rip his face off if he went back to the fuzz," the brunette reported.

"He he! Nice one!" chuckled the blonde. "Well if you end up having to give him a kicking, I'd be happy to help out."

"Me too!" chimed the dark-haired girl.

"He he. I'll bear it in mind," curly smiled.

They seemed like such a charming group. The kind of girls who'd really like to meet my puppet. With the easiest movements of my hands, I took him out of his handstand, and returned him to his feet. Then I started to walk him along the middle of the path, towards the three young women.

Continued next post.

Monday 4 February 2008 20:03 GMT

If I had selected the people my puppet encountered in the park, rather than simply letting him interact with whoever came along the path, I could not have done much better than casting the three teenage girls now approaching.

As well as being quite a bit younger than my toy, they were all attractive. Their nubile bodies, while not comparable with my own gloriously perfect form were still, nonetheless, highly desirable and the tight-fitting clothes the girls were wearing served well to accentuate their eye-catching figures. The trio's relative age and their sexiness promised to make their encounter with my puppet all the more humiliating for him.

Even more conveniently, the girls' discussion had made clear that all of them seemed quite comfortable with the idea of being on the giving end of physical violence. At least one of them, it seemed, had something of a track record in the field and the two others appeared to be itching for a chance to prove themselves.

In other words, the three girls were absolutely ideal for my little puppet game. So ideal, in fact, that some readers might think I was the beneficiary of a large portion of what they might call "luck". I suppose that pure chance could have led the three teenagers, at just the right moment, in their aggressive mood, along the path I had chosen. And it's true: I could have been just lucky that such perfect candidates for my amusement happened by when it most suited me.

I can see why lesser beings, jealous of my limitless abilities, terrified of my unending power and awed by my stunning beauty, might think that I am "lucky": In short, there's nothing I can't do, whereas they can hardly do anything and there's nothing that can hurt me, whereas any tiny collision or pressure-change or heat or cold will kill them. And I'm the very definition of drop-dead gorgeous (sometimes quite literally...)

I, however, have my own theories of why such apparent "good fortune" is a constant feature of my existence. You can count yourselves lucky because I'll share some of them with you now:

There are those that say that "luck" is what happens when the forces of the universe are on your side. The implication is that, because those "forces" are so vastly powerful, they are utterly beyond people's control. If they briefly line up in any individual's favour, giving that person "luck", it is purely by co-incidence, and any beneficial alignment will soon break itself up as mysteriously and uncontrollably as it formed.

That explains why luck is such a brief, transitory experience for everyone else. But what about me? Was I "lucky" that I first gained superpowers beyond most people's imaginations? If so, then what about the fact that not only did I get to keep those powers, but I've since added to them and perfected their use? That would suggest that the initial "luck" is still with me, or, to put it another way, the forces of the universe have remained permanently aligned in my favour.

If the "alignment of forces" theory of luck is correct, then it is easy to explain why I am permanently lucky. Unlike the rest of the world, I am not subject to the whims of those vastly powerful forces. The forces of the universe are subject to my whims. However "vastly powerful" they may be, I am, simply, more powerful. It would not surprise me at all to learn that the forces themselves keep each other aligned with me at all times because they are terrified of the consequences of displeasing me. Maybe, at some level, the universe is constantly organising itself to suit me.

There's a different hypothesis that says "luck" is just the meeting of "opportunity" and "preparation". Its exponents claim to believe that each individual gets many "chances" along the way and it is only a question of how much individuals can make of each of those chances. In this theory, a person is "lucky" if they recognise an opportunity and possess the necessary skills and ability to fully exploit it.

Of course, I can move and think at almost the speed of light. My senses are millions of times more sensitive and accurate than ordinary people's. So every last molecule in the universe represents an "opportunity" for me. As for skills and abilities, there seems to be no limit to my physical power: I'm strong enough to move planets and invulnerable enough to survive black holes unharmed. That means, everything around me is a "chance" that I'm perfectly-equipped to "fully exploit".

Some might call that being "lucky", but I call it being super. That's "super" as in super ior to everything. Not lucky. Just better.

Now, in my next post, I'll let you know what actually happened when those three girls met my puppet...

Wednesday 6 February 2008 21:03 GMT

So, I was telling you all about that full-of-fighting-talk group of three attractive teenage girls as they walked along the path towards my puppet…

I was controlling my toy so that he was strolling towards them, down the centre of the track. As the two parties came closer, it was obvious to everyone that there was enough room for my man to pass through the trio. The leftmost girl unthinkingly started to move slightly to the side to allow the oncoming man to walk between her and her friends, continuing to chat all the while. Meanwhile, I steered the puppet so that, rather than heading for the gap in the group, he was on a collision course with the two young women who hadn't moved apart.

There was some tutting and rolling of eyes as the group rearranged itself to accommodate for my toy's new trajectory. The girl on the left who had slightly detached herself from the others rejoined them, and the one on the right moved aside to let the man through. My response to that was to readjust my puppet's bearing, making him move away from the new gap and towards the two girls who were shoulder-to-shoulder.

This time, there were irritated, impatient groans from the girls along with the tutting. All three stared angrily at my toy as they, once again, shifted their positions on the path so that he could walk through them. My superhuman ears detected the muttered comments they made.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" complained one of them.

"What the fuck is wrong with this prick?" growled another.

By this point, my puppet and the three young women were just a few yards apart. I pulled on the strings attached to his wrists, making him raise his arms by his sides as if he were a child pretending to be an aeroplane. This served to triple his width, so that the space the girls had left for him to pass through was suddenly far too narrow. I moved him on a step, keeping his arms up.

The three youthful female faces were a joy to watch as they moved from annoyed, through confused to downright furious as their owners realised that they now had two options: Choice one was that they could move dramatically to the side, perhaps even lining up in single-file down one edge of the path, waiting for my man/aeroplane to saunter by. Choice two was that they refused to move any more for him. That way, the man approaching would have to drop his arms at the last moment if he wanted to fit through the gap. Otherwise, he'd hit the two girls on either side of the space with his outstretched hands.

It was like a slow-motion game of "Chicken". I don't have mind-reading powers, but I could imagine the young women's thought-process. Choice one was too much like backing down for three youngsters in their frame of mind. Choice two, they would have considered, could only end with the man having to concede and lower his arms at the last moment or shortly before. The girls would have taken confidence from each others' presence, rationalising that they outnumbered him three to one. There was simply no way that any of them was going to move even so much as a further inch out of the approaching man's path.

Of course, it wasn't the man's decision to lower his arms or not. I was holding the strings, so it was me who determined every single movement of his four limbs. And it was me who decided that he would walk right into the trio of young women with his arms wide out at his sides.

At the last moment, the girls realised that he was not going to back down. Now the two on either side of the gap had to make a rapid decision. Having been so convinced that my toy would eventually lower his arms, the teenagers had only about half a second to make up their minds (enough time for a superhuman goddess like me to travel miles in any direction, through solid stone if necessary, but barely sufficient for an ordinary person to move a few inches).

The girl on the left from my puppet's perspective took a big side-step, trying to avoid the outstretched hand that was moving towards her in her flat, well-toned abdomen. Meanwhile, the girl on his right, the tallest of the trio (the one who had just been bragging about the guy she'd hit and later threatened with further violence) decided she would not be moving aside for anyone, regardless of the consequences. Her pretty features carried a look of severity as she moved both her arms to her side so that they shielded her fit, nubile torso from my man's hand.

I manipulated the strings controlling my puppet's legs, making him complete another stride, whilst keeping his arms open wide. The girl on the left didn't quite get out of the way in time. My toy's hand knocked against her hard, slim belly and then slid around her curvaceous hip. She looked down at his palm in disgust as it rubbed across her middle before his step and her simultaneous sideways movement combined to take her out of her reach.

"Perv!" she spat, enraged.

At the same time, his extended right wrist smacked into the hastily-improvised protective shield of the forearms of the girl on his right. She responded by pressing her arms back against his as if their upper limbs were duelling swords. I could see she was trying to use the contact to push him bodily away from her. "Out of the way!" she hissed through clenched teeth as she strained, presumably intending to use the rhythm of his stride to catch him off-balance and force him away from her.

Her push was much harder than I expected, but still barely enough to knock a large male about a quarter-step to the side. Of course, my puppet would not even have moved that tiny amount without me slackening the strings. No force in existence could have made me budge my slender, all-powerful arms. A single person's shove could never affect me. So, I had to "let" her push my toy aside.

Watching from high above, I appreciated the taller girl's determination to keep to the path she had chosen even if it meant having to shove a man aside. I also liked the way she seemed to know what she was doing, timing her shove to compensate for my toy's weight advantage. I decided that her efforts deserved some reward. I didn't just loosen the strings to allow her push to be effective. I used the cords to add a tiny, tiny fraction of my own, limitless, strength to it.

The result was that my puppet lost his feet entirely and appeared to the three girls to fly a yard to the side before crash-landing on his posterior. The taller girl's face lit up in delighted satisfaction at the sight of him prostrate by the side of the path and the angry features of the girl who's abdomen he'd brushed against softened, her lips parting now into a mocking sneer.

"That'll teach you!" gloated the one who thought she was solely responsible for knocking him down.

"Yeah. You stay in the dirt where you belong, perv!" added the girl with the sneer.

"Nobody messes with us!" chimed the third young woman, triumphantly, even though she hadn't actually been involved in the collision at all.

Naturally, my puppet said nothing by reply, knowing as he did that I'd promised to kill him if he made any kind of noise.

Taking his silence to be the result of his humiliation, the trio seemed pleased with the way things had worked out. They were already walking off, side-by-side as I skilfully pulled my toy back onto his feet. Then I pulled the strings that moved his legs, making him run, fast, towards the girls once more.

Continued next post.

NOTE: The above text is the final entry of the blog. To this date, it is unknown whether the author of these diary entries simply chose to stop writing, or was unable to continue due to external circumstances.