"Blogger's Archives". Cruel and evil supergirl fiction by Conceptfan.

Introduction

Hi weakling!

Welcome to my blog. This is where I share (some) of my thoughts and adventures with the rest of the world.

I decided to do a blog after I beat the crap out of this guy who calls himself "Conceptfan" and he wrote a story about it on his website. I wrote my own version of the encounter soon afterwards. I liked the fact that some people really got turned on reading about me, my physical perfection and my special abilities. So, after thinking about it for a while, I "persuaded" Conceptfan to host my blog on his site.

September 2004

Monday 27 September 2004 09:12 BST (GMT+1)

I saw Cf to get him to set up this blog last night. He was just as easy to find as last time. I crept up behind him on the street. You should've seen his face when I tapped him on the shoulder. He couldn't decide if he was more terrified or horny! He kept shooting nervous glances at my chest then looking at my face in fear. I led him like the pied piper led the children of Hamlyn into a side street then picked him up by the throat with my left hand and let him struggle for air for a while.

I hardly need to mention that I was causing my usual effect in his trouser department. He was still saluting me down there after I'd really turned on the charm, shaking him around by his neck and telling him he was dead if he didn't publish my web-log. I didn't want the obsessed creep following me again so I waited till he passed out then dropped him in some bushes.

That's it for this morning. I still haven't decided what to do today.

Tuesday 28 September 2004 09:11 BST (GMT+1)

Well, it's nice to see that I didn't damage Cf's brain too much the other night. He seems to have got the blog up alright. I may have misjudged him. He's actually multi-skilled. He can put up a webpage and he can drool over breasts. Not bad (for a man) I suppose.

The weather was lousy all day yesterdaybut at least that meant I got the park to myself. Everyone else seems to fall ill if they get wet on a cold day, but not me, of course. I spent a while carving my initials in tree trunks using my finger as a chisel. When that got boring, as there wasn't another soul there, I uprooted a couple of tall oaks using my favourite tree-felling method (leaning casually against the trunks until they bend and slowly snap bit-by-bit and then watching as the huge thing crashes down to the ground.)

Annoyingly, I had to leave in a hurry. All I did was walk up to one of the fallen thirty-foot trees and give it a gentle kick with my "weaker" left foot. It soared into the air and crashed down through the glass roof of the deserted tea-room fifty yards away. I hope they've got insurance

The weather forecast for today is more of the same, so I think I'll take a little day-trip to Paris.

Wednesday 29 September 2004 09:20 BST (GMT+1)

Paris was pretty cool. I didn't have enough money for the train so I "borrowed" some cash from a guy in the queue in front of me. I had his freshly emptied wallet back in his pocket before he even had time to blink. I definitely moved too fast for the security cameras to have caught anything but then they only capture about five frames a second.. Anyway, I made a good choice of target as the guy was absolutely loaded.

The train journey was pretty boring, but I made up for it once I arrived. Straight away I spotted a nice looking young man, tall and muscular, just the way I like. He made it easy for me by going into the toilets. I followed him in. Inside, I got out of my clothes at super-speed before slowing to a more human pace of movement. I pinned him to the wall with one hand whilst I ripped off his belt and trousers with the other. He wasn't ready for me at first. In fact he tried to put up a fight, but after I brushed my chest really lightly on his a few time, she soon got hard even if he kept on struggling. I took him twice against the wall, although the second time wasn't so great as he stopped hitting me and started blubbing that I was hurting him. I would have gone for a third anyway, but he passed out during my second orgasm so I left him to sleep it off on the floor whilst I got dressed and slipped out of the lavatory.

Later I was climbing out of a Metro station when this I saw bunch of young men running down the stairs towards me. It was obvious they were all in a group and that they were in a hurry. I think they might have been a rugby team or something. They were all pretty big guys. Before any of them got to see me properly and start gawping, I blew gently at the one at the front of the crowd, knocking him off his feet. Most of the others tripped over him. It was hard not to laugh as a dozen beefy men rolled helplessly past me down the stairs.

Then I went to a cafe, but the waiter kept staring at my T-shirt. I know that most men's brains are in their dicks and they can't help it, but this guy was even worse than Cf. When he brought my coffee over, his hand touched mine. He tried to make it look like an accident but I knew it wasn't. I got my revenge by "accidently" flicking his knuckles with my little finger, breaking quite a few bones. I smiled in apology as he tried to fight back his tears of pain.

I also went shopping with the cash I'd liberated in the morning and got a few new tops, a couple of pairs of jeans and a lovely pair of ankle-length boots. On the train back home in the evening, I found I was sitting opposite this spot-covered adolescent boy. Before we'd even pulled out of the Gare du Nord, I went into the toilet and changed into the lowest-cut of my new T-shirts. I spent the journey teasing the kid by leaning forwards every few moments, pushing out my chest and making sure he got plenty of eyefuls of my cleavage. It's a three hour journey but I made him ran off to the lavatory to wank four times before we got to Waterloo. I swear he could barely walk off the train! He looked so pathetic with his hands clasped in front of his groin to hide his little stiff and his face red with embarrassment. I bet he dreams of me every night for a year.

All in all, it was a pretty fun day trip. It was nice to get home though.

No plans as yet for today. I think I'll just see how it goes.

Thursday 30 September 2004 09:14 BST (GMT+1)

After my adventures in Paris on Tuesday, yesterday was pretty quiet.

I did manage to short out the electricity supply to the entire district just after dusk, plunging this part of town into darkness for a few hours. I wasn't looking for trouble, I was just feeling experimental when I leapt over the high fence into the local power sub-station. I was going to play around a bit with the overhead connectors, but when I grabbed one in each hand, I must've accidentally completed a circuit.

The sign said Danger: 40000 volts and the sparks that surrounded me were as bright and dramatic as blue lightning, but the current passing through just tickled me. Pretty soon, there was a big bang from a large metal cabinet next to me and I was showered in millions of red-hot little pieces of sharp metal. It felt good for a second, but when it was over, the nice tickling feeling had also stopped.

It was then I realised that all the lights in the street had suddenly gone out. It was hysterical watching all the normal people fumbling about in the street. I could see everything perfectly fine, but they couldn't see me so I had a laugh tripping people up and knocking them into each other for a while.

It took the electricity company quite a while to get the power supply restored. Of course, I was sitting comfortably at home long before they did.

 

 

October 2004

Friday 1 October 2004 09:07 BST (GMT+1)

It's a good thing I don't really need to eat. My fridge is almost always empty, so I didn't need to throw anything out after the power-cut the other night. Yesterday morning, the street outside my building was decorated with dozens of polythene bags containing rotten food. Looks like everyone else wasn't so lucky. It's funny that (as the person who actually caused the failure in the electricity supply) I'm the only one who wasn't inconvenienced by it!

I was feeling a little, er, "frisky" on Thursday morning so I took myself off to the gym to see if I could grab a little action. As ever, I had a great time. The only downside is that I won't be able to go back there for quite a while. But at least I can say it was worth it.

I went early, well before the lunchtime crowd arrived. The women's changing room was deserted, but I was wearing my "workout" gear under my street clothes anyway. I walked into the equipment room in my usual tight, low-cut tank top and "shortie" shorts and got a lot of attention. I pretended to be exercising (I could probably lift every single weight in that place at once with my little finger) and waited for my opportunity.

Soon enough, a gorgeous man came in and started using the rowing machine. He had a lovely, toned physique and a cute face. Straight away, I decided I was going to have him. Of course, he didn't have a choice; I always get what I want...

Fortunately (for him) he didn't even try to put up a fight. I just gave him one of my better smiles and held eye-contact for that all-important extra moment and he was as good as mine. I could tell he'd be especially easy - his heart was already thumping!

Grabbing the chance when we were briefly alone in the room, I walked over towards him. I'm not sure what he was more impressed with: the sight of my breasts as I leant over him or the ease with which I one-handedly lifted the rowing machine (and him with it). I carried man and contraption over to the entrance, letting them swing at the end of my arm for effect, before dumping them both right in front of the inward-opening door to the room. That ensured that no-one else would be able to come in and disturb us.

My tasty-looking friend was making all the typical "What?" and "How?" noises, but he shut up pretty quick when I undressed more quickly than his eyes could follow and threw my leg over him, straddling the rowing machine he was still sitting in. Then I ripped off his shorts and got down to business. He wasn't bad, actually, so I was careful not to hurt him. After he'd shot his load, I got him ready for Round 2 in seconds just by raising myself up and lowering my chest towards his face before shuffling back down his body and taking him again.

I was ready for a third helping and, when he realised my eagerness, he said (between panting breaths), "I...just...can't...anymore...". I told him that I was the only judge of that and, to be fair, he didn't complain too much when I began pumping again. Of course he did achieve his peak (rather quickly for a man who thought he couldn't manage it), but I kept going for quite a while after that until I had properly scratched my itch. When I finally let him slip out of me, he was red raw.

Thanking him with a kiss that sucked just enough air from him to knock him out, I got up and put the rowing machine (with my dormant friend still on it) back in its place. I had to shower to clean his sweat off me, but I still managed to get out of the building before anyone asked me any awkward questions.

I spent the rest of the day relaxing at home, speed-reading a couple of dozen novels. Some of them weren't bad.

I still don't know what I'm going to do today. I'm a little bored, to be honest. Maybe I'll go out and make some mischief.

Saturday 2 October 2004 09:02 BST (GMT+1)

Saturday morning and the papers are late. It only takes me a few minutes to read through them all, including all the magazines and supplements they add these days, but it's still annoying. If this keeps happening, I'm going to have to have words with the paper-boy.

I had a really boring day yesterday. I went for a walk in the park in the early afternoon, looking for some action but there was nothing to catch my imagination. On the way home I was feeling kind of mischievous, so when I spotted two guys crouched over a bicycle about half-a-mile in the distance I used my super-vision to zoom in and check them out. To my disappointment, they were both ugly and spotty young men. They seemed to be struggling with the bike which was chained to a lamppost. Bringing my ultra-hearing into play, I heard one of them complain that the wire-cutters he had brought along were no good for the task of cutting the chain. The other remarked that it would be easier to cut through the street-lamp than the cycle-lock. They both cursed. They had clearly set their hearts on stealing that bike.

It didn't take them long to give up and start to walk away from the bike, heading back through the park. I checked around to see if anyone was watching and then slipped off my trainers. I didn't want my expensive sneakers damaged and I knew they wouldn't be tough enough for what I had in mind. I kept the shoes in my hand as I ran towards the chained-up bike. I've been told that when I run top-speed, "ordinary" people can only see a streak of colours, but I was careful to be unobserved anyway. Eight and a half seconds later, I was standing in front of the lamp-post. Not bad, even if I did have to use a couple of blasts of hyper-cold super-breath to cool my feet so I could put my shoes back on without melting them.

The chain-lock went through the spokes of the bike's front wheel and around the base of the street-lamp. No doubt the young men would be happy to know that they were right - it was easier to get through the lamppost than the chain. In fact, I didn't bother cutting the chain at all. I cut the lamp-post in half with the edge of my hand using a casual karate-style chop. The thick iron was no match of course for my fingers and I was even able to hold on to the top part of the light to prevent it spinning away. Who knows what damage twenty foot of six inch diameter metal pole flying through the air might have caused. Might be worth trying sometime. On this occasion, however, I just laid the thing down on the pavement.

Some nice big sparks flew at me where I severed the power cable, but unfortunately a fuse somewhere must've blown because I never got the chance to properly enjoy the feeling of high current flowing through my body. The consolation was that it was now very easy to lift the bike and the lock over the short stump that was the cut-off street-lamp. After that, I used a single finger to tear open the frame of the bike so I could remove the chain intact and put it in my shopping bag. Call it theft if you like, but I figured it might come in useful one day and besides, the bicycle's owner won't be needing it anymore.

I picked the bike up with two hands and folded it over itself. The tyres popped and the spokes shattered as I continued folding, again and again until the entire thing was reduced to a mess of rubber and metal in the form of a rough two foot cube. I got my arms around the bundle and hugged it tight against my chest until it was completely compacted. There's no material on earth that can resist the pressure I generate with my arms and upper body. Lightweight metal is nothing compared to diamonds and I've ground plenty of those to dust - but that's another story.

Once I had my solid chunk of compressed bicycle, I used my palms to shape the lump into a head-sized sphere. It wasn't perfectly round and it certainly wouldn't bounce, but it was a ball of sorts. I tucked it under my arm and set off at a jog in the direction the would-be thieves had taken.

I soon spotted them and kept jogging until I'd closed the gap between us to about a hundred yards. Quickly, I jabbed three fingers into my improvised metal ball to create a nice finger-grip and then "bowled" it underarm at the pair. They were several times further away than the length of a bowling lane and the grassy terrain was a lot rougher, but my aim - as ever - was spot-on. I watched the ball speed away from me over the ground and, almost simultaneously clip one of them on the ankle and the other on the heel. They yelled in shock and pain as the slight contact threw each of them a foot into the air to land sprawled on the grass where they both writhed around in vociferous agony. My "ball" finally came to rest about twenty yards ahead of them, but neither of them noticed. They must've had quite a few broken bones between them if their screams were anything to go by. I left them to it and turned around. I made sure I jogged away before either of them saw me.

After that, I went home and stuck my new chain in a cupboard for safe-keeping. I'm sure I'll find a use for it some time.

Not the greatest adventure of my life, but at least my walk did provide a few moments' entertainment on an otherwise dull day. I hope today will be more fun. They're holding an organised kite-flying get-together in the park later. I think I'll pop along in the afternoon and see if I can't enliven the proceedings in my own special way. The weather forecast isn't predicting much wind for the kite people. That won't be a problem when I'm there....

Sunday 3 October 2004 17:14 BST (GMT+1)

Well, the park was quite a laugh yesterday. I arrived when quite a few kite-flyers were already there, doing their thing. Because they were all so busy squinting at little bits of fabric in the sky, I managed to slip past them largely unnoticed.

There's a tall tree in the middle which kids never climb as the trunk is fairly featureless and straight up and the first branch is ten feet above the grass. It's no problem for me though. I leapt up onto that branch and then up to the next one, and so on until I was as near to the top of the tree as I could get; about forty feet up.

From there I had a perfect view of the kites and the people on the ground trying to control them. I tilted my head back and blew a little kiss at one kite. It shot off, its string snapping immediately at it headed towards the stratosphere, much to the shock of its owner and much to my delight as well. Let me tell you: it's one thing to know that I have super-powers but it's another thing altogether to actually use them...

My next contribution was a really, really gentle jet of breath that pushed one kite into the path of another, hopelessly tangling the two lines together before they both crashed down. The owners of the entangled, now ruined toys almost came to blows, blaming each other for what had happened. I almost came to blow my cover, laughing at them.

I blew two or three more kites into the top branches of trees and then I noticed a huge, elaborate Chinese-dragon-style thing flittering around. A carefully aimed blast of super-breath just above it brought it down to about twenty feet above the ground. The operator (a middle-aged man trying to look younger and cooler by wearing a teenager's clothes) panicked as he repeatedly tried and failed to bring his enormous flashy toy under control. But no matter how much he fought with his string, no matter how much he sprinted up and down the park, I was the only one steering the giant paper dragon.

I proved my sole control a moment later. Spotting a police patrol car making its way slowly down the main road that runs along the edge of the park, I sent a short strong puff of air towards the kite's tail which propelled it, like a crash-landing aeroplane, straight at the cop-car. From inside the patrol vehicle, it must've looked as if a real dragon was swooping down from the sky. The brakes squeaked and the kite smashed into the windshield, shattering it completely.

The guy in the trendy clothes was still chasing his beloved dragon-kite, but he stopped running when he realised it was going to dive bomb the police and turned around. To my amusement, I realised he was suddenly trying to pretend that he had nothing to do with the rogue kite. I just waited until the angry coppers got out of their vehicle and blew a nice, friendly kiss at the now-fugitive kite-flyer, knocking him off his feet and sending him tumbling, helplessly, right into the lawmen hard enough to leave all three men sprawled on the pavement.

I slipped down from the tree amidst the confusion as the stunned dragon-man was being read his rights by a badly limping policeman. Then I just walked out of the park, unseen by people trying to free their kites from trees or disentangle miles of knotted strings. What fun! A very successful "Kite Day" indeed, I would say.

I'm having a slow, lazy day today. Hopefully, things will pick up in the evening. I'll let you know tomorrow morning if they do.

Monday 4 October 2004 09:23 BST (GMT+1)

So things didn't really pick up last night. I went out for a walk, but it rained persistently all evening and there was hardly any one else about.

I was bored. Walking past a long stretch of iron railings, I remembered seeing school-kids rattling along the vertical bars with a stick as they went by. I didn't have a stick, so I used my finger. It made a nice clang-clang-clang sound as my outstretched digit hit rail after rail. Naturally, the iron wasn't strong enough to stand up to my casually-wielded index finger and each bar I touched was left with a dent and a slight bend. They'll never work out how that happened.

It's still raining this morning. I think I might take a little trip somewhere for a change of scenery.

Tuesday 5 October 2004 09:38 BST (GMT+1)

I had a fascinating afternoon yesterday. I can't say too much because I'm lining up a nice little surprise for someone. All I'm willing to reveal is that I spent quite a few hours scouting bridges and that I think I've found what I was looking for.

Unlike the jerk who lives upstairs from me, who hasn't found what he wanted. Men are all stupid and useless. That's a fact, not opinion, as far as I'm concerned. But some are a lot more stupid and useless than others. Like the afore-mentioned idiot in my building. The guy works for some big international bank, and he thinks he's a big shot. He's always wearing expensive clothes and a flashy watch.

Anyway, unsurprisingly, he's very interested in me. He always tries to start a conversation if we pass in the corridor. His attempts at small talk invariably include a few references to how great he is, how important his job is, how he's sure he's going to get promoted again soon - that kind of thing. Now, I like confidence in a man, but not arrogance and definitely not vanity. It just doesn't work coming from an inferior being. Especially from a not particularly attractive inferior being in a boring line of work.

I've lost count of the number of times I've flatly refused to go for a drink with him or come up to his flat for coffee. But he doesn't give up. I guess he's so in love with himself that he thinks everyone else will be sooner or later.

Yesterday evening, he actually knocked on my door. I knew it was him before I even checked the spy-hole because I recognised the sound of his breathing. I wasn't going to open up, but I knew he'd keep banging all night if I didn't. There he was, looking incredibly pleased with himself, like a kid who's just won a cup on Sports Day. His right hand was raised in front of his face and a set of car keys dangled from it.

"I've had a nice bonus from work" he started, shaking the keys. I couldn't believe his conceit - why the hell should I be interested? "I was wondering if you'd like to check it out - y'know, come with me for a ride in it?"
I just said "No." The look of disappointment on his face was fantastic.
"At least come down and see it. It's a beauty." he was almost begging. Then, he played his trump card. "It's a Porsche." He raised his eyebrows as he said this, obviously extremely proud of his car and certain that I would change my mind now I knew the name of the manufacturer.
"I'm busy." I said flatly
"Oh," he replied, devastated. "Perhaps later. Or maybe tomorrow?"
"I'm busy then, too."
"Well, er... feel free to check it out if you see it parked outside. It's silver - you can't miss it."
I didn't accept the invitation, I just said "Got to go now." and closed the door on him. The last thing I saw was the mixture of disappointment and disbelief on his face.

I waited until the small hours to take him up on the offer to check out his car. He was right, I couldn't miss the brand new shiny silver Porsche parked outside the building. I walked to the back nearside tyre, bent down and poked my finger through the rubber, enjoying the pop and the hiss that followed as that corner of the thing sank a few inches. It's no bother for me to burst a tyre with a finger - it's effortless really - so while I was there, I thought I might as well walk right around the car, shoving my digit into the other three wheels.

As I passed the front windscreen, I spat on the glass. I didn't do it with much force (by my standards) but of course I shattered it completely, making it impossible to see through. Then I grabbed the door handle on the driver's side, closing my fist a little around it - just enough to mangle the metal so that the mechanism won't work ever again. In fact, the whole door will probably need replacing.

I admit I was beginning to enjoy myself. I strolled down one side of the car with my fingernail brushing it, thinking I would scratch the paintwork a little. As so often happens, I underestimated my strength and my nail actually gouged a deep groove in the metal itself.

I noticed that the channel passed close to the flap that covers the petrol cap and that gave me an idea. I started rubbing my fingertips over the edge of the flap until, fairly quickly, the friction caused the paint to burn away. I kept on rubbing and the metal started to glow. Thirty seconds later, it melted and I was able to use my fingers to permanently weld the flap shut. The guy will need a blow-torch if he wants to fill his tank!

There was no radio aerial for me to snap off but, with my strength, finding an alternative was never going to be a problem. I chose the rear bumper and managed to detach it in one piece with the barest of tugs. I carefully bent the long chrome strip into a passable heart-shape and left it lying on the front bonnet.

For a final touch, I leant over the roof, slowly lowering myself until I was resting my chest on the thin metal. Then I inhaled deeply, letting my breasts expand against the top of the car, pressing down into it until it groaned. I stood up and checked out the two new dents I'd created; a perfect mould of my perfect bust. An ideal gift for an irritating neighbour.

After that, I went back upstairs. I was watching from the window this morning as the creep discovered the damage to his car. He just kept walking around and around, looking both confused and heart-broken. I couldn't stop laughing.

I'm going into town this evening to teach another stupid man a different lesson. All will be revealed tomorrow.

Wednesday 6 October 2004 10:31 BST (GMT+1)

I feel even better than usual this morning. It's the way I always feel after an encounter with a supergirl fiction writer. In fact, last night's quarry was almost as much fun as Cf.

I'd been tracking the target for a few days. I knew that Cf was in contact with him, so I tricked him via email into revealing all the information he had. Then I made contact with my victim himself. I found out the usual general details about his journey to and from work and calculated that he must cross the River around 9 o'clock every weekday evening.

Geography meant he most likely would use one of three bridges; Monday evening I stood on the middle of the three crossings, using my superhuman abilities to study every man heading South. I thought it would take days to find my fellow, but luck was on my side.

On the next bridge down, I spotted a guy who looked like he might be the one. He was talking on a mobile phone; using my remarkable hearing, I was able to pick out both sides of the conversation, despite the wind and the fact that he was sixty yards away and the volume of his phone wasn't at maximum. I heard whoever he was talking to using his name. Then the guy mentioned the name of his employer.

I moved quickly (but not too fast) through the crowds so that I could follow him as he reached the end of the other bridge and headed towards the train station. I needed to look inside his bag - I was looking for a certain type of PDA which I know he uses to compose his fiction.

In the end, I used super-speed to open his bag and check its contents before he even saw me. If anyone had seen me, I'd have been no more than a blur. A happy, smiling blur who'd just found what she was looking for. Mission accomplished. Then again, when I pit my wits against a mere man, there's only ever going to be one outcome.

So last night, I was waiting for him on the other bridge. I chose my usual outfit for these occasions; a plan, tight T-shirt and jeans. I walked casually towards him, making my superhuman body wiggle ever so slightly with every step. Of course, I got stared at by every man there.

When my target first noticed me, I thought his tongue would roll out of his mouth. I'm used to being ogled, but this guy was special. Cf's the same. It seems to be a feature of these writers. They just lock their eyes on my chest and it's like they can't look away no matter what.

As I got close to the man, I coughed to get his attention, but his gaze remained firmly centred on the top portion of my T-shirt, so I pretended to drop a piece of paper behind me and bent down to pick it up, making sure he got a good long view of my behind. I listened to the sound of his thumping heart and rasping breath and knew I'd got him hooked.

I didn't make eye contact as I stood up and walked past him, but I could hear that he had turned around and was now following me. Men are so easy to manipulate!

I lead him down the steps at the North end of the bridge that lead onto the Embankment. Finding one of those stone stairways that go right down to the river, I headed on down. My man, of course, followed. Stopping on a ledge only about three feet above the cold water, I turned around and faced him.

"Hi Mark. Do you always stare at girls and follow then around?" I asked.
"How.. did you know my name?" He looked shocked. I fought the temptation to laugh.
"I know all about you." I told him. "Now, answer my question!"
"I.. Oh my... You're the girl who attacked Conceptfan!" He turned to run up the stairs.
I used a standing jump to soar over his head, twisting in the air and landing perfectly on my feet, two steps above where he had reached. I leant over him, but he didn't see until he had run head-first into my chest.

The impact knocked him down onto his rear and he rolled down a couple of steps, crying out in pain. I was over him before he could stand up. Sitting down on the stairs next to him as he slowly tried to raise himself, I spread my legs either side of him, and carefully trapped his head between my thighs. I wasn't even squeezing, but his face turned purple immediately.

He fought for all he was worth, but of course, he couldn't release himself. A hoarse, barely audible cry left his lips. I laughed. "There's no cavalry to ride to your rescue here, my Yankee friend." I told him.

Reaching down, I picked up his shoulder bag, and opened it, pulling out his PDA. Then, I stood up. As his head was still wedged between my thighs, I pulled him up with me. I released it, and used a gentle tap of my leg to knock him back down onto the stairs. "You don't mind if I take a sneak preview of your latest story do you?" I asked. Before he could reply I added "I'll just make myself comfortable."

I sat down on top of him, wiggling my tight, round buttocks as I rested them on his face. Carefully, so as not to kill him, I stayed like that for a few minutes as I read all the data on his organiser, tutting all the while. When I was done, I stood up, admired the numerous bruises that had appeared on his face, and said "It looks like you need some education."

"Please let me go." he said, looking up at me.

I laughed and bent down, using a couple of fingers of my right hand to tear through the waist-band of his trousers and boxer-shorts so that he was exposed to the cold night air. "Oh dear!" I said, "Weren't they doing 'supersize' when they made you? I thought everything in America was big!"

"Leave me alone!"

"Not until I teach you what it's really like to get close to a supergirl." I told him. "This story you're writing is completely inaccurate. For example," I went on, bending over him, "when the girl kisses the guy, it's supposed to really hurt him. Like this." I leant into him and planted my lips on his, pressing down firmly until he squirmed and tried to pull his face away.

With the tip of my tongue, I pressed gently on his clenched teeth until one of them gave way and I could taste blood. I broke off the kiss and moved away so I could see his blackened lips and the red trickle running down his chin. "Do you see what I mean, now?" I asked. He nodded.

"Good." I continued. "Another thing you forget to mention in your story is that when a supergirl rubs her chest over a man's, he only enjoys the first few seconds. Then it's agony for him. Let me show you."

"No, no- I understand, you don't need to-" he protested. But I just stood up straight, lifting him by his armpits as his torn trousers fell around his ankles. I pulled him against me and began to massage myself through my T-shirt with his upper body. Immediately, he began to quiver. I pulled him a little closer, watching his face turn blue as I squeezed the air from his lungs against my chest.

"You see," I explained. "It was fun at first, but now... Now, it's not." I gave him a little hug. His eyes went huge as we both felt his ribs bending a little to accommodate my large round breasts. I waited for the inevitable pop of one of his weak male ribs snapping beneath the power of my feminine bosom.

He didn't have enough air to scream, so he just let off a hoarse moan. I let him go and he fell onto his rear, clutching his side. The stone step must have been cold beneath his naked rump, but I guess the pain of his broken rib was worse.

It was then that I noticed a small stain on the bottom of my T-shirt. "Mark!" I exclaimed. "Is that yours?" Despite his pain, he blushed. "Is that all there is?" I enquired. "I mean, here you are, living out your pathetic sexual fantasy, and all you can manage is this pathetic little dribble? No wonder your countrymen are so obsessed with weapons of mass destruction! That's more like a toothpick of barely noticeable mess!"

He tried to wheeze out a reply, but I paid no attention. "So, have you enjoyed your lesson today?" I asked. He looked at me with pleading eyes. I repeated the question and he nodded, no doubt fearing further punishment. "Great." I said. "So that just leaves the matter of my fees."

I reached behind him and tore his jacket off by ripping it in half. Pulling out his leather wallet, I was delighted to find it contained plenty of cash. "There's a surcharge for my laundry." I told him, nodding at the tiny stain as I put all his notes into my pocket and dropped the wallet at his feet.

"Look at you!" I sneered. "You're a mess. Clean yourself off!". With my toe of my left shoe, I flicked his rear. He screamed as my tap lifted him off the stairs and sent him, arms flailing, into the air for a few moments before he splashed down into the cold, dirty river.

I heard him struggling to pull himself out, but I was already at the top of the stairs by then. I certainly didn't hang about to watch his pathetic efforts.

I went home with a real spring in my step. There's something about these supergirl fetishists that makes them an awful lot more fun to beat up than other men.

Thursday 7 October 2004 09:03 BST (GMT+1)

After all the fun and games in town on Tuesday evening, I had a quiet day yesterday.

I got a bit of a shock when two policemen knocked on my door in the afternoon. At first, I thought that they might be investigating what happened by the river, but they were just enquiring about the vandalism to my neighbour's car.

"Who could do something like that?" I asked, innocently, as I flashed the two young men a smile. They were both too busy checking out my body anyway. I did find out from one of them that the jerk had broken down in tears describing the damage to his beloved Porsche. I fought the temptation to burst into hysterics of a different kind.

The skies are clear today, so I think I'll go on a little day trip somewhere and take advantage of the sun.

Friday 8 October 2004 09:31 BST (GMT+1)

The papers are late again! I'm especially pissed off this morning, as I'm pretty sure I'll be in the news pages today. Well, not me in person of course (I never get caught) but at least a report on what I got up to yesterday.

It was one of those days for getting out of town, so I threw a two-piece bikini in my shoulder-bag and went down to the station after the rush-hour crowds had cleared off to get a ticket to the seaside. An hour later, I was strolling along the shore, enjoying the big horizon and staring at the sailing boats in the distance. It must be strange for "normal" people who can only just see the sail of a craft that's only half-a-mile out. Me, I can read the name painted on the side of a boat from four miles.

Amongst all the small sailing vessels, I spotted a large, luxurious-looking yacht. On deck there was a middle-aged couple drinking champagne from posh glasses and what seemed to be some kind of butler standing at attention nearby. It looked like a fun party, so I decided to join it.

I found a deserted rocky bit of beach and changed into my bikini. I put my clothes in my bag and made sure no-one could steal them by rolling a boulder partially on top of it. It was only a little rock (the sort I could move with a single finger) but heavy enough to need three or four "normals" to shift it.

The sea was too cold for anyone else to swim in (according to the internet the maximum air temperature was 13 Celsius [55 F] yesterday), but I found it lovely as I made a bee-line to the yacht. I swam relaxed (only about as fast as a speedboat) and was soon in the wake of the yacht. I don't know if the engines were on full, but they might as well have been stalled for all the difference it made. I caught up in a couple of strokes and grabbed hold of the propeller, snapping it off instantly, if noisily.

The butler must have come to investigate the loss of forward propulsion straight away. I climbed up onto the lower deck just in time to meet him. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw me, dripping wet, in my bikini. A figure as stunning as mine is never easy to hide, but in a two-piece I know I'm incredible. He just stared and stared and the upper part of the costume.

"Do you like them?" I asked him, shaking my chest a bit.
"Oh god! Yes!" he answered, not very butler-like.
"You can touch them if you're prepared to swim back to shore afterwards." I told him.
He glanced at the distant edge of the land for a moment. It had to be half-an-hour's swim for a fit man, but he immediately said "OK".

I barely felt his weak hands as they ran over my breasts. He might have been trying to squeeze them (he was certainly straining a lot) but he was only a man, so I'll never know. What I do know is that after about thirty seconds, his knees suddenly buckled a bit and his face went crimson while his body shook for a few moments. I saw the stain appearing around his crotch and told him "You'd better take a bath now".

I grabbed him by the belt of his soiled trousers and tossed him over my shoulder into the brine. The cold of the water was a shock to him, but he kept to his end of the deal and began swimming painfully slowly towards land.

The couple on deck were even more shocked than their servant to see me. The woman almost screeched and then scowled when she noticed the way her man was staring. I strolled up to their table, picked up the three-quarters full champagne bottle, put it to my lips and drank it all in one go. It didn't get me drunk, of course, but it was fine stuff and it tasted great. For effect, I squeezed the empty bottle until it shattered in my fist. Some of the shards of broken glass landed on the exposed part of my chest. I brushed them off casually. The man swallowed hard as he watched me.

"Is this a robbery?" the confused woman asked. That wasn't my intention, but I couldn't help but notice that she was wearing an elaborate necklace that sparkled in the weak sunshine and a pair of delicate earrings that looked very expensive
"A robbery?" I answered smiling. "No! It's a rescue mission. I noticed your propeller seems to be damaged. I'm going to help you back to shore for a small fee. Say... your jewels?" I held out my open hand in expectation.

The woman glanced at her companion, who seemed to intent at studying the shape of my upper torso to come to her rescue. Clearly angry both at the intrusion and her man's obvious interest in me, she drew herself up straight and declared "I won't give you anything! Now get off my boat!"

I laughed and snatched the necklace from her too quickly for her to react. I must've hurt the back of her neck because she immediately placed a hand there and her face creased with pain. The man finally snapped into action, stepping towards me with an unconvincing command to "Give that back!" I pursed my lips and blew a gentle kiss at him, sending him off his feet, hurtling into the deck-rail where he crumpled in a heap. I could see he was still breathing so I ignored the woman's shrieks as I turned around and walked to the back of the boat, stuffing the jewelry into my bikini top for safe keeping.

Jumping into the water, I swam to broken propeller and grabbed hold of the useless shaft with my left hand. I held on as I started to kick my legs and use my right arm to swim towards the shore. The first few one-handed strokes were slow, but I soon picked up speed, pushing the big yacht through the water as I swam.

I quickly got a good rhythm up, my legs providing far more power than the pleasure-boat's engines could have managed. I could hear the now terrified yells of the woman on deck as I swam ever faster, forcing the yacht to travel shore-wards faster than it had ever done before. Such was my momentum, that when the keel of the boat hit the sand, I was able to push it quite a few yards up the shore.

By the time the water was shallow enough for me to stand, the thing was already beached. I put both my hands of the boat and pushed it further, my bare feet sinking deep into the wet sand as I sought to anchor myself for each shove.

I left the yacht stranded about twenty yards from the sea, brushing off my hands as I turned and ran at super-speed towards my hidden clothes. The high-speed run dried me off completely, and I pushed aside the "security" boulder and dressed as fast as I could without tearing my clothes to shreds. My new necklace was stashed carefully in my shoulder bag.

Then I strolled calmly back towards the train station, as a small crowd was already gathering around the yacht. I caught a glimpse of the woman on deck staring around herself in shock, and chuckled as I walked away. I wondered what she would tell the police...

I got home late in the afternoon and put on the beautiful necklace. I'd broken the clasp removing it from the posh woman's neck, but it was easy to bend the metal loops closed again with my fingertips. It looked great on me, so I kept in on even when I stripped naked to clean off the brine from my skin in a bath of near-boiling water. Heaven!

Saturday 9 October 2004 11:02 BST (GMT+1)

Well, I didn't make Friday's national papers after all. Quite a disappointment. I'll have to try harder next time...

You should know me well enough by now to realise that after Thursday's adventures, yesterday was all about keeping a low profile. I only went out briefly, in the afternoon, for a quiet stroll in the park.

There was a team of builders, busily trying to repair the damage to the tea-house. I resisted the temptation to give them a proper demonstration of girl power, opting instead for a more subtle action.

As I was approaching the group of men working, a cement truck pulled up, the enormous barrel-like drum on the back slowly and noisily churning. The driver climbed out of his cab and went to talk to one of the builders. I walked right past the giant mobile mixer and, just as I reached the front tyre, I swung my hip.

There was a clang as I hit the side of the truck, then a loud creaking as the force of my casual knock tipped the entire lorry sideways. It soon passed the point of balance and tipped over onto its side with a mighty crash. The men came running and yelling as the cargo of cement began to spill out of the back of the tipped-over truck. No-one noticed me walking quietly away, chuckling to myself.

I made it home without further incident and settled down with a stack of books.

I still haven't decided what to do today. I'll just see how it goes.

Sunday 10 October 2004 22:19 BST (GMT+1)

What a terrible Sunday!

First, I go to switch on my PC this morning, press the power button a little to hard, and the whole thing smashes to pieces.

Then, after I've gone down to the shops and stolen a new one, melting a perfectly good pair of trainers in the process by running at super speed, I come home and find that my ISP is down.

I spend all morning calling them, and no-one answers. They've only just restored the connection at 10pm! I should have found out where their office is and gone round to trash the place. Instead I vented my anger on the jerk upstairs by squeezing the metal rim of his back door frame so that the door was welded to the frame.

I knew he was in (I could hear him asleep, breathing in there) so I went around to his front door. He always keeps his door locked when he's in, I guess because paranoid or insecure or probably both. Anyway, I used my fingernail to mash the lock permanently shut, trapping him inside.

It should be quite a laugh tomorrow when he tries to leave for work... I'll tell you about it in the morning.

Monday 11 October 2004 09:14 BST (GMT+1)

"Hello? Can anyone hear me?", "What the f***?", "Hey, what's happening?"

Just a selection of the hilarious, desperate yelling that I've been listening to this morning. Of course it's all coming from upstairs. The poor idiot's been trying to get out of his flat for about two hours now, but the modifications I made yesterday are holding firm.

I've heard him hammering on the door panels with some heavy object and I've heard him trying to prise the back door frame open with some kind of screwdriver or chisel. He's getting a bit desperate now. I'm sure I can hear sobbing...

I could go up there and free him. I reckon I could smash his door to pieces with a flick of my little finger. But I'm not going to. Instead, I'll wait here until he eventually arranges for someone to come and rescue him.

Once all that fun is over, I'm going out to find a geek to bring back here so he can set up my new computer properly and install all the software I want. I don't know what I'll do with him after that...

Tuesday 12 October 2004 09:23 BST (GMT+1)

Half past eleven. That was when a builder finally arrived to free the guy upstairs yesterday morning. Apparently, the jerk was late for some important meeting or something - I heard him swearing as he ran downstairs.

Remember I said I thought I could smash his door to pieces with a flick of my little finger? The great big fellow who did the job used a sledge hammer. It took him eight or nine huge blows to achieve the same result!

Afterwards, I went out to find me a computer expert. I found a couple of nervy geeks hanging around the computer shop on the High Road. They all panicked at the sight of me, their eyes flickering wildly as they tried to sneak glimpses at me whilst avoiding eye-contact at any cost. The first one I spoke to got so jittery, he couldn't reply properly.

I found the one who was the least shy (unsurprisingly the least geeky-looking of the group) and asked him his name. He managed to answer, so I told him I needed someone to help me set up my PC at home. He jumped at the chance to help me, walking back to my flat with me with a face that said "I can't believe my luck." He also carried his shoulder bag in front of his groin the whole way. As if I hadn't noticed the bulge there!

He was pretty good with the computer, setting it up exactly as I told him to, even if he seemed a little too proud of himself, announcing that he was done. I smiled as I thanked him, and, for the first time, caught his gaze as I did so. He practically melted.

I moved quickly (by "normal" standards, not mine) before he could get too nervous, and pushed him down onto my sofa. I had to remove his clothes as well as my own, because his hands started trembling like an alcholic's. He might have been an expert in computers, but he was a complete novice at sex.

At least he was well equipped (as well as being a fast learner.) I was careful not to make his first time too painful. Or his second. Or his third. In the end, I felt kind of sorry for him. He'll spend the rest of his life comparing his sexual partners unfavourably with me...

He left, his cheeks and eyes rather badly bruised. That was entirely his fault though; he was the one who wanted to bury his head between my breasts. Besides, he was a boy when I met him, and a man when he staggered, bow-legged, out of my flat. All I got was my computer set up properly and a few moments' fun that barely scratched my itch...

Wednesday 13 October 2004 12:40 BST (GMT+1)

I feel good this morning, and that can only mean one thing. I got a proper workout last night. Not a weakling's "workout" where a pathetic man struggles to lift half his body weight a couple of times. Oh no, I mean a proper workout.

It was about 2 a.m. and I was bored just sitting around at home, so I went out for a stroll. Walking along the High Road, I noticed that one of the huge metal doors to the bus garage was slightly ajar. There was no one about on the deserted street, so I went closer to take a look. Some idiot (no doubt a man) had simply forgotten to lock up.

I squeezed in, pulling the door shut as quietly as I could behind me. It was completely dark in there; no lights, no windows, but of course, I had no trouble seeing everything. By everything, I mean half a dozen parked double-dekker buses. Playtime!

I went over to the front of one of the buses, bent low and got my right hand underneath it. Straightening up slowly, I started to lift the front end of the huge vehicle off the ground. The groaning of the steel chasis as it protested vainly against my magnificent strength was like music to my ears, and I kept lifting until my arm was straight over head and the entire bus was at a 25-degree angle to the ground.

Raising one side of a double-dekker with one hand is hardly a test of my strength, but at least it's a weight that I can properly feel (unlike, say, lifting a big man with one hand.) I raised and lowered the thing a few times but soon got bored of that.

Working my way carefully underneath until I reached the centre of the chasis, I let the forces of nature come into play as the bus see-sawed. The other end rose from the tarmac and the whole thing pivoted for a moment on my single palm. I stayed still, not wanting the bus to crash onto the floor and make a terrible racket. Soon enough, the vehicle was steady, parallel to the ground but almost seven feet above it. Only me, my slender arm and my delicate hand held it there.

If anyone had come in they would have been treated to quite a sight: me, dwarfed by the enormous red bus I was holding over my head. I strolled over towards the doors, carrying the vehicle like I was a waiter in a restaurant with a tray. Fortunately, I have perfect poise so there was no danger of the bus tipping off my hand. I lowered it, oh so carefully, back to the floor, right in front of the doors.

If the bus "parked" sideways across the entrance would have caused problems this morning, it was nothing compared to the trouble the drivers must have faced with the other vehicles. I just decided the buses looked a bit tired, and thought they might like a lie-down.

I went up to the side of one and stretching my arms up, I rested them on bus. Giving a big, two-handed shove, I was rewarded by the wonderful sight of the huge thing tipping over. It would have crashed down onto its side making a noise like a bomb going off if I hadn't raced around the other side with super speed. I just carefully caught the falling bus, cushioning the enormous weight easily and gently (and silently) before laying it down on its side.

I repeated the same trick faultlessly with the other buses until they were all laid out sideways-on. It wasn't a great strain or anything, but at least it was some excercize. Within 20 minutes, I was slipping out of the unlocked door, back onto the High Road. And no-one saw anything!

Of course, for the guys who were supposed to drive those things this morning, it must've been a real shock. I wonder how long it took them to find a suitable crane and raise the five vehicles back onto their wheels...

Thursday 14 October 2004 12:02 BST (GMT+1)

"LOCAL U.F.O. SOCIETY OFFERS ONLY EXPLANATION AS POLICE BAFFLED BY BUS GARAGE ATTACK"

That was the headline in the local paper this morning. It made me feel incredibly proud. It also, apparently, made a lot of people very late for work. How I laughed...

Sadly, as a result of my brief spree in the bus garage, the transport company has decided to install a network of CCTV cameras, meaning I won't be able to put on a repeat performance in the future. What am I going to do for excercise if I can't even lift a bus or two? I'll have to see how secure the train station is overnight...

For today, I'll make do with taking my frustrations out in the park. It's raining again so they'll be no-one around. I think I'll pull up a few more trees and toss them at the newly-repaired tea-house roof. It won't exert my muscles, but at least it'll be fun.

As far later, well there's a real arsehole who keeps driving his suped-up Volkswagen in the middle of the night down my street at about four times the speed limit. If he comes 'round tonight, I'll be waiting. I'm going show him the real meaning of "power"...

Friday 15 October 2004 15:06 BST (GMT+1)

So the boy-racer didn't put in an appearance last night. I was waiting for him, but he didn't show. But I'll be there again tonight....

The park was boring yesterday afternoon. I spent a while communing with nature, which mostly meant hugging trees.
Unfortunately, every time I got my arms around a nice thick trunk and squeezed, it would only compress a tiny bit against my chest before shattering into a billion matchstick-sized pieces.

Each time that happened, I was left holding the upper three-quarters of a twenty-foot-or-more-tall tree. I made the most of it by engaging in some throwing practice, tossing the things at the tea-house, a hundred or so yards away. Let me tell you, a falling tree can do an awful lot of damage to bricks and glass...

I was accurate four out of five times with my tree-throws. The one I missed was the last one, and it was only off-target because by then there wasn't much in the way of a tea-house left to hit. Those builders are going to be very, very busy!

Right now, I'm at home, relaxing. But I'll be out tonight in case my friend in the Volkswagen decides to come 'round.

Saturday 16 October 2004 10:36 BST (GMT+1)

The streets are a safer place once again this morning, thanks to me But before you start expressing your gratitude, just be aware that I did it for my own amusement, rather than your well-being...

It was a quarter past eleven last night. I was down on the street in the hope that the lunatic in the suped-up VW would show and this time, I wasn't disappointed. He came roaring around the corner, almost on two wheels as if he was on a race-track, rather than a residential street. My residential street.

I was prepared, wearing only the extremely low-cut, ultra-tight T-shirt that I bought in Paris the other week and a pair of very brief jogging shorts. I didn't bother with footwear. Anyway, as the jerk came 'round the corner, I stepped out onto the edge of the pavement, one hand on my hip, the other on my thigh, making sure I was standing right in the glow of a street-lamp. Even a man driving at over a 100 m.p.h. can't fail to notice a figure like mine, and as I expected, he screeched to a halt right beside me.

The passenger side window was wound down and the boy-racer poked his head out. He didn't bother to look at my face as he spoke; he just stared at my cleavage. "Hey babe," he said, sounding sickeningly pleased with himself, "wanna ride?"

I leant down towards him, listening to the way his heart-beat went into crazy-mode as more and more of my chest became visible to him. "What's your name?" I asked. He gave his answer to my breasts.

"Jason. What's yours, doll?" I didn't respond directly.
"So how fast does this noisy, rusty, piece of junk go?" I enquired.
"It's not a piece of junk!" he protested, sounding hurt. "It's a Volkswagen Jetta 1.8T with a stage 3 turbo upgrade."
"Whatever." I dismissed his boy-toy techno-jargon. "Looks like a piece of junk to me."
"Can a piece of junk go from 0 to 60 in 5.2 secs?" he said, slightly angrily. Then, calming himself a little, he said "Why don't you jump in and I'll show you."
"I asked how fast it could go." I reminded him.
"At least 160 m.p.h., babe" he boasted. "You like going fast?" Once again, I didn't reply to the question.
"All that jargon and noise just to do 160?" I scoffed.
"There's nothing faster on the roads." He said, defiantly, his pride clearly wounded.
"Yes there is." I told him.
"I haven't seen it."
"You will." I promised. "Wanna race?"
"Sure, babe. Where's your car?"
"Don't need a car." I said, flatly.

Before he could answer, I stood up straight again and placed my hand on the car-door, gripping it at the bottom of the open window frame. A gentle tug pulled the door neatly if loudly free from the rest of the vehicle. The guy almost screamed.

"What the fuck?" he spluttered, as I placed both my hands on opposite edges of the detached door and squeezed them slowly together. The glass shattered as the thin steel began to moan. The metal soon yielded to my vastly superior strength and concertina'd like aluminium foil between my palms until my hands were just a couple of inches apart. The door was still three-foot tall, but it was now about a twentieth of its previous width.

"Oh shit!" he exclaimed. I feigned total disinterest as I turned the compressed door around in my grasp and began crushing it in the other direction. A number of little crystals of shattered glass fell out of the twisted metal, raining down over the front of me, tumbling onto the exposed upper portion of my chest, and rolling over the curves into my cleavage.

Knowing that mere broken glass could never hurt me, I continued squeezing the remains of the car door until it was slightly smaller than a bowling ball. I tossed it casually over my shoulder. It must've flown quite a way before it landed as an age passed before I heard the sound of the metal ball hitting the ground.

I shook out the bottom of my t-shirt to lose the ground glass that had accumulated there, momentarily holding my breasts to pull them slightly apart to free the shards trapped between them. As I did that, poor Jason started hyperventilating, as if he was suffering a panic attack. Maybe he was. I smiled and leant towards the car, slowly extending my hand towards the now completely open passenger-side.

At that moment, he decided to accept my invitation to race. Or maybe he was just suddenly terrified and decided to get out of there fast. Either way, the engine gunned like a rocket about to take-off. The wheels spun furiously for a moment as they tried to get a grip on the wet tarmac, smoke rising into the air from the friction. Then, the car shot away, belching a thick cloud of foul-smelling exhaust that would have choked a normal person.

I don't know if the petrol-head's figures were correct, but the thing certainly did accelerate pretty quickly (for a man-made machine). In no time at all it was near the end of the street, and decelerating with a screech of brakes to turn the corner onto the main road. I waited a moment (to make things more fun) and then set off in pursuit.

Going barefoot meant I didn't have to worry about my shoes melting, and I didn't hold back. That meant I accelerated to my top speed in a single stride. That wasn't the only edge I had. The car was out of sight, but its suped-up engine made such a racket, it was easy to follow whereas my pretty feet were almost silent. Also, I don't have to slow down to take a tight corner, as I can spin on the spot if I need to.

In no time at all, I was right behind him. We were on the long, straight main road, and he had plenty of opportunity to work up to his top speed. I don't know if that was more or less than 160 m.p.h., but it was certainly an easy pace for me. I jogged up along side and tapped on the driver's window. He turned, and looked like he'd seen a ghost. I just waved and sped up a little, passing him in a couple of strides.

Running now just in front of him, I turned and stuck out my tongue and then put on a real sprint, opening a hundred yard gap in about ten seconds. At that point, I stopped, put my hands on my hips to show who was boss, and stared at him as he roared up the road towards me. It was night and, being only a man, he probably didn't see me until the last moment. The brakes screamed and the tyres smoked furiously. One of them burst, and the car went into a spin, hurtling towards me.

I didn't move. I didn't take my hands from my hips. I didn't even blink. I just let the car spin into me, the back half of the passenger side smacking into my thighs with an almighty crash. As I'm not the type to give way (and my body certainly isn't) it was the steel that yielded, folding around my legs as the vehicle was brought to a complete halt. A couple of windows shattered and the driver was thrown violently against his seat.

I stepped out of the crumpled metal, brushing it aside with contempt and strolled around to the undamaged front of the car. He was still conscious in there, although clearly shaken up. I threw him a smile and then bent low over the hood, making sure he got a good view of the perfect chest he could never touch. Ostentatiously, I raised my right hand, curled my fingers into a fist and held it above the centre of the hood.

"Jason," I said, fixing him with a glare. "This is what I think of your piece of junk." Then I drove my fist down, through the thin steel frame and deep into the engine block itself, the solid metal deforming around my slender knuckles like half-melted ice-cream around a pneumatic drill. I pulled out my hand, showing him how completely unmarked it was.

"Now, don't ever come near this part of town again." I told him. I didn't wait for an answer as I could already hear distant police sirens. Job done, I just took off, back for home, faster than any car that any boy-racer has ever dreamed of.

I'm still feeling good about it now. If there's one thing I love, it's putting an arrogant male in his place.

Sunday 17 October 2004 21:30 BST (GMT+1)

With the whole area full of police looking for the mysterious dark-haired girl involved in a car accident the other night, I've been staying out of sight at home. That hasn't stopped me having fun thankfully as, once again, the jerk upstairs has provided me with a good laugh.

This morning, I found a small piece of paper from the idiot himself, pushed under my door. It was a word-processed, short document pleading for information regarding "two recent attacks on my property". It went on to request that if anyone had seen anything, they should call him on his mobile phone. The number was helpfully included.

I immediately filled a large bucket with tap water and, as quietly as I could, rushed upstairs with it. I poured the water out carefully onto the floor to create a puddle that stretched from the guy's door as far as the top of the stairs. Then, I gently blew a blast of hyper-cold super-breath across the spilled liquid. Instantly, it became thick ice.

Going back into my flat, I waited a few minutes for the topmost layer of frozen water to melt. Then I picked up the phone and dialled the number from the sheet of paper.

"Oh hi," I said, "it's me - the girl downstairs." Immediately, I heard his breathing become faster. "I haven't got any information for you, but if you want to come down and talk about it..."

About twenty seconds later, I heard the sound of his front door opening. Then his yell of surprise as his foot slipped from under him, the shout of pain as he came down on his backside, the scream of terror as he slid helplessly towards the stairs and, finally, the various outbursts of agony as he tumbled head over heels down the hard steps. I think my sensitive ears also detected the sounds of a couple of bones breaking.

I was still laughing half an hour later when the ambulance crew, called by another neighbour, finally showed up and carried him away, moaning in extreme discomfort. "I...slipped.." he kept saying, in tortured gasps.

Monday 18 October 2004 08:58 BST (GMT+1)

The guy upstairs hasn't come back from hospital yet. The woman who called the ambulance send he looked in pretty bad shape with at least one broken leg and a obviously busted arm. It's almost enough to make me feel guilty. Almost, but not quite...

Although they have no clue it's me, I'm now being sought out by the authorities in connection with about five different unexplained events in my area. According to the local paper, the destruction of the tea-house in the park has got the police particularly anxious.

Bearing all that in mind, I think it's time I took a little trip somewhere, just for a few days while things cool off. So I've packed a little case (even though a huge trunk would be weightless to me) and I've called a taxi for the airport which should be here soon. I could have gone on foot, but as I said, I need to keep a low profile.

I haven't decided where I'm going yet. It depends on what's available and how much cash I can steal first. I fancy somewhere interesting. Somewhere where a girl with my "talents" can have real fun.

Hopefully, there'll be an internet cafe so I can update as normal tomorrow...

Tuesday 19 October 2004 14:16 GMT

Well, it wasn't too hard to find an internet cafe after all. I guess these days, wherever you go in the world, there's likely to be some kind of web-access...

I managed to get myself on a flight to somewhere interesting as I had plenty of cash for the ticket. Instead of just taking someone's wallet, I ran at super-speed past a queue of smartly-dressed businessmen at a check-in and dipped my hand into as many pockets as I could. I collected a couple of thousand in notes which I put in my jeans and a load of credit cards which I just squeezed until they melted into an unrecognisable blob and threw away.

The airline was happy enough for me to pay in cash and got me onto a flight within a couple of hours. The only problem was I had to sit next to this horrid, lecherous middle-aged man for the entire flight. He kept staring at me, especially when he thought I wasn't looking his way.

We finally landed, and I got through baggage reclaim no problem. Then, I was singled out by the local security. A fairly youngish-looking cop rifled disinterestedly through my suitcase before telling me, in not bad English, that he had to do a check on my person, too.

I should have realised in advance, but the check on my "person" was nothing more than an excuse for the guy to feel up my breasts and backside. When he was done I "accidentally" stepped on his foot. The sound of every bone in there crunching as his eyes filled with tears of pain nearly made up for the unpleasantness of the journey.

I got out of the airport and heard the howling, freezing wind. I suppose I looked out of place wearing just my tight T-shirt and jeans whilst everyone else was wrapped up in layer upon layer of thick clothing, but I don't feel the cold so I didn't bother with an overcoat.

I didn't bother with a taxi to the town centre either. I just walked through the snow, admiring the beautiful white landscape. As I went at "normal" speed, it took a couple of hours, but it was an enjoyable stroll. The fact that it was 3 degrees centigrade and a stiff north-easterly wind was blowing was never going to be a problem for me.

There was a room available at the first hotel I tried so I took it and unpacked my things. As it was late, I stayed in there, reading a couple of novels and waited for morning. Dawn is late here in November (after 8am), so it was a long, boring night.

This morning, I walked out of town to visit a hot spring that the hotelier recommended. It was lovely lying in the water, looking at the snow all around until someone spoiled it by running over screaming "No! No! Not in there! That is the very hot water! See, it boils! The water for the bath is the next lagoon!" I had wondered why no-one else was bathing with me. The water felt pleasant enough to my skin.

This evening, I'm going back to the hotel for a special "local delicacy" (I guess some kind of smoked fish). Then I'm going out. I want to see if what I've heard about the men in these parts is true.

Wednesday 20 October 2004 12:20 GMT

There's a nice warm feeling inside me this morning, even though it's barely above freezing with a howling wind blowing and I've been sitting at the foot of a glacier in just a T-shirt and shorts. I don't feel cold at all really (I once dipped my hand in a container of liquid nitrogen without any ill effects) but I think the warmth has more to do with what I got up to last night...

I went out to a bar, and just leant on the counter with my drink, waiting to be spotted. Pretty soon, I had three lovely tall blond guys all vying for my attention and competing to buy me drinks. I let them all pay for about half a dozen vodkas each (not cheap in these parts) even though booze does nothing for me. Then I just mentioned that I fancied going outside for a stroll. Of course, they all followed me like faithfull little dogs.

I lead them into an alley beside the bar. The ground had a light covering of snow so they weren't badly hurt when I quickly gave each of them a tiny shove, knocking them down, side by side.

I leapt onto the one in the middle and spread out my arms to prevent the guys on either side from getting up, despite their (comical to me) struggles. Moving my hands about quickly, I was able to tear off most of the clothes from the three men without letting them move.

I rode the one in the centre first, all the while holding the other two down. When he was exhausted, I gently tossed him to the other side of the one on my right and then pulled the remaining two closer together. I didn't need to stop the one I'd already used from escaping as he was too busy trying to catch his breath to flee.

I had a nice, long go with the second one, bouncing up and down on my ankles as I took him in and out, all the while stretching over to the third, using two fingertips on the middle of his chest to keep him in place until, with the one underneath me begging tearfully for mercy, I was ready to move on.

Now I had two men too exhausted to escape and I could concentrate completely on the third one as I lay on top of him, grinding the air from his lungs with gentle side-to-side motions of my bare breasts that battered and bruised his pale skin until it was purple. All the while I kept on pumping my hips, not at super-speed, but certainly faster than a "normal" girl could manage.

I pounded my pelvis against the third man's groin long after he had orgasmed, only climbing off him when I thought he was on the point of passing out. Then I just walked over to where the first one was still trying to recuperate. I bent over him, sliding one hand under his backside and the other under his shoulder.

I stood up, lifting the six-foot, gasping man effortlessly and spread my legs. I pulled his face to my chest and let him breathe in the scent of my cleavage and he was immediately ready for me again. Using the hand on his arse, I guided him into me and began raising and lowering him faster and faster.

I guess I was moving him about a bit more roughly than he was used to. He lost control of his muscles and his head started flapping about all over the place. Each time I lifted him, his forehead smacked against my breasts until the bruises that appeared under his hairline became actual cuts in his skin.

Because of the wounding, I only used him for another couple of minutes more before simply removing my hands from under him and letting him fall the yard or so onto the snow at my feet. I saw his eyes roll as he impacted and slid into unconciousness, but I was already moving on to one of his friends.

Dropping down, I kind of sat on his thighs and spread my legs either side of him. I bounced like that, really enjoying myself for quite a while, especially when he balled his hands up into fists and tried pumelling me in the belly and chest; his feather-light blows and the sight of his desperation enhancing my fun considerably.

Sadly I had to stop when I got a little to enthusiastic with my bouncing and heard the unmistakeable sound of his thigh-bone snapping in half. I would have gone on, but the pain must've been too much for the poor boy, because he passed out immediately. Men are so pathetic!

That just left me the last one, who was still getting over the first round. To make things different, I lay beside him on my back and put my hands on either side of his waist, lifting him off the ground and dropping him onto me as easily as I would have pulled on a blanket.

I locked my lips on his, kissing him very gently so that his lungs didn't completely collapse. The reward for my care was his instant erection (although his face had turned a little blue by the time I let our lips part). I picked him up by his waist and thrust him into me. If he'd been able to breathe, I'm sure he would have screamed as I did ram him a bit hard.

Losing myself in the sheer ecstacy of it all, I didn't notice him orgasming. I just kept pulling him into me and pushing him away. His chest bruised almost black against my tingling breasts as I yanked him to me time and time again, not letting up until I was absolutely sure that I was fully satiated. Then I pulled him out and tossed him aside like a used tissue. He landed face-down in the snow about ten yards away.

I lay there for a while, enjoying the afterglow. Then I got up and pulled on my clothes, feeling energised and fresher than ever whilst the three men lay battered and unconscious where I left them.

I went back to the hotel and ran the hottest bath I could to clean off the traces of weak man from my perfect body.

This evening's plan is for a little dip in the sea. It shouldn't be too crowded, given the chunks of ice floating in the water...

Thursday 21 October 2004 09:01 GMT

Ah, the delights of airport internet cafes! This one's not bad, if you like bad coffee and stale pastries...

Yes, I'm on my way home. I think I was in danger of overstaying my welcome here, and I thought it would be best to move on before things got awkward.

It was yesterday evening, after my swim. I got back to the hotel, where the middle-aged man on the reception stared at me for a few moments as if I was some kind of ghost before reverting to typical "man mode" and ogling my chest. Then he went back to his original shocked state, exclaiming (in fairly decent English) "Miss! You will die from cold! You must not be outside like this... And you are wet! This is not the Caribbean!"

Just because I had come in fresh from my dip still dripping and wearing my two-piece bikini! OK, so it was only just above freezing outside but I felt fine, so what was his problem? I soon found out.

He was worried about his nephew. Apparently, he had been found the other morning with two other men, all lying unconscious in the snow. He said that no-one knew what had happened.

Their clothes had been torn to shreds as if they'd been attacked by some kind of wild animal and their bodies were bruised and cut as though they'd all been in a fight with a professional boxer. One had a broken leg. They were all in the local hospital, but the police were baffled and likely to remain so until one of the victims came round and gave a statement.

The guy looked really concerned. He told me that the doctors thought it very possible that at least one of the casualties would regain consciousness in the next twenty-four hours, but they looked to be in a very bad state to him. I decided there and then that I would be on the first flight out in the morning.

It was a pity, because I'd love to go swimming in those waters again. The icy brine felt wonderfully refreshing against my skin as I dived in and swam beneath the surface. My eyes had no trouble in the dark salty water and the little light that did filter through the ice created beautiful patterns on the sea-bed.

I stayed down there, just lazily moving about for an hour or so. When I decided to come back up, I realised that I had swum beneath a huge sheet of thick ice. Any "normal" person in that position would have been fatally frozen long before even realising that they were trapped underwater by the ice, but of course, it wasn't even a minor inconvenience for me.

I punched my fist through the solid sheet from under the water to judge its depth. Although the ice was nearly a foot thick, my small fist went through it with no trouble at all. Then I kicked my legs a bit beneath me, generating upward thrust. The top of my head smashed through the packed frozen "ceiling" like a sledge-hammer. Then I broke more of the ice with my hands and pulled myself effortlessly up onto the surface. As I did so, my chest carved an interesting vertical double channel in the frozen brine, but I didn't stop to admire it.

I walked back to shore, leaping from one floating ice-island to the next. No problem for me, as I can do twenty yard standing jumps without even trying. Maybe I should have changed out of my bikini or at least towelled off before going back to my hotel, but it honestly never occurred to me. I wasn't cold in the slightest.

Friday 22 October 2004 09:35 BST (GMT+1)

Home sweet home. Except for the constant banging from upstairs anyway. Seems the guy got out of hospital yesterday (that's the guy from my building who I put in hospital, not the three guys I put in hospital on my travels.)

Anyway, now the paranoid jerk has called in a building firm to install new ultra-secure doors to his flat, both at the front and back. Of course, they've got to enlarge the frames as these new doors are so big, so they're up there now, working away with their hammers, making a racket.

I saw him last night, hobbling slowly up the stairs on his crutches, one leg and one arm in plaster and a nasty-looking bruise on his face. I'll do the neighbourly thing and pop up later to see how's he's doing and express my gratitude for all the banging that's going on...

The sun's trying to shine outside, so I might pop out for a quiet stroll. Also., it looks as if the police have scaled down their search in the area. Once again, I've got away with it. It might be time to give those boys in uniform something else to do...

Sunday 24 October 2004 19:41 BST (GMT+1)

So, I didn't update yesterday. What are you going to do about it?

That's what I thought.

Anyway, I went up to console my poor neighbour on Friday evening and found that the guy had invited his six-foot three rugby-playing "friend" to stay with him for a few days. (He seems to be acting as some kind of a body-guard.) I nearly laughed when I worked out what was going on. He's really misguided if he thinks even a hundred big men will protect him from me.

Then again, he doesn't know that it's me he needs protection from. During the course of my five-minute visit, I managed to trip the jerk up twice, knocking him and his crutches flying. You should have heard his scream the second time when he landed with quite a bang on his plastered, broken leg.

I shook hands with the rugby player as I left, squeezing him just hard enough to snap one of his smaller bones - the sort of injury that feels bad at the time, but starts to feel a whole lot worse after a few hours. It ended up, of course, with the "body-guard" calling a taxi to take him to hospital around eleven in the evening. Some protection!

I spent the whole day on Saturday preparing a new little project for next week. I can't say anything about it, except that it kept me away from an internet connection for over 24 hours. All will be revealed next week.

Today I spent just relaxing at home. I think someone's having my flat watched; I don't know if it's the police, or someone else, but there's been a van parked outside since this morning.

Nothing usual about a parked, unmarked van. But when I strain my superhuman hearing, I can just about make out the sound of someone moving about in the back of the vehicle. If it's still there in a hour or so, I'll have to go down and see if I can find out what's going on....

Monday 25 October 2004 09:29 BST (GMT+1)

Well, the van didn't move. I went down at around midnight and knocked on the back doors. I wouldn't have needed super-hearing to notice the noise of frantic scuffling from in there, but no-one actually responded, let alone opened up.

I've never had any patience with "normal" people who think they can get one over on me. I just jabbed the three central fingers of my right hand into the gap where the double back doors met, the metal yielding instantly to me. Then I dragged my arm to the side, causing much of the right-hand door to crumple and wad up like tin-foil.

In truth, it was as easy as pulling a light-weight curtain to the side, but to the guy in there, I must've made quite an impression, framed by the torn back of the van in my tight white T-shirt and figure-hugging black jeans, one arm leaning casually on the compacted remains of the door, the other hanging by my side.

"Good evening," I said, cheerfully, as I stepped into the van. The guy, a middle-aged balding wreck with thick black rings under his eyes and red-blotches over the rest of his face, backed away into the far corner.

"Ah, don't be shy!" I chided, walking towards him until I was standing only a foot from him, my face high above his as he cowered from me. I reached in and carefully cupped his chin, raising his head a little, taking care to use just enough strength to scare him without actually doing any damage to his fragile body. I asked him what he was doing on my street, hiding in a van all day and he mumbled something along the lines of "I can't say."

I squeezed his chin a little more and raised him onto his tip-toes, bringing his face very close to mine. Then I "insisted" he tell me, making sure my breath blasted his features a little more forcibly than was strictly necessary. He needed no further persuasion to reveal all to me.

Apparently he was working in a team with the rugby player. The pair of them have been hired by the paranoid jerk upstairs from me. While the big man stayed as a personal guard with his temporary employer, this other one was supposed to monitor all comings and goings from the building. It seems my neighbour is convinced some rival is running a vendetta against him, and is desperate to catch the culprit.

"Just out of interest," I enquired of the man whose chin I was still holding near my face, "how much is he paying you?" When the middle-aged P.I. answered, I burst out laughing. They're getting an absolute fortune for their "work". Fantastic! He pays a huge sum for these guys who will never catch the culprit (me). What a jerk!

Inside the van, I pulled my informant closer to me and leant in towards him. When our noses were just an inch or so apart, I breathed "Keep up the good work and make sure you don't fall asleep on the job." Then I kissed him very gently. I guess I got a little to intimate for him, because he began to moan and shudder and I could smell the stain that was appearing around the groin area of his trousers.

I just inhaled a little with our lips still touching, easily sucking the air from his lungs until I felt him black out. When I let go of his chin he slumped onto the floor of the van. I knew he would be too embarrassed to tell his client what had happened so I left him there as I climbed out. I made a small effort to straighten out the back door of the vehicle (enough so that it wasn't wide open all night, anyway.) and went back upstairs, unseen (of course) by the man asleep in the van.

I spent the rest of the night working on my latest little project. Soon, I'll be able to tell you all about it.

Tuesday 26 October 2004 14:10 BST (GMT+1)

Not much happening today. The guy in the van outside spent most of yesterday sleeping it off (and I only kissed him. Imagine if I could have stomached going any further with him!)

My newspapers were late again this morning. When I heard them finally slipping through the letterbox, I raced at super-speed to the door and opened it, even though I was completely naked at the time. The paperboy (a young lad of no more than 15) nearly went into apoplectic shock when he saw me. He started sweating profusely; his face turned a little greenish and he was trembling.

The poor boy's eyes seemed on the point of exploding out of his head at any moment. They were flickering like crazy all over my exposed body, unsure which part of me they'd rather be looking at. I grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt and pulled him into my flat, closing the door behind us.

I put my hands on my hips and in my sternest voice demanded why he was persistently late. He tried to answer, but he could only mumble. I realised that the sight of me was too much for his adolescent brain, so I tried another tack. Softening my stance and my voice, I smiled and asked him if he wanted to touch me.

"Y...y...yes..please." he stammered.

"Then tell me why the papers are late and I'll let you." I said.

Now that he had sufficient incentive, he answered immediately. "The van driver keeps delivering them late to the shop. It's not my fault, I always take them round as soon as possible."

"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" I patronised.

"So.. Can...can.. I t.. t.. touch...you....?"

"No!" I replied. "Now get out before I call the police." You should have seen the disappointment on his face! I actually thought he was about to cry! He turned and ran from my flat, my derisive laughter no doubt echoing in his ears.

From the window, I saw him running up the street, probably looking for the nearest public lavatory.

Tonight, I'm going to find that van driver, and let him know exactly what I think of the standards of his work.

Wednesday 27 October 2004 15:21 BST (GMT+1)

My newspaper arrived before 7 this morning - the earliest ever. Somehow I think it'll always be on time from now on....

All I did was use my ample feminine charms to get the van driver's address from the guy on the desk at the distribution company. Not exactly a challenge for a girl like me.

I went 'round there pre-dawn as he was about to set off in his van and stood right in front of his vehicle until he was forced to climb down so he could try and move me out of the way. Needless to say, he struggled for a minute or so until he was worn out without my feet moving so much as an inch. He couldn't even pull my hands off my hips, despite pulling on my slender arms with all his weight.

It turned out that he has a "thing" for supergirls. I found out when I lifted the front of his van off the road with only one hand and he immediately shot his load just watching me. I didn't even have to threaten him with violence! He just dropped to his knees right there on the street and stayed down after he'd finished his orgasm, looking up at me with worshipful eyes.

As soon as he found out that I was annoyed with the late delivery to my newsagent, he couldn't wait to tell me how he would happily change his route to ensure that my man would be the first in my part of town to be supplied each day. He even promised to drive as fast as he could to be doubly certain that I wouldn't be kept waiting.

I rewarded him with a kiss. Well a long-range kiss, blown over my upturned palm with enough force to send him rolling helplessly along the tarmac for forty yards. I bet he really got off on that, too.

Thursday 28 October 2004 10:55 BST (GMT+1)

This early, early morning paper delivery is great. I'd read two entire broadsheets cover to cover by five past seven this morning. (They were delivered at three minutes to seven.)

When I went out for my walk afterwards, I noticed that the surveillance van, which my upstairs neighbour is paying for at great expense, had moved. It was now parked right in front of the entrance to the building.

I didn't need to get any closer than three yards away to hear the sound of snoring from inside. I crept around the back and peaked through a gap I inadvertently left when I tried to re-straighten the door I'd crumpled. The same guy was in there, fast asleep. He was clutching a single piece of paper with a pencil drawing on it to his chest.

It was pitch dark in the van, but that was never going to stop me getting a good look at the picture. And, guess what? It was a pretty crappy drawing of me!! I must've made a big impression on him if he's tried to make a sketch of me and then fallen asleep looking at it. Yet another fan. How flattering! I had to do something nice for him.

I dashed back inside and fetched a bottle of rum from my kitchen and ran back downstairs with it, double-checking that no-one was watching. Then, peeling the damaged van door open as quietly as I could, I climbed silently inside. I managed to pour the entire litre of booze over the idiot without him stirring. The liquid soaked the drawing too, completely ruining it.

To make certain that he wouldn't be waking up anytime soon, I bent over him and tapped him very lightly on the top of his head with my left index finger. (I once knocked a heavy-weight boxer out cold with that technique. It's one of my favourites. I just have to remember to be careful not to do it hard enough to crack the victim's fragile skull.)

Picking him up with one hand on the waistband of his trousers, I carried him out of the van, letting him swing at my side like a handbag, knowing that he wouldn't come round. He felt about as heavy as a toothpick as I strolled around the vehicle with him hanging from my fingers. I got the driver's side door open, and lifted him onto the seat with his head resting on the steering wheel. It was easy, more like putting a lightweight scarf onto a high shelf than a man into a van.

With him safely stashed in the cab, I walked to the back of the thing and reached down to grab the frame just above one of the rear wheels. I lifted my hand and three-quarters of the vehicle came off the ground as easily as if I was picking up an empty polythene bag.

The opposite corner tyre was the only point where van met road, and I used it as a pivot as I walked in a quarter-circle, turning the van around. Then, I lowered it back down onto all four wheels. When I let go, instead of being neatly parked, the van was at right-angles to the pavement, the rear end completely blocking one lane of traffic and eating partially into the other.

I left the vehicle (now a major traffic hazard) and it's unconscious, rum-stinking occupant and went back inside. I'm watching from the window now. The police should be along at any moment....

Friday 29 October 2004 09:38 BST (GMT+1)

With one half of his "security team" in police custody and the other half sporting a broken hand wrapped in thick plaster, my friend upstairs is beginning to think that the conspiracy against him is of a supernatural nature. That's what he told me when we passed each other yesterday evening. I told him he probably was right. He limped away on his crutches, looking perplexed.

As it was raining, I took myself off to the park. Reconstruction has already begun on the old tea house, but there was no-one about, just a load of abandoned equipment. Everything was covered with huge blue plastic sheets to protect it from the rain and I guess the workers were using the weather as an excuse for a day off.

Standing about twenty yards from the construction site, I blew a jet of super-breath towards the largest plastic cover. It was anchored down at each corner with a pile of concrete blocks. Of course a mere half-tonne of concrete was never going to be a match for my easy exhalation and the blocks soon tumbled over, knocked aside by the force of my breath.

With nothing to keep the big sheet down, it filled like a sail and took off into the sky. By the time I'd closed my lips, I'd already blown it clear out of the park. It fell to the ground softly, lying right across the main-road and causing an instant traffic jam.

Now a large portion of the building site was exposed. I saw that a concrete foundation had already been laid and a number of thick vertical metal rods had been set into it. Each rod was about an inch in diameter and made of solid steel. I went around each one in turn. Some of them I bent into amusing shapes like hearts or spirals. Some of them I snapped in half. Others I just bent double.

The last rod I pulled towards my body and moulded around the curves of the underside of my chest to form a kind of rounded "w" shape. That one made the prettiest sculpture of all. The thick metal might as well have been wet string in my hands. There was no challenge re-shaping it, only the amusing thought that it was going to cause someone a lot of inconvenience.

For a final touch, I drove my fist deep into a portable diesel generator. My hand just carved into the metal casing and the various lumps of steel inside as if it was all made of particularly lightweight polystyrene. I made sure my dainty knuckles crushed as much of the internal workings as possible before pulling my hand out, admiring my work and heading for home

I spent most of the rest of the day yesterday preparing for Saturday when my latest project will unfold. I can't say much about it until Sunday, but it should be an awful lot of fun. For me.

Sunday 31 October 2004 15:11 GMT

I'll bet you'd like to know what I've been up to. What could possibly have kept me from updating the blog on two consecutive Saturdays? Is there really still a place where even a supergirl can't get internet access?

Well, yes there is. It's a trench. About halfway between Tokyo to Honolulu. At the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.

Time for a little background. A girl like me meets all kinds of people in all kinds of walks of life. A few years ago, I got to know a high-ranking official at an embassy of one of the smaller ex-Soviet republics. We got chatting, and in that pathetic way men have, he tried to impress me by telling tales of his days in the KGB, long before Glasnost.

It seems that every single even slightly heterosexual man I meet is desperate to get me into bed from the instant he sees me. Or maybe it's the instant he smells me (as I've had plenty of interest from men without sight, too.) Anyway, this guy was no different. He began revealing more and more secrets of his past to me, in the hope that I would find him sexier if I knew about his history.

Of course, he never gave away too much information; he would say that such-and-such had happened to an un-named Important Person, without actually enlightening me with the identity of the historical figure concerned. Or he would tell me that an unspecified, bloody war between two countries had been provoked by the security services of a third country, leaving me to guess which three states he was referring to.

There were two main problems (for him) caused by these little "teasers" of information that he kept feeding me. The first problem was that he aroused my curiosity, which meant I had to persuade him to tell me more, just to satisfy myself. And, of course, no-one on Earth is better suited to "persuading" than me. The other problem was that he constantly underestimated his attraction to me. I don't comment much on my own appearance, but I must be one ultra-desirable young woman judging by the way so many men become so deeply obsessed with me. Trust me, this guy would have done anything for the supreme honour of making love to me.

Anyway, I found myself alone with him in his flat one night. Using a combination of the technique that got Cf to host this blog (violence) and the other method of controlling men (seduction), I got him to tell me every last detail of every dirty secret he knew. It didn't end well for him. I hurt him pretty badly, knocking his face and head about with my bare breasts, roughing him up and turning him on at the same time. I probably shouldn't have rewarded his reluctant co-operation with such violent, highly energetic sex, but how was I to know his heart wasn't up to the task? At least he died happy, having given me what I wanted.

Amongst the many incredible things he told me was the story of a submarine that was on patrol in the deep Pacific in the early 1970s. It was common for subs on that kind of secret mission in hostile waters to maintain complete radio silence for fear of discovery. When fire broke out on this particular vessel and an unknown chain of knock-on disasters cost the lives of every member of the crew, it was five days before anyone in command knew that anything was wrong.

There was no hope for those on board, but the top brass were concerned about the technology on the sub falling into "unfriendly" hands. In particular, there were a number of bits of hardware that they were most keen to recover. Another submarine was detached to carry out the task, but, after a fortnight frantically searching the seabed, it returned without managing to discover the location of the stricken vessel.

Over the following three years, a total of nearly a hundred separate missions were carried out, all aimed at finding the lost sub. Cartographers, geologists, oceanographers and engineers were employed in a vain attempt to solve the riddle. Theories of vast, hidden cracks in the seabed abounded, but no concrete proof. Finally, the government decided to cut its losses; if they couldn't locate the vessel knowing that it was there, and news of its loss was kept completely secret, no other country was likely to discover it either.

They were right. No other country discovered it. The secret remained safe until that night in the diplomat's flat. In other words, until I came along. No other system for extracting truths is as effective as mine. No radar or sonar or laser is as good at hunting things out as I am, either. And no submarine, manned or robotic, is better equipped for working in the extreme conditions (pitch dark, phenomenal pressure) of the bottom of the sea. Me, I'm as happy and comfortable in that extreme environment as I am strolling in the park on a sunny day.

I found the long lost vessel last Saturday. It took me all day to do it, swimming at super-speed in a grid-like pattern over the seabed, using my super-vision to scan every square inch below, despite the almost complete lack of light down there, but it was worth the effort.

The craft had gone missing with four medium-range missiles in its armoury. As my unfortunate informant had explained, the reason his government had been so eager to locate the sub (and the reason I too was keen to find it) was that these missiles were armed with thermo-nuclear warheads. It's always been an ambition of mine to feel one of those exploding against my body and the submarine represented my best chance of fulfilling that ambition without having to start World War Three in the process.

Once I had discovered the vessel, I didn't waste time looking for the air-lock. I tore into the thick steel hull with my bare hands, peeling the metal aside as though it was a piece of fruit. It made no difference to me if the interior was flooded or not; I don't need to breathe air so I can spend a couple of days underwater without ill effects and the high pressure (too much for all but the most specialist forms of marine life) doesn't bother me either.

Anyway, my rude entrance did cause the whole sub to fill with seawater, washing away the stench of death that still permeating everything. There were an awful lot of bodies in there; poor, weak, fragile men who had never stood a chance. I swam past them, tearing through heavy steel doors and panels, looking for my treasure. Eventually, I found it. Deep in the bowels of the submarine. Four large missiles, exactly as I had been told.

They were too large for me to carry all at once; I simply could not get my arms around them. Not without crushing a couple of them almost flat against my chest. In the end, I carried them out one by one and placed them carefully, after another brief search for a suitable site, in a narrow but exceptionally deep trench in the sea-floor. It might well be the lowest spot on the whole planet.

There was just one problem. I could not make them explode. I tried everything short of actually smashing the missiles, but nothing worked. I needed an expert in the field. I couldn't bring one there; no other person could survive at those depths (even in a pressurised craft), so I had to return to shore to get one. The only problem was that the nearest shore was a few hours' super-speed swim away.

I gave myself a week to find someone to help me out. In fact, I'd already tracked down my expert by last Sunday night. I can't say much about him, because I may need to use him again (provided he makes a full recovery.) He wouldn't co-operate at first, but I convinced him it was for the best. He told me how to locate the electronic circuit board that controlled the detonation sequence, and, of course, how to actually trigger that sequence and I thanked him in my customary manner.

All week I was looking forward to yesterday. I swam back to my secret trench so quickly, even I was impressed. I just couldn't wait to try out my new toys now that I knew how to operate them.

The long, cylindrical shape of the things was not lost on me as I gathered the four missiles into a pile, one on top of the other and then straddled them, gripping the phallic objects tightly with my thighs and calves.

I had to reach behind myself to get to the panel that housed the trigger circuits. I peeled the steel plate away with a fingernail and then carefully followed the instructions my expert had given. I'd been assured that triggering just one of the weapons in close proximity to the others would be enough to detonate them all. And that assurance proved to be correct.

Over the years, I've had all kinds of explosions detonate against (and sometimes inside) most parts of my body. But never, never, have I let my most intimate centre be stimulated by such a devastating blast of such awesome energy.

The first instants of the explosion were probably a close approximation of what it must be like to stand on the surface of the sun. I was wearing a bikini at the time, but it disintegrated instantly as a wave of heat melted the metal casings between my legs. The water for a hundred yards in every direction was violently boiling and it warmed my skin to tingling point.

The extreme temperatures and molten metal reached into my nether regions and pleasured me in a way that I can't even begin to describe. No experience I've ever had comes close. If I took the greatest pleasure any mere man has ever given me, and multiplied it by ten thousand, it would still fall short. And the star-like heat was only the starter. Perhaps "warm up" would be a better term for it.

A moment later came the actual blast. I was launched, like a rocket, straight up through the water by the sheer force of the explosion. Shockwaves smashed against my body through the water with enough force to crush a city to dust, creating a depth of feeling I never knew I could experience. Every part of me was stimulated at once as I continued to soar upwards towards the surface, the force of those shockwaves buffeting me again and again from all sides.

I rose out of the water into the air just as the biggest orgasm of my life was breaking. I must've been screaming, but I don't really remember much about it. I think I may have blacked out for a moment (the only time in my life that has happened). It wasn't the force of four nuclear bombs that did it, it was the intensity of sexual ecstasy they caused.

When I opened my eyes again, I was floating in the water once again. I could see huge waves spreading away on the surface. They had obviously been thrown up by the explosion so very far below. There must have been some very wet coastal towns when those babies finally hit land!

I let myself drift for a while, just recovering my composure and enjoying the afterglow for as long as possible before setting off on the long, long journey home. I can still feel echoes of that glorious sensation now. My only concern is: will I ever get another chance to enjoy it again?

 

 

November 2004

Monday 1 November 2004 11:06 GMT

I'm still feeling the buzz from the weekend's activities! I think I must've absorbed a hell of a lot of energy, as I'm feeling even more lively than usual. I might have to find a way to spend some of the surplus later...

With the clocks having gone back an hour, it's getting dark really early. I went for a walk last night to the park and found that the gates were locked. I didn't bother to break the chain, as the railing are only about ten feet high, so I just leapt over them from a standing jump.

The builders working on the tea-house are obviously fed-up with having to start again every couple of days, so this time, they've put up a series of metal screens all around the construction site.

I walked up to the temporary wall, placed my hands behind my back and leant forward.The thin aluminium sheet groaned as I pressed into it. When I stood up straight again, there was a perfect, deep imprint of my chest in the metal. Just underneath, I poked my finger right through the wall and dragged it downwards, carving out a vertical channel.

Removing my finger, I stuck it back into the metal near the top of the first line and this time tore a diagonal line. I went on, carving through the wall with my digit until I had cut "I WAS HERE" in large letters underneath the impression of my bust. The "A" had to be in the typical stencil style, but the rest of it looked perfect.

For a finishing touch I put my face close to the wall and stuck out my tongue, using it to scrape out a big fat vertical line at the end of my graffiti. That was to be my exclamation mark. For the dot at the bottom of it. I kissed the wall, breathing in a little until the metal inside the area covered by my lips stretched and finally gave way, tearing out of the sheet.

I chewed up the bit of aluminium in my mouth and spat it at a tree. Of course the chunk flew through my lips like a big bullet. It drilled a hole right through the thick trunk.

No one saw me as I leapt back over the perimeter wall of the park.

Tuesday 2 November 2004 10:34 GMT

So, according to the local paper, police are looking for a "gang of vandals" who used a "powerful, specialist diamond drill" to deface temporary screens in the park. Apparently, the culprit has to be a craftsman as such "high quality" work requires "great skill." How I laughed when I read that!

Yesterday morning I mentioned all that extra energy charging around my body which I absorbed from those big fire-crackers I was playing with at the weekend. Well, I managed to get rid of some of it last night.

I took the last train down to the coast. It was a cloudy night, and no-one would have seen me running across the fields at the top of the cliffs. When I got to the edge, I didn't bother trying to climb down. I just leapt off.

It was lovely feeling the air rsuhing by as I fell the hundred or so feet down to the rocks below. I turned in the air so I was diving head first. My skull smashed a huge boulder to a million fragments when I eventually hit the ground.

Getting to my feet, I spent an hour or so just pounding the cliff face with my fists, reducing a huge section of centuries-old grantite to dust. Then I kicked off my shoes and had some fun kicking large boulders out to sea.

Finally, I pulled off all my clothes and just ground my body into the hard solid rock, carving out a cave-sized hole in the cliff using nothing but my naked chest, stomach and groin. It felt great!

With dawn approaching, I couldn't stay any longer so I put my t-shirt, jeans and shoes back on and began climbing back up to the top. Getting up the side of a hundred foot high, sheer granite cliff is easy when your hands can tear convenient holds in the rock as easily as scooping out half-molten ice cream.

I made it to the station in time for the first morning train back to town, feeling fresh and revitalised after my little work-out.

Now, I need to find something to do with the rest of the day...

Wednesday 3 November 2004 14:14 GMT

Sometimes, out of the blue, an opportunity presents itself that's just far, far too good to turn down. Yesterday was one of those times.

I was just walking down a quiet, local street, not even looking for trouble. There's an old, abandoned and boarded-up pub on the corner. It's been in that state for years and I normally pass it by without even a second thought.

Except yesterday, when my superhuman hearing detected voices coming from inside. Curious to know if someone was planning to buy the place or redevelop it or whatever, I stopped and listened. I soon realised that what was happening inside was no property deal.

A calm, authoritarian male voice was saying "...what you've done with the money."

A croaky response came from another man: "I told you. I don't know what you're talking about. Let me go."

"Now, now, Sam." the first speaker said. "You know I can't do that. I've got a reputation to think of. What would people say?"

There was no answer. After a pause, the previously calm man suddenly shouted "I said what would people say!!"

"Er... er.... I don't know..." The tone of the answer was pure terror.

"You don't know." the first speaker was calm again. "You don't know what people would say. Well, I'll tell you, Sam. They'd say I'd gone soft. We don't want that, do we, Sam?"

"N... n... no."

"That's right. Can't have people thinking that I've gone soft. Ernie!"

"Yes, guv?" a third voice, much deeper than the other two joined the conversation.

"Show my friend Sam here that I haven't gone soft."

"Hehe..." said the deep voice. Then I heard the unmistakeable sound of fists hitting soft flesh and a man wincing in pain.

By this point, I was already looking for a way in. The nature of the conversation amused me and the sounds of the beating taking place inside were simply too inviting.

I walked around the building. The back door had been recently replaced by a steel panel that was obviously locked from the inside. I decided not to try for subtlety. I lifted my left leg and calmly swung it at the door, making a tremendous clang and almost bending the entire slab of metal in half as it ripped free from its fixings.

The bent steel door flew about five yards into the pub before it smashed down to the ground. All other sounds in there stopped instantly. Then the one who had been asking all the questions said "What the f*** was that? Ernie! Go and look."

I stepped through the now open doorway into a corridor. From the sound of the voice, I could tell that the action was taking place in a room at the end of the passage. Before I could get there, however, Ernie arrived.

He was huge. His broad shoulders completely blocked the corridor, his neck was as thick as a tree and his hairy hands, clenched into giant fists, were as big as grapefruit. I smiled at him and he glowered back at my chest. "You must be Ernie." I said, cheerfully.

"Who the f*** are you, bitch?" he demanded.

"That's no way to talk to a lady." I told him. He took a couple of caveman-like steps towards me. I reached for him, grabbing him by the waist-band of his trousers and hoisted him, with one hand, over my head. With my arm stretched up and the huge man hanging either side of it, his rear was touching the ceiling.

There was a lot of grunting and swearing from overhead and his two massive and thick arms were pounding the top of my head, but it was no effort to ignore him as I walked towards the end of the corridor, holding Ernie up in the air all the time. I entered the disused bar with the big man still draped over my hand.

It was like strolling into a scene from a bad film. A man in a very expensive-looking suit and black leather gloves was standing over a chair. Tied with heavy-duty rope to the chair was another, much smaller man. This had to be Sam. His face was badly bruised, eyes swollen, his lip bleeding and his clothes were torn.

I put my free hand on my hip and waited whilst the man in the suit glanced up at the gorilla I was holding over my head, then at my face (which was smiling) then at my chest. His eyes paused there for a while before returning, almost in a double-take, to my stretched arm. "What the f***?" he asked.

"I found this…" (I raised Ernie a little and lowered him again, to show what I was talking about) "…out in the corridor. You really should take better care of your pets."

"F***ing bitch" said Ernie through gritted teeth, renewing his useless struggles to free himself or hurt me or whatever it was he was trying (and failing) to do. The man in the suit said nothing as I sauntered over to the chair, paying to attention to the grunting and thrashing taking place above me.

I took my hand from my hip and waved it casually across the ropes holding Sam in place. My fingernails sliced through the thick binding more efficiently than any sharp, steel knife would have managed. Pieces of cut rope fell to the ground. The skinny man who had been bound rubbed his arms and started to stand. I pushed him back down. "I didn't say you could move." I told him. He looked up at me, confused and fearful. I glared back down at him.

"Who the hell are you and what do you want?" That was the one in the suit.

"I want some fun." I answered, truthfully. I kept Ernie at arm's length overhead the whole time while I used my spare hand to slip off my shoes and jeans. I had to change arms on the huge man to pull off my T-shirt, but I was still holding him in the air only a few seconds later, now stark naked.

"If I'd wanted a stripper, I'd have booked one!" suit-man joked. He was obviously well-practiced at keeping his cool in extreme situations. A real big player. I walked over to him slowly, his hired muscle suspended from my grip high above me as I swung my hips and let my naked chest bounce a little with each step.

I was about two paces away from him when he thrust his hand into his jacket. I had a feeling what he was doing, and could have stopped it easily, but I let him continue anyway. As expected, he pulled out a pistol.

I don't get to see many guns around here, and I must say it was a pleasant surprise to be staring down the barrel of a silencer. I'd been hoping for something good when I kicked in the door but this was more than I could have expected. I stopped mid-stride, putting my unused hand on my hip and striking a sexy, arrogant pose. The effect of that was immediate. The man with the gun's heart beat faster, his breathing became more rapid and his eyes started darting between Ernie and my thrust-out chest.

I was right in my assessment of the guy. He was a complete pro. He got his act together to pull his trigger pretty quickly. I let him do it, mainly so I could have the fun of seeing his reaction afterwards. The first two shots bounced off my face harmlessly enough, and the look of shock it caused in him was wonderful. Then, he lowered his aim.

One bullet rebounded from my right breast and whistled past his ear. The next hit my other mound and pinged right back where it had come from, smacking into his belly, not quite drawing blood but hitting hard enough to make him double over, dropping the gun as he gasped in shock and pain. He was lucky it was a ricochet from the softest part of my perfect body, so most of the force of the shot wasn't returned. If the thing had bounced off my stomach, for instance, it would have killed him there and then.

I closed the gap to the slumped shooter and grabbed his belt, hosting him into the air so that I was holding him next to Ernie, one man dangling from either hand over my head. Turning around, I strolled back to poor Sam. I bent down, bringing my head over the little guy's lap, all the while keeping my arms in the air holding the suit and the gorilla.

I used my teeth to tear through Sam's belt and peeled his trousers and underpants away with my mouth. Then, I stood up straight again and threw a leg over the chair and the confused man sitting on it. Leaning forwards, I brushed my naked chest across his face, knocking his head from side to side a couple of times until he started to bruise. That wasn't the only reaction I caused, of course. He was soon as hard as he could get.

I lowered myself onto him, taking what little he had to offer inside me and started to bounce up and down on his shaft. The two men I was holding were tossed around like soft toys, their arms and legs flying all over the place. Meanwhile, Sam shot his miserable load all too quickly.

I knew I wouldn't get anything worthwhile from him without snapping him in half, so I stood up and told him to get lost. He looked a bit confused, so I shouted "Get out! Now!" He couldn't run at all well, what with the injuries Ernie had given him before I interrupted and the much worse damage I had caused with my brief love-making (not to mention his trousers in shreds around his ankles) but he limped away pretty quick.

I kept the huge man over my head as I brought his boss down and, turning my wrist to bring his whole body around, slammed him down in a sitting position onto the vacant chair. He tried to stand immediately, but I only needed one hand to hold him in place and tear every last stitch of clothing off him.

Maybe he liked strong girls. Or maybe he just liked the way I look naked, but he was already stiff for me. He was much better equipped than Sam, too. Ernie thrashed about hopelessly above us in my single-handed grip as I started to ride his boss, my breasts occasionally knocking the gangster's chin as I started to get into it. Thinking about it, from his perspective, it must've been like having his arms tied behind his back and then going into the ring to face the heavyweight champion of the world, only a little more painful.

Because the bastard had shot me in the head, I didn't make any effort to take it easy on him. I kept going, riding him more and more aggressively until I reached my orgasm. I knew his head had gone limp sometime before I peaked, but I probably would have stopped if I'd known he was dead. I got off him pretty quickly when I realised.

I'd been holding Ernie overhead all the while. He was pretty shaken up by the whole experience but when I lowered my arm and dropped him on the ground he was still just about conscious. He rolled about and tried to get up, but was clearly in no state to stand.

Leaning over him as I quickly got dressed again I told him "You'd better get rid of your ex-boss before he starts to smell. And if I ever see you anywhere again, someone will be getting rid of you. Do you understand."

"Y…Yes.." he said from his position on the floor. His head obviously hurt too much to nod.

"One more thing, Ernie." I said. "You were never here today. You never saw me. Is that clear?"

Again he stammered his acknowledgement.

"So long, then!" I said cheerfully, walking out. "It's been fun."

I wasn't lying.

Thursday 4 November 2004 16:36 GMT

After yesterday's carelessness in the old pub, today's been a day for keeping an extremely low profile.

In fact, I haven't been out at all. There must be police everywhere and the last thing I need is someone pointing me out and saying "I saw her 'round here yesterday". The problem is people usually remember seeing me (especially men.)

So I've been staying in. The only thing that's stopped me getting totally bored was a DVD-Rom Encyclopaedia. It's supposed to be a very good and complete one (I think it costs over a hundred quid, but I wouldn't know because I stole my copy from the shop.) Anyway, it kept me busy for a good four or five hours while I read the entire contents and comitted them to memory.

Now I need to find something to do all evening. I wonder if that jerk upstairs is in...

Friday 5 November 2004 09:34 GMT

He wasn't in upstairs. Must've limped out somewhere on his crutches with his over-sized rugby-playing bodyguard. The other member of that "surveillance and security team" (ha ha!) is still indisposed after his arrest, so the poor bastard's flat was completely vulnerable.

I say completely vulnerable, but the great thick new steel doors front and back and the ultra-extensive alarm system would have deterred most "normal" intruders. Of course, there's nothing "normal" about me.

I ran at his back door at superspeed, not slowing at all as I crashed into it, the metal panel tearing from its hinges and ripping quite a bit of frame (brickwork, plaster and all) away from the wall. The crumpled door flew almost the entire length of the flat before it slammed into a wall, knocking a huge area of paint and plaster free.

I continued moving at ultra-speed so that the complex CCTV system the jerk has installed wouldn't record anything of me (other than the faintest blur). Locating the main fuse-box, I jabbed my fingers into it, tearing through the metal cover as if it wasn't there and mangling the heavy-duty copper contacts inside as easily as I would have moulded a lump of wet clay.

I enjoyed the brief tickle of 400 volts searing through my body before everything shorted out in a shower of sparks that covered my body, even though I didn't feel them. So much for the thousands the guy must have spent on electronics to protect his home!

With the flat's electricity supply destroyed, the CCTV and alarm systems were neutralised. I could then take my time.

I wandered into the kitchen first. His fridge was one of those giant, double-doored things. A foot taller than me and almost too wide for me to get my hands around. In fact I had to squeeze the sides in quite a bit to lift it off the floor, but once I had, depite its bulkiness, it felt as light as a box of matches to me.

Carrying the giant fridge into the living room, I turned it upside down and left it in the middle of the floor. I went back into the kitchen for the freezer which was only slightly smaller. Picking it up, I strolled with it to the bathroom and placed it carefully on top of the toilet seat. It was like moving a newspaper for me, but it'll take three "strong" men to shift it. Until then, the jerk will just have to go in the sink.

I moved quickly to leave the flat so I wouldn't be seen by any human or electronic eye. Back in my own place, I only had to wait a couple of hours before I heard the familiar sounds of crutches on the stairs. It took him a while to get up to his front door, but the string of expletives when he finally saw the inside of his flat was hysterical.

No doubt, I'll be hearing more about it today. Should be fun.

Saturday 6 November 2004 11:57 GMT

Other than the initial burst of swearing, I didn't hear all that much from upstairs last night.

He called the police and they came round and had a look. Then, they knocked on my front door. So much for me keeping a low profile!

A very young, very tall and very skinny copper with blonde hair (not much more than an overgrown schoolboy, really) stood on my doorstep. Next to him was a much shorter, much more solidly-built and considerably older policewoman. They each glanced briefly at my face when I opened the door. Thereafter, both of them addressed all their questions to my chest.

It was hard to tell which one of them was more attracted to me. I pretended not to notice their lustful stares as I answered their enquiries. No, I hadn't heard any unusual sounds from upstairs. Yes, I'd been in all day. No, I hadn't seen anyone strange hanging around. They seemed to believe me so I flashed a smile that made both the boy's and the woman's heartbeat go crazy and shut the door on them.

An hour later, a builder arrived to fit a temporary emergency back door. Then, an electrician turned up. At one point I heard the jerk up there asking the electrician and the builder if they could move the freezer off his lavatory. He can't do it himself of course (he's in plaster and on crutches) and his rugby-playing "friend" can't help because he has a broken bone in his hand (courtesy of me).

"How the f*** did that get there?" the electrician asked.

"Don't ask." said the jerk, wearily. "I think I'm cursed."

I listened. The two tradesmen struggled, grunting and groaning for about ten minutes, but between them they couldn't shift the freezer. The same freezer that had felt as light as a newspaper to me. Men are so pathetic!

Then, this morning there's a frantic banging on my door once again. It's the jerk himself. "Please!" he pants, looking totally desperate. "Can I use your toilet?" Of course I made up some excuse why he couldn't and he went off, slightly more urgently than before, to knock on another door.

I do, actually, have a perfectly functioning lavatory, even if I never need to use it. But it was too much fun to turn the idiot away.

Sunday 7 November 2004 18:39 GMT

I've been so bored, staying in and trying not to get into trouble. Last night, I even watched the regional news on the rolling news channel. If I wasn't superhuman, it would've bored me to sleep. But I don't sleep (ever). I would if I ever felt tired, but that never happens.

So, I was wide awake to see an amusing story from the coast. It seems that geologists had vastly underestimated the speed of coastal erosion. A large chunk of cliff has, the report explained, disappeared in the space of a few months. According to a "top scientist" global warming is to blame for the sea's "extraordinary destructive power".

Interestingly enough, the area where the erosion has taken place is the exact same spot I visited for some light exercise the other day. Could it be that the destruction of the cliffs had nothing to do with the sea but rather my lovely body's "extraordinary destructive power"?

It made me laugh, but it's a bad day when the highlight was a news item on TV. Tonight, I'm raising my low profile a little. I don't fancy any more of this not going out. I'm bored. I need to hurt someone or at least do some damage somewhere. A superpowered body like mine needs to be used.

Monday 8 November 2004

[On Nov. 8th, Blogger told us how she had frozen the entire body of water in her local reservoir to ice using her superbreath.]

Note by Conceptfan:  This entry was accidentally deleted.  I'm so sorry, Blogger.  Please don't kill me.

Tuesday 9 November 2004 08:46 GMT

The water supply still isn't back to normal this morning. I heard that a team of "engineers" was out on the reservoir with blow-torches all night in a desperate attempt to melt the ice. A team of men, with tools, working for hours on end and they still couldn't reverse what took me five minutes to do on my own with just my breath!

There were two young, ugly-looking guys in suits hanging around outside my building yesterday afternoon. I didn't approach them, but I was able to read some of the papers they were holding and find out that they were estate agents. Who were they meeting? Well, imagine my surprise when a familiar figure on crutches approached them. It seems the poor jerk's had enough of his recent run of "bad luck" and has decided that his flat really is cursed. So, he's trying to get rid of it. I'll keep an eye on the situation.

Meanwhile, the police are appealing to the public for information "regarding the discovery of a man's body in a disused public house". They're obviously completely at a loss on that one which means I'm off the hook for sure. I think I'll celebrate by going out and finding myself a nice man. Or four.

Wednesday 10 November 2004 11:53 GMT

The water in the building came back on properly yesterday afternoon (nearly 48 hours after my visit to the reservoir) just in time, as I needed a bath. I was a little dirty with sweat and other bodily excretions. Not my own, of course, I don't perspire. Left to myself, I always smell lovely. But when I get intimate with men as happened Tuesday, I always pick up some dirt. That's men; filthy, pathetic creatures. At least they're good for one thing. Well, two things really: teasing and screwing.

When the water came back on, a leaflet was pushed under my door. It told me that I could now drink from the cold water taps and flush the lavatory, but it would be another 12 hours before the hot water tank refilled and heated fully. Never one to wait around, I had my bath in stone cold water. I hardly noticed. To be honest, the difference between an icy bath and boiling one is negligible as far as I'm concerned. A little soap and the chilly water washed away all traces of man from my perfect body just fine.

As for how I got so dirty in the first place... Well, I was across town in an area I don't really go to much. Not a lot happens around there, so I tend not to visit. There's a lot of light industry; warehouses, workshops, that kind of thing. There's also a lot of car repair places. And a couple of specialist garages that are equipped to work on bigger vehicles such as vans and trucks.

I never knew about it before, but there's even a place that caters for buses and coaches. I found it by chance, just walking around. As well as the usual dusty offices, they have a massive workshop that takes up about six normal-sized units. The front of that is completely open to the street during working hours, so I could stand across the street, leaning on a brick wall, studying the place and checking out the mechanics. It must've been lunch hour, as there were about six guys all sitting on a low wall, eating sandwiches.

It wasn't long before they started to notice me in return. I could see them nudging each other and nodding in my direction and with my sensitive hearing, I could also eavesdrop on their conversations. So many cliches in such a short space of time!

"Here, check that out." one said to his colleague, indicating me.

"Cor, I'd like to give her a full service."

"Yeah, I'd give her headlamps a really good polish."

"..check her oil with my dipstick."

"..take her for a test-drive once 'round the block". And so on. The usual pathetic male bravado. Although, in truth, there were a couple of them that didn't look too bad, even in their greasy overalls.

Eventually, lunch break was over. Three of the guys, including the two best looking of the bunch, went over to a large removal van that was raised up in one corner of the workshop. Two of them climbed onto those low-trolleys mechanics use for working on the underside of vehicles and disappeared beneath the truck. A third stood by a nearby workbench on which a number of tools were laid out.

Of the remaining three, one headed straight for another bench about ten yards away from his colleague. Standing behind a huge, half-assembled engine, he set about the task of rebuilding it. The last two lunchers left the garage area through a door marked "Private" that no doubt leads to the offices and toilet facilities. As they went through, I couldn't help but notice they passed a small panel on the wall with two large buttons. I had no trouble examining it with my super-vision. The upper button was green and labeled "OPEN", the other was red and bore the legend "CLOSE". Stuck to the brick wall next to the panel was a handwritten sign reading "Main Shutter Control. Authorised Users Only."

Reaching behind me with my left hand, I scooped a tiny bit of brick out of the wall with a fingernail and held it in my hand as I crossed the street. The two under the removal van didn't notice of course, but the others stopped working and stared at me as I sauntered over. I stopped just inside the garage for a moment, my hands hanging by my sides as I treated the two gawping men to an unencumbered view of the well-stretched upper half of my tight T-shirt.

Certain that neither of them was looking at my hand I carefully flicked the tiny chunk of wall I'd been holding in my left hand at the little red "CLOSE" button on the wall some fifteen yards from me. My aim, as ever, was spot-on. I also judged the strength of the flick to perfection, the piece of brick hitting the button just hard enough to press it in without smashing the contacts beneath. Immediately, I heard a whine of electric motors. I didn't have to look round to hear a series of metal shutters lowering behind me, closing the workshop off from the street.

Neither of the two men saw my hand move. They both turned to look first at the control panel and then, when they saw no-one in its vicinity, at each other, perplexed. I undressed at super speed as, from under the truck, one of the men called "Hey! Who's closing the shutters?" By the time he'd posed the question, I was completely naked.

The two standing mechanics did a double- then a triple-take as they noticed me (as far as they were concerned) suddenly naked and then feasted their eyes on the treat I provided. I took advantage of their stunned state to walk over to the truck the other pair were working beneath.

It was being held up on a twin ramp; two narrow steel tracks which sloped down to the ground at one end. Obviously, it had been driven up with its wheels on either side resting on one of the tracks. As a result, the whole thing was raised about eighteen inches off the ground. I only had to bend slightly to get my hand underneath the front of the vehicle.

I could have showed off, lifting the van slowly with that single hand, but I was keen to start indulging my desires so I didn't bother. I just pulled the front of the truck up towards me, its weight as insignificant to me as a piece of rag. Then I twisted my wrist, making the big vehicle turn 90 degrees before tossing it to one side with an effortless flick. The entire truck flew briefly sideways through the air before crashing down on its side about five yards to my right.

I gave the two men on trolleys a couple of seconds to see me standing over them before I just dove on top of the nearest one. He didn't even have time to call out in shock before I landed on him, my lovely chest driving the air from his lungs as it slammed into him. Seeking out his lips, I kissed him gently but passionately, feeling the inevitable response against my groin and reaching down to tear the front of his overalls and his underpants, exposing his growing arousal.

A second later, I had planted my hands on the ground either side of the tiny-wheeled platform he was lying on. My toes touched the ground behind me, my ankles crushing the end of the trolley to sawdust as my toes sought a good purchase. I eased myself onto him and he gasped. Then I began to raise and lower myself, taking care not to crush the man beneath me to paste with every downward thrust.

The other men were running around in confusion, not sure where to stand to get the best view. Very quickly, the one under me reached his orgasm, but as I was no where near ready, I ignored it and kept pumping. I thought he was happy with that when he put his hands on my hips, but, when I saw the look of desperation on his face, I realized he was trying with all his strength to push me off. I kept going.

He tried to call for help, but each time my body came down on his, I squeezed the air from his chest as my breasts impacted. "Guys! Hel-" and "Get her o-" where the most coherent things he managed to say. His upper body was starting to bruise and there were tears (of frustration or pain or ecstasy or all three...) rolling down his cheeks. But I was still far from done with him.

His three friends finally understood his appeal for help. Two of them grabbed my arms (one on either side) and started to make grunting noises as they pulled for all they were worth. Of course their efforts didn't disrupt the fast rhythm of my ride for even a nanosecond. The final mechanic tried to move my legs with the same complete lack of success. After a while, he changed tactics and began pounding my rear.

Of course, that part of my anatomy (as well as perfectly rounded and silky smooth) is a million times tougher than solid steel and there were two shouts of pain from behind me as he damaged first his left then his right hands. But his blows felt great to me. Especially when he gave up to save his fists and started kicking my legs, thighs and hips instead.

The two pulling uselessly on my arms took a cue from the kicking and tried a bit of punching themselves. I heard four separate crunches, each followed by a yell of pain as both of them broke the bones in their hands on my flawless shoulders. They, too, started to kick me, their heavy boots bouncing off my head, my face, even my chest when my body was briefly raised between downward thrusts.

The combination of the series of blows and my constant pumping was lovely but I could see that the man under me was rapidly slipping out of consciousness. I needed a change.

I stood up, the kicks raining in on me making no difference as I pushed the wheeled trolley away with my toes. It careened off until it hit the wall, its passenger now well and truly comatose. I chose one of the three men at random and grabbed him by his collar, using my other hand to tear his clothes to shreds in seconds. As I pushed him down on the ground, the other two ran out of the way, allowing me a clear leap on to him.

Something (probably a rib) cracked as I landed. I ignored it, raising myself up on my arms a little so I could swing my chest gently back and forth, smashing the man's head to one side then the other, making his cheeks bruise then bleed with my softest, most feminine flesh and also making his organ stiffen to show me the respect I demand. As soon as he was ready, I impaled myself on him and began to take him in and out of myself.

The two who had briefly gone returned. To my delight, they'd armed themselves in the meantime. One was brandishing a large adjustable spanner which he slammed down repeatedly on my head. It made a loud clang, but did little else for me. His friend, though, had a big flat-end screwdriver. Crouched by my side, he began stabbing it repeatedly against my flank, jabbing at my hip, my ribs and (most delightfully of all) at the side of my pendant breast.

This extra attention combined with the sensations created by the man inside me brought me to the brink of a very enjoyable orgasm. I lay on top of my latest ride and let the waves of pleasure roll over me. When I just started to edge down off the peak, I noticed that the guy under me was out cold. I must've squeezed the air from him as I shuddered in my ecstasy.

Immediately I stood up. I grabbed the man with the spanner first, holding him by the back of his neck, despite his frantic struggles to get away. Then I took a couple of steps, dragging spanner-man with me, and caught his colleague with my other hand. Still lost in the late ripples of orgasm, I didn't bother trying to get either of them inside me. I just pushed screwdriver-guy down on to his knees and pressed his face lightly against my tingling groin, rubbing his nose on the electrified entrance to my sex.

At the same time, I pulled the other sex toy (or "man" as he probably would rather be called) to my chest. Holding him still, I began to sway, letting his stubbly chin scrape against my smooth breasts as I dragged them back and forth across his face, prolonging the eruption of pleasure within me so that new waves of extreme sexual pleasure continued to fill my mind.

When I finally started to regain control over my senses, I noticed that I was unusually wet between my legs. Glancing down, I saw that this was mostly due to blood from the screwdriver-user's broken nose. I let go of his neck and he collapsed in an unmoving heap at my feet.

His colleague hadn't done much better. His chin and cheeks were a mess of red-raw skin and rapidly blackening bruises. There was also a trickle of blood from one corner of his mouth. Some of that had dripped onto my chest. Looking down at the red spots, I saw a tooth lying trapped in my cleavage. Evidently, it had been knocked out of his gum at some stage. I brushed it away, letting its former owner fall onto his colleague. He lay with his mouth open and I could see that he'd lost several other teeth as well. I spotted a couple of them lying around.

I wiped off the worst of the blood, sweat, saliva and sperm with a torn piece of overall before quickly dressing. I could easily detect four separate heartbeats from the unconscious men, but I still made sure that no-one saw me slip out under the barrier. In fact, I was fifty yards up the street a split-second after I'd pressed the "OPEN" button.

After that I slowed to normal speed to save my shoes from melting and walked all the way home with a pleasant glow in my loins and a big grin on my face.

Thursday 11 November 2004 09:18 GMT

I'm a proud girl this morning! And so I should be. After all, I made the regional news bulletin on TV last night. Well, not me in person, of course, but the aftermath of my little session with the mechanics.

Apparently, one of them was able to talk to police from his hospital bed last night. From what I could gather, he told them that an electrical explosion of some kind had knocked out and wounded him and his colleagues (tearing some of their clothes off in the process) and thrown the removal van onto its side.

Typical man! Too ashamed to say he got beaten up by a girl. Still, his testimony will confuse the police. Especially when the other three finally wake up and give their own accounts of what happened.

Back here, the upstairs flat is definitely for sale. One of the ugly young men in suits turned up late yesterday. I saw him from the window putting up a "FOR SALE" sign outside, making the task look like some kind of physical challenge, the pathetic idiot.

Afterwards he came in and went upstairs. I couldn't help exercising my super-hearing and checking out the conversation between the jerk and the afore-mentioned pathetic idiot. It seems that the idiot thinks the jerk will have no problems selling his flat. In fact, he's got three separate "interested parties" coming for a viewing today, Thursday. Might be an opportunity for some light amusement...

Friday 12 November 2004 10:26 GMT

Yesterday was a little bit of a disappointment, to be honest.

The first flat-viewer came mid-morning. It was a middle-aged man, on his own. I stayed in my flat, walking from room to room, staying underneath the group of three (jerk, estate agent and viewer) as they conducted the grand tour upstairs.

About five or six times, at random intervals, I directed a very, very gentle blast of ultra-cold superbreath at the ceiling beneath their feet. There were icicles and puddles of condensation on my ceiling, but it was worth it to hear the prospective buyer persistently ask about why the heating wasn't working.

The best bit was listening to the jerk trying and failing to hide the fact that he was actually shivering with cold as he tried to explain that the flat is normally warm, and he couldn't understand what the problem might be. The viewer actually left before he'd gotten to see all the rooms. No sale there.

Next up were a young, recently married couple. They never got as far as knocking on the jerk's door. They were on their way up the stairs when I opened my door just as they were going past. I was wearing a very brief pair of white knickers and a matching half-cup bra (not for support, of course, but purely for show). Causally, as I leant on the door, I pouted and asked "Oh, are you going to be moving in upstairs?" The husband stared and his heart started racing as I winked in his direction and seductively traced my finger slowly over the curve of my chest.

The wife looked at him gawping at me for a moment before grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the stairs heading back down. "I really don't like this building." she said. "It's not the kind of place I want to live in."

"Shouldn't we see the flat anyway?" her man asked, his eyes still fixed on me.

"No. There's no point" she told him, dragging him away. Even without super-powers, she was obviously going to get her way. She even made sure that she went down the stairs behind her husband, so that he couldn't turn and steal a glance at me.

The last viewer was an older woman. I let her go up and have a look around, listening to her positive comments as she studied each room in turn. She seemed very impressed with the flat so l I slipped off my shoes and ran down to the street at super-speed. Quick as I could, I chipped a little bit of concrete from the pavement using a fingernail and threw it at one of the jerk's windows. I had run back inside before the first piece of broken glass fell to the ground outside.

I did get to hear the three cries of shock (the woman's, the estate agent's and the jerk's) as the window smashed. Thereafter, she seemed much, much less interested in buying the flat.

I wonder how long I can keep scaring people away like that. I'd like to know if the jerk is really determined to sell. And, if buyers are frightened off for long enough, how low will the price go?

Monday 15 November 2004 09:41 GMT

Oh dear. What can I say this morning? I've let you down readers. Much more importantly (and annoyingly) I've let myself down.

A whole weekend without an update! It would have been worth it, too, if my little scheme had paid off, but it turned out to be a complete waste of time.

To cut a long story short, I'd been thinking about the little adventure I had the other Saturday down in the depths of the Pacific. It's been bugging me, to be honest. I mean, nothing has ever made me feel like that, and between me and all of you, I'd love to do it again.

That's why I spent the entire weekend swimming up and down over the floor of the Pacific Ocean. I didn't find a single lost nuke and I'm as frustrated as I get right now. It's not as if I didn't search thoroughly either. I never even came up for air between Saturday early morning and Sunday evening!

I did find a couple of shipwrecks, one of which, a luxurious nineteenth century liner, must've sunk pretty fast. I found its vault still locked. Ripping apart the two-inch thick iron box with my fingers, I found enough gold inside to ensure it'll be a long time before money becomes a problem for me.

Of course, I couldn't bring all that gold home with me without swimming nearly half-way around the globe, so I've left it somewhere for collecting at my convenience. I should be happy, but I'm not. I want to feel another big bomb going off between my legs. I wish I knew where I could find one.

Tuesday 16 November 2004 09:55 GMT

Monday was another day spent discouraging potential buyers from investing in the flat upstairs. Apparently, while I was busy wasting time under water on Saturday, two interested parties conducted successful (and uninterrupted) tours. One of them, a student accompanied by his obviously wealthy parents, came again yesterday mid-morning.

I've mentioned before that I get to meet a wide range of people. It'll come as no surprise that the adult males among them often give me gifts. I think they seriously believe that a small present will allow them access to the sacred work of art that is my body (the idiots.) Anyway, by setting fire to one of those gifts outside my flat, I managed to scare off the parents, if not their son. Still, as they are the ones with the money, it counts as a no sale. I should say that the thing I set alight (a gift from a young man I'd never seen before who just stopped me in the street the other day) was an eight-inch long, fat marajuana joint.

Drugs don't have any effect on me, but they certainly had a startling affect on the middle-aged couple flat-hunting with their precious boy. I took a big puff right in front of the horrified man and woman and, for good measure, exhaled extra warmly and sensuously right into the son's face, knocking him back half a step and making his trousers bulge as my breath washed over him. They left immediately, the embarrassed boy trying to keep his hands over his groin.

In the afternoon, an oily looking city-businessman type turned up. While he was meeting the jerk upstairs (no doubt the two slime-balls got on very well), I popped downstairs. Taking off my shoes, I poked my toes methodically through the walls of all four tyres on the would-be buyer's car, enjoying the way the thick rubber on each wheel yielded like tissue-paper to my delicate feet before the air pressure within made them pop. Next I tapped my fingertip lightly on the windshield, shattering it instantly to a million pieces.

I waited by the damaged car for its owner's return. When he appeared, I casually asked "Is this your car?" He went into a fit when he saw the state of it. "Must've been kids." I told him. "You can't leave anything 'round here for long." That was enough to convince him he didn't want to make a bid for the flat after all.

Someone else who came to look at the place on Saturday is coming back later this morning. I'll see what I can do there. I'm afraid it's beginning to look like the poor jerk is never going to make a sale.

Wednesday 17 November 2004 09:43 GMT

I'm writing this on a laptop this morning. It's quite a nice little toy. I swiped it from some idiot in a suit as he was coming out of the station yesterday evening. Not a difficult crime to pull off if you're as quick, strong and precise as me. I was probably half-a-mile away before he even realised he wasn't carrying it anymore.

Anyway, I had to get hold of a battery-powered computer because (once again) there's no electricity in the building this morning. No prizes for guessing who's responsible. And no prizes for working out who's been worst affected by it. Yes, things are not exactly going well for the jerk up there.

The second repeat visitor from Saturday, a chubby middle-aged man with thinning, greying hair, turned up at about midday yesterday. Once he was being shown around the flat, I ran down to the basement. There's a little padlock on the electricity distribution cabinet where the power supply comes into the building and is transformed to household voltage before being circulated to each apartment. I broke the lock by stroking it repetitively with my finger until the friction heated the locking-loop glowing red and it just gave way.

Inside the cabinet, I found a row of fuses and switches (so even a "normal" person could have cut the jerk's power with only a press of a finger) but I decided to go one better.

With both hands, I tore a strip of steel from the cabinet door, ripping the metal as easily as a sheet of newspaper. I pushed one end of that strip against the large, heavy-duty contact that handles the high voltage supply into the building and the other end against the much smaller contact that is the main distribution point for the jerk's flat.

Of course, by using my hands to hold my improvised torn-door-cable, I was letting the high-voltage electricity flow through my body, bombarding my nerve endings with enough current to kill a "normal" person several times over. But that was just a pleasant (admittedly quite fun) side-effect. My real interest was in blasting the jerk's flat with hundreds of volts whilst he was trying to sell it.

Even from down in the basement, I heard a few small bangs as equipment up there was destroyed, and I definitely heard the shocked yells of the two men (one of my favourite sounds in the world.)

I covered my tracks by slamming one fist into the electricity cabinet, my delicate-looking knuckles destroying everything in there instantly. By way of a reward, I got covered in lovely, hot pieces of charged metal which felt good, but cooled far too quickly. Then, having made it look as if the whole thing had just spontaneously exploded, I ran from there before anyone saw me.

Later, I eavesdropped on the idiot speaking on the phone, telling how every single light-fitting in his flat had exploded in a shower of sparks, his fridge had caught fire and smoke had began curling from his brand new hi-fi. "Everything smells of burning plastic in here." he moaned, to my delight. As for the fat man, well he practically ran from the building.

Because of the extent of the damage in the basement, it's going to take two days to get the power restored. That means there might be some fun to be had after nightfall. I can't wait.

Thursday 18 November 2004 09:13 GMT

Well, they put out a load of candles throughout the building yesterday afternoon. The electricians and builders worked in the basement by battery-torch light. They'll be back again in an hour or so as the damage is "so severe". That's four men, working for at least two days to repair what I did with an effortless rip and a single, half-hearted punch!

Meanwhile, as it got dark in the evening, some poor idiot had to go round the building lighting all the candles. It created a pleasant, flickering romantic effect up the stairs, but not for long.

I couldn't help myself. Shortly after the workmen had gone, I stood at the base of the staircase, opened my mouth and let out an exaggerated, short, sharp sigh. The brief gust of warm air I expelled rushed up the stairwell, extinguishing every single candle from the ground floor to the top.

After that I stood silently in a corner, invisible to everyone else in the pitch black. Of course, I could see everything perfectly. I watched people slipping and falling, stumbling on the steps, tripping everywhere. I suppressed giggles as they bruised and even cut themselves. People are so fragile!

One guy tried to find his way to his flat with a cigarette lighter. It was hard not to laugh when I blew the softest little breath at his flame, causing it to flicker just enough to set his jacket alight. The guy rolled around on the floor in a panic for a while. When he stood up again, his suit was ruined. He kept rubbing his chest too. I guess his delicate skin was a little burnt. The poor feeble man!

The best moment was when you-know-who tried to make his way upstairs on his crutches. I couldn't resist following him up (silently of course) and every so often knocking one of his sticks away with a finger, making him fall on his face again and again. By the time he got into his flat, he looked like he'd gone four rounds with a heavy weight boxer. I think he was crying.

I had to stifle my laughter until I was in my own apartment. At least my super-eyesight means I don't have to bother with candles or torches. I just spent the completely dark night reading.

Friday 19 November 2004 10:31 GMT

The boys are hard at work in the basement again this morning. They're under a lot of pressure to finish the job by four o'clock this afternoon. Everyone's furious that the job is taking a day longer than originally anticipated. Apparently it was "especially freezing" in the building last night without electric heating, although I can't say I noticed.

The problem is that the builders and electricians hardly got anything done yesterday. I don't know if that was because I kept on finding excuses to walk past them wearing various ultra-tight, very short and extremely low-cut outfits and they, in turn, kept finding excuses to go to the lavatory, stay in there for a minute or two, and walk out slightly bow-legged.

Anyway, I'll leave them alone today to get on with it. I need the electricity supply to my flat restored. Sure, I don't miss the heat or the lights, but I need to recharge the battery on my "new" laptop.

As far as I can gather from what I've picked up with my super-hearing, no-one's coming for a flat-view upstairs today. The jerk sounded really desperate and miserable talking about it on the phone this morning. That cheered me up considerably.

The weather forecast predicts that today will be the coldest day of the year. The advice was to wrap up warm and not spend too long outdoors so I'm packing my bikini into my sports bag and heading off to the station to catch a train to the seaside. Should be lovely.

Saturday 20 November 2004 19:49 GMT

Yesterday was lovely. I was on the beach by mid-morning and, as there was no-one else around, I changed into my bikini out in the open without bothering to use super-speed.

The weather was awful (which explains the deserted beach). In fact, it rained all day and there was a non-stop, biting northerly wind which felt nice against my exposed skin. Of course, cold doesn't bother me in the slightest. I once had a bath in a vat of liquid nitrogen (but that's a story for another day.) A winter's day at the seaside is as comfortable as a warm spring afternoon as far as I'm concerned.

I couldn't sunbathe as there was no sun, but then again, this planet's pathetic sun isn't strong enough to tan my skin at the best of times. Instead, I waded out into the bitter, rough sea until it was deep enough to swim in. The current was strong, but I'm thousands of times stronger. I dived beneath the surface and played about down there for a while until I spotted the hull of a fishing boat in the distance. "Normal" people can't even open their eyes in seawater, but I can see clearly for miles.

The vessel was only about eight hundred yards from me so it took less than sixty seconds of relaxed swimming to close the gap. Once I saw that it was anchored, I knew what I was going to do. I gave a sharp tug on the anchor-chain and, looking up, saw the entire boat leaning to the side. I hadn't even pulled hard! The next tug, however, was quite forceful. The boat nearly rolled completely over. Only the snapping of the thick steel chain in my hand saved a capsize.

Frustrated by the uselessly weak metal, I reached up and punched the vessel's hull. My little fist passed through the two-inch thick metal as effortlessly as it travelled through water. I felt air against my fingers and pulled back my arm to let the brine pour in through the nice hole I'd made.

Two minutes later, a dinghy was tossed over the side of the boat. I waited underwater as four men climbed in. About a minute more passed before the deck of the little ship sank below the waves. I watched, pleased with my handiwork, as the craft made its way to rest on the sea-bed.

That just left the dinghy to play with. Staying out of sight beneath it, I reached up and got a hold of the bottom of the inflatable vessel. I kicked my legs to generate thrust, building up speed with casual movements of my feet, and soon I was dragging the life-craft along at something like the velocity of a speed boat, turning sharply every so often to increase the fun of the ride for the men inside.

Pretty soon, temptation got the better of me and I had to stick my head out of the water by the side of the dinghy just to see the expressions on the faces of the men. It was pretty funny to see a quartet of tough, experienced seafarers all looking quite green with nausea!

Letting go of the little boat I swam about ten yards away and turned around with my head above the surface. "Hello boys!" I called cheerfully. As soon as they were all looking at me (the shock on their seasick faces a delight to behold), I reversed my original greeting: "Goodbye boys!"

I pursed my lips slowly and sensuously and blew a gust of super-breath that actually lifted the dinghy from the water before turning it over and spilling its contents. The craft splashed down (upside down) about twenty yards from the struggling men. I reckon it would have taken them all a good five or six minutes to swim over to the thing, turn it around and haul themselves in. And, being only men, the cold would definitely have been an issue for them.

I didn't stick around to see the fun, however. I was already on my way back to shore. In the end, I made it home in time to scare away a couple more buyers for the flat upstairs and see the workmen in the basement triumphantly announce the restoration of electricity to the building.

This morning, I "accidentally" poked my finger through the telephone cable to the jerk's flat so the agency couldn't call him to arrange any viewings. The poor bastard might never manage to sell his property. Then again, things could change (if he lowered his price far enough...)

Monday 22 November 2004 20:17 GMT

I've been away for a couple of days, so I didn't bother with an update yesterday. If you really want to know, I went to pick up that gold I found the other weekend. I've got the feeling I might need to raise a large amount of cash in the not-too-distant future.

The jerk upstairs has had his phone repaired now. He needs it because someone has stolen his mobile. Well, alright, I stole his mobile. It was Saturday evening. I'd seen him on the stairs, answering a few calls and he always put the thing back in the same pocket, so all I had to do was run past at superspeed and dip my hand in. Naturally, I didn't pass up the chance to trip him up as I did it. By the time he'd picked himself up and rearranged his crutches, I'd already crushed his precious telephone to dust in my fist.

Anyway, I overheard him making his first call with the repaired line. He was talking to the estate agents asking (practically begging to know) why no-one had put in an offer for his flat. With my super-hearing, I could easily make out the voice on the other end reassuring him that these things can take a while.

"But I've already lowered the asking price by twenty-five percent!" he exclaimed, on the verge of tears. "I'm desperate to sell!"

"Why are you desperate?" asked the estate agent, no doubt realising that the jerk was not telling the whole story.

"Er... I have... ah... personal reasons" the jerk replied as I suppressed a chuckle downstairs.

Those "personal reasons" were revealed a few minutes later. He made another call, this time to his mother. "The place is haunted by some kind of evil spirit!" he claimed. "I've never believed in this kind of thing before, but nothing else explains all the stuff that's happened to me. And I keep feeling these sudden bursts of extreme cold coming up from the floor like - Oh God! There's another one now!"

Well, I had to blow him another icy kiss through the ceiling when I heard that. I can see he's starting to get desperate. He's got two viewers coming on Tuesday. I'll deal with them, then give him another big fright. Perhaps after that, he'll be willing to lower his price again. Not by another twenty-five percent, of course, but maybe by another seventy. I shouldn't need to tell you that I'm a very persuasive negotiator.

Tuesday 23 November 2004 19:18 GMT

Despite appearences to the contrary, I don't like causing damage to my own building (it's where I live after all) but sometimes the end justifies the means.

A case in point: an opportunity arises for me to take ownership of the apartment immediately upstairs from my own. I could always do with some convenient extra space. Now, the price being requested for that apartment is well below market value (and falling daily) and I've just come into some money (sunken gold, which I recovered from the bottom of the Pacific Ocean). I have a chance to legally buy the place. So if I have to resort to a little bit of extreme vandalism to ensure that I'm the sole bidder... Well, you'd probably do the same thing if you could. If only you had superpowers like mine.

All I did was wander out of my flat about a quarter of an hour before the first of two prospective buyers was due to be shown around upstairs. I went three-quarters of the way down the steps and, checking that no-one was around, placed my hand on the metal banister. My fingers couldn't quite curl all the way around the thick iron, but I was still able to close my fist, quickly crushing the metal in my delicate palm. It made a squeal, but no-one reacted so I carried on. I gave the banister a tug and with a groan and a crunch of breaking plaster, the entire length of handrail came away from the wall.

I couldn't really manoeuvre the banister as it was too long (around twelve foot) to turn, so I bent it in a right-angle about three foot from one end and another at the other end. When they make these handrails, the usually bend them to order with special equipment. But twisting the metal around with my bare hands was as easy as tying a knot in a piece of string. I tossed the mangled banister onto the floor at the bottom of the stairs. It made the entrance to the building look pretty uninviting, as I intended.

Taking my left hand, I curled my fingers into a fist, leaving only my index digit sticking out. I poked that into the wall, my dainty finger sinking through the thick plaster and deep into the brick behind with as much difficulty as I would have experienced plunging a red hot knife into butter. Then I wiggled my finger around to enlarge the hole I'd made before pulling my hand away.

I repeated the trick about a dozen or so times, pock-marking the wall with inch-wide, four-inch-deep holes, making sure that all the loose debris (plaster dust, chips of brick and so forth) fell onto the stair-carpet. The carpet is dark blue so all the mess showed up clearly on it.

Finally, to complete the effect, I bent down and used a fingernail to slice through the thick floor fabric. Getting three fingers into the slit I made I tore a big strip (about the size of a sheet of A3 paper) out of the "untearable" and "ultra-hard wearing" carpet. I held this chunk out in front of me in my two hands. It was nearly half-an-inch thick and obviously designed to withstand quite a bit of abuse, but I tore it into postage-stamp-sized pieces with utter ease. I let the little chunks fall all around before going back up to my flat.

The first potential buyer arrived five minutes later. I heard him saying out loud "What the f**k happened here?" and, about a moment later, "I'm not wasting my time with this!". He left the building without even trying to negotiate the mangled handrail at the foot of the stairs.

A few more minutes passed before the jerk came limping downstairs on his crutches to see what had become of the person he'd buzzed into the lobby. Eerily, he said exactly the same thing his not-to-be purchaser said ("What the f**k happened here?") It was like there was a delayed echo in the stairwell.

He started trying to brush some of the dust off the stairs and gave up. He started trying to put the pieces of carpet back and gave up. He started trying to move the twisted metal handrail (on his crutches!) and gave up. Finally, he made his weary, slow, way upstairs to his flat. He picked up his 'phone and dialled. I heard him say "Can we cancel the two further viewings planned for today?" After he hung up, he started to weep so softly that it was almost a strain on my hearing powers.

I called the building manager and told him that some kids had managed to get in and had trashed the entrance and that he'd better get it all fixed up nicely because, as a long-term resident, I was getting fed up with all the problems we were having lately. Then I went upstairs to knock on the jerk's door.

He opened up, wiping his face. I asked him (in a slightly accusatory tone) if he had anything to do with the disgusting mess downstairs. He just burst into tears and moved to hug me. I took two quick steps back and he fell on his face at my feet. Instead of offering him a hand and helping him back to his feet, I bent over him and demanded to know what his problem was.

"My life is falling apart!" he sobbed.

"Oh come on," I chided, "you're a grown man. Pull yourself together!"

"I... I can't. Someone... something is out to get me. It's like this place is haunted and it's trying to destroy me. I don't know what to do anymore. I just want to get out - to sell up and go, but this... this... evil spirit is frightening everyone away. I keep lowering the price, but... things keep happening - like downstairs. That wasn't kids or vandals. That was it - you know, the thing."

I burst out laughing. "You're really pathetic, you know." I said.

"Please!" he begged, awkwardly climbing to his feet and taking a crutches-assisted step towards me. "I just need someone to talk to."

"Well, I hope you find someone." I said, turning to leave. Over my shoulder I asked casually, "How much are you asking for the flat?" He hesitated for a moment, before giving my a number quite a bit lower than the figure I'd overheard him mentioning on the phone this morning. I paused for a moment on my way through the door, but without turning fully to face him and said, "Funny thing is I've got nearly half that in the bank and I'm looking for some extra space. Oh well." And with that I walked out, closing his door behind me. I heard the sound of a man crying as I went back to my flat.

Wednesday 24 November 2004 19:48 GMT

I meant what I said yesterday about not being crazy about the idea of causing damage in my own building. However I didn't make clear that this only really applies to communal areas (which I use) and, of course, my own apartment.

Unfortunately, I left a big mess in the entrance yesterday which a couple of builders have been repairing all day. Even more importantly, all the frozen blasts of superbreath I've blown at my ceilings are also starting to take their toll. The plaster is stained and cracked now in several rooms. As the workmen are coming back tomorrow to finish off repairing the wall and the hand-rail downstairs, I'm going to invite them up once they're done and see if they can't put it right. If they do a good job, I might even let them have a special reward...

Outside of communal areas and my own flat, of course, I'm more than happy to do damage. Last night, for example, I went out of the front of the building, round to the fire escape at the back and up the iron steps to the back door of my upstairs neighbour. As it was 3am, I needed to be silent so instead of just pushing in his new thick steel door with a finger, I started rubbing it with my palm. The faster I rubbed, the more friction my palm produced and the hotter the surface of the metal became.

Eventually, I heated the panel so much it started to glow red beneath my hand and I was able to push my hand silently right the way through the soft, almost-molten steel. That part of the door must've been hundreds and hundreds of degrees hot but it takes a lot more than that to burn me.

The paranoid jerk's set up an array of motion detectors in his flat, so all I had to do to set off his alarms was stick my arm through the hole I'd made and wave my hand about inside. Then I ran back downstairs at superspeed and silently went into my own apartment by leaping from the fire-escape stairs through a window I'd left open. The distance from staircase to window was only twenty feet, so it was an effortless jump.

I was standing by the quickly-shut window within two seconds of triggering the alarm. I just listened to the show unfolding upstairs. Highlights included "What the...?", "Oh no, not again!", "What the f**k's that?", "Ow! Jesus, the whole f**king door is burning hot!" and a beautifully wailed "I can't take any more of this!". I also especially enjoyed the repeated refrain (targeted, I believe, at the spirit world) of "Why can't you just leave me alone!"

After a bit, he seemed to calm down a little. I heard the sounds of wardrobes and cupboards being opened, and bags being unzipped and later re-zipped. Then he picked up the phone. He was ringing hotels, looking for a vacancy. When (on the third or fourth attempt) he found one, he called for a taxi. The car pulled up about ten minutes later. The driver buzzed the intercom, and I heard the jerk negotiating with the cabbie (of course, he could take his bags down himself what with being on crutches.) Eventually they struck a deal and, much huffing and puffing later, they were gone.

As soon as nine o'clock rolled around this morning, I called the estate agent to see if the asking price for the flat had been lowered again. It had, but not quite enough. It should only be a matter of time, though. With luck, the place will be mine (at a fraction of its market value) within a week.

Thursday 25 November 2004 18:11 GMT

It's amazing what a bit of plaster and a lick of paint on the ceiling can do! My flat looks lovely now.

As I thought, the two guys working on the entrance were only to happy to do my redecoration for me. And I only had to ask them once. OK, I admit I asked them from the top of the stairs, leaning forwards in a very low-cut T-shirt and pouting (in case they managed to tear their eyes off my exposed cleavage for more than the time needed to blink) but they were very good about it all.

As soon as they'd finished downstairs, they came up. Of course one of them asked the inevitable "how did this happen? It looks like exterior paintwork after a dozen cold winters" question. I brushed it aside, but the other one asked again. They were standing side to side, about two yards in front of me. I put my hands on my hips and told them it was none of their business how the damage had occurred, but the first one insisted on knowing. "I've never seen anything like it before," he excused himself, "I just want to know what happened, that's all."

"Right." I said, angrily with my hands still on my hips, "I'll tell you what happened to the ceiling. I blew on it. Like this." I pushed out my lips and exhaled a steady but gentle stream of air from my lungs through the tiny gap in my "kiss". I didn't make it as cold or as strong as the blasts I'd given the ceiling as that would have killed them both instantly, but I did make sure that I was blowing hard enough to push them both back until they tripped over their feet and were sent rolling into the wall.

My superbreath pushed them back into the wall, pinning them in place. That wasn't the only effect it had on them, either. Being blasted (albeit terribly softly by my standards) by my fragrant breath proved too much for them and they both began trembling as dark stains appeared on the crotches of their jeans.

I didn't stop there though. I increased the strength of my exhalation slightly so that they were being pressed uncomfortably against the wall. Then, tilting my head to one side and raising my eyebrows as if showing a bored and vague curiousity in their plight, I blew harder still, making them cry out as the force of my lungs (well a tiny fraction of it, actually) threatened to crush them against the wall. Through clenched teeth, clearly in considerable pain, their voices fighting to compete with the sound of rushing wind, they begged me to stop. A minute later, when they each seemed on the verge of passing out, I did stop.

Whilst they rolled about, gasping for air and rubbing their new bruises, I smiled. My hands remained fixed resting on my hips as I announced. "Well, boys. Now you know. And that's just a fraction of what I can do! Would you like another demonstration, or would you like to skip that and move straight on to fixing up my ceiling?"

They got to work immediately. I watched them as they toiled, each on a step ladder and they watched me as much as they could, half the time taking obvious advantage of their raised vantage points to peer down my top and half the time looking at my face to see if there was any sign of any displeasure there. Despite all that, they were finished inside two and a half hours.

"Thanks lads." I said, when they starting putting their equipment away, clearly exhausted. "Oh, and you know that if you tell anyone about what I did to you, they'll never believe you. You're better off keeping it to yourselves. I wouldn't..." (I exhaled deeply as I pronounced the next word, making sure that the warmth of my breath hit them hard and briefly scorched their faces) "..breathe a word."

After that, the two builders were in such a hurry to leave, they forgot to ask for any payment for their labour or the supplies they'd used up and I was left alone to enjoy my new ceilings.

 

 

December 2004

Wednesday 1 December 2004 15:24 GMT

Well, well, well! Five days and no blog. And it hasn't even been my fault.

I've been away (more later) and I wasn't able to visit any internet cafes or places where there's a lot of people. So the best I could do was to use a portable device to email each day's entry to Cf, with clear instructions on what to do with it. And, being a typical, useless male with only two brain cells (both of those located in his sexual organ), Cf managed to screw it all up.

I finally caught up with him last night as he was walking down his street on the way home from work. "I... I... thought you were... up... updating y... yourself." he wheezed as I pressed him against a fence, pinning him immovably in place and squeezing much of the air from his lungs just by resting a single, dainty finger on the centre of his chest. As usual, despite the pain which he couldn't help but show on his ugly face, my proximity to him was getting him all excited.

When I increased the pressure of my finger, he brought his two hands up but not really to try and pull my hand away from his body as I might have thought. He made it look as if he was trying to move my hand (although he knows by now that he couldn't ever succeed) but he was using that as cover for "accidentally" touching my chest. That brief contact was enough to put him in overdrive: heart pumping wildly, laboured breathing now rapid and rasping. I leaned into him, removing my hand so that I had him pinned with just my breasts.

Although I was pressing hard enough to make his face turn purple, his eyes glazed over with the sexual thrill of it all. I stepped back and he slumped to the ground, gasping for air. With a foot, I rolled him over onto his back and held him down. Bending over him I asked him about the emails I'd sent. "I..haven't...checked...my...mail..." he panted.

"This won't ever happen again." I told him. "You check your mail daily from now on." I didn't bother to threaten him with what would happen if he didn't comply.

"I promise. I'm sorry." he grovelled. I offered him a hand to help him back onto his feet and he took it. Of course, I wasn't about to gently pull him up. I jerked his arm just hard enough to make his shoulder pop. He would have screamed but I covered his mouth with my hand and told him I'd dislocate all his limbs unless he was quiet. He bit his lip to contain his agony.

He looked funny, standing there with his arm hanging all wrong by his side, his face contorted in pain, tears in his eyes and still with that silly little bulge in his trousers. "When you come to," I sneered, "and before you even get to hospital, I bet you have to masturbate yourself sore to get rid of that." (I nodded towards his erection.) "Of course, you'll have to do it left-handed." I added laughing.

He was still trying to come up with a reply as I flicked him gently on the chin with the little finger of my left hand, snapping his head back and knocking him completely unconscious. I let him collapse onto the pavement and left him.

Anyway, because of that idiot, you all missed my day-to-day descriptions of my adventures in rural Scandinavia. Maybe I'll release them in full sometime in the future. For now, you'll have to make do with this (very brief) summary.

I went initially to sell that gold I recovered from the Pacific a couple of weeks ago. There's a woman in Denmark who usually handles my precious metal trades. I've known her for ages and she's never let me down. However, to my disappointment, it turned out that the gold I'd found was impure, and not worth anything like as much as I'd hoped. She showed me the analysis results and I had to concur. It seems some Victorian was working a scam and I (kind of) fell victim to it more than a century later.

To make up for that unexpected shortfall, I decided to go on a fund-raising tour of small towns in the area. Like I said, this is a brief summary:

I went to a load of banks. I went into a few while they were open, waited until the cashiers were counting bundles of notes and simply ran at superspeed to snatch the cash from their hands, running back into position too quickly for anyone (or any CCTV) to spot. In a couple of places, I hung around until someone made a cash withdrawal and then (using the same, ultra-fast technique) grabbed the money from the customer.

Other financial institutions, I visited at night. I tunnelled into one bank's vaults with my bare hands, scooping away earth, then clay, then rock and finally concrete at lightning speed. Then I tore through the six-inch thick steel walls of the depository by plunging my fingers deep into the metal and gouging out an opening big enough to climb through. I was running from the scene, my pockets bulging with banknotes a minute after I'd started digging my tunnel.

Another place I entered through the back door. It was a heavy oak affair, barred with a thick iron beam on the inside. I just walked up to it and, with my hands on my hips (I guess I was showing off to myself a little) thrust out my chest, pushing the thick wood back until it splintered. The iron groaned out of my sight and with a clang snapped in half. Then the entire door gave way with a crunch.

An alarm went off, so I had to move fast. Being a small, rural branch of a local bank, there was no huge vault, just a safe in the shape of a cube about four feet by four feet by four feet. It was bolted to steel plates which in turn were set in concrete both in one wall and in the floor. You should have heard the scream of tortured metal as I tore the whole thing free, ripping apart concrete and thick steel bolts with (need I say it?) utter ease. I sprinted out of there, carrying the safe in my arms, its considerable weight negligible to me. Out in the woods, I stopped running and, with little more than a fingernail, sliced the thick steel box open like a tin of tuna, helping myself to the cash inside.

There were other places I visited too during my spree, but I haven't got the time or the patience to list them all now. Suffice it to say that, I came home yesterday with more than enough money to buy the flat upstairs. Tomorrow, I'll tie up the deal. And then I'll go out to celebrate.

Thursday 2 December 2004 16:22 GMT

The flat upstairs is mine. I've signed on the dotted line and handed over the money. The jerk's got five days to clear his stuff out and then he has to hand me the keys. Considering he's getting about 45% of what he initially paid for the apartment, I'd say that I've got a bargain.

To mark the occasion, I decided to go for a drink. There's a nice, up-market bar near the estate agents' office so I went there. From the street I could see that the lights were on and I caught a glimpse of someone moving around inside, but the door was locked and a sign read "CLOSED".

Not being the type of person who waits around, I just pulled on the locked door, snapping off the wood around the lock and tearing loose a couple of steel bolts before strolling in. The figure I'd seen was not in the bar, so I helped myself to a bottle of tequila from the display and sat down with it. Five minutes later, I had to go back for another bottle.

I was just about to go for a third, when a door marked "Private" swung open and a tall, young man walked into the bar. He seemed completely shocked to see me. "Hey! We're closed!" he said. He glanced at the door and the broken lock and twisted bolts, then at me, and then all around, no doubt looking for my imaginary male accomplice because, in his mind, there was no way I could have caused that damage myself.

"There's no one else here." I told him. I'd already made my mind up about the guy. He was fit and nice looking and I was going to have him. "Why don't you join me for a drink?"

"I'm calling the police." he announced, unexpectedly.

"Is that what you tell every girl who propositions you?" I asked, flirtatiously. He hesitated for a moment, and I seized it by standing up and swaying over to him. I stopped when I was only about a foot away from him. His eyes bulged at the sight of me approaching and he seemed lost for words for a moment. His lips were moving as if he was trying to speak, but no sound emerged.

He seemed unsure what to do with his hands too, nervously fingering the lining of his trouser pocket. I placed my fingers over his wrist and gently, but firmly, lifted his hand from there and brought it up to my chest. He was trembling violently, but he didn't try to resist as I placed his palm on my T-shirt so that it lay on my right breast.

I thought his heart might explode, such was the way it accelerated. A moment later, his face turned bright crimson. I knew why; I could smell it instantly. Evidently, it was all too much for him and he'd shot his load. I frowned and said, "You're supposed to wait. Now, I'll have to get you ready again."

It didn't take long, however. He didn't even seem to notice me tearing his trousers and soaked boxers. He was too busy fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. I leant in to him and breathed "Here, let me help." Two seconds later I'd ripped the shirt clean off him. He had a lovely-looking chest and I caressed it with a finger tip knowing that I could crush those pretty muscles to pulp with an eyelash if I wanted.

With just the end of the finger that was stroking him, I gave him a little shove that sent him flying backwards onto a sofa. I stripped at super-speed so that he didn't have time to react before I dived on top of him. This time he did manage to get inside me before cumming, but not for very long. "Third time lucky!" I told him, massaging his member back to readiness.

This time I continued to ride him long after he was done. When I finished, he was soaked in sweat and gasping for breath. Immediately I reached for his organ once more. "No..." he croaked. "I can't..."

"Yes, you can." I said, simply, rubbing my nipples lightly across his chest (extremely gently, leaving only a few bruises, but no broken ribs). I was right, of course. He soon got hard and I was bouncing on top of him again. He didn't orgasm at all that final time (although he did start whimpering). I just kept on going until I was at least partially satisfied. When I let him slide out of me, I noticed tears rolling down his cheeks. Only then did I see that his groin and left hip were covered in what looked like a single, huge, dark purple bruise.

I jumped up and started dressing. At one point, he tried to move from the sofa and instantly gave up, howling in pain. Through sobs of agony he said, "I... I.. think I've.... er... you've.... broken something.... Please.... I need an ambulance."

"I saw a 'phone behind the bar." I said cheerfully, "You can call one from there. Thanks for the drinks." And with that I walked out.

Friday 3 December 2004 16:59 GMT

A nice quiet day today. No buyers to chase away from the flat upstairs; no jerk to torment, no gold to cash, no money to raise.

Early this morning, I went down to the big hardware shop on the high road and stole the latest model of heavy-duty power-drill and a couple of boxes of ultra-hard-wearing bits. It was quite a bulky haul, but as ever, I managed to get away unseen by staff or surveillance cameras.

Back at home, I plugged in the drill and started having fun with it. I was glad I'd also gotten a selection of attachments, because the "diamond-tipped" bits (which the packet claims will cut through solid steel) only lasted a couple of seconds each when I tried to tickle myself with them.

Even my tongue reduced a twenty-millimetre diameter borer (at 900rpm) to a flat, smooth stub in about quarter of a minute, although the sparks that were created inside my mouth did give a lovely tingling feeling. I got more enjoyment using a smaller bit on my nipples. The sharp tip became shiny and level in no time, but then the friction started warming it until it became red hot. That scalding, rapidly spinning metal pressed hard against my sensitive flesh was delightful.

I finished off my fun (and, the drill itself as it happens) by fitting the largest, strongest bit, selecting the fastest speed with hammer action and ramming the thing as far inside my most intimate place as I could. For a few seconds, the thread pulled at my skin, sending delicious sensations into my brain. Then it got worn away by my invulnerability and it was not so great for a while, but it started to get really hot and that was fantastic.

Unfortunately, the motor couldn't cope with the extra work my body's complete resistance was making. With a pop it just stopped. Black smoke curled from the casing and I, slightly frustrated, crumpled the entire thing to a blob of deformed metal and molten plastic by simply crushing it up against my sex with my hand.

I had to complete the job that the industrial equipment had failed to achieve using my fingers which are, of course, thousands of times faster and more durable than any mere tool. Still, the drill did provide me with a few moments' amusement. That's more than could be said for a lot of men I've encountered.

Saturday 4 December 2004 19:05 GMT

After yesterday's thrill with the drill, I had to settle for a lark in the park today.

A full team were hard at work on the tea-house. This time, they've put a high temporary metal fence around the site, a dozen CCTV cameras and a series of powerful arc lights which came on at sunset (4pm) and illuminated the whole area.

The advantage of all that (expensive) artificial lighting is that the builders can carry on working into the evening. Being just men, their pathetic eyes simply can't function outside of daylight. Sometimes I wonder how they manage to do anything at all.

Stolling past the construction site, I took out one of the lights the old-fashioned, unhygenic way (by tilting my head back and spitting up at it). I've never had it measured, but I reckon my spittle can be twice as destructive as a bullet from a rifle. Certainly, the little bit of saliva I Iaunched had enough power to smash the industrial bulb and its protective casing into a million fragments that rained down all around me.

I kept on walking and a few strides later flicked a loose pebble with the toe of my shoe. My perfect aim guided the small stone like a smart-missile which exploded in a shower of sparks as it destroyed another lamp.

Arc-light number three was neutralised by me stepping up to its base and simply slicing its power cable in half with a fingernail. With the circuit broken, the high-voltage current took a short cut to earth via my arm and body and I paused for a couple of moments to enjoy the feeling before moving on to the fourth overhead lamp.

By now the men working on the site were distracted by the three already broken lights. That meant they never saw me kicking the next one over with a casual movement of my leg. The tall structure toppled onto the half-completed new roof, tearing quite a hole in it and, for an instant, covering a wide area in glowing sparks.

I took out the final two lamps in the same way, making sure that they fell onto the skeletal building. Then with near-complete darkness enveloping the site and chaos and semi-panic the order of the day, I made my way home, chuckling to myself.

Monday 6 December 2004 10:33 BST (GMT+1)

Yesterday was a cold, wet miserable affair.

The police were out in force in the park, trying to find any evidence they could use to find whoever sabotaged the lights on the building site. There were too many of them for me to get away with much unseen, so I walked briskly away from them.

That was when I noticed that a number of them had arrived in a van, no doubt low-ranking plodders drafted in to search through the wet grass for clues. Whatever the coppers' reason for using the vehicle, they'd parked it out of sight in a deserted side-road near the park.

Strolling up to the van, I checked to make sure no-one was around and then crouched down by the back fender. I got my left hand, open palm turn upwards, underneath and slowly lifted. The chasis creaked in complaint at the unusual strain being exerted on it, but I felt no proper resistance as I raised my hand, bringing the back wheels off the road with total ease.

Once my left arm was fully extended above my head so that the vehicle was at a forty-five degree angle to the tarmac, I reached down with my other hand and grabbed a hold of the centre of the underside. I wasn't balanced beneath the van, but I had no trouble compensating for that as I used that second hand to straighten out the van, raising the whole thing over my head as if it were nothing more than an empty cardboard box. In truth, it didn't even feel as heavy as an empty cardboard box to me.

I started bending my arms, making the entire van tilt. Carefully, so it wouldn't slip out of my hands making a lot of noise, I continued to turn it as I bent my knees, getting closer and closer to the road until I was finally able to gently set the vehicle back down. I placed it exactly where I had found it, with one tiny difference. It was now on its side, with all its wheels facing the pavement and its roof facing the street.

I laughed as I saw the van lying there, knowing that even a dozen "strong" men wouldn't be powerful enough to put it upright again. So as well as the inconvenience of arranging a small crane to rectify their vehicle, the police also got themselves yet another unsolvable mystery. Sometimes, I think I'm single handedly keeping them all in work!

Thursday 9 December 2004 17:07 GMT

Regular readers will know I've not posted for a couple of days. Sorry, guys but I've just got back from a spontaneous trip to New York. There was quite a bit of cash left in my kitty after sorting out the purchase of the flat upstairs, so I thought I'd splash out on a couple of nights in a swanky hotel.

I had a good time (a change of scenery is always nice) and, to be frank, just couldn't be bothered to post for a couple of days.

There were a few incidents worth reporting such as the one with the over-keen security guard at the entrance to a big department store who decided he needed to frisk me. As usual it was just a ruse for him to get his hands on my body (through my T-shirt) He laid his palm on my breast for a fraction longer than permissible (about a tenth of a second I usually allow) so I put my hand on top of his and squeezed him against my chest until his bones went crunch.

I guess I turned out to be even firmer than he could have possibly imagined. I wonder if it was worth it for him... Judging by the tears of pain rolling down his face as I walked briskly away, I'd say probably not.

The best moment of my short trip was when I was approached, totally out of the blue by a young man in an expensive suit who offered to buy me dinner. I couldn't help but notice he had a wedding-ring on his finger. I took his hand in mine as if accepting the invitation and then squeezed the little metal band between my thumb and forefinger until it was so misshapen, it tore into the skin of his digit, making him scream. "See if you can explain to your wife how that happened!" I laughed.

Apart from that, I had a pretty uneventful time. Tomorrow noon I'm getting the keys to my new flat. I suppose that the jerk will have to arrange for someone to clear out all his stuff before then. I can't see him coming in person, but I'm sure I'll be able to have some fun in his absence...

Saturday 11 December 2004 23:44 GMT

Well, I've been out shopping today for new furniture for the flat upstairs which is officially all mine. I had to "borrow" some cash from some of the other customers to pay for everything, but to be honest, picking pockets is not really much of a challenge for me. It was funny though, when a queue of about ten people formed at the "customer services" window, all of them wanting to report lost wallets...

The new stuff will be delivered on Monday. I hope they send me a couple of good-looking boys to carry it all upstairs. Not that I couldn't lift more weight with my little finger than any twenty men on Earth, but because strong-looking boys can be a lot of fun to play with.

Yesterday, the jerk moved his things out and I got the keys. As I'd expected, he didn't come in person, but sent someone else to oversee the removal men. It couldn't have been a friend, because he can't have any of those. Must've been some hired help.

Anyway, I waited patiently until they had carried every last item (all his wardrobes and cupboards, two beds, a sofa and loads of boxes of things) down the three flights of stairs into the waiting lorry. The three fit men were exhausted and sweaty by then (even though it was pretty cold outside). I probably could have done the entire job in twenty seconds without even disturbing a strand of hair, but I prefered to let the men struggle on.

I came down just as they were about to drive off. I walked up towards the back of the huge van and turned so that I was standing sideways-on right next to it, my shoulder almost touching the back right corner. Then (in case anyone was watching, say through the side wing-mirror) I pretended to suddenly notice something on the other side of the road.

Of course, that meant turning my head. As I did that, my shoulders turned with my neck. And it goes (almost) without saying that, as my shoulders moved, so they carried my upper torso with them. The sudden movement caused my chest to swing very slightly, so that when the side of my right breast smacked against the side of the lorry with a clang that reverberated around the street, it was probably carrying as much momentum as a steel wrecking ball.

I reckon that's a fairly accurate estimate of the power of the blow I gave the removal van with my breast. After all, I wasn't putting anything more than a small portion of my strength into it. Anyway, the proof of the force I used was in the way the impact caused the the nearside of the lorry to lift into the air. The vehicle's framework groaned as it pivoted for a magical second at a perfect 45 degree angle from the road before it succombed to the inevitable and began to fall onto its side.

As the massive thing crashed down, the noise was an amazing mix of the steel of the lorry being jolted, the glass in the windows shattering, the passengers screaming and all the jerk's possessions in the back being crushed against each other. Then, a second later, there was complete silence.

It didn't last long. People started running out of the houses and flats on either side of the street, including some of the people from my building. They were all running up to the cab of the truck, to check on the guys in there. No-one seemed to notice me as I quietly made my way back inside. And, surprise, surprise! The police weren't even remotely interested in questioning me when they arrived. I hadn't been seen.

I've since found out that the three guys in the lorry will be alright in a few weeks (give or take a few scars) and the jerk's furniture is sawdust. Not bad for just a shake of my breasts!

Sunday 12 December 2004 23:49 GMT

According to an on-line journal of the paranormal which I was reading earlier, there is strong evidence of the existence of a portal to another dimension somewhere in the vicinity of where I live. Apparently, a number of unexplained happenings in the area can "only be attributable to paranormal activity". The article goes on to list some of these happenings such as the overturning of vehicles, "including several buses in a garage, a police van and, most recently, a removal lorry."

Now, I'd be the last person to call myself "normal" but I'm not sure "paranormal" is a very flattering description. I prefer to think of myself as "super" as in "superior". Oh, and I'll let you know if I discover any portals to other dimensions.

Meanwhile, things have been pretty quiet 'round here. All traces of yesterday's "unexplained happening" with the lorry have been cleared up and the flat upstairs is lying vacant, awaiting the arrival tomorrow of the furniture I ordered. I'm going to turn the whole apartment into a sort of playroom. It's just something I've fancied doing for quite a long time. I might even get myself a pet or two to keep up there. You know, something cute and easy to control. Or I could forget about the cute part and just get some men...

Monday 13 December 2004 17:03 GMT

So my playroom is now furnished, and almost ready to go. A van pulled up outside at ten this morning, and to my delight, two young, fit men got out and rang the buzzer. They started unloading immediately and they've only just left. Not that they had that much to unload, but I confess to having delayed their departure by a few hours...

It was all fun really. On their first trip, they came puffing up the four floors of stairs carrying the three-seater sofa part of the new suite I'd ordered. When they got to the door one of them asked, between pants of breath (as he checked out my body), "Where d'you want this, love?"

I smiled warmly back and said "Oh, I'll take it from here." With one hand, I snatched the sofa from the two men's grasp, carrying its (completely unbalanced) weight with that single arm with utter ease whilst the muscular duo just stared at me. "What are you waiting for?" I demanded. "Go and get the next load!" They were too stunned to argue.

And so it went on for about an hour. They would struggle their way up to the flat, suffering under the weight of some item of furniture which I would then make a show of lifting with one hand or even just a few fingers. The way they looked no less shocked each time it happened amused me, so I turned a blind eye to their constant ogling.

Finally, they brought up the last few items. They were both exhausted, out of breath and dripping with sweat. I told them they could rest on the sofa for a moment provided they washed off the perspiration in the bathroom first and they willingly agreed. Once they had sunk with unhidden relief onto the soft cushions, I went out of the room for a moment. I think they were expecting me to bring them a cup of tea, so you can imagine their bulging eyes when I returned now wearing only a matching bra and briefs.

I just stood there for a moment, listening to their accelerating heartbeats and checking out the rapidly growing bulges in the crotches of their jeans before I suddenly announced: "I think that sofa would look better on the other side of the room." Before either of them could react, I went round to the back of the sofa and with one hand gripping the back of it, lifted it completely off the ground.

For a second, the two guys were confused. To them it seemed as if I'd just disappeared. Then they felt themselves and the big seat beneath them rising into the air. Only after that did they turn to see me behind them, holding the couch. They both cried out in shock and I laughed as I carried the sofa across the room. I could have just dropped it back to the floor, but instead I made a big display out of slowly lowering it, leaning forwards over the back of the seat between the two of them so that they were able to feast their wonder-filled eyes on my pendant cleavage.

Once the sofa was down, my hands were free. I stretched my arms to the sides and placed my left hand on the left cheek of the delivery guy on that side. My right palm settled on the unshaven right cheek of his colleague. I drew my hands towards each other, pulling the two men's heads towards my chest until I was cradling them both against the sides of my breasts. "Take you trousers off." I whispered. They both obeyed without hesitation.

I had chosen my new furniture well; the sofa was deep enough for both of them to lie side by side on it. I threw myself on top, switching from one to the other each time I felt the one beneath me was too tired to continue. When I was done they were both utterly drained and their chests had been bruised badly by my breasts. Their pelvises looked pretty sore too, but neither of them complained as they made their painful way out of the flat.

I'll need to get in a few more "specialist" supplies to complete the new apartment to my exact liking, but I think I gave it a good first use.

Tuesday 14 December 2004 18:00 GMT

I've been out shopping today. Not your everyday grocery shopping, but some specialist items for my new flat.

Most of the stuff won't be delievered until Friday, much to my disappointment. The salesman originally said it would take three weeks, but when I pouted and flashed him some cleavage, he agreed to pull out all the stops. It was quite funny being asked why I needed a dozen gym mats so soon. I mean, what could I say? "So that my toys won't break every time I throw them around"?

Anyway, I should have everything in place by the weekend. The rest of the equipment I was able to carry home myself today. I had to go to about ten different places to collect it all - sex shops, scrapyards and so forth. Some stuff I even had to steal from building sites.

It took nearly five hours to get everything on my list. Of course, that much iron and steel would normally require two dozen strong guys to lift, but it was no challenge for me. I can't wait to test it all out. Some of it needs to be fitted by a builder, so that's my project for tomorrow.

Wednesday 15 December 2004 17:43 GMT

Apart from the crash mats and a couple of other small details, the new flat is complete. I have to tell you, it looks great.

Last night, I did some metal work. From one of the building sites I visited yesterday, I stole a bundle of two-inch thick iron rods. I think they were to be used in construction support. I've found a new purpose for them. I spent a few minutes bending them into circles, a little disappointed that the thick metal was no match at all for my glorious strength. In fact, I might as well have been sculpting pipe-cleaners.

Once I had changed the shape of the iron poles, I sealed the two ends of each one together just by squeezing them in my hand. The pressure I created heated the metal until it was glowing red and soft. Then I just mashed the two bits in my grip until the join was almost invisible. A blast of super-cold breath cooled them. All in all, I made a total of eighteen large metal rings that way.

This morning, I set about the task of finding a builder to affix them all to the walls of two of the rooms upstairs. I went down to a trade supplies place, wearing a very tight, low-cut T-shirt, a pair of shorts and knee length boots. Of course, every man there just stared at me. I went up to one I liked the look of and asked if he'd be available to help me put up some wall ornaments. His tongue practically fell out of his mouth as I approached him. He must've said "Yes" about ten times.

Back at the flat I showed him the iron rings and where I wanted them fixed. He could barely even lift one of them. I laughed, knowing I'd carried twenty of them around without even thinking about it. I told him I wanted them secure. "How secure?" he asked.

"Enough to take at least twenty stone each" I told him. "Excuse me for asking," he said, "but what do you want all this for?"

I leant in close to him, so that my breath covered his face, and my nipples brushed his chest very lightly. "If you fix them up properly, I'll show you." I told him.

"I'll get my tools." was his only reply. He went down to his van, returning with a huge power-drill, a ladder and a couple of tubs whose labels I didn't bother to check. I left him working.

When I returned a couple of hours later, he was half way through the job. I could see he was really struggling with the weight of each ring as he carried them up the ladder, so I offered to help. He nearly fell off when I handed him the next iron loop by just dangling it off a single extended finger.

Finally, he finished. He was clearly too exhausted for sex, so I just pushed him back against a wall. I didn't bother removing his clothes or mind, I just rubbed my chest across his upper body a couple of times until his knees bent and his eyes rolled and a dark stain appeared at the front of his jeans. He seemed rather embarrassed by it all, I suppose because I was laughing a bit too much.

I pulled myself together as he picked himself up and asked him if the rings were ready to use yet. He reminded me that I had promised to tell him what they were for. "So, are they ready?" I insisted.

"Not until this time tomorrow." he replied.

"OK. Come back then and I'll show you." I said.

"Alright then, I will." he agreed.

"Well, don't tell anyone to wait for you," I advised. "You might be home late." The gleam in his eye as I told him that was a sight to behold. If only he knew what I really meant!

Thursday 16 December 2004 17:55 GMT

Just a short update today - I'm typing fast, so hopefully the keyboard won't melt before I'm done. It's just that I've got some company waiting for me upstairs and I don't like to be rude...

Yes, you guessed correctly: my builder came back as I asked him to. And, sure, I've shown him what the rings mounted on the walls are for. In fact, he's trying one out right now.

As soon as he came in, I took his hands in mine. Before he knew what was going on, I shifted my grip so that I had both his wrists in one hand. He struggled a bit with that but, of course, he was wasting his time and effort.

I pulled him over to the wall (his feet dragging on the carpet as he tried, uselessly, to pull against me). Thoughtfully, I'd left some of the iron poles I'd not bent into rings stacked up in the corner. Grabbing one of them, I proceeded to wrap it tightly around the builder's wrists. You should have heard him - "How the f*** are you doing that? Let me go!" In no time at all, I had bound his hands together with several turns of two-inch thick metal.

I bent the other end of the pole into a hook shape and then just lifted him up so that I could attach the hook onto one of the metal rings. He fought like a tiger for a while but there was nothing he could do. I had him like a piece of meat in a butcher's cold-room.

Once he was installed, hanging from the wall, I could peel his clothes off slowly until he was completely naked. I stroked his penis with a fingertip a few times until it got hard and then bent down close to it. "Don't go anywhere." I said, speaking with my lips just an inch from the tip of his erection so that my warm breath washed over his organ. "I'll be right back."

That was half-an-hour ago. I'll leave him for a little bit longer just to stew. But not for long. I'm too excited thinking about the games I'm going to play with my new toy!

Friday 17 December 2004 17:28 GMT

I've been having so much fun with my new friend. I nearly gave the whole thing away, too, but got away with it. More in a moment...

I ran straight back upstairs after writing the blog last night. My lovely builder had kindly decided to wait for me (like he had a choice!) so I played with him for a while whilst he hung on the wall. I stroked him all over and then stripped off my clothes and teased him for a while with my body. Then we played a great game which involved me making him swing like a pendulum from his hook by blowing gently at his feet.

After that, I took him down. I left his hands bound in iron above his head the whole time (well I'd already given him a convenient hanging hook, so I didn't bother removing it) I threw him right across the room onto the sofa and then skipped over there and jumped on top of him. My earlier attentions had made him completely erect so I didn't need to do any more preparaton before playing adult trampoline for a while until his hips were bruised black and his organ was bright purple.

I hung him back up after that for the night whilst I went downstairs. On my way out, I heard him starting to shout for help, so I went back and shoved a strip I'd torn off his underpants into his mouth. Then I switched off the lights and left him.

I woke him at about six this morning. He looked rough, as if he hadn't had a decent sleep or something. I told him he needed to make more of an effort as I brought him down and dropped him onto his rear on the floor. When I removed his gag, he began to yell again, so got down on all fours and smothered his face with my chest until he finally shut up.

I had to laugh when I got off him - his complexion was a shade of light blue that nicely complemented the bruises around his groin. To save him (serious) further injury, I laid down on my back and picked him up by the hips, ramming him in and out of me that way for a bit until the copious tears he was shedding started to annoy me, I told him he needed some time by himself to stop all that blubbing, so I shoved the gag back into his mouth and hung him up once more.

Two hours later, I was down in my flat when the buzzer sounded. It was a man from the delivery company with a van-load of gym crash-mats. I was just about to throw open the door upstairs for him to carry the first mat in when I remembered I'd left the naked builder hanging on the wall. At the last moment, I told the delivery guy just to pile the mats up by the door of the flat.

Of course, I could have carried up all the mats in one trip by myself, but I let the poor guy make two dozen trips between the fourth floor and his van anyway. When he was gone, I opened the door to the new appartment and with one kick sent the entire stack of mats flying inside.

I got the builder down from his metal ring and told him he could leave... just as soon as he got half of the mats fixed to the walls below the rings. When I pulled out his gag he said, tearfully, "OK, OK. Promise you'll let me go afterwards!"

"Do a good job, and I'll think about it." I said.

"I need my tools... from my van." he sobbed. I wasn't falling for that. I hung him back up and went for the tools myself. Then I let him down, unwrapped the two-inch thick iron from his wrists and told him to start. I locked him in the flat and popped downstairs.

By now, he should be nearly done. I can hear him moving about up there, groaning from time to time. I'll go back up in a minute, ride him a couple more times for his trouble and then let him go. Tomorrow, with my playroom finally fully completed, I'm going to find me some higher quality toys to use in it.

Saturday 18 December 2004 23:43 GMT

Saturday night and I ain't got nobody! I can't believe the way things have worked out for me today. I guess "luck" isn't one of my powers...

I've spent the whole day just trying to find a nice man to take back to my new playroom. The first guy I saw on the street (an absolutely gorgeous young hunk who would have been perfect) went into a police station after I'd been following him for about a hundred yards. Imagine my surprise when, fifteen minutes later, he reappeared in a patrol car that had come from the back of the building, wearing a copper's uniform! Kidnapping a policeman would've lead to too many complications, so I had to pass on him.

Another good-looking lad I tailed walked into a gay bar, went straight up to a guy at the bar and gave him a kiss. Now, I like a challenge, but it's not what I need for the empty rings upstairs. As a last resort I thought I'd check the gym, even though it's not been that long since I made a bit of a mess out of a guy in there. Boy, was I not pleased to see a sign outside reading "New for Saturdays! Ladies Only Night". That, definitely is not what I'm looking for.

Instead of settling for the best I could find, I've decided to hold off (at least for tonight) until I can find something really special. Tomorrow, my luck's got to change.

Monday 20 December 2004 22:59 GMT

Sorry I didn't update yesterday, but I've been so busy playing with my new toys upstairs, that I really haven't wanted to stop.

I would be surprised if most of you weren't familiar with what it's like buying a new gadget. There's always an instruction manual inside which starts something like: "Congratulations on your purchase of this deluxe nasal hair remover" or whatever. It might go on to tell you not to use your electrically-powered item in the bath, and then explain that you can switch the device on by pressing the big green button labelled "ON".

I've been imagining what my new toys' manual would have been like had one been included. "Congratulations on your successful luring of two muscle-bound hunks from a boxing gym across town back to your flat. Before installing them with hand-bent iron cuffs and hanging them from the purpose-built rings on the wall, you should ensure that your new hunks are clean. You might find it necessary [well I did anyway] to forcibly carry your men, one tucked under each arm, and dunk each of them in soapy water until a) they are clean and b) they realise that there's no point resisting you."

The imaginary handbook might also include a warning such as: "Being men, your new hunks will be prone to stupidity. You may have to pin them, one at a time while the other watches, against a wall and knock some sense into them before they will properly take instructions from you. This can be quite an enjoyable experience, for you at any rate, if you make the beating all the more humiliating for the hunks by using your breasts. After a good half hour session, during which the hunks will receive more punishment than they would ever have suffered in the boxing ring, they will, enthusiastically and without discussion, carry out any order you give them."

It's been such fun! The padding all over the floor and the lower walls means I can toss them about for a laugh, safe in the knowledge that (unless I'm careless) I'm unlikely to break too many bones at once. I can even blow at them hard enough to send them flying backwards without them getting splattered when they hit the wall. They just bounce down (as long as I stop blowing so they don't get pinned) and fall to their knees. I've even trained them to say "thank you" every time I do it!

One great game is rolling with them both. I draw their faces to my chest, commanding them to work on one nipple each. They've learnt to carry on their ministrations regardless of how many teeth they lose. I hold their heads in place against my breasts with a hand on the back of each one's neck and then I start to roll across the floor, alternating between squeezing them beneath me and above me. I love it, and they both know better than to complain.

Of course, whenever I feel like it, I give one of them a treat by riding him, or taking him against a wall. Sometimes when one of them really looks tired, I let him lie on top of me, grab his hips and pull him in and out of me. I get the feeling that neither of then enjoys it quite as much as I do, but that's fine by me.

The drawback is that they're only men. There's only so much I can play with them before they need their precious rest and I have to hang them back on the wall and find something else to do for a little while (like I'm doing right now). Plus I have to give them food and water and carry them to the toilet regularly. I suppose it's like having a cross between a dildo and a tamagotchi. My only real worry is that I might break one of them, or perhaps just wear them out completely. If that doesn't happen, I might just get bored with them.

But for now, at least, I've got to say that my toys are just fine.

Tuesday 21 December 2004 16:53 GMT

"In the red corner..."

Sorry, I've been playing with my boxers all day. I think a little bit has rubbed off on me. Well, a little bit of one of them definitely did this morning. It wasn't my fault though... Alright, it wasn't entirely my fault. I didn't even realise he'd gotten his ring finger wedged in my cleavage until he started screaming that I was crushing it. I wasn't, I was just flexing my chest muscles. OK, so the effect was that his finger got crushed but it wasn't intentional. And yeah, it was me who had first shoved his finger in there, but he should've removed it in time. It's not my problem that he was too weak to do it.

What I probably shouldn't have done (from his perspective) was shove him away from me when he started yelling because all that achieved was to force his body violently backwards whilst his finger remained trapped between my breasts. Ripping the finger off his hand that way did absolutely nothing to stop his screams.

There wasn't enough digit left to try and save, so I didn't bother. I did get the new amputee to clean his blood off me with his tongue. You should have seen the fear in his eyes as he licked! I guess he was terrified his tongue would suffer the same fate as his finger... Just because I squeezed my breasts together very gently, temporarily imprisoning his tongue shortly after he'd started licking. I only did it for a laugh, to tease him. He didn't really need to get all tearful about it, but that's men for you.

This afternoon, we had a fun boxing match. I stripped my top off and just stood with my hands behind my back. I told my two pets to hit punch my chest as hard and as fast as they could. It was really quite nice, but I pretended I couldn't feel a thing and made a show of examining my fingernails as the two of them punched away.

After a minute they started to slow. I ordered them to continue, but I could see that their knuckles had been bruised black and blue against my naked mounds, so I took pity. After only another two minutes, I told them they could stop. "My turn now!" I announced. The look of terror on the two muscular fighters' faces as I drew back my fists made me laugh for ages.

Of course I didn't punch them. I didn't want them splattered all over the new padding on the walls and floors. I just pushed them to the floor and leapt on one of them, riding him till he passed out whilst I held his pal in place by resting two fingertips on his broad chest. Then I leapt onto number two and took him until he too was unconscious. Two knock-outs and I didn't touch either of them (with my hands...) Needless to say, the boys were hung up for a long rest after that.

I'm going to leave them for a while to recover a bit. Besides, I need to go out for supplies for them. I don't seem to have any of the things they need - sticking-plasters, bandages, food....

Wednesday 22 December 2004 22:52 GMT

Ever heard of the phrase "a happy accident"? I had one this morning.

I'd gone upstairs early in the morning to play with my lovely amateur boxers and we'd got a fun tug-o'war game going. We used a thin steel rope. The two of them were at one end of it, and the other was wrapped around the little finger of my left hand. Of course it was a complete mis-match but it was hilarious pulling them all round the soft room, yanking the rope and making them both fly towards me, smacking against my body, getting all bruised in the process.

That was when I had the happy accident. I guess the lad was trying to hard, but that might've been my fault (I did tell them that they wouldn't get any breakfast if they lost the match). Anyway, the snap as his ankle broke was loud and clear. He tried to be a "man" about it, but there were tears welling in his eyes. I hung both boys up on their hooks and went down to the shops.

I was in the bookshop, leafing through a first aid manual (I'd never much cared about patching up normal people before) when a gorgeous, tall young man approached me. He excused himself, and asked if he could give me some help choosing "as I am in my final year as a medical student." It was obvious that he was flirting with me. I checked him up and down. I saw nothing wrong with him so I told him I wouldn't mind his help.

In return for his kindness, I suggested we go for a coffee. He asked where, and I said "my place" and he practically jumped into the air in excitement. We got back and I lead him upstairs - not to the third floor, but to the fourth. We went in. He saw the two boxers and started to say "Hey what the f-". I'd wrapped an iron bar around his wrists before he finished the sentence. He started screaming "Help! Help!" which I found a bit of a turn-off, so I stuffed a rag in his mouth before hanging him on the wall opposite the fighters. Then I stripped him naked, so that he wouldn't feel overdressed compared to the other two.

"The others will fill you in on the details." I told him as I left the room. To broken-ankle boy I added "He's a medical student you know. Be nice and I'll let him look at your foot later."

He's a sweet looking guy. He said his name was Eric, but I think it'll be more fun if I just give all my pets a number so he'll be "Number 3". I'll go up and see him now, give him the intensive course in doing what he's told and then get him to patch up Number 2.

Thursday 23 December 2004 17:59 GMT

Well I have to credit Number 3. He put up a lot of resistance, considering he's only a man. I had to crush the air out of him serveral times and then smother him with my chest until he passed out twice before he understood that I don't do negotiating.

Then (for a laugh, because I was starting to enjoy myself) I threw him across the soft room at least half a dozen times, picking him up by his hair, his chin, his ankle - even (for a few seconds until I feared the neighbours would hear his screaming) - his cock. It so great having the padding. If I'd have tossed him that hard into a normal wall just once, he'd have been lucky to have survived.

As it is he was fine, just badly bruised (but that seems to happen every time I so much as brush against a man.) He even managed to patch up Number 2's ankle. As a thank you for that, I shoved him downand jumped on him, riding him until his eyes rolled into his head. That got me nicely in the mood for a long session with the others.

They're all sleeping it off now. They'll need at least another ten hours, but I'm not going to wait for that. I'll go up now and wake them to play a nice game.

Friday 24 December 2004 16:10 GMT

It might be Christmas Eve, but it's a normal working Friday. That's what I told my pets when I woke them up at quarter to six this morning.

So we had our now customary early morning "bonding session". I lined the three of them up against one of the soft walls (their hands of course still bound up in iron and held over their heads) and took my time forcing myself onto each of them in turn. Only Number 3 tried to protest, The other pair know well enough that complaining can be a very painful excersize.

I showed Number 3 why he was better off keeping his mouth shut by picking him up by his forearm and swinging him over my head for a while. Then I let go of him so that he flew into the wall, bouncing onto ground. Before he could sit up, I was straddling him, my chest hanging over his face. I couldn't resist swinging my upper body to knock his head from side to side with my breasts until both his cheeks started to bleed.

Anyway, number three was a lot better behaved after that, and we all played some fun games. Well, I found the games fun; the boys were probably a bit tired or something. They all ended up crying like babies. They knew better than to moan though!

Tomorrow, as it's a special day, I might let them sleep on the floor for a few hours instead of always hanging off the wall. That's if I think they deserve a special treat.

Saturday 25 December 2004 11:50 GMT

Merry Christmas, readers! I hope you're having as much fun as me, but I doubt it. After all, I'm a gorgeous superbabe with unlimited powers!

Early this morning, I went up to see my boys. I brought them down from their hooks and set them on their feet. Before I could even give them any commands, they launched into a routine they'd obviously spent part of the night rehearsing. All three of them dropped to their knees in front of me. Number 1 spoke, looking up at me through pleading eyes. "Oh beautiful goddess," he began. I must say, I liked his choice of words. Enough to let him continue despite speaking out of turn. "We humbly request your mercy. Please grant us our wish to return to our families for Christmas."

I put my hands on my hips and laughed. "Lie down! All of you!" I ordered. They obeyed at once. I crouched over Number 1's groin, took his organ into me and bounced on him till the tears of agony rolled down his cheeks. Then, as he passed out, I moved onto Number 2 and rode him aggressively for a similar length of time, leaving him equally unconscious. I stood up for number three, lifting him with one hand under his backside and the other behind his back. Then I raised and lowered him into me until I was properly satisfied before dropping him onto the soft floor to sleep it off.

After that, I got myself dressed and removed the wrapped iron bounds from each of my boys' wrists. I picked them up, Numbers 1 and 3 tucked under my right arm and Number 2 under my left. I carried them out of the back door, down the fire escape and left them on top of a pile of garbage sacks. I felt a twinge of regret letting them go, but I can easily get more whenever I want. Besides, it is Christmas. I just wonder how they'll get home without any clothes or money. Ho! ho! ho!

Sunday 26 December 2004 21:24 GMT

The day after Christmas (today, Dec 26th) is known in the UK as Boxing Day. Quite appropriate, then, that I should have spent it in the company of a boxer.

It was all a lovely seasonal surprise. The door buzzer sounded at about 9 this morning. Assuming that a gift was being delivered by one of my countless admirers, I ran downstairs without first checking out of the window to see who was there. You can imagine the unexpected pleasure as I opened the door to one of the two amateur puglilists who had been staying with me until yesterday. I almost didn't recognise him with his clothes on, but his face was familiar enough.

"Number 1!" I greeted him.

"My name is Tom." he replied, defiantly. "And now it's your turn to kneel!" as he finished he thrust his hand into his overcoat, removing it a moment later with some kind of pistol in his grasp. I burst out laughing. "Get inside!" he barked, his hand trembling (I guess as a result of my unexpected reaction to the weapon.)

"I suppose," I said, trying to compose myself, "that you're going to fire that thing out here if I don't. We can't have that. It might disturb the neighbours." I spun around, making it clear to him that I had no problem turning my back on him and his gun and walked into the building. I heard his thumping heart as he followed me. Then he shut the door. I whirled back to face him, putting my hands on my hips.

"On your knees, bitch!" he commanded, waving the gun about. I couldn't help chuckling. He released the safety catch and pointed the pistol at my head. That just made me laugh even harder. "I swear, I'll kill you." he threatened.

"No you won't" I giggled.

"F**k you." was the best reply he could muster. He pulled the trigger twice. I stayed right where I was, my hands unmoving from my hips, as the two bullets struck my face (one just below my left eye, the other on the bridge of my nose) and bounced uselessly away. I didn't even stop chuckling. The look of panic on the man's face just started a new wave of hysterics which I saw no need to repress.

He became desperate then. He fired off three shots in succession at my chest, the first two smacking into my right breast, tearing holes in my T-shirt before pinging off the invulnerable flesh below. The third shot tore through my top and actually lodged itself for a moment deep in my cleavage. After that, the gun clicked several more times, obviously having run out of ammunition. I shook my chest to free the trapped bullet. It fell at my feet.

My surprise guest looked down at the squashed bit of lead on the floor, then at my ruined T-shirt, then at my face. He spun on his heels and started to run back towards the entrance. I let him take two steps before unleashing a gentle puff of superbreath that lifted him off his feet and sent him flying into the door, which he hit face first with a nice loud smack. He slid down into a heap on the floor. The impact had knocked him out cold.

I walked over and picked him up by his ankle with my left hand, snatching up the gun with my other hand. Then I took him up to the fourth floor. He was still unconscious (a big blue bruise spreading across his forehead) as I wrapped one of my usual thick iron rods around his wrists, hanging one end of it from one of the rings on the wall. Once he was secured, I tore off all his clothes and took them and his pistol downstairs with me.

I've got my superhearing tuned to the room up there. When I hear a clue that he's awake, I'll pop up for a little chat with him. There's no real hurry though. He's not going to be going anywhere for quite a while.

Monday 27 December 2004 16:31 GMT

"So you couldn't bear to leave me, eh?" I taunted Number 1 after he had finally come to last night. I'd taken him down from the wall, dangling him by his wrists from my upstretched right arm so that his face was only a little higher than mine. I already stripped him naked yesterday. For my part, I was wearing a simple brief black bra and matching knickers.

"Well," I went on, "I understand what drew you back to me," (I illustrated the point by seductively tracing the curve of my chest with a fingertip) "but I'm not very impressed with the toy you brought for me." From the waistband of my panties, I extracted the gun he'd shot me with so unsuccessfully. Holding the pistol in the small space between our faces I slowly closed my fingers around it until it started to groan and deform. The steel quickly became molten as it succumbed to the pressure of my grip and it started to ooze between my fingers.

I dropped the useless lump of scrap and it touched Number 1's bare leg on its way to the floor. The momentary touch was enough to burn him quite badly. He screamed in pain. "Be quiet!" I told him, aggressively. I let go of the metal rod I'd wrapped around his arms and he fell onto his feet. Immediately he backed away from me. Chuckling, I stepped towards him, reaching behind my back to unclasp my bra. I took it off, tossed it to the side and placed my hands on my hips.

He continued to move away and I continued to advance until, inevitably, his back hit the soft wall behind him. I stepped forwards, my hands still resting on my sides until my nipples touched him. Because of the yielding mats on the wall, I had to lean into him with my breasts a bit more than I normally would to pin him. But once I had him trapped, I was able to just draw in a deep breath, expanding my chest, and hear the delightful sound of his upper ribs crunching one by one until he passed out.

I hung him back up to sleep it off and left the upstairs flat. He's going to be in a hell of a lot of pain when he comes to. It serves him right for ruining my T-shirt yesterday with his silly little gun.

Wednesday 29 December 2004 15:40 GMT

Number 1 spent the whole of Tuesday moaning in agony to the point that I almost went out to get him some paracetemol. In the end, I decided to leave him alone with his pain. I gave him a kiss to soothe him (knocking a couple of his teeth out with my tongue in the process) and went downstairs.

He wasn't much better today, but I had an "itch" I wanted to "scratch" and besides, what's the point of keeping a pet if you can't play with it when you feel like it? Needless to say, he started to scream when I threw him on the floor and straddled him, so I leant forward, burying his face in my cleavage for a minute or so. That had the twin effect of stifling his yells and making him erect. I rode him with one hand over his mouth to keep him quiet until he was out cold.

When he regained consciousness, he tearfully begged me to let him go. I told him I might've considered it if he had only shot at me, but because he'd damaged my T-shirt in the process as well, I'd decided to keep him permanently as punishment.

He seemed a little sad after that. I tried to cheer him up by forcing him to make love to me again, but that just left him comatose once more. There's no pleasing some people.

Thursday 30 December 2004 18:36 GMT

What with New Year just around the corner, it's definitely time to start planning my celebrations.

Number 1 has been so boring for the past two days, spending all his conscious time with me moaning and crying. I definitely don't want to see in 2005 alone with him.

So, I went out last night to a local bar where (as a special "treat for the ladies") a group of male strippers were performing. Some of them had lovely looking bodies, I must say, even if all those big muscles combined don't equal the strength of my little finger...

Anyway, I hung around outside at the end of the show, waiting for them to go for their minibus. As they came out, I approached them. I was wearing an ankle-length, thick winter coat. I asked for a lift, and "accidentally" let the coat fall open. The fact that I was completely nude underneath may have helped them make the decision to take me home.

We got there and I asked them in for coffee. "What... all of us?" asked the cheekiest one of the lot. "Can you manage er... coffee... for six big guys?"

I smiled back as seductively as I can (i.e. extremely seductively). "Why don't you all come on up and find out?" I proposed.

To cut a long story short, here's what happened: First there was a brief fight as I led them into the playroom upstairs. During the scuffle, one of the beef-cakes broke his hand punching my face, another snapped his ankle trying to kick my belly and two of them sustained cheek-bone fractures when I pulled their faces to my chest. After that, I knocked the sixth one out just for show by flicking him under the chin with a finger-tip.

One by one, I grabbed hold of the men and wrapped up their wrists using iron rods as normal. The last couple made a desperate bid for escape, but I caught up with them and hoisted them both into the air by snatching them with a hand on the back of each one's neck. I tossed one of them against the soft wall hard enough to make him pass out whilst I dealt with the other.

Once they were all hanging in place, I quickly tore off their clothes. Number 1 was watching all the while, still groaning. I gave him a wink as if to say "Don't worry I haven't forgotten about you!" as I left.

I'm going back up there now to complete the new arrivals' training and assign them their numbers. Should be fun (for me, anyway.)

Friday 31 December 2004 16:31 GMT

Training continues apace this afternoon. The boys are doing quite well, really, considering they're only men. Once they'd all learnt that they couldn't oppose me physically (which took about five minutes), we moved on to Step 2. I call it "obedience training" or, to put it another way, "Follow orders or get hurt. Badly."

Of course, they're all very pretty as well as extremely well-built guys and I'm a grown woman with needs, so I had to break off the instructing every so often to force myself on one of them. There were two problems with that: firstly (though it's so obvious and insignificant that I hardly need to mention it) the guys got hurt quite a bit when I used them to satisfy my urges. All the usual injuries (bruised faces and chests, cracked ribs, blackened groins) had occurred within half-an-hour. I had to be a bit careful so as not to badly damage all my new toys before tonight's little party. In fact, I've left them all hanging off the wall upstairs to get some rest before festivities begin.

The other problem was Number 4. I'm not really sure what to do with him, really. He was no better or worse than the others in Steps 1 and 2. That's to say he was stubborn and arrogant but learnt better after I'd administered a beating or two. But I couldn't get him stiff where it counts when I wanted to ride him. I tried all my usual tricks (brushing my chest against his, kissing, breathing into his face, smothering him in my cleavage) without success until he revealed that he was gay.

I knew he wasn't lying (no heterosexual male has ever failed to er... rise to my desires) but I'm at a loss what to do with him. It's not like I need someone to make the drinks tonight. I just want a lot of attractive men ready to jump at my command that I can screw all night. Number 4 might be very pretty, but if he won't get it up for me, he's useless to me. I'm sure I'll think of something eventually. Right now, I've got a party to get ready for.

 

 

January 2005

Saturday 1 January 2005 17:48 GMT

Happy new year, everyone!

What a great start to the year! I feel absolutely terriffic this morning. The same can't be said, of course, for my boys upstairs, but it's not about them. It's about me.

I knew I was in for a good night when I went out to the off-licence early evening to pick up a few bottles for my little party. I spotted a case of 24 bottles of top quality champagne behind the counter and went to grab them at super-speed. That's when I saw the little electric stun-gun the owner keeps in case of a violent robbery. I pocketed it and streaked out of there with the two dozen litres of posh French fizz under my arm. That'll look weird on the security camera tape...

Back at home, I tested out the little device. It runs off a normal battery and gives a shock that's supposed to be powerful enough to stun a grown man for a minute. Naturally, it barely tickled me, but in a nice way. If I used it several times in the same spot, it did feel rather pleasant. Unfortunately, that used up the battery, so I ran out to the nearest convenience store and stole a box of fresh ones.

At nine pm, I went upstairs with the champagne, the stun-gun and the batteries. I got all the boys down, even Number 1, who is in a bad way with his broken ribs. I handed the shock-generator and batteries to Number 4 and told him his job was to keep zapping me all over with it, changing the battery as needed, until I told him to stop. I explained that if he slackened in his task at any point, I would break his arms and legs. In fact, he did well, and throughout the course of the six-hour "party", I only had to snap his left arm.

I made it clear that the boys were forbidden to touch my champagne. Men just can't handle drink, and besides, it affects their performance. It's hard enough for me to get satisfaction from a man when he's sober (and fully erect). So I drank the 24 bottles myself. They didn't get me in the slightest bit tipsy, but they were delicious.

The six straight men were great, too. Even Number 1, despite his injuries, did a decent job. I guess his experiences in the boxing ring have given him great stamina. I was able to ride him three times before he completely passed out. The others (apart from Number 5) I took half a dozen times each, in a variety of positions. All the while, Number 4 was dancing about, using the stun-gun on me repetitively. It was especially great when he fired the high voltage discharge directly into one of my nipples.

The only one who didn't do his bit was Number 5. I was playing the rolling game with him and Number 3; 5's face was against my left breast and 3's against my right. On the fifth roll, with them both underneath me, something went "crunch!". When I looked, one half of my chest was covered in blood. I wiped it off with Number 4's hair and then I noticed that I'd crushed 5's nose completely flat. He was out cold and I had to toss him into the corner of the room, out of the way.

By 3 am, all my boys were unconscious and I, for once, was well and truly sated. I hung them all back up on their hooks, admiring the mess I'd made of 5's face. He might end up OK (they can do great things with plastic surgery these days) but as far as I'm concerned, I couldn't care less. I got what I wanted from him and his friends. That's all I'm interested in. Let's hope there's plenty more nights like that to come in 2005.

Monday 3 January 2005 15:55 GMT

I had to let my lovely muscle boys go yesterday. I was just going to release Number 4, but I realised that he'd probably tell the police where his pals were and I don't need that kind of hassle. So I set the whole troupe free instead.

I had one last go on each of them until they were all out for the count and covered in fresh bruises (and at least two new broken bones between them). Number 4 I knocked out by tapping him on the top of his head with my little finger. I took them downstairs, carrying one under each arm and two dangling from each hand. The weight of six body-builders was nothing to me, but manoeuvring the bulky cargo downstairs was tricky and I may have knocked some of them against the walls a bit on the way.

I tossed them all onto a neighbour's rubbish bags, brushed off my hands and went back upstairs to my special playroom where, of course, Number 1 was waiting for me. "Now that the dancers have gone," I told him, "you're going to have to work much harder." I couldn't help laughing as he started to cry.

Tuesday 4 January 2005 23:45 GMT

It was a bit of an anti-climax this morning up in my playroom with just black-and-blue Number 1 for company. His busted ribs have left him in a bad state, and he's really not up to much. He must feel like a snowflake in a volcano when I'm with him. I'm afraid that (even with the padded walls and floors) I might accidentally put him out of his misery one of these days.

To reduce the risk of that happening, I decided to go out in the afternoon today. A couple of streets away, I found myself walking towards a spotty teenage boy who was pushing leaflets advertising a new pizza restaurant through every letterbox he could find.

I smiled when I heard the booming acceleration of his heart-beat when he finally saw me. As he neared, I began to notice the smell of his hormones (and I didn't need superhuman eyesight to spot the bulge in his jeans). His eyes were locked on me now so, very slowly, I put my fingertips to my mouth and kissed them. Then, knowing I had him completely spell-bound, I lowered my palm beneath my chin and, holding my lips in the same pout, blew the kiss towards him.

My breath was a gust of wind that tore the thousands of undelivered leaflets from his grasp and scattered them like confetti along the length of the street. It also made him stagger backwards a couple of paces before he fell on his backside.

I strolled over to him as he sat prone, bent over and reached down to give his adolescent erection a squeeze. I did it gently, using only my thumb and forefinger, but his scream would have woken the dead if I hadn't reacted quickly and stifled it with my other hand. "I hate pizza." I told him, casually, as he fought uselessly to escape. His face was tomato-red and streaked with tears by the time he passed out. I just went on with my walk after that.

Wednesday 5 January 2005 23:58 GMT

After a quick (and fairly gentle) roll with Number 1 last night (which left him gasping for air so loudly I didn't bother with a second helping), I thought it might make a nice change to pop out for a drink.

I wasn't actually thirsty (my lovely body seems to work just fine without liquid intake, actually) but I tore open the wire fence up at the reservoir. There was a fifteen foot long metal drainpipe attached to the wall of the pump room. I say there was a pipe because there isn't one there anymore. I ripped it off the wall and used it as a giant straw.

I had to squeeze one end of it a little with my hands so that it was small enough to fit in my mouth. The other end went in the huge pool of water. I just sucked until all the liquid was gone from the reservoir. (Don't ask where it all went; my metabolism is perfect and it just deals with whatever I put in my stomach. I never need to use a toilet, not even after drinking several thousand gallons.)

Anyway, there was nothing coming out of the taps in the street once again today as a result of my binge, but that was alright by me. I wasn't thirsty.

Thursday 6 January 2005 15:26 GMT

There was an emergency water supply truck in our street all morning today. People were queuing up with bottles and jugs and all kinds of containers. I noticed that more than a few of them hadn't been able to have a wash.

There was also a stream of tankers up at the reservoir, as the water company desperately tried to restore it to a minimum operational level. The local paper ran with "E.T. strikes local area again." Apparently, the only explanation anyone had come up with for the sudden loss of water was some crackpot who suggested the liquid had been stolen by passing aliens to use as fuel for their UFO.

(Actually it was the same crackpot who suggested that aliens had been responsible for overturning all the buses in the garage a while back. I suppose, on both occasions "Gorgeous girl strikes local area" would have made for a less dramatic, if more truthful, headline.)

Everyone (apart from me) seems to be awfully affected by the mini-drought. Number 1 was so thirsty when I finished with him just now that he couldn't talk. I told him there was no water in the system, and he'd just have to wait. "You don't hear me complaining." I told him. I suppose I shouldn't have made him lose so much fluid but I can't help it he sweats profusely and his penis shoots out all that juice every time I rape him.

I'm told the water supply should be restored by ten this evening. If it is, then he can have his drink tomorrow morning. As long as he satisfies me properly tonight first, of course.

Friday 7 January 2005 17:03 GMT

Some people are so ungrateful! When I took Number 1 his cup of water this morning, he gulped it down and, instead of thanking me, started begging me to take him to a hospital.

"Please," he croaked. "My ribs are really hurting. I need a doctor!"

"You should have thought of that before you shot me." I told him. "I didn't beg you to take me to a hospital then, did I?" He started to silently weep. "Oh, come on. It's not that bad." I chided. "Here, let me kiss you better."

He was still hanging from the wall, so I had to unhook him and bring him closer. I pressed my lips against his, parting them to force his mouth open despite his struggles, and plunged my tongue in, pushing his aside as though it weren't there. After exploring all over his mouth for a while, I flicked at a couple of his teeth with my tongue, knocking them out of his gums. Then I continued the kiss, only breaking it off when his face turned bright blue.

"I bet that feels better now." I chuckled, fixing him back on the wall and noting the erection I'd caused. He was too busy trying to gulp down air to reply, so I just left him to it.

Monday 10 January 2005 21:34 GMT

Sometimes, a bad Friday night can ruin your entire weekend. I was just fooling around up in the playroom; you know the kind of thing... Picking up Number 1 by his chin and throwing him from one side of the room to the other, swinging him around my head by his ankle, pressing him against the ceiling with my superbreath (just general, everyday fun).

Anyway, he was coughing a lot and complaining about a headache. I told him, as I pushed him down on the floor and threw a leg over him that I thought headaches were supposed to be the woman's excuse. He started pleading with me not to rape him, so I thought I'd get him more "in the mood" by scooting up his body and lowering my chest over his face.

To cut a long story short, I must've pressed my breasts too hard against his head or maybe his heart just failed. Either way, when I lifted myself off him, he was completely dead.

I had to put him in a huge bag and carry it over my shoulder. Fortunately no-one suspected I could be carrying a corpse in my sack as I made it look like it practically weightless (which to me, it was). I dumped him in the forest, under about twenty tons of earth and rocks.

After that, I didn't feel much like company. It's not that I was getting attached to Number 1. It's just that I'm getting fed up with men literally falling apart on me.

Tuesday 11 January 2005 18:05 GMT

With no-one upstairs to feed and take to the toilet, I'm a free woman once again.

I went down to the beach by train to celebrate today. It was cold and windy and it drizzled non-stop so I had the whole beach to myself for an hour. I put on my bikini and splashed about in the sea for a while, knowing the water was chilly enough to give a normal person hypothermia after a few minutes.

Unfortunately, my solitude was disturbed by some idiot in a speed boat who kept zooming up and down, parallel to the shore. With my super-vision, I had no trouble seeing the drunken, overweight balding man at the wheel, but he would never have spotted me from that distance.

I started to swim towards the boat. It was going fast, and it was actually a little bit of an effort for me to better its speed through the water and catch up. Eventually, though, there was only going to be one winner. I got my hands on the back of the boat and managed to pull myself up and into it without tipping it over by kicking my legs in a powerful stroke as I pushed up with my hands.

I tapped the inebriated pilot on the shoulder. He whirled around in shock, his jaw hanging open as he slowly looked me up and down and then down again (at least as far as my chest). I leant towards him, planting my lips on his and kissing him very gently. Then I turned around and slowly bent over the back of the boat, giving him plenty of opportunity to admire my backside.

With one hand, I tore the motor and propeller from its mounting, and turned back to face Mr. Too-many-beers-for-breakfast. I held the engine assembly out in front of me and crushed it to a thousand pieces between my two palms as if it were a polystyrene cup, letting the little bits fall into the boat.

"Bye!" I said as I dived off to swim back to shore, leaving him stranded, literally without a paddle, a mile-and-a-half from land. I wonder if the coastguard have managed to pick him up yet.

Wednesday 12 January 2005 15:37 GMT

The weather was much better today. The skies were clear and the sun has been shining. Of course, that means it's colder than yesterday (only a couple of degrees) but there were still quite a few people out in the park when I went for a walk.

The work on the tea-house I destroyed last year is nearly finished. A builder wolf-whistled me from the top of a ladder as I went by. (From the way he was staring, I guess he's not used to seeing girls in nothing but shorts and a tight T-shirt in January, particularly not girls as er, "well-built" as I am.) I tilted my head back and blew the tiniest of kisses his way. No hurricane, just enough of my breath to topple him from the ladder. I saw him being attended to by an ambulance crew about quarter of an hour later.

Of course, by then, I'd already been around the workers' cars and vans, bending low behind each vehicle to crush the exhausts pipes closed with my hand. The steel tubes deformed like clay in my grip. I fought the temptation to overturn the larger transports, but I couldn't resist briefly swinging my leg over someone's motorbike and crushing the motor to the thickness of a dinner plate between my thighs. That should make for an interesting insurance claim.

Thursday 13 January 2005 22:44 GMT

"Vandals sought in connection with builder's fall." Well, I had to buy the local paper this morning when I saw the headline. Definitely one for my scrap-book.

Things are feeling quiet again around here. The only real fun I had today was when I went into a posh new furniture store in town. I was checking out a new chair for my place when a balding, advanced-middle-aged sales assistant came up to me and asked if he could help. After that, he wouldn't leave me alone. He kept following me around the store, trying too hard to be helpful.

All the time, whenever he possibly could, he found a way to position himself in front of me so that he could stare at my chest. OK, I was wearing a very tight and slightly revealing tank-top and true, I've got plenty to attract a man's gaze in that department, but he was ridiculous. Even when we talked, he stared.

Eventually, I found myself standing next to a huge, heavy chrome dining table. I must've gone from chairs to tables trying to get away from the creep. Anyway, I just thought "I'll show the pervert something he'll never, ever forget."

He was standing on the opposite side of the table from me, directly facing me (of course.) I bent over the table, slowly, thrusting out my chest as I did and gave him a lingering eyeful of my pendant breasts stretching the fabric of my tight low-cut top. As his jaw fell open and he started to drool, I continued to bend until my nipples were actually resting on the table-top.

And then, I bent some more. The table creaked like an old ship and, at one point, I thought that its solid metal legs were going to buckle, but they just about held out under the increasing pressure of my bust. But the table-top was not quite as resilient and my breasts pressed themselves deeply into the chrome. When I stood up straight again, the assistant saw the two bowl-like indents I'd created, each about five inches in diameter and three inches deep. And each with a further little indentation at the centre. He looked from the table to my chest and then quietly fainted. I left as discretely as I could.

Friday 14 January 2005 17:39 GMT

Regular readers will appreciate that I'd gone for quite a while (nearly a week in fact) since last having the pleasure of sex with a man. That's a long time for me. Too long, in fact. I start to get a bit bad tempered if I don't scratch my itches regularly, and believe me, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

With that in mind, I was in an exclusive bar in town lunchtime with all the guys in suits enjoying their Friday lunchtime excesses. I was just hanging around, looking for any half-way decent looking man. After a short while, I spotted a couple of excellent candidates going into the men's toilets together. I slipped in quickly and unseen after them.

I expected to see the two guys I followed standing at the urinal but they weren't there. There were three cubicles, but two were vacant. That meant they both were sharing a single cubicle. Intrigued, I decided to investigate. I didn't peer over the door, though. I just flicked the lock with my finger, shattering the little steel bolt to pieces and making the door fly open. Both guys jumped with surprise and one of them actually screeched.

They were both fully dressed. It took me another quarter second to work out what was going on. In fact, it was only when I glanced at the toilet lid that I worked it out. Laid out on the porcelain were two very large, hastily-chopped lines of cocaine. Smiling, I turned in that direction and just sniffed sharply. Even without a straw and with my nostrils three feet from the powder, my sniff pulled every last grain up my nose.

The guys looked shocked. Of course, even a jumbo dose like that does nothing at all for me (I once ate two kilos of the stuff just to piss off a dealer who I was carrying under my arm at the time, but that's another story) but it did get their attention. I moved fast, using my left hand to shred the clothes of one of them and my right to make rags of the other's suit and shirt. Then I stripped my own clothes at superspeed.

I balled my right hand into a fist and extended just my little finger and pinned one of them to the cubicle wall by placing that finger on his chest. How he fought to get free! Of course it was a waste of his energy. While he struggled, I grabbed the other's penis, stroking it to hardness and then guiding it into me as I leant into him. I took him like that against the wall. When I was done, I stood off him and he slid, unconscious, to the floor, his upper body and pelvis badly bruised by the repetitive slamming of my chest and hips.

After that, I just moved onto the one I'd held pinned all the while. He really did try and push and then punch me away, but that just got him a couple of broken knuckles. I forced him down onto the lid of the toilet and sat on him, facing the wall, straddling him. I got him ready in seconds and took him inside. Then I sprang up and down on my toes as I forced him in and out of me at speeds no "normal" girl could manage, only stopping when I saw that my bouncing breasts were repetitively smacking into his chin and threatening to kill him outright. He collapsed forward when I stood up so I pushed him aside with a sweep of my hand and let him fall on top of his friend.

Then I got dressed and slipped out of the men's into the bar. I had another couple of drinks and left just as I heard someone shouting from the toilets "Hey! There's two guys been badly assaulted in here!"

Monday 17 January 2005 20:40 GMT

Saturday morning, the building was filled with noise as someone was moving into one of the flats downstairs. When I went out at lunchtime, I met the new tennant; a youngish man in the music business. He and three friends had spent hours shifting box after box of his vinyl-based record collection from
a lorry parked outside. They were exhausted and sweaty, but, needless to say, quite eager to introduce themselves to me. I was brusque, but not impolite as I made it clear I wasn't interested in anything they had to offer.

That didn't stop my new neighbour knocking on my door that evening. I already recognized the sound of his breathing, but I opened up anyway. I was
expecting him to ask to borrow a cup of sugar or something, but instead he invited me to coffee. I declined. He started explaining that it was a shame as, with his connections, he was sure he could get me a great job in the music industry. I laughed, telling him I didn't need his help (or anyone else's for that matter).

"Oh, come on," he answered, "everyone needs help."

"Not me."

"I'm sure you do, but you just don't want to admit it." he therorised. That was it for me. The final straw. I grabbed him using a single hand to grip the collar of his shirt and with a simple little tug, threw him over my shoulder into my flat. He landed, in a heap, half on a chair, half on the floor. Before he could stand, I'd closed the door and strolled across to stand over him.

"Let me make this perfectly clear." I said, bending down to lift him, this time gripping him by the back of the neck and carrying him with his feet well clear of the floor. He kicked and punched at me and I just rolled my eyes as, one by one, he hurt his hands and feet against my body. I put him down on his feet, his back against the wall. Putting my hands on my hips to show my complete dominance, I leant into him, holding him in place with my chest.

Feeling him respond to the contact with my (apparently) irresistible upper body, I leant in a little more, squeezing the air from his lungs, making his face turn purple. I laughed and then said "I'm not even using my hands but it looks like even my tits are too much for you! Do you know what would happen if I took a deep breath right now? Your pathetic body would be obliterated like a grape in a car crusher... And you think I need your help!"

I stepped back off him just before he passed out. His knees gave way as soon as I wasn't there to support them. "Get out!" I ordered him. He struggled to stand, rubbing his bruised chest as he walked sheepishly away. I slammed the door behind him.

Tuesday 18 January 2005 17:48 GMT

I saw my new neighbour again this morning. He was coming down the stairs as I was coming up. As soon as he saw me, he backed into the wall, his face a picture of panic. "Don't hurt me!" he blurted as I smiled.

I kept on walking, and just as I was passing him, I turned and said, very quietly, "Boo!". He jumped so high he almost lost his footing. He would probably have regained his balance were it not for me blowing him the gentlest of kisses over my shoulder. Instead, my little puff tipped him over and he went tumbling down the stairs.

I was already in my flat by the time he crashed onto the floor of the entrance lobby.

Thursday 20 January 2005 16:42 GMT

Sshhh! Don't tell anyone, but I've been on a sort of secret mission. It's something I do every so often - it's usually fun and it pays very well. This time my employer is... well, I won't get paid if I say. Let's just say it's not a private institution or individual.

Anyway, the services I get retained for vary, but usually involve going to places and reaching people that can't normally be reached by a lone individual. To get to the target yesterday, for example, I had to walk across a minefield (I didn't look where I was going and six or seven charges exploded under my feet, which was nice), break down a six-inch thick steel door (I used my hands to tear open a hole in it and then the rest of my body to widen the hole) and then face a couple of psychopathic body-guards.

I let them spray me with Uzi fire for a few moments, turning slowly in the hail of bullets to enjoy the feeling of them hitting all over my body. Of course, my clothes were cut to shreds, so I just carried on in the nude. I walked up to the shooters and a flick of each hand took them out.

I found my target crouching behind a large leather sofa which I lifted and tossed over my shoulder with a single movement of my wrist. I picked him up with a couple of fingers under his chin and did what I'd been employed to do. They didn't specify how they wanted it done, so I improvised, jamming his face between my breasts, letting him struggle futilely to get out for a while.

When that was getting less enjoyable, I tensed my chest muscles, squeezing him beyond the point of recovery. When I relaxed, he was unmoving, but still wedged in my cleavage. I had to pull him out of there to toss him aside, but not before I'd gotten his rings, his watch and his wallet as I had been requested to do. Then I just walked out of there, back to the car that was waiting for me.

Monday 24 January 2005 23:20 GMT

Just a short note to let you all know that I'm back safely (as if!) from my little trip. Can't say too much about it for contractual reasons, but my mission was fully accomplished.

Tomorrow, I'm going to go out and spend some of the money I've earned on a new outfit. I lost one set of clothes yesterday. My fault really. I should have checked what the liquid in the vat was before jumping in. If I'd known that it was undiluted hydrochloric acid, I'd have undressed first. Still, the corrosive felt quite nice against my skin; a bit like being tickled gently. It wasn't so much fun for the two guys I splashed as I dived into the container, but I enjoyed it and that's all that counts as far as I'm concerned.

Tuesday 25 January 2005 17:49 GMT

In the end, I couldn't wait for the shops to open in the morning to get my new clothes. Instead, I went last night, whilst they were still closed.

As usual, I went to my favourite boutique. Locating the back door in the alley behind, I pushed it open by pressing a couple of fingers on the panel. I figured it was probably locked, but I didn't realise it was secured with a thick steel bar on the inside. No matter, my easy shove bent the bar back a little before ripping its mounting free of the wall. Bar, mounting and bits of wall fell onto the sound-absorbing carpet inside.

The door swung open and the alarm went off. I ran in at superspeed to make my selection. Even though it was almost pitch-black in there, I had no trouble judging colours and styles and I'd picked out four outfits within a few seconds.

As I left, I even had time to put my "shopping" down for a moment, pick up the steel bar I'd damaged, and, holding it with one end in each hand, tie it into a knot, enjoying the screeching sound it made as I effortlessly re-shaped it. I dropped my sculpture, grabbed my new clothes and ran.

I was probably already at home by the time the police arrived. The only clues I left were a deformed bit of metal and a blur on the security camera tape.

Wednesday 26 January 2005 21:47 GMT

I went out for a walk in one of my new outfits today and I'm pleased to report that, judging by the reactions of the men I passed, I chose well (despite the fact that it was dark in the shop and I was running at hundreds of miles an hour when I picked it out).

It was bitterly cold, and I suppose I must've attracted some extra attention walking around in a sleeveless, low-cut dress. It was funny seeing so many people wrapped up in layers of thick clothes, when I don't feel any discomfort at all (ever). In case you were wondering, the cold doesn't even make my nipples hard. It takes a machine gun to do that...

Anyway, the sight of normal people shivering made me think of all the millions of ways I'm superior and I thought I ought to share some of that with you. So, for this week only, I'm going to do something I wouldn't normally consider. I'm actually going to answer questions about myself. If there's anything you want to ask about me, then send me an email. The address is blogger@conceptfan.com (there's a link at the top of the page). I'll respond on this page, but I won't publish anyone's name or email.

Thursday 27 January 2005 18:00 GMT

Q: When or how (or both) did you get your powers?

A: I was born with them (I think.) I don't know for sure because I have no memory of being a baby. Truth is, I don't know where my powers come from (or where I come from either). According to the orphanage where I grew up, I was abandoned one night on the steps. I was only a few weeks old and despite pleas for my parents to make themselves known, their identities were never discovered.

I remember being confused as a child as to why things didn't seem to hurt me whilst they made the other children scream. Also, I was always surprised that no-one else seemed to be able to hear or see stuff that was quite clear to me. As I grew up, I learnt pretty quickly that I was different from all those around me. I never felt pain or discomfort, never felt hungry or thirsty or tired.

I guess I was invulnerable back then. I remember vaccination needles breaking on my skin. In my own experiments, I broke quite a few knives trying to cut myself and more than once I lost my clothes jumping into a fire to see if it would burn me. I didn't get shot with a gun until I was sixteen, but I reckon bullets would've always been ineffective against me

It wasn't until I hit puberty that the rest of my powers developed. It happened one incredible summer. My strength seemed to grow daily, like my bust. One day, I could lift the back end of a car off the ground. The next I could do it one-handed. Twenty-four hours later I found I could raise the entire vehicle over my head and balance it on a single palm.

Of course, I started to be interested in boys around that time. Unlike other girls, I wasn't at all nervous as I knew my strength and invulnerability meant nothing could be done to me against my will. But I did hurt quite a few guys learning to control my strength. I soon realised that I enjoyed being in charge, and that causing the odd bit of pain actually was quite a thrill. I also found that I could use my blossoming body to make a man "ready" for me, even against his will. That was awesome (still is in fact).

I did a lot of running that summer (mostly away from things or people I'd damaged accidentally or deliberately with my strength). I noticed how I seemed to get faster and faster until I could sprint so fast, no-one else could really see me move. That was how I first got shot. Out in the country, I would run between huntsmen and their targets, putting myself right in the path of their bullets, just to see how it felt.

And superbreath? I discovered that trying to seduce a sailor one weekend. I'd heard somewhere that men like it when a girl blows gently on their face or in their ear. Seeing how every time that I had tried something "a guy likes" it had provoked an instant, successful result, I thought I'd try that trick too. I froze that poor man's whole head solid in a fraction of a second. I thought I'd feel bad about it, but to be honest, I was just excited to experiment some more with the new power.

Any other questions? Send them to: blogger@conceptfan.com

Friday 28 January 2005 23:53 GMT

Q: If the fictional Superman were real, how would his powers compare with yours?

A: From what I've seen of "Superman" in films and television, he often seems to be struggling to lift the sort of weights I can hoist with one-handed ease, so I would say I'd be about five or six times stronger than him. Enough for me to be able to knock him out with a finger. True, I don't have heat-vision, but the kind of temperatures he could generate just make me feel nice.

In the invulnerability stakes, I would never be knocked flying backwards by an exploding missile like Superman always seems to do. Yeah, so I can't fly (this is the real world, after all) but I can jump pretty high and fast. And a little firecracker couldn't send me spinning. I bet if he punched me as hard as he could in the belly, my feet would stay planted right where they were and he would hurt his big, hairy knuckles. If I drove my little fist into his guts, he'd probably go twice round the Earth before he came down.

In terms of other powers, well, I've not seen Superman do anything with his lungs that I've not done three times more impressively. OK, so he flies fast in films, but I bet I'd beat him in a running race over any distance from 10 yards to 1,000 miles. He wouldn't even be able to run away from me. I'd catch him, and then just hold him down no matter how much he tried to fly away. Then, I would slowly bend over, lifting his chin with one hand whilst the other hand kept his shoulder gripped. Finally, at my leisure, I'd smother his super face with my much-more-super breasts...

If only he existed!

More questions will be answered tomorrow. If you haven't done it yet, send yours to: blogger@conceptfan.com

Saturday 29 January 2005 20:05 GMT

Q: Have you ever met anyone with powers like yours?

A: No. I haven't. I've never met anyone half as strong or invulnerable as me. I've never met another person with supersenses or heard of anyone who has superbreath. The strongest and fastest men I've ever encountered were Olympic athletes. (A weightlifter and a sprinter to be exact. I broke into their hotel rooms the night before the finals of their events. The next day they both withdrew from their respective competitions with mystery injuries. Fairly severe injuries, as I recall.)

Q: Have you ever considered using your powers "for good?"

A: Good? What's that? Helping other people? Other people never help me! As far as I'm concerned, I do use my powers for good things. I use them for whatever I want, and that's always good by me.

Q: Have you ever been in love?

A: No. Every male I've ever met sooner or later shows himself to be weak and fragile and more worthy of contempt than love. Sure, plenty of them are pretty enough for me to be able to stand their company for a few hours but no single man could ever keep me satisfied for longer than that.

To be honest, I love my life. If I want a man (or three or eight) I can just take one (or three or eight). The rest of the time, I don't have to put up with the company of inferiors.

Q: Do you have any friends? Do you want any?

A: I have long standing acquaintances (mostly female), but I don't have an emotional bond with any of them. And that's fine by me.

Q: You seem to live pretty much day-to-day. Do you have any greater plans?

A: No. If I wanted to take over the world or something like that, I'd have done it long ago. Day-to-day, doing whatever I please when I want (and to whomever I want) suits me perfectly.

Q: What is your favourite movie?

A: There hasn't really ever been much I could relate to in movies. Someone should make a film about how great it is to be me.

Q: Do you have a name?

A: Yes, of course I do.

Q: How tall are you? How much do you weigh? What are your measurements?

A: Height: perfect. Weight: perfect. Bust: perfect. Waist: perfect. Hips: perfect. But you knew all that already, didn't you?

Q: Is there anything that can hurt you?

A: Not that I've found. Sitting on top of an exploding nuke last autumn was a fantastic experience, but it definitely didn't hurt. I've mentioned before that I once took a liquid nitrogen bath (and I swam in acid just last week). I've drank gallons of poison, swallowed kilos of radioactive material and let thousands of volts of electric current pass through my body. I've chewed up and swallowed razor blades and drinking glasses. I've filled my deep cleavage with plastic explosive and detonated it with an armour-piercing grenade. But none of that hurt me in the slightest.

The only thing I've never done is to try and survive in the vacuum of space and I don't intend to do it any time soon. I have jumped out of an aeroplane at fifty thousand feet without a parachute, however. I made a twenty-foot deep crater in the rocks on the ground when I landed. My body just carved through the stone, grinding it to dust, flinging debris into the air which rained down on top of me, burying me in the bottom of the hole. I merely stood up and brushed the chunks of rock off me like they were made of polystyrene.

Q: Have you ever treated a man "well" (i.e. as a normal woman might treat a lover?)

A: Letting any man touch my perfect, superhuman body is giving him the greatest honour of his life. If he gets hurt in the process, it's his fault for being so delicate. Why should I have to make the effort and be "gentle"? I don't ask them to be careful with me, and I don't expect them to ask the same of me. Besides, I always know that if I badly damage the man I with, there's plenty more to take his place...

Q: Have you considered having a child? If your powers prevent this, does that make you sad?

A: Experience to date suggests that I don't get pregnant. It's not an issue for me right now, but in the future it might be something I'd want to look into. One problem is that there isn't a man alive worthy of fathering my child.

Anyway, that's your lot for today. I'm getting a quite a few questions about my superbreath. I guess some of you guys really like that power. I'll deal with your enquiries next. Anyone else with a question they haven't emailed yet needs to hurry up and write to me at: blogger@conceptfan.com.

Monday 31 January 2005 23:54 GMT

Q: How do you control the temperature of your superbreath?

A: With ease! I just do it really. It's a bit like me asking someone how they raise their arm. You just send the instructions from your brain, and your body does the rest.

Q: What's the hottest and coldest you can make your superbreath?

A: Well, I can't make it all that hot by my standards. I can boil water with it (or permanently burn skin...) but I couldn't melt metal. I can make it too hot for normal people to touch, though. I'm more impressive at the other end of the thermometer. My breath can be very cold! I can freeze just about anything with it, and pretty quickly, too. I've never actually measured the temperature of one of my really cold blasts, but they can't be any warmer than about minus 100 centigrade. Remember how I turned a large and deep reservoir containing thousands and thousands of gallons of water into solid ice in less than a minute?

Q: What's the maximum wind-speed you can generate with your superbreath?

A: I once saw a documentary which discussed the sort of damage high-speed winds can cause. Comparing the scenes of post-hurricane devastation in that film with the kind of destruction I've done just by blowing, I'd say that I can produce a thousand-mile-an-hour wind without making much effort. If I exhaled really hard, we could probably treble or quadruple that figure.

Q: Can you use superbreath when you inhale as well as when you exhale?

A: Absolutely. It's just hard to control. If I'm sucking air that powerfully into my lungs, the air has a tendancy to carry everything else with it (furniture, earth, walls and so forth). Unless I'm really careful to stop inhaling before the objects I've sucked towards me gain too much momentum, they all just smash into my face. That doesn't hurt me, but it does tend to ruin my clothes.

If, say, a man thinks he can run away from me, my lungs are more than capable of pulling him back to me (or, for that matter, him and six or seven of his friends). In fact, I can generate enough suction to wrench the average street gang off their feet and flying towards me from twenty yards. The only thing is, I have to judge it to perfection. The first couple of times I tried it as a young woman, it was horrible. (Horrible for me, that is, as it took hours to clean everything up. The guys I sucked at never felt a thing.) These days, I'm usually a lot more careful.

Q: What's the most spectacular feat you've ever managed using your superbreath?

A: There's been so many! Using my superbreath is one of my favourite things. To wield so much power (and do so much damage) without even touching anything is awesome. To do it so effortlessly (how difficult is blowing?) is truly something else.

One of my most enjoyable superbreath moments was about five summers ago. I was out in the country, in an open meadow and a menacing storm cloud gathered overhead. As an experiment, I thought I'd see if I could blow it away. I tilted my head back, pointed my lips at the cloud and just blew. It took a couple of seconds for the force of my breath to travel the half-mile distance between us. But then, I saw the dark mass of water vapour getting smaller as my lungs pushed it away. When I stopped blowing, the cloud kept moving rapidly towards the horizon for another half minute. Soon afterwards, the storm broke. The rain fell more than twenty miles away from me.

The most actual damage I've ever done was on holiday in Asia. To cut a long story short, I'd bought an electric fan a few weeks before. The thing never worked well because it was so poorly made. I decided to visit the manufacturer's headquarters and show them how to move air properly. When I got to the address I'd looked up on the internet, I was more than a little surprised to find that the company's offices occupied the whole of a twenty-five storey glass and steel building. But I decided to go through with my plan anyway.

I stood about thirty yards from the entrance, placed my hands on my hips, thrust out my chest defiantly, pursed my lips and exhaled. At first, I directed the jet of my breath at the top of the building. Immediately, the big television antennae and satellite dishes that had been fixed up there were torn free and flew off. I lowered my head slightly. Now my breath blasted the top floors. The windows up there dissolved inwards and then the walls around them began to crack and buckle. Then the side of the building gave up and one face of the top of it crumbled into little pieces that shot upwards into the air, carried by my lungs.

I kept on exhaling a steady (but not overly strenuous) stream of breath as I tilted my chin slowly downwards, steering the jet of air in a straight line down the front of the giant edifice. Floor by floor, my exhalation smashed in the windows before pressing against the walls with far more power than they could withstand. Cracks appeared, the concrete broke into pieces and my lungs just blasted them away.

Everything inside each room my breath breached was lifted and thrown violently into the back walls. Those far partitions survived for a few seconds, despite having desks and filing cabinets and computers smashed against them, but they couldn't hold out for long. The power of my exhalation soon overcame them. From the other side of the edifice, it must've looked as if the building was exploding down one side, storey by storey. The whole thing, walls, windows and offices, was broken, crushed and blasted away.

Still I kept blowing and lowering my head, steering the jet I produced to tear into the front of the building. Then, once that was stripped away, I puffed away the inside and the far wall. After twenty seconds, nothing remained but the two side walls, still standing in testament to the accuracy of my breath. I had more than enough puff left to keep going and raze the thing totally to the ground (and probably a dozen more buildings with the same breath) but I felt I'd made my point by then. I ended the devastating hurricane by simply closing my lovely lips.

A vast pile of rubble, nearly twenty feet in height, had formed in (and completely buried) a car-park some fifty yards behind where the edifice had stood. I had to laugh when I saw how I'd destroyed an enormous office building just by blowing on it!

More questions answered tomorrow.

 

 

February 2005

Wednesday 2 February 2005 06:59 GMT

Q: How many times stronger than the average man are you?

A: I really don't know. Comparing myself with "the average man" is a bit like comparing the sun to a faulty candle.

Q: What have you done to test your limits?

A: I think I've been answering that over the past days. Here's a few more examples.

Q: What's the heaviest thing you've ever lifted?

A: Hmmm... That would probably have been a cruise-liner. It was in dry docks, receiving a major overhaul. I had to work my way, hand-over-hand, under the hull to find a suitable balancing point so that I could raise the entire massive iron and steel ship completely off the ground. I felt the weight trying to resist me, but I never doubted myself as I stretched my arms straight, lifting the hundred-foot long vessel over my head, supporting every last ounce of its enormous weight on my two shapely arms.

I could have held the ship up like that for ages, but all its mass was being focused on my feet and the concrete platform I was standing on was not designed for that. It shattered beneath me and I was pushed, like a nail into wood, deep into the artificial stone. My hands were still on the bottom of the vessel, but its bulk was supported by the concrete once again. (In frustration, I punched my little fist right through the eighteen-inch-thick hull.)

Q: What's the biggest thing you've ever destroyed?

A: Buildings. Dozens of them. Mostly with my hands, bit by bit. I've also caused constructions to collapse on top of me by kicking away support pillars. I destroyed a large house once by walking around its perimeter with one half of my body inside and the rest outside. My face, chest and groin just carved through the thick exterior wall as I strolled happily through its cross-section until there wasn't enough left to hold up the rest of the edifice. And on several occasions I've done major demolition work with nothing but my superbreath.

Q: Have you ever thrown a battle tank into orbit?

A: I can't say I have. One time though, I threw a guy's motorbike so far up it disappeared from my sight. Even though I waited (whilst holding its protesting owner tucked under my arm), it never came down, so I guess it must've escaped Earth's gravitational field. If a tank weighs less than about a hundred tons (and I think they do) then I reckon I could probably do the same trick with one. I might try it some day.

The closest I've come to actually performing that particular feat was on another occasion when I was chasing after a bunch of guys who were in two cars. I caught up with the first vehicle (it was only going about sixty miles an hour) and with my hands around the back of it, stopped it dead in its tracks. That sudden deceleration was too much for those inside. I lifted the car and its messy contents over my head and threw it at the second auto. Even though my target was already four miles away, my "missile" hadn't started to lose height when it impacted. The smash was so powerful, it destroyed both vehicles, hardly leaving a trace of either.

Q: How do you "stack" up against Wonder Woman, assuming she existed?

A: Interesting question. If you're asking who's more powerful, Wonder Woman as portrayed on TV and in comics or me, then there's no debate. I'm stronger, faster and, unlike her, as good as totally invulnerable. The only thing she's got that I haven't is that nifty lasso of truth thing, but I've got my own pretty effective ways of getting a man to tell me what I want to know. Oh, and I can't change clothes just by spinning around (although I can undress and dress again just as quickly using superspeed).

All that said, I get the feeling that this question isn't just about superpowers, however. For the record, I "stack" up magnificently against any other woman real or imagined. I am physically perfect, after all. Yes, I'm very large indeed but it's not just about size, is it? It's shape, firmness, separation and so forth. I've never, ever, encountered a heterosexual male (or homosexual female) who hasn't been completely enrapt by my glorious body. Wonder Woman? Ha! I'm the best stacked woman of all time.

Q: Have you ever wished you could meet a man who was as strong and invulnerable as you, or even stronger? A man you could be rough with, without turning him into finely ground hamburger? A man who could completely satisfy your sexual urges and still be ready for more?

A: Yes, of course. I dream of having a man like that every single time a normal male fails to please me or breaks in my tender embrace. Every time a guy passes out from exhaustion just as I'm beginning to get going. Every time a man's teeth are ripped bloodily from his gums as he tries to suckle my breast. Every time my hips crush a would-be lover's pelvis to paste...

My ideal man would be almost completely invulnerable and strong. Really, really awesomely strong. So strong that his strength couldn't be measured in conventional terms. He might even be as much as half as strong as me. That would be perfect; he'd be powerful enough to please me, and resilient enough not to be destroyed by my gentle caresses, but I'd still be completely in charge. I wouldn't enjoy being with a man any stronger than that. Fortunately, there's no danger of it ever happening!

OK, that's all for today. There's a few questions I've not answered yet, so I'll address them next time.

Thursday 3 February 2005 17:46 GMT

Q: If you were to go public how would you start?

A: I think if I was ever to go public, I'd do it properly. That's to say somewhere really, really public. And I'd do something that would make sure everyone could see just how special I am. Maybe I'd pick up a bus and throw it through the side of the White House (from the far side of Pennsylvania Avenue). Or maybe I'd stand in the middle of the Alexanderplatz in Berlin and clear it of people by blowing and turning very slowly on the spot. Or I could just pick a fight with a tank somewhere where there's plenty of news media around...

Q: You're walking down the street and come across a building on fire. It's a raging, five alarm blaze. The immediate area around the building is deserted. With your senses, you can hear the sound of a crying child inside. Any possible aid is minutes away. Do you go in and save the kid? Or do you simply and callously keep walking?

A: If I had nothing better to do I might walk through the fire and pull the kid out. I'd expect the parents to reward me in cash. (And I'd make sure they paid too.) Then I'd go back in, sit down in the flames and wait for the firefighters. When they arrived, I'd show off, putting out the flames with my breath. After that I'd tear their protective clothes off and show them something really hot (me).

Q: You gave us a glimpse of your covert life working for your "employer". This job had an individual as the target; have you ever been employed to target an installation such as a military base or research facility?

A: Yes, I have attacked a secret laboratory complex. I'm sworn to secrecy (and might want more work from the same source in the future.) All I can say about it is the following: 1) Twenty men with machine guns are no more of a challenge to me than one man with a pistol. 2) Diamond-cutting lasers pinpointed on my nipples are a big turn-on. 3) Weapons-grade plutonium tastes foul but doesn't harm me even if I eat a kilo of it.

Q: I love hearing about you using your super-tongue or breasts to injure and humiliate men. Can you tell us more about that?

A: I've got a better idea, fan boy. Why don't you come round to my apartment and I'll give you a demonstration? Would you prefer me to hurt you with my breasts before killing you with my tongue or to hurt you with my tongue before killing you with my breasts? Your call.

Q: Is there anything, anything I can do to make you love me?

A: In your dreams.

Well, that's it for the questions. Next time, I'll fill you in on some of what I've been up to throughout the past week.

Friday 4 February 2005 17:07 GMT

Answering everyone's questions was fun, but I've got a life to lead too. I haven't been sitting at home all week, watching my inbox. I've been out and about, enjoying myself.

Last weekend, for example, I took a short trip to the coast. I didn't bother with a hotel, I just stayed out under the stars on the beach (despite the freezing weather and biting wind.) I went for a drink on Saturday night and, as usual, found myself the centre of male attention. I chose the two best-looking admirers, and suggested that we take a walk by the sea. Of course they both agreed immediately.

As soon as we were out of sight of the town, I pushed them both down onto the pebbles, tore off their clothes and then removed my own. I rode one whilst holding the other down with a couple of fingers pressed on his chest and then jumped onto the other. After a couple of rounds of that, they were both out cold. In the dark, only I could see just how badly I'd bruised them.

I dragged their comatose forms up the beach by grabbing each with one hand under his armpit, leaving them far enough in land not to be drowned by the incoming tide. I covered them with what was left of their shredded clothes and left them to it.

Tuesday morning, I opened the door to the postman without bothering to dress first, grabbed him by the collar and threw him across my appartment onto the sofa. Then I dived on top of him, ripped his trousers off and smothered his face between my pendulous breasts for a few moments before sliding down his body and slipping his engorged member inside me.

I rode him for a while, but stopped before he got seriously hurt because he wasn't doing much for me. I got off him, lifted him up by his chin and carried him to the door, dropping him on the floor outside. I went back in and worked my frustrations out by punching and squeezing my empty refrigerator until I'd reduced the whole thing to the size of a football.

I left the round lump of compressed metal in the kitchen and went out to look for some trouble. I won't bore you with the details, but the result was a policeman being carried off in an ambulance while I watched at a discreet distance. At least that cheered me up a little.

Tomorrow, I'm going down to the park with my ball of solid metal. I wonder if anyone will want to join in with my kick-around?

Sunday 6 February 2005 22:15 GMT

Sometimes, the simplest pleasures are the best. Like a good, old fashioned kick-about in the park. Especially when the ball is made out of a compacted fridge.

Saturday morning. I put on a nice, tight, sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of tiny shorts and went over the road with my "football" tucked under my arm. Kicking off my shoes, I started to do keep-ups with my one hundred and fifty-pound (sixty-five kilo) ball. I bounced the sphere off my bare feet, knees and thighs and then off my head. It made a nice Clank! each time it hit my body.

I obviously caught the eyes of quite a few passing guys. A couple who fancied themselves as footballers approached although they seemed to be paying more attention to my figure than my ball skills. One of them gave me a sign that he wanted me to pass him the ball. I controlled it with my instep and flicked it gently towards him. It hit his chest, knocking him backwards off his feet. I jogged over, stepping over his prostrate form and collected the ball.

Using nothing but my toes, I lifted the ultra-heavy ball into the air, letting it fall onto the top of my skull. Of course, the ball was only metal and my head is an awful lot tougher, so the thing bounced just like a real, air-filled football (although with a noise like a nine-pound hammer hitting a thick steel rail). I bent my head back, and when my metal sphere descended, I cracked my forehead forwards into it.

My header was both powerful and accurate. The ball travelled like a rocket straight down towards one of my spectators' feet. He fell in a heap screaming, both his ankles clearly broken. Running over to him, I picked up my ball and, laughing, I said "I guess you're not quite in my league!" For effect, I spun the sphere on my fingertip like a basketball player. Then I tucked it back under my arm, turned around and strolled for home, leaving my former audience to call for medical aid.

Monday 7 February 2005 19:40 GMT

Another day, another broken limb. Men just can't help getting injured while I'm around!

I was taking a quiet stroll down the street, minding my own business, when a acne-ridden young man (barely out of adolescence) approached me. He had a clipboard in his hand and, as he spoke, his eyes ping-ponged between the sheet of paper clipped to it and the upper half of my torso. "Can I take a moment of your time to ask you a few questions?" he started.

"No. You can't." I said, flatly, not breaking my stride for a second. I didn't need to look round to hear him jogging after me.

"If you take part in our survey," he panted behind me, "your name will be entered in our prize draw for a new car."

"Go away before I hurt you." I warned, over my shoulder. He didn't.

"Please. I just want to find out your opinions on sex before marriage."

"My opinion is that it's highly unlikely for you."

"That's not very nice." he sounded genuinely upset.

"Neither is this." I said. Without slowing my walk for even a nanosecond, I reached for his upper arm and squeezed it briefly. I did it very quickly and very gently (only enough to crunch a couple of bones to powder). The way he screamed made everyone else on the street stop what they were doing. A couple of do-gooders came running over to his aid. I just carried on with my walk and left them to it.

Tuesday 8 February 2005 17:44 GMT

The police came round this morning. They were on a door-to-door inquiry, trying to find a witness to an act of mass vandalism that took place overnight.

They seemed to be completely at a loss. At some point between 1 and 5 am, someone had made their way along both sides of the street, tampering with the exhaust-pipe of every single parked car (53 of them in all). The young officer at my door told me that all the exhausts had been crushed completely closed. As he said, to haul a machine capable of exerting the required force up and down the road and apply its crusher that many times must have taken several hours and made one hell of a noise. "So it's just not possible" he explained, "that no-one saw or heard anything."

I just shrugged my shoulders (a gesture which immediately caught his attention, his eyes growing wide as my chest briefly rose and fell). His gaze never flickered after that, even as I closed the door on him.

The funny thing is, as you probably guessed, I could have told him exactly what had happened. It wasn't a crushing machine. No-one hauled anything up and down the road. And it took one minute, not several hours. I just jogged along the pavement, swooping down behind each car and grabbing its exhaust in one hand. A gentle squeeze of my palm each time was more than enough to bend the steel to such an extent that the pipes became completely blocked.

The scene this morning as fifty people came down from their homes and found that their rides wouldn't start was hilarious. They were talking to each other, banging their cars and scratching their heads. Half the street must've been late for work today!

Wednesday 9 February 2005 18:13 GMT

I was in town today, sorting out a little business deal (I won't bore you with the details) but it meant walking through the semi-deserted streets of the financial district during office-hours.

Taking a short-cut through a tiny alley between two imposing glass-fronted buildings, my superhuman ears detected a hushed conversation taking place somewhere above me. I looked up to see a couple of men in overalls standing in one of those make-shift external open-elevator-type affairs that window-cleaners use. It was stationed outside the fifth-floor windows. The soft-talking pair weren't actually cleaning at that moment; they were leaning over the side of their mini-platform, staring at me.

They pretended not to notice me looking their way and continued their conversation, obviously completely unaware that I could hear every word. "Shit, I'd love to really feel those tits" one of them said. "You'd have to wait till I was finished first" the other replied.

I checked up and down the street. There was no-one else in sight. I figured the temporary balcony was no more than fifty feet up, so, when I bent my knees, preparing to spring up to join my admirers, I made sure that I didn't over do it. There was no need to leap onto the roof of the building a further ten floors up. Just an easy bounce of my heels, perfectly judged as ever, carried me sailing gracefully until my feet were level with the two men's heads. My ascent slowed and reversed as gravity took over and I landed, immaculately, on my feet right between the startled pair. I didn't even need to bend my knees to absorb the shock of the landing.

Whilst the window-cleaners stood with their mouths hanging open and their eyes bulging, I did nothing to calm them by quickly pulling off my T-shirt. Not a bra wearer, I was naked above the waist in an instant. Neither man moved but one of them started gasping as his pupils focussed on my exposed chest. The other started to tremble. Smiling proudly at the reactions I had induced, I said "So, you boys would like to feel my tits. Guess what? It's your lucky day!"

I stretched out my arms, putting a hand behind each of their heads and then pulled them rapidly towards me. Of course, even if they hadn't been too surprised to try and mount any resistance, it wouldn't have made any difference. I heard the two, distinct crunching sounds as each of their noses slammed into (and broke against) my shapely breasts. I had a splattering of red on each side of my chest as I removed my hands and let the two men fall unconscious at my feet, their faces covered in blood.

Bending down, I effortlessly tore off a section of one of the cleaners' overalls and used it to wipe most of the mess off me before putting my T-shirt back on. A quick glance down at the street showed that the coast was clear, so I leapt off the platform. Falling five floors didn't hurt me, but I couldn't help crushing a couple of paving stones to dust beneath me (and putting a dozen cracks in the surrounding pavement).

I'll bet I was already relaxing at home before anyone noticed those two guys.

Thursday 10 February 2005 22:43 GMT

It was another wet February day today, but a little cold wind and rain normally suits me when I go out as it means less people are around.

Today, however, was different. It had been raining for a couple of hours, and some fairly large puddles had formed. I just happened to be walking close to one of them when a passing cyclist, not looking where he was going because he was staring at me, rode straight through it. His front wheel kicked up a spray of water which soaked the bottom half of my jeans.

Needless to say, I wasn't having any of that. I shot out my left arm, just in time to grab the rear wheel of the bike. My grip was enough to bend the bike's frame and burst the tyre beneath it whilst stopping the entire vehicle dead in its tracks. Its rider's momentum carried him over his suddenly stationary handlebars to crash down on the wet road about five yards in front of me.

Keeping my hold on the bicycle and dragging it with me, I strolled over to the fallen cyclist and bent over him. Clearly shaken, he glanced up at me with confused, if still lustful, eyes. I sneered at him, stood up tall and with a sweep of my hand, launched his vehicle into the air until it was so distant even I had trouble seeing it. It must've come back down to earth at least ten miles from where I threw it.

"Next time you splash me," I told the prostrate and now bike-less rider, "I'll throw you and not the bike." Then I flicked him with the toe of my left shoe, not hard but just forcefully enough to send him rolling twenty yards down the road.

After that, I dried my jeans in a second with a couple of wafts of warm superbreath and carried on with my walk.

Friday 11 February 2005 16:16 GMT

A new health club has opened round the corner from me. I went in this morning to check it out wearing my normal "fitness" outfit (a ridiculously tight sleevless T-shirt and a pair of tiny shorts).

I'd been on the treadmill for about three minutes, pretending to excersize when a man in a suit approached me, told he he was the manager and offered me an exclusive private tour of the executive area.

He lead me through a locked door marked "Gold Members Only" into another room filled with equipment. I closed the door, pushed him up against it and with a single hand, tore through his belt and trousers, letting them fall around his ankles. With my other hand, I ripped his shirt off. He was the perfect height and ready for me already, so all I had to do was strip and guide myself onto him where he stood.

When I was done, I let his rapidly deflating member slide out of me. Moments later, his entire body slid down the door to collapse in front of it. I had to pick him up with a hand under his armpit and toss him over my shoulder to the other side of the room in order to open the door when I was ready to leave. I may have overdone it a little (something definitely went Crunch! when he crash-landed on top of a rowing machine) but he hadn't been all that great anyway, so he deserved it as far as I'm concerned.

Monday 14 February 2005 17:10 GMT

I'm no great believer in politics, but that doesn't stop me hanging around with political people. Sometimes it's the most influential and powerful of people (yeah, plenty of people may be powerful on paper, but I'm powerful in person). Sometimes, it's people right at the bottom of the political ladder. Or should that be the political rope...

It was Saturday night, and I was in town. Something caught my eye in the distance and I used my super-vision to zoom in. I saw two men, standing in a pitch-black alley about half-a-mile away. One of them was holding what looked like a crossbow. The other appeared to have a rolled-up carpet strapped to his back. They were both looking up at the side of a building. Naturally curious, I ran towards them, keeping my speed down to avoid attracting any attention myself.

As I neared, I saw what was going on. The cross-bow-thing had been used to fire a grappling hook on top the roof of the five-storey edifice. The one with the rolled-up object was tugging the end of a rope that was attached to the hook. He was about to climb up the side of the building. I overheard (from fifty yards, above the noise of the traffic between me and the men) the other ask him "Are you sure you've got the poster the right way up?"

"Yeah. I'm not making that mistake again." was the reply from the urban mountaineer as he began his tortuous, hand-over-hand ascent. He was so slow that I stopped running and walked calmly around to the other side of the building. I bent my legs and sprung upwards, passing five sets of windows and landing silently with the slightest flexing of my knees, on the roof some fifty feet up.

I walked across to the other side of the flat roof where I saw the business end of the grappling rope hooked around the lip of the top of the building. Leaning over the side (Vertigo? Like I need to be scared of a fifty-foot fall!) I saw that the climber had managed to get about a third of the way up. I bent low and grabbed hold of the taught rope with my left hand. And then I gave it a little tug.

That easy movement jerked the man holding the rope upwards so violently that he screamed and lost his grip. By then, however, my tug had leant him the vertical momentum necessary to shoot him skywards like a slow rocket. I stuck out my arm and caught him by his belt as he passed me. I held him like that, his feet dangling over the side of the building for a minute, while his screams died down. Even then, he continued to thrash about, begging me to put him down.

I resisted the temptation to oblige his pleas by releasing my grip and letting him fall to the pavement far below. Instead I held him in place as I reached my free hand behind him to tear the straps holding the giant rolled-up poster. Having freed it, I held it by one end, letting it partly unfurl. I got the gist of the slogan my new friend had been hoping to plaster over the facia beneath us. As I didn't agree with what it said, I rolled it back up, tightly, and launched it, javelin-style into the cold city sky.

Twenty seconds passed before, thanks to my super-hearing, I detected the sound of the banner splashing down in the river a mile away. Turning back to the man dangling at the end of my arm, I teased him a little by tossing him gently a few feet above my head, making him think he was about to fall to a gory end. He was still screaming when I caught him again. Even after I'd repeated the same trick five or six times, he was no less terrified.

Laughing, I put him down on the roof, gathered up the entire length of his climbing rope and wrapped it around his legs. I secured the bundle with a triple knot and left it where it was. "Have fun working out how you're going to get down!" I told him, with a wink before jumping off the building. Fifty-feet below, I landed, my legs buried up to my ankles in broken paving. Stepping out of the new hole, I went home without bothering to inform the ground-based half of the duo of his colleague's predicament.

Tuesday 15 February 2005 16:56 GMT

Yesterday was Valentine's Day, the so-called day for lovers. I made sure that I respected that beautiful tradition (yeah, right!) by spending the evening with some lovers.

Of course, they were all lovers of other women when I encountered them. I picked up all four of them in the alley behind the train station. Over the course of an hour, I helped myself every time a man walked past carrying a big bouquet of flowers or an oversized box of chocolates and no-one else was around. I grabbed them, tore off their clothes and shoved them down on the ground.

Using my unique charms to ensure they were erect enough, I rode each of them till they were exhausted and bruised. Then, still sitting on top of each one, I ate the gifts he had been carrying. That included the flowers and the cardboard packaging for the chocolates. (My body just deals with anything I put in it, absorbing every molecule internally.)

When I was done, I let each of my Valentines go home to their lovers, empty-handed and empty-testicled. So romantic!

Wednesday 16 February 2005 17:39 GMT

There's a famous expression that goes "With great power comes great responsibility". I can only assume it only applies to political power, because with great physical power comes the ability to do whatever you want to whomever you want whenever you want. Like with my valentinos the other night. I did what I fancied, regardless of their wishes.

So, this morning when I was leaning against a three-story scaffold on the High Road and one of the workers called down from above "Oi! You can't stand there, love", I wasn't having any of it. I grabbed hold of the nearest vertical pole and lifted it. I felt the resistance, but ignored it as I stretched my arm over my head. That caused one side of the entire structure to rise about two feet. It creaked loudly as the network of temporary platforms tilted wildly to one side.

The fellow who had shouted at me had to grab on to a railing to keep his feet. His eyes grew huge with shock and fear as he looked down at me and then filled with amazement as he realised what I was doing with my single, slender arm. When I was sure I had his complete attention, I let go of the pole in my hand.

Gravity took over and the side of the scaffolding that I had lifted came crashing down hard on the ground again. A couple of boards came loose and smashed down onto the pavement by my feet and a large metal clamp fell from the top of the structure and bounced noisily off my head on its way down. I don't know if it was damaged by the strain I placed it under when I hoisted the scaffolding, or by hitting my harder-than-steel skull, but either way, it was badly damaged.

I looked up at the man who had yelled at me, raised my eyebrow at him but didn't move otherwise. He stared back for a second before cautiously backing away, out of sight. He'd obviously learnt that no-one tells me where I can or can't stand!

Thursday 17 February 2005 17:35 GMT

I got a knock on the door last night. Before I even opened up, I recognised the breathing of my new neighbour (the guy who thought he could get me a job in the music business). To be honest, even if I hadn't heard him breathing (as if he'd somehow discovered a way to become the only silent "normal" human on the planet), I'd still have recognised him by his smell.

Not wanting him to keep returning and trying again and again all night, I opened up. "What do you want?" I demanded.

"Um... we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot." he begun. He handed me a bottle of wine. "I just wanted to give you this as a gesture of friendship."

I took the unopened bottle and brought it up to my mouth. With a single bite, I cut the top off it, my teeth slicing effortlessly through the glass. I swallowed the jagged top, cork and all and then brought the rest of the bottle to my lips. Of course, the shards of glass didn't cut me. I just tilted the thing back and drank it all down in three big gulps.

The guy stared at me in amazement. Smiling back, I proceeded to eat the empty bottle, bite by bite, crunching the thick glass to powder as I chewed and then swallowing it all down. In no time at all, there was nothing left of his gift. "You'll have to do a lot better than that." I told him, closing the door on him.

He stayed where he was for a few moments, no doubt in shock, before slowly making his way back downstairs.

Friday 18 February 2005 16:59 GMT

It was another wet day today. Everyone seemed to be at work or staying at home, as if they were afraid that a falling rain-drop might damage their fragile bodies. Anyway, the park was deserted when I went for my walk this morning.

Out of sheer boredom, I knocked a couple of huge old trees over by leaning on their trunks with one hand. It's amazing how far a five-foot diameter tree can bend before cracks appear in its bark. Then they creak and there's a rush of little snapping sounds as the wood within begins to break fibre by fibre.

It's the same every time. I just keep resting my pretty hand on the trunk, letting my slender arm easily overpower the so-called might of the tree, the resistance of a century old oak meaningless when compared to a casual application of my strength. With a loud tear, the bulk of the trunk just gives way, and the tree comes crashing down on to the ground.

Today, after I'd felled three of them, I took off my shoes and kicked the four-foot high stumps. You have to hand it to nature. The roots did their job, remaining fast and holding the stumps in place. My foot just smashed through the thick, solid wood each time, sending millions of splinters flying out of the far side where my toes emerged.

I strolled up to one of the fallen trees and bent low, getting my arms around its base. It was too big for my hands to meet on the far side, so I had to hug it tight to grip it. That caused a sizeable area of the bottom of the tree to be crushed to sawdust against my chest. Nonetheless, I was able to get the thing upright again as I stood up straight, carrying the unbalanced weight with (frankly) utter ease.

I rammed the broken trunk downwards hard into the ground, re-planting the tree to a depth of about six feet. It looked good with its lower branches just a few inches from the grass, so I repeated the trick twice more, picking up the two other trees I'd broken and shoving them back into the lawn.

I left my landscaping efforts at that, and, brushing the wood and bark splinters from my T-shirt, I put on my shoes and went home. I wonder if the local paper will blame aliens again...

Monday 21 February 2005 15:52 GMT

How many big, "strong" men does it take to change a light-bulb? Don't worry, boys, it's not a riddle. I'll give you the answer: Three men and two ambulances. Of course, that's only when I'm on the scene...

The bulb in question was in a street-light only about twenty yards from my bedroom window. It wasn't working all weekend. Apparently, some kids smashed it with a extraordinary lucky throw of a stone on Friday night. "Extraordinarily lucky", because the light is twenty-feet above the street, not very large and made of toughened glass.

The truth of course was that I broke the lamp by opening the window and spitting at it. I got it first time and, without wanting to brag, a little ball of my spit (when fired off with the kind of power that's normal for me) is a lot more powerful than any rifle-bullet. The way the street-lamp exploded was proof enough of that.

Anyway, they finally got around to fixing it today. They brought one of those lorries with a "cherry-picker". A man stands in the little box and a pair of huge hydraulic arms lift him and the box up to the lamp. Unfortunately, the first man to go up this morning was thrown from the tiny balcony by a freak gust of wind. That's what he told the ambulance crew, who told him he was lucky to be alive (he landed in the branches of a tree on the other side of the road).

Naturally, there was no freak gust. Just a very gentle little puff of my breath, perfectly aimed to throw him at the tree. The hardest part of it was not blowing too strongly (although it wasn't that hard).

The next guy to go up changed the bulb and cover only for it to "inexplicably" explode the second he'd finished and turned his back. Another little blob of spit was all it took. The man in the basket got a few little pieces of glass in his face when my spittle hit, requiring another ambulance.

A third man finally got the job done. That's to say, I decided to let the third man get the job done. But only because I had better things to do by then.

Tuesday 22 February 2005 22:14 GMT

Regular readers will know me as an easy-going, friendly, tolerant girl but some days I'm just not in the mood for all that and it's a case of no more Miss Nice Girl. Like today.

It started early this morning when I bumped into the music-business guy downstairs on my way out of the flat. He was fumbling around, looking in his pockets for something, standing right in front of the door. I couldn't believe he expected me to wait for him before I could leave! I just reached up with one hand and brushed his shoulder, sending him flying into the wall ten feet away which he hit without any part of his body touching the ground. I didn't wait to see him slide down to the carpet.

Out on the street, a young man wearing trendy clothes and i-Pod headphones roller-skated past me, showing off by spinning on one leg as he approached. The tiniest flick of my foot against the heel of his skate was enough to shoot him helplessly (and face-first) into a lamppost fifteen yards down the pavement. He hit it like a rocket and bounced off, nose all flattened and bloodied, to collapse in a heap.

Later, crossing the street behind a van parked at traffic lights, I made a little extra room for myself by swinging my hip with my stride, knocking it into the back of the vehicle hard enough to push it two yards forward and make some man inside yell in pain. I probably caused a whiplash injury or something like that. Men are just so fragile.

It didn't end there. This afternoon, I got approached by some bearded jerk asking me to sign a petition. He handed me his pen before I'd even said whether I was interested in his cause. I placed my hand over his and squeezed gently, using only enough force to crush the biro that was still in his grasp. Of course, that meant I had to break nearly every bone in his hand in the process, making him instantly pass out (I guess the agony was too much for him, but I don't really know enough about "pain" to offer an expert opinion).

Hurting four guys with such total ease improved my mood quite a bit, but it still didn't restore my usual cheerful disposition. Even causing two cyclists to crash into each other by blowing a gentle kiss at one of them didn't make me feel happy. Maybe tomorrow I'll feel brighter. If not, I'll just have to cause some proper damage and see if that does the trick.

Wednesday 23 February 2005 17:28 GMT

I was in a much better mood today, and I think it showed. Sure, I did probably hospitalise a guy, but that was more for fun than anything else. And he was asking for it.

He was sitting in a parked car as I walked down my road. I mean, it's one thing when men let their gazes linger on me for a few seconds, but it's another altogether when they just stare. At my chest. Blatantly.

I sashayed up to the front of the parked Ford and bent forwards to look my unwanted admirer in the eye. Of course, that caused an even greater amount of my evidently irresistible cleavage to be visible and I actually saw the idiot starting to drool. He never stopped looking at my breasts, even for a second, so I couldn't catch his gaze.

Instead, I got his attention by drawing back my foot and giving the underneath of the front of his car a nice, easy kick. My toes hit with an almighty Clank! and the whole vehicle was tossed into the air, flipping over like a pancake before it crashed back down on it's roof. The windows shattered and I could smell blood, but I didn't hang about to inspect the damage I'd done. Besides, it was only a man.

Thursday 24 February 2005 17:34 GMT

I've decided to make up for my recent bad temper by entering into the community spirit and helping my city with its Olympic bid.

With that in mind, I'll be demonstrating my take on various events that might feature in the games, starting today with the javelin, Blogger-style.

Walking up to a lampost, I grip it around the base with my right hand, taking care not to crush the delicate thick steel in my gentle grasp. An effortless tug tears the entire post free of its moorings. Sparks fly out and shattered concrete is sprayed in all directions. Some chunks bounce off my body, but I barely notice.

I bend my arm, causing the twenty-foot-long javelin to turn through 90 degrees. Then, not bothering with a run-up I just launch the thing by straightening out my arm and letting go of it. There's a boom as the pole accelerates through the sound barrier, but it's instantly out of sight for any normal person watching.

My throw is much more powerful, of course, then a force as weak as Earth's gravityso the javelin never enters the curve of its arc as it flies through the planet's atmosphere and out into space...

Friday 25 February 2005 17:54 GMT

Good evening sports fans!

I've been thinking about Olympic Weightlifting... and how to make it an activity I'd be interested in competing in.

Of course, no weight that any man could ever move would ever challenge either of my little fingers or one of my toes. In fact, I can move dozens of times the current record just by sighing. But with a few changes, I think I might actually be able to give my strength a proper test.

How about this: All the weightlifting competitors and all their weights are on a podium. Let's say it's in the main stadium. And all the other competitors for the games are also present. Plus, it's sold out and there are one hundred thousand spectators packed in.

The stadium is constructed on top of a special twenty-foot deep, solid iron foundation. To really stretch my abilities, I have to tunnel underneath the foundation (with my bare hands, so it might take up to thirty seconds for me to reach a point directly beneath the centre of the giant slab of metal on which sits the full stadium).

Then, I lift the whole thing. I'm allowed to use two hands and, as I stretch out my shapely arms, the massive sports complex groans. It rises slowly. I keep lifting, slowly and steadily, until my elbows are straight and I'm supporting the incalculable weight of a tenth of a million people and a gigantic building (not to mention an enormous iron monolith).

Standing straight, with the entire Olympic Games balanced overhead on my feminine palms, I'd thrust out my perfect chest defiantly and smile, just to show how I'm not struggling to hold the stadium up.

Then, I'd slowly remove one of my two hands, taking the mind-boggling weight on a single arm, whilst my free hand rests, casually, on my hip. For a laugh, I'd raise and lower my "weight" quickly several times, throwing every single one of the hundred thousand spectators out of their seats.

Finally, I'd jump down into a pre-prepared hole by my feet, letting go of the stadium, so it would crash down, shaking everyone and everything up again.

I think all that would be worth a gold medal, don't you?

Monday 28 February 2005 17:25 GMT

The marathon. "The ultimate test of human stamina and endurance." Not my words, obviously. Sometimes, it seems like picking up a small piece of paper is a test of human stamina and endurance. Normal people are just so... pathetic.

I mean, 20-odd miles? I can spit further than that! And it takes the best athletes over 2 hours to do it, and then they're almost dead when they finish. I'd jog ten times that distance in less time, just to pass a few spare moments. And as for endurance, well, I can honestly say I have never been tired in my life. Fed up and bored, of course. But not tired.

I mean, I've swum across the Pacific Ocean (mostly underwater) in a night, and walked out of the brine on the other side feeling as fresh as when I started. If I ran at top speed, I'd complete a marathon in a couple of minutes. I wouldn't slow from my initial pace at all, even if I went on to do the course another thirty times. Of course, anything (or anyone) that got in my way would be destroyed without trace, but only because I'd probably choose not to go around it (or him...)

To make it a test for me, we'd need to change things considerably. Here's an idea: I run the marathon, carrying a bag over my shoulder. In the bag is a really delicate cargo; ideally something that can't withstand much speed or movement. Say, ten large men. If one of them gets damaged (broken or dislocated limb, loss of consciousness due to severe bruising, whatever) then I'm disqualified. That way, I have to keep my speed way, way down, and be extremely careful not to let the bag bounce about too much.

I'd still run the race in a fraction of the current record, and no doubt, would probably get myself disqualified intentionally in the last few yards, just for the fun of hurting the contents of the bag...

 

 

March 2005

Tuesday 1 March 2005 17:04 GMT

This evening, we're looking at the discus. I was planning to tackle a different event, but it occurred to me this morning that I have already, in a way, thrown a few discuses in my time.

OK, so they weren't regulation 1 kilo approved discuses, but I don't think that matters. After all, the objects in question (man-hole covers from the street) are similar in shape, just bigger and heavier

The first one I ever threw was late at night, when I was being chased by a van-load of yobs. One of them had come on to me in a bar, and (naturally) I'd broken his arm. He and his friends took exception, and as I left, they came running after me. I overheard the one I'd hurt telling his friends to get into the van and "Run the bitch down". Some people are so charming.

Anyway, I was jogging slowly down the middle of the street so that the diesel-engined vehicle could keep up with me, but the distance between us just kept growing. I was going to stand still and wait for them to catch up when I noticed the metal disc by my feet. "Normal" people need a crowbar to lift a cover from its housing, but I just used a finger, smashing it through the surrounding tarmac to create an access point. An easy flick of that finger lifted the steel circle out of the road. I caught it with my other hand.

The van was still about a hundred yards away as I bent my wrist and then snapped it straight, releasing the "discus" like a Frisbee. It made a bang as my delicate forearm leant it enough momentum to accelerate beyond the speed of sound. I guess the guys in the van would never have been able to see it coming, their brains being far, far too slow to process the information received by their eyes.

The man-hole cover hit the front of the vehicle low, and less than a second later, emerged from the back. In the meantime, it sliced the bulk of the engine clean in half, passing through the steel like a hot knife through butter. After that, it amputated the driver's foot at the ankle and also took a large chunk out of the lower leg of one of the passengers.

The thing actually remained airborne for a further hundred yards. When it finally came down, it slid along the road almost as far again, making a horrendous noise and producing a shower of sparks.

Needless to say, I did not hang about to discuss my throwing technique.

Wednesday 2 March 2005 17:28 GMT

Some sports that just wouldn't be any fun for me:

Swimming. I can do 10 kilometres underwater in a couple of minutes (or a couple of hundred in a hour or thousands in a dayu Diving would also be a problem. An Olympic pool is 50 meters long. So if I dived off the blocks at one end, I'd crash head first into the spectators at the far end without coming close to touching the water. Instead of chlorinated water, I'd end up covered in other people's blood.

Sprinting. 100 meters in 0.9 seconds? Only if I'm really holding back.

Hurdling. I could complete the entire 110 meter course in a single hop.

Shooting. I'd dispense with the gun and just flick the bullets at the target with a finger. I'd be guaranteed a bull's-eye with every shot.

And one that might be a laugh:

Show jumping. With a twist, of course. I put the horse (or better still ALL the horses) on my back and jog round the course, leaping fences ten times higher than normal. I'd still smash the record to pieces.

Thursday 3 March 2005 23:23 GMT

A week of looking at the world of sports and what have we learnt? Absolutely nothing. We already knew that I'm a perfect physical being in a world of weak, fragile creatures. But I've enjoyed proving it once again. In fact, to celebrate completing our sporting view of my complete superiority over the entire planet, I've been practising my favourite sport of all: man-baiting.

It all started on the street this morning when a red sports car pulled over to the kerb next to where I was walking. The tinted electric window on the pavement side lowered and a well-built young man in expensive clothes leant out and smiled at me. His line was well-oiled: "Excuse me, but I couldn't help noticing that you're gorgeous. Would you like a lift somewhere?"

Naturally, that kind of thing happens to me all the time, but I played along, and got the guy to drive back to my place. I invited him in for coffee, all innocent-like. His heart was pounding as he raced to say "Yes!" We went upstairs.

As soon as the door to my flat was shut, I ran over to the sofa, and undressed at super-speed. You should have seen the shock and then the lust on his face as I suddenly "disappeared" and then "reappeared" on the other side of the room, completely naked. Within seconds, he'd controlled his surprise. I could see the impressive bulge in his trousers that I was inspiring. Besides, his eyes alone were an obvious indication of how desperate he was to make love to me.

Smiling, I said: "So, big-shot, you think you're man enough for me? Come over here and prove it. But I warn you, I'm an impatient girl. If you don't get started within 5 minutes, I'll throw you out."

"5 minutes?" he chuckled. "I'll be there in five seconds!" He started to walk towards me. When he had almost reached me, I pursed my lips and blew gently at him. My superbreath knocked him backwards a couple of steps. "What the fuck?" he said, resuming his approach. I blew him back again, a little bit further this time. He almost lost his footing. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Stop talking and start walking!" I advised. "You've only got four-and-a-quarter minutes left." To his credit, he did try. I let him almost touch me before I exhaled at him once again. He did everything he could to fight against what was really an extremely gentle puff. He dug his heels into the carpet. He leant into the breeze. He gritted his teeth. I just blew a tiny bit harder and he lost his footing and fell. My breath pushed him, his body rolling helplessly, right back against the door.

"Three-and-a-half minutes." I announced as he picked himself up gingerly. He shook his head (I guess half in disbelief and half to clear it after his tumble). "What are you waiting for?" I goaded. "I thought you wanted some of -" I ran my hands sensuously up and down my naked breasts, stomach, hips and groin "- this?" His eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

I laughed as he set himself, almost like a boxer just as the bell rings at the start of a fight. I think he thought he was going to take me by surprise, but men can only ever surprise me with the extent of their stupidity. Anyway, I knew he was planning to charge at me at full sprint. I kept laughing, waiting until he really believed he'd caught me unawares. Then, I shrugged my shoulders, making my chest heave, and sighed theatrically.

You've probably guessed that my lungs generated enough power to make my pouty sigh hit my admirer like a warm wall. A wall of exhalation, but for the effect it had, it might as well have been a wall of bricks. The poor guy was tossed backwards, his feet leaving the ground completely. He hit the far wall about three feet up and slid down with an "Ooof!"

It took him a while to stand up. He was obviously a bit shaken up, and he kept rubbing his back which must have been badly bruised. I was almost too busy giggling to remind him that he had less than two minutes left. Almost, but not quite. "What do you want from me?" he asked, on the verge of tears.

I put on my most enticing face, struck the sexiest pose I could think of and replied in a come-to-bed voice "I want you inside me." That little performance had the desired effect. He started to approach once more. Clearly, the impact with the wall had hurt him more than either of us had realised at the time. He was limping badly. Every step seemed to cause him agony. I put my hands on my hips, bent my left knee slightly and started to tap my right foot impatiently.

He tried to hurry, he really did. But he was in agony. Each tiny step with one foot was followed by the tortuously slow dragging of the other foot. His facial expression flip-flopped between sexual hunger and painful wincing. I stifled my laughter, and kept a stern look of "Don't keep me waiting" on my face. Every so often, I made a show of glancing at my watch. "Ninety seconds" I called out. Then "Seventy-five seconds."

By the time I announced "Last minute, big-shot," he was just two steps away. He made the first, the discomfort bringing tears to his eyes. I bent forward a little towards him, as if I was intending to meet his final pace half-way. Turning my face to him as he fought to move his busted leg, I slowly pushed out my lips, looking for all the world like I was preparing to kiss him. He responded to the gesture, offering his own lips towards mine, stretching his neck to bring his face closer to me.

He was just six inches away. I could hear the blood thumping crazily in his veins. I could smell his desire. I could see his agony. I moved a tiny bit closer, slightly parting my lips as erotically as I could. Just three inches now. He closed his eyes in sweet anticipation of claiming the magnificent prize that he had fought so hard to gain. And that's when I just blew him away.

An effortless, meaningless little puff of my breath. The simplest, most casual act. And enough to knock my failed lover away as if he'd been hit by a car. He toppled over backwards, crashing to the ground three yards behind where he had been standing. His yell of pain was almost animal. I waited for it to die down before declaring "Time's up."

He looked up through disbelieving, agonised eyes. I walked up to him and bent low, offering him in his prone position the ultimate view of my pendant breasts. I reached for him, grabbing him by the waistband of his trousers. When I straightened up, he came off the ground, hanging by his belt from my fingers. I strolled over to the door, letting him swing with my stride, his weight as nothing to me.

With my free hand, I opened the door. With a contemptuous look down at the man dangling from my hand I said "Well, I gave you five minutes and you just weren't man enough. So, like I promised, I'm throwing you out." I tossed him, underarm through the open doorway, out into the corridor. He landed ten yards away and rolled for a further five.

Chuckling, I closed the door on him. Now that is what I call sport!

Friday 4 March 2005 17:43 GMT

Yesterday was pay day for me. (The second half of the money I earned on my recent little "mission". The first half was paid before I took the job.) I went to see a representative of my employer and collected the usual suitcase full of cash. "Would you like some help with that?" the representative asked. I nearly cried with laughter.

Anyway, he offered me more work for this weekend. Sounds like a great job, just the kind of thing I love doing. And, wow, does it pay well!

His client, a private individual connected to (but not directly part of) a major foreign power's government, has recently been detained in a secret, "maximum security" installation. I've been asked to bust him out.

Now, if that was the whole deal, I'd have turned it down as just too boring. I mean, walking into a prison, and getting someone out of a cell is hardly a challenge. Meanwhile escorting a fragile male from a hostile place is a pain (any little bullet or piece of shrapnel can kill him). I have to act all protective and I hate doing that. But this job does have one thing going for it that makes all the above worthwhile.

Apparently, the client is not happy with the service he's received whilst being inside. He requests that, during the rescue, "the greatest possible amount of collateral damage is caused". And that, readers, makes it definitely a job for yours truly.

I leave tonight. I'll tell you as much as I can when I get back. Don't bother wishing me luck. I don't need it.

Monday 7 March 2005 17:30 GMT

This is hardly the surprise of the century, but I'm back from my little job. Mission accomplished, and not a single little scratch anywhere on my perfect body, although I did completely ruin a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans (well, I didn't ruin them myself, of course. A grenade did that.)

I arrived at the not-so-secret location on Saturday evening. The installation was a big, one-storey affair built on the edge of a forest. There really was nothing for miles and miles around; not even a road. It must've been quite a job carrying all the steel and concrete required to construct the building. If only they'd had me to help! I could have helped them complete it in no time at all. It certainly didn't take me long to destroy it

As promised, a contact, dressed as a local shepherd, was there to meet me. He held out his arms to offer an embrace, which I did not accept. Still, he put his hand behind me. I think he was trying to make it look like an accident, but I was not impressed when he touched my posterior. Grabbing his hand, I held it out between us and crushed two of his fingers between my thumb and forefinger. He had to stifle his own scream.

"They told me you were strong,quot; he winced, clutching his bloodied digits, tears forming in his eyes, "but did you have to prove it to me like that?"

"The next time you touch me, it won't be your fingers." I replied.

"OK, OK." My contact said. "Point made. We only talk business from now." He raised his injured hand, and realised that he couldn't extend his finger. In clear pain, he dropped that arm and pointed at the low building with a finger on the end of the other.

"Our man is being held in a cell at the centre of the building. The weakness is on the East side," he said, clutching his bruising digits. "there's only a couple of guards there. The West side is the worst. That's where the main entrance is. We think there might be as many as a dozen men on patrol in that zone. Also, the entire perimeter is booby-trapped. You must approach with extreme caution."

I raised an eyebrow. I hadn't come all that way to do anything with extreme caution.

"OK, Fingers." I said. "Then I'm walking in on the West side."

"Are you crazy?"

"No, but you must be to question me."

"Sorry... sorry... What can I do to help?"

I told him "Gather up as many leaves and soft things as you can, and pile them up right here."

"What?"

"You'll find it a much harder task with two broken hands."

"Please, no!" he begged, immediately busying himself with the job I had given him. For my part, I started to stroll casually towards the heavily-defended front door of the prison.

Tomorrow, I'll tell you what happened next.

Tuesday 8 March 2005 17:03 GMT

Well, this is what happened as I approached the main entrance of the not-very-secret prison:

My contact was frantically piling up leaves and soft material on top of the hill overlooking the installation when I left him to calmly walk down to the front of the building. I noticed a criss-cross network of ankle-height trip wires semi-hidden in the long grass, and decided to ignore them, letting my bare feet tear through the high-tension cabling as if it wasn't there. Immediately, my sensitive hearing detected the sound of alarms being triggered inside the low square concrete edifice. I smiled. It's always more fun when they think they're ready for me.

If I wanted to give fair warning of my arrival, I could not have done more. As I approached the flat ground immediately in front of the main entrance, I felt something hard moving beneath the sole of my foot. I knew I'd triggered a mine, but of course, I wasn't at all concerned by the fact. I lifted my sole and let it explode. Most of the blast was directed against the exposed underneath of my foot. Shrapnel bounced uselessly off it, without even tickling me although the hem of that leg of my jeans was badly burnt and torn.

Meanwhile, the dirt all around the mine was tossed up into the air, raining down on me. Some chunks of rock hit my head, smashing to powder against my skull. I just kept walking, letting the movement of my steps dislodge most of the debris from me. Soon, I was standing right next to the massive steel panel that barred the main entrance. Eight foot high and nearly twenty feet wide, it looked like someone was really concerned about security.

I could have knocked on the door and asked politely if I could come in, but that's not my style. As I couldn't tell how thick the steel was, I made sure I didn't underestimate it. I used both my fists simultaneously, drawing them back and then slamming them hard onto the centre of the panel. The Clang! of the impact shook the countryside. The door caved in around my fists, tearing away from its fixings with a scream of tortured metal.

My smash was hard enough to send the bent, torn-off chunk of metal flying backwards into the low building. I heard screams and saw a couple of splashes of red where people didn't get out of the way in time as the ex-door hurtled away from me. Eventually it hit a wall, making a squelch (I guess someone got caught between door and wall.) Men were running around or still rolling on the floor having dived out of the way of the steel panel.

It took them a while to recover and see me. I put my hands on my hips and tapped my foot whilst I waited impatiently for them to be ready. One by one, they gathered themselves and turned towards me. To my delight, they were all well-armed. Soon enough, I found myself face-to-face with fourteen shocked machine-gun toting men in military uniforms.

I'll tell you how I dealt with them (and how my sweatshirt and jeans got ruined) tomorrow.

Wednesday 9 March 2005 15:48 GMT

So, there I was. Standing with a big grin on my face, hands dominantly on my hips, my big chest thrust out (call it arrogance if you like) while a dozen-plus-two well-trained soldiers pointed their automatic weapons at me

I can't tell you how disappointed I was when only four of them opened fire at first. They aimed for my head, creating a nice little tap-tap-tap feeling as two pairs of hot, armour-tipped bullet-streams locked on my skull. Sure, the dozens of slugs didn't even mess up my hair, but it always feels pleasant getting shot that way. I turned towards the shooters and gave them a big smile. That caused a few bullets to hit my teeth full-on. One ricocheted back where it had come from, hitting the man who'd fired it in the forehead and eliminating him from the equation.

Seeing one of their number go down brought the rest into the action. A movement in the corner of my vision caught my attention. Leisurely, I spun around to watch as a guard lobbed a grenade at me. I flashed out my hand and caught it in my palm. Taking a couple of steps towards the thrower, I held his "present" out to him. He barely had enough time to start to panic when it went off.

My hand took the bulk of the blast; red-hot, razor-sharp pieces of metal bouncing from my palm without leaving a scratch. The force of the rest of the explosion was shared by me and the three nearest men. The fire and shrapnel burnt and tore into my clothes, leaving me wearing nothing but a few charred tatters. My skin beneath, naturally, was unaffected, remaining as flawless as ever. However, the bodies of the trio of guards proved no more resilient than my jeans or sweatshirt. When the smoke cleared, there wasn't much left of them, either.

A little annoyed at the destruction of my outfit, I waded into the remaining men, swiping my arm to knock half of them flying into the walls. They struck the concrete at various heights, some barely above the ground, others just below the ceiling. All of them made red stains where they impacted; none of them moved once they'd fallen to the floor. I walked on, my stride unimpaired.

Two of the remaining five guards decided to charge me from the left. I turned my head to the side as I walked, pushing out my lips and blowing them a short, sharp "kiss" over my shoulder. That blast of superbreath knocked the pair flying through the air to meet a fate identical to their colleagues who I'd brushed aside with my arm.

That left me with three guards. One was in reach, so I grabbed him by the chin and tossed him over my shoulder so hard, it was about five seconds until my super-hearing picked up the distant sound of him hitting the ground. I'd guess he landed about two hundred yards behind me.

The two last remaining soldiers from the group who'd been guarding the entrance threw their hands in the air and started to back away from me. Seeing that the back wall was not far behind them, I continued to advance and let them retreat until, inevitably, they couldn't go any further. There was a brief moment when they realised they were about to become trapped, but before they could do anything about it, I'd thrust out my arms, imprisoning them both, side-by-side, between my unmoveable, slender forearms on either flank, the wall behind them and my body in front of them.

I was naked but for a few burnt shreds of my former clothing, and I detected the usual reactions to my physical appearance. Men! They just can't help going all funny when I'm around. Even as they're about to be killedU

Anyway, I leant in quickly, enjoying the distinctive sound of my right breast crushing the right-half of one man's chest and my left breast compressing the left-half of the other's. I took a half-step back and let the two victims of my sexy bust fall at my feet. So much for the elite unit guarding the main entrance.

Tomorrow, I'll tell you how I liberated my target and got him out of the building (relatively) unhurt.

Thursday 10 March 2005 15:22 GMT

There I was, having completely cleared the main entrance to the installation, and all I could think about was my contact on the hill outside the prison. My plan depended on him being able to collect enough soft material into a heap, and I was concerned. I had no worries about my own role; what could be easier than single handedly, unarmed (and by then more-or-less naked) storming a highly guarded secret installation and defeating dozens of machine-gun-wielding soldiers? But... could I trust a mere man to build a pile of leaves in the meantime?

I was thinking more of him than my own "work" as I approached the door that seemed to lead to the heart of the building. (Actually, in one way, it was all too much fun and too little effort to be called work, but then again, I was getting paid to do it....) Anyway, because of my worries about male competence, I didn't notice that the thick steel panel that barred my way extended into the concrete walls on either side. Similarly, I didn't pause to listen and count the heartbeats on the other side.

Instead, I just gave the door a big kick with my right foot (I never wear shoes at "work"). The thing seemed to explode away from me, smashing off huge chunks of the concrete walls that it was set into. On the other side, I discovered a long corridor. It was narrow (only just wider than the door in fact) and there must have been three or four guards stationed in it.

I never saw them of course; the big, thick steel panel rocketing down the passage away from my kick swept them up and carried them until the whole package of metal door, dislodged concrete and surprised soldiers impacted with the end of the building thirty yards away. I heard their brief, cut-short screams and saw plenty of blood accumulating beneath the panel which remained upright, finishing up slightly embedded in the inside of the exterior wall.

I found myself in a corridor which ran the length of the building minus the entrance hall. The only features in the geometric concrete structure were six metal doors, three on either side of the passageway. I knew my target was being held behind one of them and that I had to get him out, alive. The sooner I took care of him, the sooner I could get on with the fun part of the job (causing maximum collateral damage).

I started with the nearest door on my left. Realising that kicking the door in might accidentally kill my target which would have been a terrible disaster (my contract clearly stated no payment unless I got him out alive), I chose a different approach to entering the room. I walked past the actual door and turned to face the wall. After all, it was only concrete.

I put my hands on my hips and kept my shoulders straight which meant my exposed breasts stood perhaps even prouder than usual on my wonderful body. Then I stepped up to the wall and began to carefully grind myself against it. Of course my chest did most of the damage, especially to begin with.

My prominent nipples dug into the concrete, gouging out pieces of it and carving deep grooves. They were followed by the rest of my breasts. I can tell you that it's a wonderful sight, watching my perfect, womanly flesh grinding stone to dust. Knowing I'm superhuman is terrific, but to actually see the evidence of it in the way my softest, most feminine curves pulverised concrete... well, that was something else.

My stomach was even more effective against the wall, and so was my groin. In no time at all, I was reducing the prison partition to powder, merely by rubbing my beautiful body against it. Soon, the wall just crumbled away all around me and I had created a new doorway that fitted me perfectly.

Tomorrow, I'll reveal what I found when I went through it.

Friday 11 March 2005 16:29 GMT

I was telling you yesterday of how I'd used my body to destroy a wall and create a new door. Well, having ground the concrete to nothing, I stepped through the new opening into a dust-cloud of my making.

A shot rang out, and I felt the bullet ping off my hip. I couldn't see anything because of all the debris in the air, so I opened my mouth and breathed in (not deeply). My lungs, as ever, performed magnificently and the dust was instantly sucked into my throat from where I just swallowed it. Now I could see the man who had shot me. He was wearing an officer's cap. In his hand was the pistol he had used.

Having just laughed off a barrage of machine-gun fire, I had nothing to fear from a little toy like that, but I took it off the officer with super-speed anyway, breaking three of his fingers in the process. I stifled his screams by putting my hand under his chin so that he couldn't open his mouth.

I held his head so that he was forced to watch whilst I slowly ate his pistol, bite by bite. My teeth sliced through the steel weapon as if it were made of cheese, my tongue compressing it completely inside my mouth. Each time I swallowed, another piece of gun disappeared forever into my stomach. I think I must have a black hole in there! I mean, I eat whatever I want and I never gain so much as an ounce in weight...

The officer was certainly impressed by my snacking. He was even more impressed when I put my hand around his throat and lifted him from the floor by it. Of course he tried to kick and punch and pull at me, but needless to say, a fly probably would have been more effective against me. I rolled my eyes at his pathetic blows and shook him gently by the throat, making his arms and legs flail wildly around.

When his face started to turn blue, I brought it close to mine and asked him where my target was being held. He wouldn't tell me at first, but after a little more shaking and neck-squeezing, he eventually coughed up the answer. I thanked him for his co-operation and tossed him aside, not bothering to look as I heard the familiar splat of man smashing into wall.

Next time: how I rescued my target.

Monday 14 March 2005 17:54 GMT

So, last week I was telling the story of my unusual prison visit the other weekend. We'll pick up the action today where we left off on Friday. First a little recap for those whose brains cannot retain information well (i.e. male readers):

I'd ordered my contact on the scene to build a pile of leaves and soft objects on the hill overlooking the secret prison. Then, I'd smashed in the main door and laughed off the guards' attempts to shoot me. Or should that read: I'd smashed in the guards and laughed off the main door?... Anyway, I was in. In a corridor in the heart of the building, I found six doors. In the first room I found an officer, who kindly informed me where my target was being held.

Well, the location of my man was a room on the opposite side of the corridor. I could have walked out of the room in was in, but I had a better idea that was more suited to my overall plan. Bending my knees a little, I sprung straight up into the air. I expected the concrete ceiling to be strong or even reinforced. I did not expect it to be strengthened by a five-inch thick plate of solid steel. Nonetheless, the top of my head punched clean through it as if it were nothing more than thin, wet cardboard.

Debris rained down from the new hole in the ceiling as I landed right beside it on the flat roof. I used the opportunity to glance at my contact over on the hill, my superior eyesight seeing the heap of vegetation that he had acquired. It didn't look impressive, but I calculated it should be enough. I turned my attention back to my work and walked across the roof until I was over the room in which I'd been told I would find my target.

Standing above the room, I used my super-hearing to listen out for sounds from below. I heard three heartbeats; two close together, the third separated from them. I realised that the lone person was likely to be my man, and the two in the group were guards. As this pair probably had orders to shoot their prisoner rather than permit his escape, I had to take care of them first. They could empty a million clips on me without dimming my smile, but a single bullet could kill my target. If I brought him back dead, I wouldn't get paid.

I lifted my bare foot off the roof and held it above the source of the sound of the two heartbeats. Then I slammed my sole down hard onto the concrete. Of course, mere stone-and-steel was no match for my delicate-looking bare foot, and it went straight through the roof. On the way, it dislodged quite a big chunk of concrete and metal which was sent at rocket speed by my little stomp right at the men below. They would never have known what hit them.

I peered in through the hole and saw, to my relief, that my calculations had been correct. The two splattered corpses buried in rubble had, indeed, been guards. Dropping through the broken ceiling and landing with hardly a bend in my knees on the stone floor twelve feet below, I saw my man. They'd actually gone to the trouble of locking him in a small, barred cage. "Hi." I said, cheerfully. "I'm your knight in, um -" (I'd forgotten how my clothes had been destroyed by bullets and explosions) "- no armour."

The poor fellow just stared at me in awe as I strolled up to his little cell and, using just the middle finger of each hand, pulled the bars apart as easily as if I was strumming a harp. The screech of the steel as it resisted me was much less melodic than a harp, but the effect was pretty dramatic. In no time at all, I'd opened a nice, diamond-shaped door in the cage. Without waiting for my man to walk out, I reached in and lifted him out with a single hand under his chin.

I carried him like that as I walked on top of the dead men and broken ceiling until I was standing directly underneath the hole. Then I lifted him up, and told him to climb up through the breech. He took an age to do it, even with my help. Finally, he clambered out and I jumped up after him, using a hundredth of the time and a millionth of the effort he'd required.

Now we were both on the roof. I knew it was only a matter of seconds before someone found us and started shooting. I had to get him away from the area. "I hope that pile of leaves is ready" I muttered as I carefully picked up my target, and gently tossed him, underarm, towards the hillside. He screamed as he flew (I should have warned him of my intentions first), arms and legs flying about crazily as he arced through the air. In all he travelled about a hundred yards before gravity took over and brought him down.

My aim (as it always is) was perfect. He came down, backside-first, right onto the heap of foliage. I heard the gentle sound of his landing, as well as a string of curses from the ungrateful bastard which told me he'd not been too badly hurt by the impact. Pleased with myself, I looked down at the building beneath my feet. Having removed the prisoner, all that remained for me was to take care of the prison. I smiled in sweet anticipation.

Tomorrow: how I destroyed the prison.

Wednesday 16 March 2005 15:13 GMT

With my target safely out of harm's way, I was free to concentrate on the fun part of my little task. As I was standing on the roof of the installation, I knew I had to get back inside to affect the maximum possible damage. So I strolled away from the two holes I'd made and made my way towards the approximate centre of the building.

Once there, I jumped up, allowing my body to turn in the air so that I landed back on the concrete roof flat on my stomach. That meant the largest possible area of my physical perfection hit the concrete. Of course, mere stone and steel didn't slow my fall and I just carved through the ceiling of the prison, taking out a huge portion of its roof in the process.

I landed lying on top of an enormous pile of debris, the air around me thick with dust. To aid with visibility, I inhaled the loose particles into my lungs, clearing the atmosphere in less than a second. Immediately, I saw that I was in a small square room, similar to the ones I'd already seen. The broken remains of a table creaked under the weight of a slab of broken concrete. Nearby I noticed a couple of sets of limbs part-buried under pieces of displaced roof.

There couldn't have been many guards left, but just in case there was, I got to my feet, brushing the crushed concrete from my naked body and called out "Hello? Is there anybody left who wants to play?" No-one answered directly, but I heard the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps from another part of the building. "Oh, so you want to play chase?" I called out. "OK, then. I'll count to ten. One, Two, ThreeTquot; (male readers can look up the rest of the sequence).

I got to ten, and turned to face the direction of the running feet. That left me staring at a wall. I spread my arms wide and just ran at it, the reinforced concrete dissolving into dust as my invulnerable body slammed into, and then clean through it, leaving another pile of rubble and another cloud of dust.

I was in yet another identical room (whoever had built the place was no fan of interior design). I could still hear the boots of men running away in the distance and guessed they were heading for the entrance I'd destroyed when I first approached the building. Just as I was about to charge through another wall which stood between me and the owners of those boots, I heard a familiar Click! sound to my right. I stopped and looked.

There, crouched against a metal locker, was a young man holding a pistol. I turned to him, looking down at him with my hands on my hips, and burst out laughing. He shot me twice, once in the stomach and once in the chest. The first bullet pinged off my upper abdominals and buried itself deep in the wall beside me. The second ricocheted off the inside curve of my right breast, smacked the opposite point on my other mound and lodged itself in my cleavage.

I fished it out, making a little bit of a show of erotically cupping myself as I extracted the squashed bit of lead. Then I flicked it back at the firer, my single finger sending the misshapen bullet back ten times faster than it had come. He never stood a chance.

Meanwhile, I'd already set off, smashing through the second wall which did, as I suspected, lead to the main entrance chamber. Sprinting past the bodies of the guards I'd dealt with earlier, travelling well within myself (at only about two hundred miles an hour) I caught up with the trio of fleeing men before they'd even managed to leave the building. Effortlessly, I overtook them and then turned right in front of them, suddenly standing dead still.

Being only men, they couldn't stop themselves in time, once they saw me. The fellow in the centre of the group ran smack into my body, knocking himself out cold as his chest impacted mine hard enough to crack most of his ribs. The other two might have slipped past if I hadn't held my arms out at my sides, stopping them dead in their tracks and winding them both.

As they gasped for air, I brought my hands behind their heads and pulled them both down to my chest, despite their (frankly, pathetically weak) struggles. Pressing a soldier's rough, masculine face against each of my "soft" feminine breasts was nice... for a second or so. Then, of course, their skulls collapsed. I let the corpses fall to the floor, and bent down to tear off a strip from one of their trousers. I used that to wipe away the worst of the mess from my chest.

I listened carefully for the sounds of other human activity in the building and heard none. I'd gotten my man out alive, and taken care of the staff. That just left the building itself. I'll tell you how I dealt with it next time.

Thursday 17 March 2005 23:01 GMT

After I'd casually dispatched the last guards, I sauntered out of the remains of what had once been the main entrance. I had every reason to feel arrogant as I surveyed the scene; the size and thickness of the door I'd smashed in (and what had become of that "impregnable" slab of steel), the number of "elite" armed guards that had been on duty (and what had become of themu I'd made a mockery of it all. Without working up a sweat. My hands rested on my hips as a sign of my complete dominance over men and their creations.

Throughout the few minutes that made up my raid on that "ultra-secure" installation, I'd shown not only its men but also their weapons and even the very building itself to be no match at all for my unarmed, beautiful body. There seemed no better way for me to say "goodbye forever" to that place by giving it the ultimate display of my power. Proof, you could say, that my previous "exertions" had left me anything but short of breath.

I walked until I was about twenty yards outside the wrecked entrance. Keeping my palms on my hips, I turned slowly and faced the former prison. I leant slowly forwards, bending at the waist but keeping my chest proudly thrust out as I effortlessly and sexily pouted my lips and unleashed a stream of my breath through that lush channel, directing it at the base of the huge one-storey building.

With a sound normally only heard during the fiercest of hurricanes, my superhuman lungs powered air with such force and in such volumes that the concrete and steel structure had no chance of surviving. My exhalation tore at the building, ripping it apart, shattering the stone and bending the metal (its agonised screams barely audible above the noise of rushing wind) until it stretched and shred.

Still I continued to blow at the rapidly shrinking installation. Layer by layer, room by room, my breath pressed it, crushed it, smashed it, tore it apart and send it flying off into the distance. Even I was impressed by the sight (especially as I could contrast the spectacular scene with the utter ease of causing it).

For a few seconds, a central column of solid steel looked as if it might hold out. Any trace of what had been attached to it had long since disappeared, defeated by my lungs, but that pillar (about twenty centimetres in diameter and obviously set deep in a lake of concrete) remained. I closed my lips very slightly, concentrating the jet of my puff and targeted it carefully at the top of the column.

There was a scream, almost as if the steel were appealing to the universe to apply some logic that would prevent it being overcome, bettered and destroyed by a girl's breath. That was followed by a groan of surrender as the column suddenly tilted away from me. Another, more urgent sound accompanied the wonderful vision of the entire pillar tearing in half at ground level, the wind picking up the top half and sending it hurtling away.

By then, there was nothing else left that could be recognised as having once been part of a building. The rubble, broken into tiny pieces, was stretched out over a two mile long, one-mile wide area. To stop the invincible force that had wreaked such devastation, I just closed my lips. Then, I started running, at a comfortable jog (no more than 100 miles per hour) towards my awe-struck contact who was waiting up on the hill with my rather bemused target.

Job done. And, I'm sure you'll agree, it's always better when your work is something you enjoy.

Friday 18 March 2005 23:24 GMT

Well I've been back from my little trip for quite a while now, and, even though I could brag about my adventures and how magnificent I was/am, all good things must come to an end.

That's how I felt travelling away from the ruined installation actually. I mean: once you've destroyed a fortified prison by blowing at it, whatever you do next is always going to be a bit of a weak encore. Sure, I've spent a few days shopping with some of the money I earned, but that's not the kind of action that really excites me.

So, to keep from getting totally bored, I've been destroying the odd car, lamppost or tree and resorting to my old favourite hobby: hurting the occasional man who crossed my path. I even forced myself on a couple (well, alright: it was six) lucky guys, but that was just a spur of the moment thing one evening.

What I'm in the mood for is mischief, and this weekend I'm going be causing plenty.

Monday 21 March 2005 17:44 GMT

Ultragirl? Are you reading this? Come back and finish what you started!

Well, well, well. Here's something I've never said before: I've been in a fight! I mean, a "proper" fight. Not one of those exchanges where I pretend to check my (unbreakable) fingernails while some jerk empties a machine-gun magazine into my chest and then I swot him away like a fly with the back of one hand, but an actual bout of hand-to-hand combat. I'm still shocked. I never would have thought there was anyone (or anything) on Earth that could even dream of challenging me. But there is!

I'd been having a weekend of fun out in the countryside. On Saturday afternoon, I chanced across a small group of young men who looked like they were on some kind of survival course. Observing them from a distance, I noticed that they all looked very fit (by "normal" standards) and pleasantly muscled, too. I decided to introduce myself.

They were very unwelcoming when they spoke, but the way their eyes examined every inch of me told a different story. (I'd obviously chosen my outfit well; a ridiculously tight, low-cut, sleeveless black T-shirt and a pair of shorts that barely covered the very top of my thighs.) Anyway, despite clearly being "interested", they kept telling me to go away.

Of course, I did nothing of the sort. Eventually, one of them threatened me with a knife. That's when all the fun started. Two minutes later, I had all five of them kneeling before me, groaning and wincing from their fresh injuries. With my hands on my hips, and a big, smug grin on my face, I asked them why they had been so anxious for me to go.

Of course, in the light of the beating I had just dished out, they couldn't wait to tell me. It turned out they were actually an army commando unit in training. I laughed when I realised that I had so easily defeated a bunch of soldiers. They might as well have been bankers for all the resistance they'd managed

But, they did look good. Good enough for me to spend the next couple of days with. I found some rope in their rucksacks, and tied the entire quintet, standing and facing outwards, around the base of a huge oak tree. I made my way around the tree, stripping each man by tearing off his clothes. Then I then took off my own outfit, and forced myself on them, one-by-one.

After that, we played all manner of games. First, there was hide-and-seek. I untied my boys and told them they were free to go. Then I waited a couple of minutes, and set off into the forest, gathering them back up in pairs, carrying them like trophies draped over my shoulders back to the tree.

Later, I secured lengths of rope around the ankles of three of the men, and holding on to the other ends myself, I pretended they were kites by keeping them airborne for a couple of minutes of a cushion of my warm superbreath.

Another game was "endurance". In it, I took each of the boys in turn and rubbed his face gently against my chest until either he screamed for me to stop or he passed out or he reached orgasm (whichever happened first). The winner was the one who held on longest. (For the record, the best time was 24 seconds, but that guy screamed, came and lost consciousness all at onceu

Anyway, we were having such a great time together, that I refused to let them go, even when they pleaded with me after a day or so. And that's why we were still all together this morning. One of the group had tried to get away by himself. Naturally, I'd caught him before he could take three steps. I lifted him with a single hand on his throat, my spare hand resting on my hip, his feet dangling near my knees. The rest of the boys were cowering together about ten yards away.

And that's when I was so rudely interrupted. I heard the distant Whoosh! and thought at first it was a jet plane. But it didn't sound right. And then I felt the displacement of air behind me. I spun around, naked soldier still suspended in my grip, and saw her for the first time. Hovering about six feet above the ground, with her hands on her hips. Thinking immediately of the exchange I'd had on the superwomenmania forums, I said "You must be Ultragirl." Shaking the man in my grip, I asked, mockingly "Have you come to rescue this poor little soldier?"

"Put him down, you bully!" she said self-righteously. "Why don't you pick on someone your own strength?" Well, I didn't need a second invitation. I tossed the soldier aside (he landed twenty yards away in a bush) and charged at the uninvited arrival. Just as I leapt for her though, she rose rapidly into the air, evading my grasp.

I jumped for her again, easily clearing the tops of the tallest trees, but she escaped my clutches by going even higher. "Come down here and fight like a woman!" I shouted. She swooped down, landing between me and the bulk of my soldiers. I have to confess, the sight of her flying under her own power was impressive.

"Let these innocent men go first," she said, "and then I'll fight you."

"No. They're mine!" I replied. She started to deliver a speech about human rights, so I charged at her, but she took off again at the last instant, leaving me clutching at air. Catching a glimpse of the man I'd thrown aside now clambering out of the thick bush he'd crashed down in, I got an idea.

I sprinted over, grabbed hold of him again and, with one hand under his thigh and the other under his shoulder, lifted him, sideways-on, over my head. "Hey, Ultrabimbo!" I called. "Let's do this my way. Either you come down here now, or I'll break your precious little boy here like a twig." At first the only response came from the guy above my head crying and pleading with me.

Then, I head something touching the ground very lightly about ten yards behind me. And there she was. "Let him go," she said, "he's done nothing to you."

"Here, have him!" I said, tossing him straight up into the air. She soared upwards again. I couldn't help but be amazed by the way she looked as she defied gravity and intercepted the still rising soldier. She cradled him in her arms, descending near the other men and placing her cargo carefully down on his feet as if he were a china ornament.

Then she charged at me. She was fast. Faster than anything I'd ever encountered before. So fast that I couldn't fully evade her. She caught me with a kick on the side of the body. To my shock, I found myself falling over. Nothing has ever knocked me down before. I could even feel the point of impact, even after the contact had ended. It felt strange. Unfamiliar. And not entirely pleasant. Was that pain?

I was sitting up when she landed square on top of me, pushing me back down again. It was actually a struggle to try and sit up. I've never felt anything against my body the way each punch, kick and push of her hands and feet felt. Even despite the discomfort (a sensation I'd never encountered before), there was something... amazing about it.

Before I could think what it was, she let loose with a barrage of punches to my face. She moved so fast, that even using my own superspeed, I could barely separate one blow from the next. And her little hands really did hit me each time. Each punch had more impact on me than anything I'd previously experienced. It was only after a few moments that I realised she was hammering my whole body, head-first, down into the ground.

Stunned by what was happening, I kicked myself upwards with my legs, and was genuinely relieved to find that I was rising out of the hole. Not only that but I managed to shake her off me. I landed on my knees, and she came down a few yards away. Whilst she rolled over, I seized the opportunity to get to my feet. But Ultragirl got up pretty quickly too.

She ran at me, I stood my ground and grabbed her hands. I could feel her fingers squeezing my own, another totally novel thing for me. I quite liked it actually, even if she was doing it a little bit harder than I would have chosen. We grappled like that for a few moments, experimentally testing out each other's strength. I couldn't believe that her arms were able to resist mine, but for a while, they certainly did.

Throughout all this, the five soldiers were watching intently. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised by the fact that they had decided to side against me, but I was annoyed when one of them shouted "Come on, blondie, smash the bitch!" Desperate not to let the remark go unpunished, I found another spurt of strength from deep within, and forced Ultragirl around so that I was facing the men.

That was the moment I realised that, despite her incredible strength, I just about had the edge on her. I took advantage of gaining the upper-hand to send a blast of superbreath at the men. My "kiss" picked them up, and tossed them, like leaves, ten feet into the air. They came back down twenty yards from where they'd been standing. That took care of the heckler.

To show that I was winning the contest of muscle, I broke free of her grip and tried to force her away, but I underestimated her and she came straight back at me, this time letting rip with a furious blur of punches at my chest. I was stunned by the way her hands felt. Nothing has ever caused me so intense a sensation.

I was aware of a kind of warm feeling that grew in intensity until it was all I could think about. I was torn. Part of me was genuinely concerned by this never-before-experienced feeling. If it kept on increasing, would it become too much for me to bear? I'm sure now that what I was undergoing involved (to a degree) pain. But another part of me was revelling in the incredible way it felt to have my breasts touched by someone so strong.

Up until that moment, I'd never been attracted to a woman before. But seeing Ultragirl, her body almost as gorgeous as mine, and feeling her punching my chest, her strength almost as limitless as mine, was definitely an education. I let my hands hang by my sides and pushed out my big mounds, offering her even more of a target for her little fists. She continued the barrage for few more moments, and then, unexpectedly stopped.

I found myself smiling. "I'll wipe that grin off your face." Ultragirl exclaimed, and renewed her frantic attack. I let it go on until the sensation became worryingly severe and then pushed her away with all my might, not holding back anything. She flew backwards, her back slamming into a through a thick tree-trunk in mid-air, felling the thing with a huge Crash! before she landed on her rear, thirty yards from me.

She stood up quickly, but instead of running at me, pushed out her lips and unleashed a jet of superbreath at me. The air was full of flying leaves and branches; some smaller trees were uprooted by her exhalation and smashed into me, splintering into matchsticks on impact against my invulnerable body. My hair was tossed around, and her warm breath blasted my face. It felt nice. Really nice. I understand now why some men shoot their loads when I use my superbreath on them. It feels really... sexy.

Ultragirl stopped blowing when she saw that I was enjoying it and tried something else. Two beams of red light emerged from her eyes and converged on my belly. It must've been hot (incredibly hot) at that point, because, even though I wanted to stand there and laugh her efforts off, I had to move because I wasn't at all comfortable. I darted to the side.

She followed me with her lasers. When the focus of the heat-rays brushed over my left nipple, I yelled in shock and pleasure. For the briefest instant, it was unbelievably lovely. Then it became unpleasant. I kept moving until she finally stopped the beams of light. Maybe she just couldn't sustain them any longer. Whatever the reason, I was glad it was over.

It took me a moment or two to recover my composure. That was more than enough time for her to leap at me. We hit the ground, rolling over and over and over, smashing through thick trees. I managed to gain control over our momentum, bringing us to a halt as I was on top. Ultragirl slapped my face a few times, once again, creating a more intense sensation than any I'd ever felt. I caught her wrists with my hands.

By then, I knew that she was too strong for me to capture both her hands with just one of my own. I needed my two hands to pin her arms to the ground. I was about to smash my knee down into her groin when I stopped. Looking down at her face and recognising the kind of superhuman beauty I see in the mirror every day, I was overwhelmed by a compulsion to kiss her.

I leant in and planted my lips on hers. So firm! For once, I could actually press my mouth against another with all my passion without being covered in gore. She was squirming beneath me, trying to get away, and the sheer force of her struggles, threatening to throw me off at any moment, turned me on.

I tried to force my tongue into her mouth, but she resisted. Suddenly, her teeth clamped down hard on my tongue. That definitely did hurt me. I was so shocked, I relaxed my grip on her arms. An instant later, she'd escaped from under me. She was clearly blushing as she stood up. I ran at her but she shot straight upwards. I followed her with my superhuman eyes for a while, but she disappeared from even my view.

I was left confused. So many sensations and feelings I'd never know before. Like being in a physical contest. And having my body touched by someone in my own strength class. If only she wasn't such a goody-goody spoilsport! I really think we could have got something going.

I was so absorbed in thought, I even forgot to say goodbye to my sleeping soldier friends after I'd found my clothes. Instead, I headed for home, alone. It's like I said at the top; Ultragirl, if you're out there, come back!!

Tuesday 22 March 2005 16:08 GMT

I don't dream. The main reason for that is that I don't sleep. (I don't need to.) But if I did, I know who I would have been dreaming of last night.

Yesterday was such an amazing day for me. So many firsts! For the first time in my life, I met another superhuman. For the first time in my life, I felt my body being touched by a force of maybe not equal power, but at least worthy power. And for the first time in my life I found myself attracted to another woman.

Very attracted, in fact. I haven't been able to think about much else. Proof of that is the fact that there were two telephone engineers working in my building this morning, and, despite numerous opportunities to have all kinds of fun with them, I've more-or-less completely ignored them. True, when one of them passed me in the corridor, carrying a large, heavy (for him) box, I did send him and his box flying by brushing my ankle against his foot, but that was only because he was staring at my chest far too overtly.

Normally, I'd have had my way with him and his colleague until (and after) they begged me to stop. Maybe it's a passing phase, but there's only one person I want to get my hands on...

Wednesday 23 March 2005 16:52 GMT

I've had some great news! Anyone who reads the forums at superwomenmania.com will know that Ultragirl wants to meet me again. I've invited her back to the forest to play with me tomorrow morning. I hope she doesn't chicken out!

In anticipation of the little get-together, I went out shopping for a few things this morning. Shopping "Blogger-style" that is (helping myself to whatever I fancy and getting it out of the shop too quickly for even the best CCTV to follow). Despite the mind-boggling speed of my movements, I made sure I chose well. After all, I want to give my new friend a proper welcome.

I keep thinking about how it felt to be touched by her. I want to feel her superhuman body against mine. I can't wait!

Thursday 24 March 2005 17:05 GMT

Ultragirl!!! Come back!!! I can't believe she ran away again! Just as things were getting really interesting between us.

Let me tell you all about it. I got to the meeting point early, and changed into the special outfit I'd bought for the occasion (a very special semi-see-through basque with half-cups that, take my word for it, displayed my curves particularly strikingly). By the time I heard the familiar whoosh! that heralded Ultragirl's out-of-the-sky arrival, I was lying in a little clearing in the sexiest pose I could manage. "Over here, honey!" I called out to her.

When she saw me, she blushed bright red. "Wh... What are you wearing?" she asked.

"A little something in your honour," I smiled. Then, stretching out languidly, I enquired "Do you like it?"

"I don't know what idea you've got," she started, but "I'm here to take you down, you crazy bully."

"Well, come on over," I said, "I'm waiting."

"You crazy bitch!" she screamed, and unleashed her heat vision at me. Remembering how it had hurt me last time, I braced myself. My lovely lingerie disintegrated instantly and I was left completely naked. Ultragirl's lasers were targeted at my face, and for a few seconds the point where they hit me stung terribly. I concentrated on trying to tune out the intense sensation.

At first the discomfort continued to increase, until I was worried that I wouldn't be able to take it anymore, but then my mind and body began to adjust. Somehow, I was learning to cope with the phenomenal heat. The feeling started to become increasingly manageable. I smiled at Ultragirl, showing her that I was no longer suffering. That seemed to anger her. The lasers vanished, but as I started to stand up, they reappeared, apparently with more power than before.

Because I had moved slightly, the twin beams of heat-vision now focussed onto my bare right breast. The light of the lasers was much brighter than before, but now they no longer hurt. In fact, the surface-of-the-sun-like temperatures felt good against my skin. Really good. I glanced down at my glowing chest and then coyly up at Ultragirl, raising a single eyebrow. "Mmmmm" I said. "That's lovely."

"You bitch!" she screamed, charging at me. I stood up as she streaked closer. Thanks to the lessons learnt during our first encounter, I knew exactly what to expect. I anticipated both the awesome fury of her fists and the fantastic power that they carried. Holding myself perfectly still, I was ready, and I grinned as a million punches, each strong enough to stop a speeding truck, rained down on my face and upper-body.

Now that I couldn't be surprised by Ultragirl's strength, I found it easy to cope with. I put my hands ostentatiously on my hips and thrust out my chest, laughing as her face creased in anger and the ferocity of her attack continued to increase. Her wild punches felt like pleasant caresses to me, especially when they slammed into my torso. I honestly could have stayed like that all day, letting her hit me with everything she had.

However, I did not stand still for long. Acting as fast as I ever have done, I ran around behind her. She clearly couldn't follow my movements, because she started looking around for me until I tapped her gently on the shoulder. She whirled around and started to unleash yet another flurry of blows. I merely dashed out from under her fists, coming up behind her once again.

We went on like that for a while, me running around her and her unable to track me. The last time, I ran right up to her from the front, put my arms around her neck, and kissed her on the lips. She tried to push me away, but I found I could resist her with less and less trouble. Either she was getting weaker or I was getting stronger, or maybe both. Whatever the reason, she couldn't break the kiss until I let her.

"What.... what.... are... you.... doing?" she panted. She looked so good flustered like that.

"Oh come on!" I said. "You know you want this too. We're completely alone here. You don't have to pretend now."

"Get off me, you criminal!" she screamed. "You belong in jail."

"You belong in my bed." I replied, cupping her chin and drawing her mouth towards mine. She fought to pull her face away, but my grip was too strong. I smiled. I was beginning to enjoy myself. I brought my free hand up to gently squeeze her super-chest through her sheer costume. She felt wonderful. So firm beneath my fingers, unlike anything I'd ever touched before. I wanted more.

"Hey!" she yelled, but I completely ignored her as I used my fingernails to tear into her "indestructible" top. The strange material tore differently to normal fabric. I found I could only rip it away one small strip at a time. Even working at superspeed, it took me nearly a minute to disrobe her properly. All the while, I held her head close to mine whilst she kicked and punched and scratched at my already naked body.

Once I had her stripped, I took a moment to admire her body. It was the most wonderful thing I have seen other than in a mirror. Physically, she certainly is an "Ultra"girl. I licked my lips slowly, pulling her towards me, despite her struggles. Bending my head, I extended my tongue and traced its tip slowly around one of her superb nipples. I've never been so turned on in my life.

"Stop!" she cried. I paused to look up at her. Her expression was strange and I couldn't interpret it. "Please. Give me a moment... to.... get ready." she said. Stupidly, I let go of her. She took a step backwards, not breaking eye-contact with me. I should have known it was a trick, but I was so excited by the prospect of getting my hands on her fabulous body, that I was not thinking straight. A split-second later, she took off, flying straight upwards.

I leapt up after her, but she was well out of my reach, already heading towards the upper atmosphere. As I landed, I let out a yell of frustration which shook the leaves and the birds from the trees for a mile in every direction. I had her and I let her go.

Now I want her more than ever. I'm no longer curious about her strength. I know that I'm much stronger than her. But her beautiful, superhumanly firm body would be such a perfect match for my own. I swear, if I ever get another chance, I won't let her slip away again...

Sunday 27 March 2005 20:52 GMT

Howdy folks! (As the idiots around here like to say.)

Yes, you guessed it, I'm in Texas. Ever since Ultragirl shot up into the sky out of my clutches for the second time, I've not been able to think about anything or anyone else. The feel of the second hardest body and the second most beautiful curves on Earth has made an impression in my brain in a way that no narcotic, radioactive or toxic substance has ever done. Understand me, people: I've got to have her.

Of course, even for an all-powerful gorgeous girl like me, some things are not as simple as they seem. For starters, because it's an extended holiday weekend, there were no seats available on almost any flights to the U.S. One airline helpfully offered me a ticket to Seattle and another suggested Anchorage as an alternative but (surprisingly) I decided to make my own arrangements.

I packed a waterproof bag with (amongst other things) a very special little outfit I've put together just for Ultragirl and took a train to the coast. Changing into a simple two-piece bikini, I dived into the Atlantic. It was barely above freezing overnight in the middle of the ocean as I swam, navigating by the stars, but I didn't feel cold. Thinking only of getting my hands on the object of my desire, I nearly sunk a tanker by swimming straight into its bow. At the last second, I dived beneath the ship, letting my wake rock it violently as I continued my well-over-a-hundred-miles-an-hour progress.

After those world-beating aquatics, I jumped out of the sea as fresh and perfect as when I left home. A lone beachcomber nearly fainted when he saw me in my swimsuit. When I took it off to change into slightly more modest clothing, he did go the whole way and pass out.

Travelling was not my only problem. To make things even more challenging, I don't know exactly where Ultragirl lives. Just that it's somewhere in Texas (the biggest of all the mainland U.S. states). So, now that I'm here, I've got two options. Either I hunt her down or I flush her out. I've never been the P.I. type, so I guess it'll be Plan B: make her show herself.

Fortunately, I know exactly how to do that. Being the goody-goody protector of the pathetic that she is, all I have to do is make sure there's people that need rescuing. I think I can find some weak and fragile males to fill that role. Once news of their plight reaches her lovely ears, I'm sure she'll come riding (or flying) to save the day. And then, she'll be mine.

I couldn't care less what happens to the men; they'll just be the bait on my hook. Maggots, if you will, to entice my prey. It's going to be fun. You can tell I'm really looking forward to it!

Monday 28 March 2005 20:51 GMT

Delays, delays! There's nothing more frustrating (apart from a man falling apart in my arms).

I was all set for launching my little plan to lure Ultragirl when, just a couple of minutes after I posted yesterday, I found out (completely by chance) that the National Guard were planning three days of training manoeuvres starting today (Monday) almost exactly on the spot I'd chosen for my confrontation.

Now, don't get me wrong. I've always thought it would be a great laugh to take on those boys, but the last thing I need is the entire US military trying everything they've got in a vain attempt to break one of my fingernails. I like a quiet life, not one spent being constantly shot at by members of various overstaffed, over-budgetted organisations.

So, I had to find a way of putting them off, at least for a few days. Fortunately, a few minutes later, my superhearing picked up the sound of a TV weather report in another part of the motel I'm staying in. They were warning of storms over a town just fifty miles away. I immediately set off at a sprint, and got there in about twenty minutes.

Climbing a nearby hill, I looked up at the thick, black clouds above, pursed my lovely lips and blew, quite hard, at the edge of the tempest. My lungs proved themselves easily powerful enough to create an atmospheric disturbance. The clouds moved even faster than I had just run. I kept exhaling, directing the awesomely strong jet of my breath to steer the storm over the area where I intend to draw Ultragirl

When I closed my lips, the ground-to-air hurricane ceased and the clouds stopped travelling. The thunder, lightening and rain continued (if anything even more fiercely) but now they filled the sky fifty miles east of before. I ran back to the area, and used a few more blasts of superbreath to cause some damage to power-lines and roads in case the storm missed them, thus making sure that the military exercises would have to be postponed.

Now, I have to wait another day for that wonderful moment when I get my hands on Ultragirl's body. Still, I suppose things could have been worse; we could have been interrupted, mid-session, by five hundred soldiers. That might have been amusing, but it certainly would not have been romantic..

Tuesday 29 March 2005 23:31 GMT

'Evening all! Bet you haven't had as thrilling a day as I've had. (Unless, that is, your name begins with U- and ends with -ltragirl.) I've had far too much fun to tell the whole story in one go. So, it's part one tonight, with more to come tomorrow...

It all started so perfectly. I got to my chosen spot (a bridge over a more-or-less deserted ravine) at noon, and made my preparations. This involved removing a section of the crash barrier from one side, leaving a section of the bridge open with a fifty-foot drop beneath it. Needless to say, I ripped into the thick steel rails with my bare hands with total ease, tearing them apart as if they were no tougher than warm butter.

After that, I changed into the special costume I'd prepared. Basically, it was a copy of Ultragirl's superheroine outfit but with a fishnet top which left nothing of my glorious upper body to the imagination and two very revealing slits cut into the hips. When I checked it at home in the mirror, even I was impressed by the way it looked on me. I knew it would have an effect on her.

Hiding behind a support strut, I waited for my unwitting bait to trundle along. Eventually, the vehicle I'd been expecting, a bus full of soldiers returning to their base from home leave, came by. The gentlest little puff of my breath was enough to knock it sideways. The driver was helpless to control the thing. My exhalation pushed the front end of the bus over the side of the bridge at exactly the point where I'd removed the barrier.

I was very careful to make sure I didn't blow too hard and send the entire vehicle into the ravine below. Of course, my control was perfect. I cut off my breath leaving the bus half on and half off the bridge, pivoting precariously right on the edge. The men inside screamed in terror, but they dared not move for fear of tipping themselves over. I couldn't stop myself laughing at their helplessness for a while.

Of course, I could have hauled the entire bus to safety with a single finger, but that wasn't the plan. Instead, I took out my camera-phone, took a snap of the scene and e-mailed it, along with details of the location, to Ultragirl. I knew she wouldn't be able to resist the old bus-teetering-on-the-edge scenario.Sure enough, I heard her familiar Whoosh! a short while later. Ultragirl landed in all her glory and I stepped out to great her. She ignored me at first though, pulling the bus to safety.

As the grateful men began to clamber out, she turned to me. "What the hell are you wearing?" she demanded, clearly enraged.

I gave her a little twirl. "Do you like it?" I asked.

"It's an abomination!" she yelled, and unleashed her heat vision at me. I guess anger makes it more powerful because the twin lasers were even more intense than last time. But this time, I already knew what was coming, and how to handle it. My improvised costume dematerialised instantly, leaving me naked and giggling slightly. I felt no discomfort whatsoever.

"If you prefer me without clothes, you only had to ask." I said. Before she could even reply, I was shocked to hear another Whoosh!. Looking up, I saw a man in a bright green and gold costume flying in to land beside Ultragirl. His well-muscled body looked good, and his face was handsome, but a little too clean-cut for my tastes. "Who the hell are you?" I enquired, with a sneer. "This is girls' business. Stay out of it, male."

As if answering my question, Ultragirl said "Turbo-Boy, you protect the people. I'll take care of this bitch." I guess she was referring to the men from the bus as that's where Turbo-Boy headed.

"How sweet!" I said to Ultragirl. "You brought a pet with you."That must have hurt the guy's masculine pride because he stopped and turned to me, proclaiming: "I am Turbo-Boy of the Union of Superheroes for Justice! I fight for Truth and Fairness against the forces of Evil and Darkness!". He began his little speech glaring proudly at me, fixing me straight in the eye. But his stare flickered and his gaze began to lower, away from my eyes, down my face, past my chin. By the time he concluded with "I am no-one's pet! I treat all beings with the respect and dignity they deserve, and I expect the same in return.", he was addressing my breasts.

I brought my arms in front of my body, using them to lift my chest slightly as I bent forward towards him, offering the maximum possible amount of cleavage to ogle. And, did he ogle! So much so, that the bulge in his groin quickly became big enough for even a "normal" person to spot from distance. Chuckling, I asked "Is that a gun in your pocket, Turbo-Boy? 'Cos it looks like it's ready to go off at any moment!"

Blushing as red as a tomato, he put his hands awkwardly in front of his crotch, looking guiltily behind him towards the dozen or so men who were edging away from the bus in the direction of the near end of the bridge. "That's no good, Turbo-Boy," I said, shaking my head in mock chastisement, "You'll never be able to save those poor, defenceless soldiers like that."

I made my point by blowing at the retreating men, nothing more than an effortless puff, you understand. Just enough to pick up four of them and carry them over the side of the bridge. With multiple screams they began to fall towards the rocky ravine floor. I giggled as both Ultragirl and Turbo-Boy took off to rescue the tumbling men. The sight of them flying made me wish I could defy gravity like that. If I could, I wouldn't waste such a gift on pathetic, screaming soldiers...

As the two superheroes returned, each carrying two men, I unleashed another gust of superbreath that threw another two men off the bridge. Ultragirl put her cargo down and, spinning in the air, flew off again after the latest pair of fallers, leaving Turbo-Boy standing awkwardly, staring at my chest once more. I put my hands behind my head, pushing out my breasts. His eyes almost jumped from their sockets, as if they were trying to get closer to my chest. I helped him out by walking towards him. He seemed to be hypnotised by my bare mounds, rooted to the spot as I neared.

Turbo-Boy's jaw dropped as I approached. "Oh, Turbo," I chuckled, "you're really hooked, aren't you? Doesn't Ultra ever let you look at hers?"

You'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out what happened next.

Wednesday 30 March 2005 21:00 GMT

Hmmm, where did I leave off last time? Ah, yes. On the bridge. The soldiers from the bus trying to get away from me, Ultragirl doing the heroine thing flying around catching the men I was blowing over the side and Turbo-Boy drooling at the sight my naked chest as I strolled towards him.

I put a little sway into my walk, so that my breasts moved with every stride. Turbo's eyes followed accordingly. I felt like a stage hypnotist swinging a pocket watch. "You poor boy!" I mocked. "Is this the first time you've seen a woman naked? Ultragirl should have prepared you for this! What use are you as a superhero if your brain is going to freeze up every time you spot a pair of tits?"

I bent low, mid-step, and used my right hand to scoop up a chunk of road surface, my fingers carving through the tarmac like they would through room-temperature ice cream. "Look, Turbo-Boy!" I called out. "Your beloved soldiers are in danger!" I tossed the piece of road at the legs of one of the retreating men. With a yell, he collapsed, clutching the large, fresh, freely bleeding wound in his thigh. A couple of his colleagues rushed to his aid.

As Turbo-Boy made the supreme effort to take his eyes off my nipples and look at the confusion, I reached down and grabbed another lump of road. I drew my hand back, preparing to throw. "Oh, Turbie!" I called. He turned towards me, just as I released the second missile. An instant later, another soldier collapsed, his arm almost completely amputated at the elbow by the rough lump I'd casually tossed at him.

"Stop it, right now!" Turbo-Boy shouted, his voice carrying all the conviction of a small boy in a playground trying to stand up to an aggressor twice his size. I laughed.

"Stop it or what?" I asked, scooping up yet another chunk of road surface and threatening to launch it, a big grin stretched across my face.

"Stop it or I'll make you stop."

"Well, go on then." I said, trying and failing to keep a straight face. I chucked the third piece of road, this time knocking one of the men off the bridge with it. Ultragirl, who had just returned from carrying a couple of the soldiers to safety, dived after him. I put my hands on my hips and rocked with laughter.

"That's enough!" cried Turbo-Boy, charging at me. I stayed motionless as he streaked over. He delivered a mad succession of punches to my face. Although I'm sure he was many times stronger than a "normal" man, he was certainly not in Ultragirl's class in terms of strength. Compared with me, he may as well have been normal. I didn't even have to try to ignore his blows. When he saw he was getting precisely nowhere, he started to hit me repeatedly in the belly. That was even less effective than the assault on my head.

"Is that it?" I asked, making sure I sounded slightly disinterested. "Is that all you've got?" I took my left hand off my hip and, extending two fingers, shoved him gently in the chest. He flew about five yards backwards, landing on his rear. Immediately, he got up and came at me again, so I flicked him away once more. The second time, he was a little slower to regain his feet. I strolled across to stand over him as he rose.

Before he properly regained his footing, he kicked out at me. I caught his foot and pushed on it, forcing him back down hard onto his backside. From his prone position, he thrashed his legs wildly, like a beetle stuck on its back. His boots impacted with my knees and shins, but they caused about as much discomfort as a gentle breeze. I grabbed hold of one ankle and hoisted him into the air, upside down, dangling from my single hand. Then I spun him around, over my head, as if he was weightless. I let go and he sailed off, rotating as he flew away from me.

It took him some time to regain control of himself. Eventually, though, he was able to bring his flight powers into play and stop himself spinning. Then he turned in the air and rocketed straight back towards me like a missile. His hands were by his sides, and I think his intention was to turn himself into a (super)human torpedo and ram me.

He probably thought he was travelling pretty fast, but I had all the time in the world to anticipate his arrival. I realised he was heading directly for my head, perhaps hoping the impact would knock me unconscious. I waited patiently for him to arrive and, timing things with my usual perfection, leapt upwards a little just as he was about to strike me. As a result, he missed my skull completely. And my neck.

Turbo-Boy slammed into me, head first, flying at his top spefed, exactly at the centre of my chest. His superhuman skull tried to force my generous breasts apart and succeeded for a brief moment, only to discover that my feminine mounds are vastly more "super" than his manly head. By then, of course, it was too late. He was wedged. The momentum of his flight carried the rest of his body forward, his torso whacking into my stomach and groin, followed by his knees hitting my ankles. His boots scraped a small hole in the road. But his head did not move.

He screamed in pain and shock but the sound was muffled. I laughed. It took me a moment to realise that he was frantically trying to free himself. His hands came up, gripping my shoulders and his huge biceps bulged awesomely as he tried to push himself away from me, without success. I felt something pressing into my knee and realised that it was his "super" manhood, swollen to full size by the intimate embrace of his face.

"Are you comfortable in there, Turbo?" I asked.

"Mmmmph mmm mmph phmmm!" he yelled back.

"What's that?" I enquired. "You want me to squeeze you?"

"Mmmmmmmmph!"

"Oh, alright then." I used my upper arms against the outside of my mounds to gently push them closer to each other. Turbo-Boy's panicked attempts to get himself away from me intensified and I realised that I was really hurting him, pressing my soft (to me) breasts against his temples. By now, the poor lad's predicament had finally come to Ultragirl's attention. I noticed her poised to intervene, so I kept her busy by blowing another blast of superbreath at the still retreating soldiers, causing most of them to lose their footing and roll perilously close to the edge of the ravine.

Of course, Ultragirl immediately set about rescuing them, leaving me alone with her little friend once again. Meanwhile, Turbo's struggles were getting ever weaker (if that was possible) and his stifled cries were becoming increasingly half-hearted. I jiggled my upper body a little, making his head and his whole frame shake wildly. He was still vibrating when I stopped. I soon found out why.

Turbo's torso jerked violently against my stomach and he started to shake of his own accord. I felt a dramatic tensing of the muscles in his groin. "Mmmmggggggg!" he screamed (or something like that anyway) as he soaked the front of his costume with jet after jet of semen, still struggling (albeit rather pathetically by then) to release his head from its prison.

"Oh dear, Turbie!" I tutted. "You've made a complete mess of yourself. That really wasn't very heroic, was it?" He didn't even manage so much as a "Mmph" in reply. I squeezed my chest a little bit harder with my arms, transferring millions of pounds per square inch of pressure through my breasts to his skull. His fists beat weakly against my shoulders a couple of times, so I tightened my embrace of myself (and, by extension, of his head).

Suddenly, he stopped hitting me. He stopped doing anything. His arms fell away, hanging limp by his sides. The tip of his cock was no longer pressing the sticky dampness of his costume into my leg. He was just hanging from my cleavage like a dead weight. I used a single hand on the back of his head to pull him out and found out why. He was a dead weight.

His face was bruised almost black. His eyes were open wide, a shocked expression permanently frozen in them. I could have sworn that his head looked a little narrower than before, especially from the ears up. I held his limp body up high, my arm fully extended with my left hand around his neck.

"Hey, Ultragirl!" I called out. She was out of sight, helping the last of the soldiers to safety at the bottom of the ravine under the bridge. I've got to admit, that was a clever move. I couldn't make any of them fall from there. When she flew back up, I proudly showed her what was left of her sidekick. "I'm afraid I broke your toy." I said, flinging his useless corpse away with a casual flick of my wrist. It soared off into the distance.

Ultragirl hesitated for a moment before screaming "No! No! No!" Then, she glared at me. "You'll pay for that, you murderous bitch!" she hissed. At last, the men were out of the picture. It was time for the real contest of power. Finally, we faced each other: Ultragirl and me.

And that's where I'll leave it for today. I do love suspense!

Thursday 31 March 2005 23:14 GMT

So, continuing where I left off yesterday...

Ultragirl's cry was barely past her lips, and Turbo-Boy's body was still falling towards the ground in the distance when she came at me. She flew, faster than I'd seen her do it on our previous encounters, right at me. Not making the same mistake as her erstwhile colleague, she attacked feet first, her boots coming for me like twin missiles.

I could tell her anger was lending her power, and I braced myself, expecting the strongest impact of my life. And that's just what I got. She must have struck me hard enough to split the entire planet open! Her soles slammed into my flat slender belly with a Bang! that echoed through the landscape, making the bridge shake with the ferocity of a seismic event.

The only problem (from Ultragirl's perspective) was that I was ready for it. Sure, I felt the twin smack in the stomach (felt it pretty intensely, actually), but it didn't knock me back. My slim body remained rooted to the spot. Instead it was her who moved, bouncing back from me almost as fast as she had arrived.I heard her cry of "Ooof" as the shock of the collision registered with her. I managed not only to remain silent, but also to keep any acknowledgement of the tremendous force she had used from my face. She regained control and flew at me once more, this time aiming her boot-soles at my head.

She didn't hit me so hard that time. The sound wasn't as dramatic and the feeling was impressive, but easily manageable. My face bore the assault without me noticing significant discomfort. She didn't rebound so far either, quickly spinning in the air to attack again. Now she flew headfirst, her hands outstretched. She placed them around my neck and squeezed, using her powers of flight to lift me from the bridge at the same time.

She was trying to strangle me, but I found I could breathe easily (not that I needed to, anyway, but it was interesting to see that she was failing to restrict my throat). If anything, her hands felt good against my skin. I reached up to grab her around the waist, pulling my body towards hers. Immediately, she let go of my neck and started to fly higher and higher.

It was absolutely thrilling, riding on Ultragirl as she took us both up into the atmosphere. She's obviously accustomed to the gravitational forces associated with rapid ascent. I'm less so, but I found the sensation wonderful. I pulled myself tighter and tighter towards her, feeling my large breasts pressing against her own mighty chest, her superhuman body compressing my own very slightly in a way that poor old Turbo-Boy's could not.

I found myself getting increasingly turned on as we soared. I started to use my hands on Ultragirl's waist to move her body against mine. Our chests rubbed together hard (hard enough, I'm sure, for us to have crushed diamonds between them) and every time one of my nipples touched one of hers a jolt of pure sexual pleasure ripped through me.

Her hands were on top of mine now, trying to prise me off her, but I held on tight. Still she carried us both ever higher, reaching now towards the very edge of space. I was practically writhing around on her, pressing my body against hers, rubbing myself on her, marvelling at the way her wondrous, so-feminine-yet-so-hard curves felt. My eyes were shut as I concentrated on the sensations within. In so many ways I felt close to heaven.
I don't know why, but for some reason, I opened my eyes. And saw stars. They were faint, but unmistakable. It was the only time in my life I'd ever seen them during the day, and it brought home to me just how amazing our location was. And that's when the switch in my brain flicked over.

Ultragirl was flying, flying us, into outer space! I wasn't flying. She was. I can't fly. What if we became separated? I mean, I'd no fears of the lack of air or pressure, but how would I get home? And then, suddenly, it occurred to me that Ultragirl might be planning to do just that. To leave me stranded, floating helplessly in the void.

In a moment that was the closest I've ever been to panic, I released my hug and, as quickly as possible, pushed myself away from her, making sure my back was to the world far, far below. I was still well within the bounds of its gravity and I was instantly, to my great relief, under its spell. I began the longest fall on Earth: the fall to Earth.

And that's a great place to leave things until next time...

 

 

April 2005

Friday 1 April 2005 17:12 GMT

Now, when I left off yesterday, I was several miles up, free-falling through the atmosphere.

I plunged Earthward, tearing through the clouds, feeling the exhilarating rush of the cold air racing past me. I've jumped out of aeroplanes before, but never from such a height. I knew the impact would be impressive. I was hoping for some rocky ground to land on as that's always more fun, but instead I saw a grassy field zooming to meet me below.

I hit the surface and just kept going, through the soil and the rocks beneath, my invulnerable body reducing everything in its path to dust until the resistance finally began to take its toll and slow me down. I came to a halt at the bottom of a crater that measured twenty feet deep and thirty feet wide, a shower of pulverised stone and dirt raining down on me. I stood up instantly, and brushed the debris from my hair.

Before I could even consider my next move, I heard the Whoosh! that announced Ultragirl's arrival on the scene. She was hovering about five feet from the ground, a couple of yards in front of me, her hands on her lovely, shapely hips. "You should be dead, bitch." was her angry salutation.

She dived at me, I ducked aside at superspeed and she ploughed a new hole in the rocks at the bottom of my crater. Before she had time to pull herself out, I grabbed her legs and yanked her out with a single hand. In a fraction of a second, I sat down, pulling her body to my thighs so that she was lying across my lap.

Smiling at the thought of what I was about to do, I opened my hand and slapped it hard against her fantastically rounded, harder-than-steel rear. She yelped in shock, and no doubt, more than a little pain. "That's for trying to take me into space." I told her. Then, I smacked her again. "And that's for interfering in my business. And this-" I gave her a third spank, much harder than the first two, which made her cry out "-is for fun."

After that, she was so shocked, I was able to stand up, using one hand to toss her aside. My casual throw left her buried headfirst, up to her shoulders, in crushed stone. She took a second or two to extricate herself. When she did, I saw that her face was the deep red tone of a girl who knew she'd been humiliated.

"I'd love to stick around," I told her, "but I wouldn't like you to take me to the stars again. I guess you and I just weren't meant to be together. Such a shame. We could've been something special." With that I brought my hand up to my mouth, planting a slow and sexy kiss on my fingertips. I turned my palm and blew over it, carrying the kiss to Ultragirl.

Of course, I made sure I blew hard enough to knock her off her feet once more, leaving her sitting on her already well-punished backside. And with that, I turned on my heels and walked calmly from the scene. As I expected, Ultragirl didn't even try to follow me.

I certainly won't be seeking her out again. I've no intention of becoming a permanent satellite. And I doubt she'll want another beating from me, either. I guess, I'll have to stick to ordinary, fragile men rather than super women in future if I want to get my kicks. Maybe one day, Ultragirl will change her attitude and become my lover.

Until then, all I have is the memory of those wonderful moments in the clouds when I pressed her body against mine. A beautiful body. That didn't dissolve into paste in my arms. Oh, Ultragirl! Will you ever love me?

Monday 4 April 2005 17:41 BST (GMT+1)

So, I've had a whole weekend to reflect on my meetings with Ultragirl. Mostly, I've been reflecting with my fingers, but I've also used a diamond-tipped hammer-drill. And that's not all...

On Saturday, travelling across the U.S. before my final swim home, I broke into the storage area on a major construction site and smashed my hand through the side of a steel safe, "liberating" a small amount of plastic explosive. I detonated it last night. You could call it a "controlled" explosion. Only the smoke curling between my fingers as they gripped my crotch revealed that a bomb powerful enough to have blasted a twenty foot hole in a solid rock wall had gone off inside me.

Although that was fun, it wasn't a fraction of the pleasure I felt rubbing against Ultragirl. It's frustrating: if I don't want the risk of being carried out of Earth's gravitational field and left to drift endlessly in space, I have to continue trying to squeeze my gratification out of weak, fragile men. Or power-tools. Or explosives...

Tomorrow, to take my mind off thoughts of what might have been and what should be, I'm planning a special party. There's only one invited guest: me. Everyone else there won't have a choice about attending. Should be a laugh!

Tuesday 5 April 2005 19:51 BST (GMT+1)

Well, I'm a bit disappointed this evening. I had high hopes for today's activity but they weren't fulfilled.

Some background: It seems my local amateur football club is getting desperate. They're almost bottom of their league and they've recently lost most of their best players (two went to a better team, one quit due to work commitments and the leading scorer broke his pelvis on Monday. Maybe I was pounding a bit too hard, but he needn't have screamed so much...)

Anyway, they were holding an open trial this morning in the ridiculous hope that they might discover some hidden talent in the community. Eight guys turned up, ages ranging from late teens to early forties, abilities raging from very very small to non-existent. I doubt if any of them would have made the grade, but it doesn't matter. The club's run of bad luck struck again, and the event was a complete disaster.

Just after all the trialists were sent into the spartan dressing room and asked to change, a huge tree inexplicably collapsed, its trunk snapping clean in half so that it fell right in front of the changing room door, trapping everyone inside. Fortunately, no-one saw me leaning on the tree, pushing it with one hand until the wood simply yielded to my strength.

Whilst the club officials called the emergency services, I leapt onto the roof. Bending down, I peeled a section of steel sheeting away as if it was paper, stripped off my clothes and jumped down amongst the surprised men. Selecting one of them I liked the look of, I advanced on him, pushing him back against a wall.

He tried to push me away without success. He tried to duck away and I leant in, pinning him with my naked chest. He tried to hit me and hurt his fists. He tried to kick me and damaged his feet. The other men got involved, trying to pull me away. A casual swing of my arms sent three of them flying away, not to get up again. The others I just ignored.

My man was only wearing underpants. My fingernails sliced through the elastic waistband and the material fluttered down to his ankles. I closed my fingers gently around his throbbing member, bringing it quickly to full size before guiding it as I lifted myself onto it. Then I pumped away for a bit until his chest was heavily bruised and tears were forming in his eyes.

Reaching behind me, I grabbed hold of a shocked spectator and slammed him up against the wall next to my first lover. Stripping number two, I found he needed no further encouragement before I could force myself onto him. I rode him a for a while, paying no attention to the sounds of an electric saw working outside.

I became aware of a persistent tapping on my back, and, glancing over my shoulder saw that one of the remaining men was throwing studded football boots at me. Without interrupting my rhythmic thrusting, I blew him a kiss that lifted him from the ground and smashed him into the far wall hard enough to knock him out cold.

The sight of a man helplessly tossed around by my breath was stimulating and as I turned back and saw the pain on the face of the man I was riding, I came to a small orgasm (knocking my second lover unconscious as I trembled in mild delight). I was ready for more, but realising that the door was shortly going to be opened, I decided to leave early.

I leapt back up through the hole I'd made in the roof then bent the steel sheeting back into place before putting my clothes back on. I left not completely happy. First of all, I'd left two guys still walking, which was a shame, and the most of the others will have come round fairly soon after I left. And secondly, I didn't really get to satisfy my needs: the two men combined managed to give me about a tenth of the pleasure I felt just rubbing against Ultragirl.

I'll have to find out if they're holding any more trials. Maybe next time I can do things properly.

Wednesday 6 April 2005 18:41 BST (GMT+1)

So, Ultragirl finally recovered enough from her humiliation to post her version of the other week's events. Good to see that she knows I got the better of her. If only she would surrender to her true feelings towards me!

In other news, the local paper has a lovely article about the incident at the football club. Apparently, the police say the tree fell so hard, the impact shook the dressing room causing a variety of injuries to the triallists inside. Yeah, right!

Anyway, I've been invited to a party. The guy downstairs (the one who wanted to get me a job in the music business, presumably in the hope that, in return, I would let him approach my perfect body without killing him) pushed a little card under my door this morning.

Apparently, he's having some friends and colleagues 'round "for a wild time" tonight. I might just make his dreams come true and put in an appearance. Of course, it won't be in the way he's expecting...

Thursday 7 April 2005 08:51 BST (GMT+1)

What a lousy party! I should have known that a stupid, pathetic man like my downstairs "music business" neighbour would only have stupid pathetic friends. That's why I didn't stay very long.

I decided to gatecrash the get-together, even though I wasn't invited. Of course, there's no actual gates in our flats, so I door-crashed instead. Starting about two steps from his front entrance, I ran. The wooden door didn't slow me in the slightest. The front of my body slammed into it, ripping its heavy steel hinges clean in half. The detached panel flew into the apartment, knocking a trio of partygoers over immediately.

I kept running, hurdling the length of the fallen door and the three men on the ground. I was going too fast for "normal" eyes and brains to follow as I sprinted into the main room. There were about twenty people in there, mostly clustered around a long table that had been covered with drinks and a few party snacks.

My extremely-rapid passage created a strong gust of displaced air which scattered quite a number of party guests. They fell like bowling pins, pushing others over on their way down. That was a pretty funny sight, but I didn't hang about to observe it. I leapt onto the table, pressing down with my feet so that its legs immediately snapped and its contents were sent flying around the room.

Glass smashed against the walls as a dozen bottles shot around the room, splashes of alcohol soaking anyone who hadn't already lost their footing. A lot of beer cans burst open too, their contents spraying like sprinklers on a summer lawn. Canopes splattered on the expensive clothes of the terrified people.

I saw at least four guests getting speared by cocktail sticks, but I was moving so fast, their faces were only just beginning to contort in pain and their mouths barely starting to change into scream-shape. It would have made for a wonderful photo, but by then, I was already leaving the room.

I passed the bathroom. The door had been left open and I could see that the bath had been filled with cold water in which ice cubes, beer cans and four or five champagne bottles floated. I blew a very quick blast of hyper-cold superbreath at the tub, freezing its contents into a solid block. I imagine it'll take two men with chisels and hairdryers about six hours to get at the booze. They'll find it ruined, anyway.

I maintained the high pace of my charge through the flat. In the kitchen I found the host with a group of his cronies. They'd been startled by all the noise are were just starting to look up from the work-top they were crowded around. My neighbour hadn't yet had time to remove the rolled up banknote from his nostril.

If I didn't already know what they were up to, I got a big clue as the wind of my passage blew a cloud of white powder up into the air. I sucked all the cocaine into my lungs, making sure not a grain remained on the table before snatching the money out of the host's nose. I must've done it a bit roughly, because I tore the end of his nostril and had to remove a little piece of flesh that was stuck to the note as I pocketed it.

After that, I reached the back door, kicking it down as I ran without breaking my supersonic stride. I raced down the fire-escape stairs far too quickly to be seen, let alone followed, chuckling to myself.

About a quarter of an hour later, I walked casually and calmly back into the building through the main entrance and went up to my flat. I couldn't help but notice the two ambulances parked outside and the men carrying laden stretchers down the stairs. The bemused party-thrower was standing in the corridor, blood flowing in a cascade from his nose as a paramedic tried to examine his wound.

"Good party, was it?" I asked him. He didn't reply.

Monday 11 April 2005 17:38 BST (GMT+1)

"Do you mind if I can ask to buy you a drink?"

That was the overly polite chat-up line used on me by a cute, well-built young man in his early twenties who approached me in the City wine bar where I was hanging out last Friday evening. I made a show of checking him out from head to foot and back again (pausing both times at his groin) before answering "What if I do mind?"

"Then, I'm sorry," he said, "but I had to ask. I've never seen anyone as beautiful as you." I gave him a "yeah, sure, I get that all the time" look (which didn't require much effort on my part). Unperturbed, he went on "Seriously. You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen." I pretended to suppress a yawn.

"I'd like to spend the rest of my life worshipping you." he blurted, clearly seeing how ineffective his speech had been up to that point. I smiled, perhaps too broadly.

"That can be arranged." I said simply. Being just a man, he missed the meaning of both my words and my smile. When I stepped back from the bar and instructed him "Follow me", he got up immediately. Half an hour later, we were walking up the steps to the entrance to my building. We went upstairs, past the door to my flat, and on, to the floor above.

I flung open the door to my playroom. He gasped in surprise as he looked around. I had to give him a shove to get him inside, my gentle push enough to lift him off his feet and send him, yelling, to sprawl momentarily against the padding on the far wall before he slid down to the soft mats on the floor.

"What's going on?" he asked, suddenly sounding scared.

"I'm making your wish come true." I explained. "You're going to spend the rest of your life worshipping me." I grabbed an iron rod with one hand and both of his wrists with the other, making short work of binding his hands to one of the many metal rings high on the wall. Leaving him hanging like a piece of meat in a cold-room, I locked the door on my way out.

Next time, I'll reveal what happened when I went up to see my guest on Saturday morning.

Tuesday 12 April 2005 17:44 BST (GMT+1)

"On your knees, male!"'

That's what I commanded my guest, just after I'd gone into the playroom on Saturday morning. I lifted him down off his hook with one hand and tossed him, with a flick of my delicate-looking wrist, clear across the room to bounce off the far wall with an "Oooof!".

He started to stand. "What the hell's going on? I'm going home!" he wheezed. In a second I was standing in front of him. A tiny touch with my index finger on his shoulder pushed him down onto his rear.

"I said, 'On your knees!'" I repeated.

"How the fuck did you-" he never finished his question. I took a half-step, keeping my bare foot raised. Pointing my toes, I pressed them down, lightly, on his chest. Just enough to drive all the air from his body, depriving him of the ability to speak. Or make any intelligible noise. Almost immediately, his face began to turn blue.

I increased the pressure on his upper body, stopping just short of breaking a few of his ribs. "Next time you speak out of turn, I'll break something. Do you understand?"

There was no response. I pressed my toes down a tiny bit more and was rewarded with the familiar creaking sound of part of a man's fragile skeleton about to snap. The skin of his chest beneath my foot was already bruising impressively. "Answer me!" I ordered. "Do you understand?" He nodded furiously.

I lifted my foot and he gulped down air enthusiastically, rubbing the blackening area of his upper torso. "Now, on your knees!"'

"I... don't.... want.... to.... play.... this.... game," he spluttered between laboured breaths.

"Game?" I responded, almost laughing. "This is no game!" I bent down, grabbing hold of his arm just below the shoulder with my left hand. As I stood, he came up with me. I continued to raise my hand, lifting his entire body with it until he was on tiptoes, his weight completely supported by my unbreakable grip and my slender arm. Then I raised my arm a bit more so that he dangled, utterly helplessly from my hand.

I tossed him upwards so that he bounced hard off the padded ceiling before crashing down with a yell onto the mat-covered floor. There were a couple of big, new bruises on his body. I think he was on the verge of crying. I stepped towards him. "No! Please! No!" he cried as I reached for him once more.

Ignoring his pleas and his yelps of pain, I picked him up by his ankle, swinging him around my head a couple of times before releasing him and letting him fly across the room and impact with the far wall. I was standing over him before he even crashed down. Now, he actually was crying.

"On your knees, male!" I commanded for the third time. This time, however, I was obeyed. Despite my pupil's obvious pain, fear and confusion, my lesson had, at last, sunk in. "Now, worship me."

He didn't know what to do. I saw the wonderful panic on his face as terror took over. He was desperate not to displease me, but completely clueless how he could manage it. Then, he seemed to reach a decision.

Staying kneeling, he bowed his head placing his chin just an inch from my feet, his eyes straining to look up at me, seeking my approval. I kept my face expressionless as he started to kiss my feet. Emboldened, he continued to press his lips repeatedly on my toes. After a couple of minutes, he paused, his neck clearly stiff.

"I didn't tell you to stop." I said. He immediately continued his ministrations. I let him go on for about a quarter-of-an-hour. Then, without warning, I just lifted my foot slightly as he went to embrace it once again. That tiny movement was enough to lift his head so high, his body flipped over, leaving him lying on his back. He was out cold. His nose and lips were bleeding, and he had lost quite a few teeth. Just from a flick of my dainty toes!

I picked up his comatose form and hung him back on the wall to sleep it off. In fact, I didn't go back to see him until the evening. Next time, I'll tell you what we got up to then.

Wednesday 13 April 2005 21:06 BST (GMT +1)

So, Saturday night I woke my guest from his slumber only to have to listen to him moaning about how the cuts on his face hurt, how he thought his nose was broken and how he wanted to go home now.

"Have you already forgotten what I told you this morning about speaking without permission?" I asked, tapping my foot impatiently whilst my hands rested dominantly on my hips.

"Please let me go home." His words were pathetic and croaky.

"Evidently you forgotten." I said. I reached up to bring him down off the hook his bound wrists were hanging from but instead of placing his feet on the ground, I chucked him over my shoulder. He hit the wall about five yards behind me hard enough to reopen the wounds on his face. He left a small red splash where he impacted on the padding and another on the gym mat on the floor where he landed.

I walked over to where he was lying in a heap and with a gentle touch of my toes, knocked him over so that he was lying on his back. Of course even that insignificant contact made him cry out. I could see tears beginning to flow from the corners of his eyes.

"What are you crying for, you big baby?" I demanded. "You said you wanted to worship me for the rest of your life. Now I give you the honour of doing just that and all you can do is blub and moan!

"I... I'm sorry." he sniffled. "Please don't hurt me a-" I didn't let him finish. Another tiny, effortless flick of my pretty toes sent him rolling, out of control until he bounced off the wall on the far side of the room.

"When will you learn?" I asked, in a patronising tone. "Don't speak out of turn!" Unsurprisingly, there was no reply. I made my way to the corner where he was lying. As I approached I heard the sound of his blood pumping in his veins and smelt the excess sweat that revealed his increasing fear. His face when I stopped, looking directly down on him, was a portrait of sheer terror (well, a portrait of sheer terror streaked with a mixture of dried and fresh blood). It was hard not to laugh when I saw it.

He was obviously expecting more pain. He was confused for a moment when I slowly started to remove my clothes and toss them aside. Then the usual male reactions started. The rapid breathing. The growing bulge in his groin... I ignored them, continuing to strip.

When I was completely naked, I stood with my legs slightly apart, my hands on my hips and my chest slightly thrust out. My prostrate friend's eyes looked ready to burst from his skull as they struggled to take in the sight I was offering them. "Kneel before me." I commanded. Without any hesitation (just winces of pain) he obeyed.

"Now, praise my beauty and my strength." There was a pause, the instruction clearly catching him by surprise. I saw in his eyes the frantic search for appropriate words that was taking place in his brain.

Finally, he began. "You are the most physically perfect being I have ever seen. Your body is a work of art that surpasses all human endeavour. In all the universe there is no sight that could compare with the vision that I now behold.." he glanced up at me, scanning my face for any sign of approval or disapproval. I gave him none.

He went on: "It is an honour far beyond what I deserve to be allowed to look upon your glorious body. Your beauty is greater than anything anyone has ever -"

"You already said that." I interrupted. "Speak of my strength now."

"Your strength is greater than any person. It is the match of any-"

I stopped him mid-sentence with a derisive snort. "You cannot compare my strength with that of mere men!"

"Sorry... Your strength is greater than the mightiest river. Your power exceeds anything I can imagine. There is nothing that could challenge you in this-"

"Enough. Your pathetic words are boring me. Show your devotion by masturbating at my feet." If he was shocked by the order, he hid it well. In fact, he complied with alacrity. Within half-a-minute, he had splashed the floor in front of him with quite a few blobs of his juice. "Now, lick it up." I commanded. And he did. Every drop.

When he was done, I bent down, grabbing hold of the iron hook that was wrapped around his forearms. With one hand, I lifted him completely off the ground, letting him dangle from my fingers as I carried him over to the wall. Then I hung him back on his hook, turned and left.

I was in a good mood after that. It's always nice to be complimented.

Thursday 14 April 2005 19:03 BST (GMT +1)

Just back from Evening Service, and feeling great.

That's the evening service in my honour, you understand. My little friend upstairs has shown a growing creative ability since the weekend, thinking up a whole variety of new ways to praise me. So much so, that I've decided to keep him around for the time being. Normally, of course, I'd have become bored with the same male by now, but, like I said, this one appears to have a decent imagination (for a mere man).

Admittedly, he has an incentive (or two). He knows he gets badly hurt when he disobeys me and he knows he doesn't get his bread or his water if I don't like one of his prayers to me. I see it like this: it's enough of a chore keeping a pet what with letting him use the toilet once a day and having his blood and other bodily fluids soil my playroom. The least I can expect in return is a couple of half-hour sessions each day of him worshipping me.

Besides, as he's just hanging on a hook with his wrists bound in iron the rest of the time, he's got nothing better to do than think up prayers to offer his gorgeous, superhuman goddess. At least he does it fairly well.

Sadly, the time will soon come when I'll have to make a decision. The poor, pathetic creature seems to be getting weaker by the hour. Either I'll let him fulfil his ambition to worship me for the rest of his life or I'll set him free to crawl off to a hospital. As I don't really care enough either way, I think I'll toss a coin...

Friday 15 April 2005 17:44 BST (GMT +1)

Today was a cold, wet one here. The sort of day I like to take advantage of the lack of potential witnesses to acts of vandalism in the park...

When I went around ten in the morning, the place was absolutely deserted. The teahouse, which only recently reopened after I destroyed it by throwing trees on to its glass roof, was shut, with a sign on the door (which I read from two hundred yards away) reading "Tues 12th April: Tea room closed due to illness. Business as usual tomorrow." Obviously, someone had been more ill (or lazy) than they had originally planned to be. I also spotted the three CCTV cameras that have been set up to overlook the building.

As there was no-one about, I didn't have to take care. I ran towards the first camera at superspeed, leaping from twenty yards away to land on top of the lens unit, which was attached to the side of the building, about fifteen feet above the ground. A gentle tap with one of my fingers reduced the electronic eye to fragments. Immediately, I jumped down and, as fast as only I can, took out camera number 2 by casually tossing a pebble at it. For those interested, that easy flick of my wrist turned the small stone into a supersonic missile probably capable of downing an aeroplane...

The third camera exploded in shards of glass and plastic about a hundredth of a second later when, standing underneath it, I tilted my head back and spat. That liquid missile was only slightly less powerful than the pebble had been. Anyway, the result was that I managed to destroy the surveillance system before it could even register my beautiful image on a single frame of recording.

After that, I could take my time. I started by walking up to the side wall. I just kept strolling, hands nonchalantly hanging by my sides, as if the cement and brick barrier wasn't there. For all the effect it had, it might as well not have been. My body just ploughed through the bricks, effortlessly pushing some aside and reducing others to powder. A huge pile of displaced bits of wall crashed into the inside of the building, announcing my entrance.

I kept on walking in a straight line. Anything in my way (four tables, twelve chairs and a concrete pillar to be precise) was smashed, broken, crushed or just knocked away by my harder than steel legs, groin, belly, chest and head. It was fun! I reached the counter and watched as the thick wood splintered and snapped against my waist without even altering my stride.

A huge metal coffee urn that was in my path flattened as if it was made of aluminium foil as it became trapped between my flat abdomen and the wall behind it. A second later, much of it just vaporised under the tremendous pressure I was exerting before the bricks it was being mashed into gave up their pointless resistance and surrendered to my advancing body.

The wall burst away from me, leaving me, two steps later, standing outside the tea house once more, my feet buried up to the ankles in smashed brick. My next stride brushed the debris from my path. Over my shoulder, I saw the path of destruction through the building that I had created. It made me feel proud to see the devastation I'd caused, especially when I contrasted it with the unscratched perfection of my body. After that, I made my way, unhurriedly, home, letting the rain wash the brick and plaster dust from my hair and clothes.

Oh, and if anyone's interested (I know I'm not) the coin came up heads which meant I carried my worshipper out of the flat last night, having made sure he was good and unconscious by just giving him the softest of hugs. (It really was just a little squeeze, and I was amazed that a couple of his ribs broke against my breasts, but that's men I guess...) Anyway, I dumped him with the rubbish sacks outside. He wasn't there this morning, so I assume he woke up and managed to crawl away. Or someone took him away. Who cares anyway!

Monday 18 April 2005 17:18 BST (GMT+1)

There was an interesting headline in my local paper at the weekend: "'Haunted' Historical Tearooms To Be Bulldozed."

Yes, once again, the best the press could come up with as an explanation for my activities was the supernatural. According to the article, after 140-odd years of excruciatingly boring history, the cafe in the park has "recently been the scene of a series of bizarre, unexplained phenomena, culminating in last week's horrendous destruction. Now local officials want it pulled down permanently."

There was a nice description of my handiwork: "The building looked as if a small train had been driven through it at high speed." No, guys. It wasn't a runaway express. It was something vastly more powerful (and better looking... and harder to control).

No doubt, it'll take a whole gang of men weeks to complete the demolition work. I'd do it myself in about two-and-a-half seconds with a puff of breath, but it'll be more fun to wait until the all workers are on site before I pay my next visit to the scene.

Hopefully, they'll start this week sometime. I could do with the amusement. Last weekend was as tedious as any I can remember. The only fun I had was with a guy who approached me on the street trying to sell me tickets to some concert. That was over far too quickly. (Not the concert, but the fun.) Two minutes after I met the guy he was naked, unconcious and bleeding in an alley and I was forty yards away with his tickets, wishing he'd managed to give me more than one tiny orgasm before he passed out. I wasn't even that rough with him.

Tuesday 19 April 2005 17:52 BST (GMT+1)

Picture the scene if you will. A deserted road on the outskirts of town at around 1 am last night. There's me, strolling along the pavement, as gorgeous as ever in a tight white sleeveless T-shirt and jeans, impervious to the near-freezing night time temperature.

In the distance, the sound of a motorbike. You can't hear it because your ears are about a thousandth as sensitive as mine, but trust me: it's there. The sound is getting louder. If I turned around, I would be able to see it, despite the dark. You, of course, still can't see or hear anything.

Eventually, the two-stroke engine gets close enough even for a normal person to notice its sound. I don't turn around. The noise becomes almost deafening. The bike draws level and, unsurprisingly given the fact that the rider is male, slows down to crawl as it passes me. The guy on board twists his neck as far as he can to stretch the moment when his eyes feast on my figure.

He's clad completely in not-very-tight black bikers' leathers. His helmet is black, the visor shaded. In truth, the only way I can be absolutely sure of his sex is by his smell. Until he speaks.

Are you picturing the scene? OK, this is what happened:

To my shock and disgust, he made a proposition: "Hey babe, I'll give you a ride if you suck me off."

"You pig!" I said, and took a step angrily towards him. In a flash, he hit his engine and roared away down the road. He'd have been out of sight of an ordinary person in three seconds. But for me, he was well within sight. And well within catching distance. I set off at a jog, in pursuit.

In no time at all, I was closing the gap between us. The racket of his motor was in stark contrast to my silent barefoot steps. Plus, the engine was working at its full capacity while I was taking it easy. As I got really close, the rider must've spotted me in his mirror. He turned around, perhaps to confirm that he wasn't hallucinating and that he was, indeed, being chased by a babe doing eighty-miles an hour.

Then he righted his body to concentrate on the road ahead, gunning the bike and leaning forward. He accelerated about another twenty mph, meaning I had to put a tiny bit more effort into my casual jog to catch up with him. I wasn't even short of breath (in fact, I sighed theatrically as I sped up).

I grabbed the back of the bike with the fingers of my right hand and stopped it dead in its tracks as easily as I would have stopped a slowly rolling beach ball. Of course the abrupt deceleration of the motorbike (from 100 to zero in 0.001 seconds) was not shared by its rider. He sailed over his handlebars, flying down the road as if trying to continue his journey without a vehicle.

I knew his passage through the air would be short lived and would end badly for him. Letting go of the bike, I sprinted beneath him as his reached the peak of the arc of his flight. As he started to come down, I had turned around and was waiting for him, hands on my hips.

Letting him crash into me head first would have been even worse for him than hitting the tarmac. His helmet wouldn't have helped one little bit. I was tempted (very tempted) to let it happen, but took another course of action instead. At the very instant of the first impact, I started to step backwards, keeping my hands on my hips but moving my body to absorb the worst of the collision.

He hit me square on the chest. His head would have been pushed completely into his body if I hadn't backed away so expertly. As it was, he was knocked out instantly, my large breasts proving too hard, even for his helmet which cracked badly where it slammed into me. I allowed him to slump to the ground, deeply unconscious but still alive.

Walking down the road, I retrieved his bike, lifting the heavy machine with a single hand and carrying it back to its owner like it was as heavy as a bag of chips. Then I set to work, remoulding it. The steel yielded noisily, but easily to my petite hands. In less than a minute, I had reduced a state-of-the-art motorbike to a football-sized sphere of junk metal.

I placed the new sculpture on the chest of the sleeping rider. Although I hadn't even noticed its mass as I worked it between my hands, the weight of the lump of compressed metal pressed down on him, restricting his breathing slightly. I walked off without giving him or his ex-bike a second glance.

Wednesday 20 April 2005 17:36 BST (GMT+1)

Today there was some lovely spring sunshine in town. I had planned to go shopping in the West End, but even I am not immune to the charms of spending a few hours lying on the grass, soaking up a few rays.

Of course, I don't tan. I don't even get warm walking through fire. More than a few times, for various reasons (usually the pursuit of a good time), I've climbed inside an industrial furnace. The thousand-degree height feels warm, but not uncomfortable. And, even after a couple of hours, there isn't a mark on my skin. The one time I did it clothed, there was nothing left of my garments but ash, but I was still fine. So, a little bit of sun certainly couldn't change my skin-tone.

By the way, there's probably at least one idiot reading this thinking "yeah, Blogger, you survived a conventional oven, but what about a microwave?" Well, don't waste your precious brain cells. Someone's already tried it. A guy who seriously thought he could "get rid of me". He hatched a mega-complex plan which involved luring me into a badly-disguised, custom built, giant microwave cooker.

Of course, I realised what was going on well in time to do something about it, but I went willingly into the huge radiation chamber just to prove a point. (And also because I thought it might be a laugh. It wasn't.) The microwaves did nothing much for me, and they certainly didn't hurt. As for my would-be assassin.... well, watching me burst out of the thick steel sides of that over-sized oven was the last thing he ever did.

Anyway, compared with that, I shouldn't even feel the sun, but it's strange. I can definitely feel the warmth of Earth's star in my body and I always feel even more great than usual when I sunbathe. I'm always fresh, so I can't be refreshed, but that's what it's like.

Some years ago, shortly after my eighteenth birthday, I broke into a government research institute and took a couple of scientists hostage. It was mostly just fun (I forced the experts to try and invent something that could hurt me. Of course, they couldn't) but I also asked them a few more serious questions.

Amongst other things, we discussed the particular way I feel in the sun. One of the two men suggested that it might be because my superhuman body is powered by solar energy. Unfortunately, a gentle (as far as I was concerned) bout of love-making left him in a coma and he never got to run the tests he was planning. After that, I didn't bother much more with scientists.

I never got my answer. Thinking about just how good I feel right now after a few hours in the sun, maybe I should try and find someone else to do those tests...

Thursday 21 April 2005 21:43 BST (GMT+1)

Where does a girl like me find a scientist with access to a really well-equipped laboratory? Not easy, is it? I mean, the kind of guy I'm looking for doesn't hang out in bars...

In the end, I went to the one place I knew my search would succeed. A lab. Not just any lab, of course. A top secret government lab that "hardly anyone" knows about. Fortunately one of the very few people who is aware of it is a top-ranking civil servant I met about six months ago. He's a strange old man, but he was more than happy to share a dozen-or-so State secrets with me in exchange for the honour of getting close to my body. Later, he shared several dozen more secrets in exchange for me allowing him to get away from my body before it crushed his out of existence...

Anyway, I just walked up to the inconspicuous gates and waited to be noticed. Soon enough, a large man in a security guard's uniform appeared and called out to me. He asked me what I was doing. I told him, taking off my T-shirt, that I was looking for a man to show me a good time. Thirty seconds later, he was lying on the ground, his clothes in torn strips hanging off his body or littering the dirt around it whilst I bounced happily up and down, taking his impressive erection in and out of myself at about double the "normal" human speed.

Needless to say, he came quickly. A light tap of my little finger on the top of his head left him in extended dreamland before his weedy male orgasm had completely subsided. Climbing off him, I took a moment to add to the work he'd done, my fingers bringing me the satisfaction that seems to be beyond the vast majority of men. Then I put my clothes back on, leapt over the ten-foot gate without breaking stride and strolled down the path to the building beyond.

I found the security guards' hut at the end of that path, right in front of a huge steel barrier just yards in front of the only major building in sight. Immediately, another well-built guy left the hut and walked up to me. I mirrored his approach, but kept on going after he'd stopped so that when I finally came to a halt, our chests were almost touching. He seemed awkward about the disregard for his personal space and I didn't exactly put him at ease by making sure my fragrant breath washed over his face when I spoke.

"How do you fancy spending some quality time with me?" I asked him, provocatively. All his vital signs (heart-rate, breathing, sweat glands) showed that he was interested in the proposition. Very interested, in fact.

But, he was a professional. "I... I can't I'm on duty. What about later? I finish at ele-aaaaagh!" I cut off his answer and made him scream by grabbing loosely hold of the end of his ready-for-action erection through his jeans.

"Later's not good for me," I told him truthfully as I kept my grip on him and took a step forwards, forcing him to take a matching step back. I kept on advancing. He tried to push against me for a moment, but his efforts made no difference to me. I could see tears forming in his eyes from the pain I was causing with my thumb and forefinger. Still I pushed him back, carefully steering him into the guards' hut.

Once we were inside, I released his penis and shoved him very carefully in the belly, making him fly, rump-first, into a nearby chair. He remained seated as he regained his composure and his breath. Looking around the little room, I saw nothing unusual. A tabloid newspaper, open on a page containing a large photograph of a topless model (not a patch on me!), a kettle with coffee- and tea-making equipment, a tiny fridge, a bank of CCTV monitors and a PC.

"Hey!" my new friend said, once he had enough air to speak. "You're not supposed to come in here. You've got to go, right now."

"Can't do that." I said. "I've got a couple of things to do first."

"No, you haven't," he contradicted, rising to his feet.

"I didn't say you could stand up." I told him.

"Right!" he exclaimed, as if he'd just come to some sort of a decision. "You've had your fun. Now it's time to go." He reached for me with both arms. I think he was planning to grab me by the waist and pick me up to carry me outside. I grabbed one of his wrists and jerked it, bringing him crashing down, noisily, onto his knees. He cried out in pain. "What...the...fu-?" he started to say.

I interrupted him to ask, casually, with a nod in the direction of the PC, "Does that have internet access?" He didn't answer at first, so I gave his wrist a little squeeze until it started to crunch and he yelled out in agony. "Does that have internet access?" I repeated.

"Yes... yes..." he answered. "Please... let go... you're hurting me..."

"Oh, don't be such a baby." I chastised him. I moved towards the computer.

"You can't use that." my man said, painfully. "Only authorised u-"

Crunch! An effortless application of pressure took care of the rest of the bones in his thick, muscular wrist. "I just authorised myself." I explained, once his shouts died down. I kept hold of his now rather floppy wrist as I sat down at the terminal. There was a window on-screen, requesting a password for access. "What's the password?" I asked.

"I can't tell you. I'm not al-" A simple pull on his busted forearm brought his entire body towards mine, creating fresh cries of agony. With him close enough now, I let go of his wrist and grabbed hold of him by the belt of his trousers. With one hand, I hoisted him over my head, letting his legs and arms dangle either side of my slender upstretched arm. They didn't dangle for long, however. Soon he was trying all the usual helpless-man-tricks; hitting, kicking, pulling. All. of course, in vain. I waited for him to tire and asked him for the password again. "Who... who are you?" he panted.

"That's up to you." I answered. "You could tell me the password and I'll be the biggest thrill of your life. Or," I emphasised my point by lifting and lowering his huge bulk over my head a couple of times, talking as I moved his huge frame around to let him know just how easy it was for me to do, "I could be your worst, and last, nightmare. Your choice, big boy."

"Bart Simpson!" he yelled. "The password is Bart Simpson!"

"Is that all lower case?" I enquired, casually. He answered that without any prompting. Now, three minutes later, he's still folded over my little hand, his body draped over my arm, still suspended in the air above me. I've been holding him there with one hand and using the other to type since I started this blog entry. I've taken my time, as I don't want to damage the keyboard which is, after all, government property. Besides it's not like my arm's tiring or anything.

Now that I'm done, I'll post, then give my new friend his due reward before I set about my main task of finding me a late-working biologist. Needless to say, I'll let you know how it goes next time.

Friday 22 April 2005 17:07 BST (GMT+1)

When I finished last night's entry I was in a security guard's hut, holding one member of the protection team overhead with my spare arm.

Once I'd received confirmation that the post had gone through, I stood up, keeping my new friend suspended at arm's length. With my free hand, I tore through his thick leather belt and the waist bands of his trousers and underwear in an instant. I continued to tear until there was nothing left of the lower half of his clothes but a couple of strips of material. The lightest brushing of my hand over his groin brought him back to a fully erect state. I kept him dangling from my arm as I removed some of my own garments.

Remembering how I'd broken his wrist, I tried not to hurt him too much as I manoeuvred his huge frame down and between my legs. Using two hands, one under his buttocks, the other on his back whilst I spread my legs apart a little, I lifted him into me. Then eased him out. Then thrust him in and pulled him out hard. After about ten seconds of that, he shot his load. I kept going for another minute or so until I got a small orgasm myself. By then, I'd shaken my lover into unconsciousness, so I just removed my hands from his body and let him fall onto his back.

With the external security team taken out of the picture, I approached the huge metal gate that blocked access to the main building (actually the only proper building) on the site. The barrier was well over ten foot high and made of thick steel. I could have simply walked through it and allowed my body to smash a hole. Or used my strength to lift the thing, tearing it from its hinges and tossing it aside. Instead, I just leapt over it with a carefree little skip.

The only door in the front of the building was locked. There was no keyhole, just a card swiper. I made my delicate-looking hand into a fist and banged on the entrance. The thick wooden panel snapped in half beneath the force of my blow and the two pieces of door hung awkwardly from their damaged hinges. I swept them aside with my arm as I walked in.

"Hello?" I called out. "Is anyone home?" No reply.

I was in an entrance hall which contained no furniture other than a coat rack. I could see two overcoats hanging from pegs, so I knew that the place almost certainly wasn't deserted. There were three doors (apart from the one I'd entered through) leading away from the room. I tuned my superhearing into each one in turn, until I detected the unmistakable noise of a man's heart and lungs working behind one of them.

I walked up to the door to the occupied room. Forgetting to knock (or check to see if there was a handle or similar opening mechanism) I just lifted my foot almost in mid-stride, and effortlessly kicked the heavy wooden door in. The area where my toes struck was reduced to sawdust instantly. The rest of the block of wood smashed into about ten rough pieces.

There was a smash of glass from inside the room. Stepping through the now open doorway, I immediately saw the cause. A middle-aged man in a long white lab coat stood to one side of a chemist's workbench. On his face, a look of pure shock. At his feet, a small puddle of green liquid and a variety of scattered bits of broken glass. Clearly my abrupt entrance had caused him to drop a beaker.

"Ah, good evening! I'm glad I found you," I announced, absent-mindedly strolling towards a gigantic floor-based centrifuge. Made of iron and steel, its main barrel must have been over a meter in diameter. I'd guess it weighed a couple of tons (if that illustrates the scene at all for you - anything less than several hundred thousand tons is meaningless to me).

"Who are you?" the lab-coat-wearer asked, still in a state of shock.

"I'm the girl who's been looking for you." I replied, causally bending down and spreading my arms wide, as if hugging the base of the centrifuge. My arms weren't long enough to meet on the far side, but I got a good grip (especially when I leant forward and let my man-luring chest noisily make a pair of deep indents in the three-inch thick metal).

"Wh.. what do you want?" he asked. It seemed his shock was beginning to yield to nervousness. I decided to give shock another go at controlling his brain and stood up, still hugging the centrifuge as I rose.

I should have seen that it was bolted to the floor. The heavy duty steel screws stretched with an agonising groan before, with a serious of loud, sharp, snaps, giving way when they realised that they stood no change against my vastly superior strength. Without the bolts to hold it down, the gigantic metal drum rose easily from the floor, it's weight, frankly, as nothing to me.

I held it like that for a few seconds, then made a big show of calmly, in the most laid-back manner, tossing the entire thing to the side. It flew like a oversized cannonball, hitting the side wall which was filled by shelves stacked with various bottles and jars. The centrifuge smashed everything on its way to breaking through the plaster and even the brick behind it, creating a man-sized (if rough) opening to the adjacent room.

Brushing off my hands, I placed them on my hips, dipping one shoulder and bending one knee slightly and smiling at the guy in white who was now visibly shaking. Having introduced myself, I was ready to find out more about him.

But you have to wait for next time for that.

Monday 25 April 2005 17:35 BST (GMT+1)

Where did I leave things on Friday? Ah yes, I'd just entered the lab and moved some of the furniture...

Whilst the man in the white coat stared at me in a typical mixture of lust, awe and fear, I spoke to him. "Are you, by any chance, a biochemist?" I enquired.

"Er.." The question seemed to have caught him off-guard. "Um.. of sorts, yes."

"Good. I've got a job for you."

"I, er, already have a job. Under the terms of my contract, I'm forbidden from working for any other individual or organisation."

"That's a pity." I replied, "A big pity. For you." In a fraction of a second I moved to stand right in front of him. He wouldn't have been able to see my movements other than perhaps a faint blur, but he certainly did feel the rush of displaced air that nearly knocked him off his feet. He recovered his balance and then jumped in shock when he realised that I was suddenly so close to him.

From that distance, he was unable to resist the temptation to shoot a downward glance at the top of my cleavage once he'd recovered some composure. My low-cut T-shirt gave him enough of an eyeful to trigger the standard irregular breathing and quickening of pulse. I used that second, when he was distracted by pure lust, to grab hold of the collar of his lab coat in my right fist.

Using the cloth in my hand, I lifted the coat, and the man in it, completely off the floor. My single hand held his weight (and could easily have held a hundred more of him) whilst I gently shook him. His attempts to free himself (pathetic slaps on my face, a couple of tries at kneeing me in the stomach) showed that he had spent his childhood reading rather than fighting. I laughed at him, openly.

"OK. Fun's over." I said after a while. "It's time for you to die now." I bent my elbow, as if preparing to launch him into orbit. He screamed in utter panic. "No! No! Please!!"

"Why not?" I asked, smiling. "I mean, if you can't do a little job for me, why should I bother to let you live?"

"Please! I'll do it!! Anything! Please!"

"Oh? You've decided to change your mind?" I teased. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Yes. I'll do whatever you ask." I opened my hand, dropping him to the ground, letting him fall in a heap at my feet. As he started to gather himself up, I placed my hands on my hips and glared down on him.

"OK. Here's the job: I need you to monitor the effects of sunlight on my-" I moved my hands temporarily from my hips using them to trace the curves of my torso, "-body."

"E...Effects?"

"That's what I said."

"Effects? Um, effects such as...?"

"Are you sure you're a scientist? Maybe I should just kill you anyway.." Those words, meant purely to tease, caused his face to fill with terror. He took a backward step, inevitably tripping over and landing painfully on his backside. I couldn't help but laugh. "Even for a man, you really are pathetic!" I observed, between chuckles.

"Please! I'm sorry." he pleaded.

"Last chance." I warned him. "Now, listen carefully. I'm going to tell you exactly what I want you to do." He nodded vigorously and I explained what I wanted.

"I'll need some equipment we don't have here." he said when I'd finished.

"That's OK, I wasn't planning to hang around here much longer tonight," I told him. With a sweep of my arm, I indicated the wreckage on the far side of the room where I'd thrown the centrifuge through the wall. "This place is a mess, anyway. Here's the deal. Get hold of the equipment you need and bring it to this address on Tuesday morning." I handed him a card with my address, he took it with a shaking hand.

"If you're thinking about not showing, that's fine. It'll be easy enough for me to find another biochemist... after I've killed you." He swallowed hard. "On the other hand," I went on, bending towards him a little and thrusting out my chest, making his heart race, "if you're a good boy and do as you're told, I might even let you touch my tits." He swallowed again, even harder this time.

"See you Tuesday, then!" I said. I placed my hand in front of my lips and blew him a gentle, sexy kiss that knocked him back to the ground once more. Before he could begin to regain his feet, I had turned around and walked out the same way I came in.

On my way out of the building, I passed both the security guards I'd fooled around with. They were both still out for the count.

Tuesday 26 April 2005 16:58 BST (GMT+1)

Just a quick update tonight.

My friendly (and mostly co-operative) biochemist is still with me. We've had a great day. He's been hurt a few times, but men rarely spend a day with me without sustaining injury. Twice he got too close to our experiments and, unsurprisingly, what I couldn't feel proved more than enough to make him scream and leave him wounded.

His other significant injury, a broken leg, happened (almost) by accident when I picked him up by his ankle this morning to encourage him to hurry after he'd hesitated before carrying out one of my instructions. Since I made that point, he's been the very model of obedient efficiency.

Right now, he's focussing the beam of a specialist laser onto the tip of my left nipple. He says that, on another occasion, a temperature of thirty thousand degrees centigrade was recorded at the exact focal point of the beam. That's similar to the surface of the sun, apparently.

All I know is that it tickles a little. But it's nice. It's a just shame he can't make it any hotter. Anyway, I think it's time for our next experiment. More next time.

Wednesday 27 April 2005 17:40 BST (GMT+1)

It's always nice to have visitors, like I did yesterday. It's even nicer when those visitors bring gifts, again, like yesterday.

OK, so my biochemist friend had said that he had to pull a lot of strings and call in every favour he had in the trade to borrow some of the equipment he brought 'round. And he did say that it all had to go back by 10pm yesterday. And he did also say that some of the toys were one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable items. And, yeah, he did beg me, tearfully, on his knees, to let him take them back.

But I considered them gifts anyway. That's why I kept them, despite my friend's pleas to the contrary. I don't really know why he was so distraught about it all. After all, I kept my deal with him. Not only did I let him live, but I also (as promised) let him touch my chest.

I took off my T-shirt and, on my invite (or "order"), he laid his hand over the top of my left breast. He was trembling like a leaf as he did it, and I think he was about to dirty his underwear. As a kind service to him, to prevent his embarrassment, I placed my own hand on top of his and distracted him from his uncontrollable lust by slowly crushing his hand against my big, firm mound.

It worked in as far as he didn't shoot his load. Instead, he made a bit of a mess with his bloody hand and a lot of noise with his screaming. But he didn't hang around after that to argue any more about the return of the equipment, so I'm assuming he was happy to leave it with me after all.

So now, I have, amongst other new toys, the official hottest laser beam in Europe in my bedroom. The only annoying thing is, as I found out last night, it's crap. I mean, I stripped, set the laser to its maximum heat (tens of thousands of degrees supposedly) then I lay down on the floor with my feet in the air and my legs spread wide. I got the beam perfectly aligned with my most intimate "reachable" spot and...

...And nothing. It was a bit warm. Not unpleasant. But nothing special. On a scale of 1 to 10, where 10 is how I felt rubbing my body against Ultragirl, I'd give that laser a 0.2.

Most of the rest of the equipment I broke in my frustration, trying to squeeze a better thrill out of it. I mangled steel and chrome against my erogenous zones, ground diamond to powder and even gave myself massive doses of radiation. Finally, I shoved my fingers up myself and got some proper enjoyment.

Thursday 28 April 2005 23:48 BST (GMT+1)

Today I've been playing around some more with the things my biochemist friend left behind.

As the principal area of investigation was concerned with the effect of sunlight on my body, he had brought along a device which he described as a kind of "hyper-sun-lamp". It's apparently being developped for possible use as a weapon of the future.

I had an interesting time playing around with it today. For starters, half of my furniture caught fire when the artificial solar rays kicked in. I had to use several carefully restrained blasts of cold superbreath to extinguish the flames. Now I need a new sofa and a table.

Apart from the damage to my flat, I don't even need to say that the thing did me no harm whatsoever. But it did have an effect. It made my nipples go hard - really hard. So hard that when I squeezed a diamond against one of them, the diamond started to crumble.

The only other effect seemed to be that I felt horny. I played with myself for hours after that...

Friday 29 April 2005 16:55 BST (GMT+1)

Well, I don't know what's gotten into me. I thought nothing could, but something in that solar-radiation-ray has definitely affected me.

I mentioned yesterday about the unusual effect it had on one particular part of my body. The sight of diamonds breaking against my engorged nipples drove me wild, I can tell you. Even though I did everything I could to satisfy my urges by myself after that, it still wasn't enough.

So after I finished yesterday's post, I went out, looking for some action. In a quiet part of town, I found a youth hostel with a large dormitory full of seventeen and eighteen year old students on some kind of educational trip. I made sure that most of them (I think I got through about twelve or thirteen before I had to leave) got more of an education than they expected.

One by one, I woke them up as I straddled them, keeping them quiet by smothering their mouths with my lips, then pinning their arms to the pillows above their heads whilst I forced myself onto them. I had to keep my speed of thrusting down to only slightly faster than a very fit "normal" girl in order not to make any noise, but the cumulative effect of a dozen young men inside me wasn't bad.

As I finished with each one, I made sure he couldn't warn the others by pressing my chest down onto him until he went limp. I left some impressive bruises! In fact, by the time I left, it looked as if a burglar had beaten up half the room. I bet their teachers had trouble getting them up in the morning.

Now I'm wondering if I should try out that machine again (before I get any new furniture) and see if it has the same effect.

 

 

May 2005

Tuesday 3 May 2005 17:21 BST (GMT+1)

So, I guess you're all wondering what a beautiful, superhuman babe like me got up to over the holiday weekend.

Sorry to disappoint, but it was nothing special. Friday night, still under the effects of that weird sun-ray, I broke into a warehouse which is owned by a major construction company. The double-doors were only sealed by several yards of two-inch thick steel chain fastened with a massive solid chrome lock, so entering was a breeze. I merely squeezed the chain between my fingers, letting the metal ooze out of my grasp until the links snapped.

Once inside, I helped myself to half a dozen pneumatic drills and an industrial compressor. It would have taken three men half an hour to move the haul, but it took me ten seconds to do it all by myself. It was hard carting the load home (not because it was heavy, of course, but because I didn't want any unwanted attention).  Somehow I made it back unspotted. My theory is that the four or five men I passed on my way were too busy looking at my chest to notice the small-car-sized bundle on my back.

Once at home, I set up the compressor in the flat upstairs. I spent the rest of the long weekend trying to please myself with the pneumatic drills. The first one broke trying in vain to put a scratch in my left breast. The other five succumbed to my sex without any of them actually succeeding in entering me properly, despite the fact that I did everything in my power to help them.

Yet again, I found myself using my fingers to achieve something that men and their toys just can't do...

Wednesday 4 May 2005 17:29 BST (GMT+1)

When you're as powerful and invulnerable as I am, life can become a little bit predictable sometimes. That's why I was quite happy to receive an unexpected visitor this morning.

The knock came about 11 in the morning. From the sounds of the breathing coming from the other side, I could tell that the visitor was young, male and previously unknown to me. I opened up to check him out, and found him to be very much in the "not bad" category.

"I'm from the council," he explained. "There's been a complaint about noise over the weekend." So, someone had overheard me playing around with those pneumatic drills, and instead of just ringing the doorbell and asking me to keep it down, they rang the council!

"Who's the complaint from?" I asked.

"That information is not available." he claimed. Thirty seconds later, as he gulped down air and nursed the three fingers I'd just broken, the information had miraculously become very available.

An hour after that, he was limping gingerly out of my flat, his clothes partially torn, his chest badly bruised by repeated contact with my breasts and his groin severely battered. Despite his injuries, he made sure he thanked me most profusely for my time, and promised that I wouldn't be troubled any further by his department.

Now I'm off to deal with the idiot who made the complaint in the first place.

Thursday 5 May 2005 23:01 BST (GMT+1)

Well, I've dealt with the mystery complainer. I can guarantee that he won't be contacting the council about any noise I might make in future. Not after I paid him a little visit.

He opened the door and I brushed past him, knocking him off his feet into a wall. He came to about twenty minutes later, just in time to see me crushing an antique grandfather clock to sawdust by hugging it against my chest. I strolled over and picked him up with my arms around him.

He might be a rather overweight middle-aged man, but he felt as light as a feather to me. I gave him a little squeeze till he turned blue and asked him if he wanted to join his clock in pieces on the floor. He shook his head vigorously. I told him he'd better withdraw his complaint, and, unsurprisingly, he agreed.

I squeezed him again until a rib popped, pressured well beyond its tolerance by my big, round breast and tears flowed from his bulging eyes. Then I informed him that any future interference in my business would be very, very painful for him. After that, there was nothing left to do but give him a tiny hug, snapping two more ribs and sending him into dreamland.

I dropped him where I stood and calmly walked out. When I got back into my flat a minute later, I went straight to my stereo and played records at full volume all night.

Monday 9 May 2005 17:42 BST (GMT+1)

OK, people. I've been lifting up men with just one of my dainty fingers, scattering them like autumn leaves in a hurricane with my breath and crushing metal against my sexy body then writing about it all for your pleasure for well over half a year. Now it's time for you to do something for me.

My educational project "Encyclopaedia Bloggerica" is now up and running - see the link on this page. I want- no, scratch that- I order you to send me your definitions for inclusion in this soon-to-be-invaluable information resource. As a little incentive: if I receive enough submissions, I'll tell you all what I got up to over the past few days. Here's a little teaser-clue: it involved a customised truck and a very, very big gun.

Send your definitions to: blogger@conceptfan.com

Tuesday 10 May 2005 17:43 BST (GMT+1)

I've had a few suggestions for my encyclopaedia but not enough for me to tell you about that customised truck and the very, very big gun.

I know that most of your are just men and therefore thinking is hard for you, but you'll have to do better. Check out the new entries by clicking on the "Encyclopaedia Bloggerica" link above. And then email your own suggestions to: blogger@conceptfan.com.

Wednesday 11 May 2005 16:22 BST (GMT+1)

So, I got a few more submissions to the encyclopaedia. Check them out by clicking on the Encyclopaedia
Bloggerica link.

I hardly need to say, however, that it's still not enough to make me spill the beans about the truck and the very, very large gun. Come on, boys. Try harder not to be so pathetic! Send your definitions to: blogger@conceptfan.com.

Thursday 12 May 2005 16:06 BST (GMT+1)

Now we're getting there. I've almost received enough submissions for my magnificent encyclopaedia...

Almost enough for me to tell you all about my encounter last weekend with a truck and that very, very big gun.
If I get a couple more in the next twenty four hours, then tomorrow, I'll post the full story. So, here's what to do
now: Check the new entries by clicking on the Encyclopaedia Bloggerica link. Then (those of you who have not yet done so) send your own suggestions to: blogger@conceptfan.com. Don't worry, I won't publish your email (or even your name if you request anonymity.)

I think you all should know that I'm extremely proud of this academic work. I'm sure it's just a matter of time
before it becomes the reference work in schools and universities across the globe.

Incidentally, for those interested in these things, no animals have been harmed in its compilation to date (apart from a couple of dozen men, but they don't count).

Monday 16 May 2005 14:52 BST (GMT+1)

Let's start today with a short extract from an email I received over the weekend.

"Sincerely great girl Blogger,

I am learning since three years at speaking to the English language. I am finding your encyclopedia most very a useful thing for the revelation of what the vocabularies are signifying. Please be in the continuing to give an increased number of words in order to make better the learning."

I think this proves what a vitally important work my Encyclopaedia is to the advancement of human knowledge.  Improve your own mind. Check out today's new entries by clicking on the "Encyclopaedia Bloggerica" link near the top of the page. And, for the sake of thousands of students like my correspondent, keep sending your definitions for inclusion to: blogger@conceptfan.com.

Oh, and remember the story I was going to tell about the truck and that very, very big gun? That's in the next
update.

Tuesday 17 May 2005 21:48 BST (GMT+1)

Let's go back to the weekend before last...

Remember that foreign "top security" installation I, er, visited/destroyed a while back? Well, I paid an (uninvited) return call to the area. Not for unfinished business, but just for a spot of fun. Last time I was out there, I heard a rumour about the president's son (a typical psychopathic dictator's offspring). I was told he likes to spend his weekends riding around in a custom-built all-terrain vehicle, hunting down daddy's political opponents.

The rumour was, of course, completely true. The secret police would hand over prisoners with the president's blessing, and Junior would set them "free" out in the semi-desert. That freedom would last until he drove them down and executed them. I think the young man liked to pretend he was a wild west bounty hunter... Anyway, ten days ago, his regular "hunt" was interrupted. By me.

I was up on a hill that looked down on the area where he liked to play cowboy. My superhuman eyes had no trouble spotting the lone figure running rather pathetically through the dust, let alone the huge shiny off-road gas-guzzler two miles behind. I jogged down the steep side of the mound, taking it easy (probably going no faster than the big jeep-thing) and ran up to the solitary runner.

He looked shocked to see me (perhaps because I'd chosen to dress for the occasion in a matching lacy bra and panties). "Is this some kind of sick joke by our president?" he asked, looking me up and down, whilst trying, unsuccessfully, to catch his breath.

"Oh, no. I don't work for him. Or his son." I answered.

"Who are you then? What are you doing here?"

"I'm a tourist."

"You're working for another government? Help me, please! Hide me!" he pleaded.

"I'm not with any government. I'm just a tourist." I reiterated.

He didn't believe me. "Please, the bastard's son will be here soon and he will kill us both! You must help me." I reached for him, grabbing him by his upper arm, and pulled him close. He thrashed about, trying to escape my casual grip, with the usual total failure. He did manage to hurt his right hand trying to punch me in my exposed stomach, but other than that his struggles had absolutely no effect.

With my free hand, I started to tear his clothes from his body in strips. "What are you doing? Who are you?"

"Getting you naked. And I'm the girl who's going to fulfil your wildest dreams." I replied to both questions.

"What? Not now! He will come and kill us both!"

"One thing I can tell you for certain," I informed the terrified guy as I forced him down onto the ground with the tiniest of one-handed pushes, "he won't kill me."

There was some more protestation and futile resistance from him, but within thirty seconds, I was straddling him and beginning to bounce on his groin with his surprisingly large, erect shaft inside me.

Next time: When Blogger met Junior.

Wednesday 18 May 2005 16:14 BST (GMT+1)

There I was, riding away happily on Junior's fugitive "prey". Now, I can be fast (the fastest thing on Earth, if you want to know) but I was taking my time. Firstly, I wanted to extend the pleasant feeling of the big erection caressing my love-canal. Secondly, I was enjoying the mixture of lust and pain in the face of my lover as my body repeatedly battered his. And finally, I didn't want to crush his middle to paste as that would have made me all dirty.

Of course, if the guy on the ground beneath me had his way, he'd have finished within seconds. I'm just too gorgeous. No man is able to control himself with me. I have to use my own, infinitely superior, muscle control to prevent them shooting their loads before it suits me. Which is what I did on this occasion. My intimate grip made him squirm and allowed me to let a tiny orgasm build within me.

I could hear the ever-nearing president's son in his monstrous vehicle. I could have released the squeeze of my vaginal muscles and let the fugitive cum inside me, perhaps even triggering my own release, but instead I opted to put things "on hold". I tightened the grip of my intimacy on the base of his shaft, and waited for the huge jeep-thing to arrive.

In a crunch of tire on loose stone and a cloud of displaced dusty ground, Junior finally arrived. The driver's side door opened, and out climbed a young man wearing designer jeans, a ridiculous-looking white shirt with necktie, large mirror-shades and a hat that might have been used in the filming of Dallas. There was quite a drop from seat to ground, and the heir-to-the-presidency made it look especially awkward.

Once he'd regained a secure footing, he reached back into his overgrown buggy and, with difficulty, started to pull something out. It must've been heavy (for him) because he really struggled. Eventually I realised what it was: some kind of rocket launcher.

I don't pretend to be the world's greatest authority on psychology. I am the world's greatest in enough fields, anyway. But, looking at the weapon, the main part of which consisted of a four-foot long, six-inch diameter cylinder, and the way in which it was being brandished, I'd say that Junior had some serious inadequacy issues.

He also needed a few lessons in politeness. "Move aside, whore!" he barked at me. "I don't want you to die when I kill that man. I don't like f**king dead whores." That sealed his fate.

"You can't kill this man." I informed the doomed, badly-dressed jerk.

"And why not, whore?" he asked, attempting to sound like a lion momentarily amused by the mouse he is about to kill.  In fact, he just sounded like a jerk.

"Because he's mine." I replied. I didn't bother to add "For now, until I get bored with him."

Before Junior could think of a response, I pushed out my lips and blew a short, sharp gust of superbreath at him. The force of my lungs produced a wind strong enough to shove the dictator's son backwards, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying into the side of his giant car. He slid down from the point of impact, to finish lying in the dirt by one of the huge tyres. I could hear from his slow breathing that he'd been knocked unconscious.

"How... how did you?..." came a confused voice from beneath me.

"Save your breath." I answered, placing a single finger across the fugitive's lips even as I recommenced my rhythmic bouncing on him.

"No..... not..... now...... Got..... to..... get..... away......" he spluttered between my downward thrusts. But it wasn't long before my orgasm built once more and I finally relaxed my hold on him and let his seed squirt in urgent spasms into me, the feeling deep within pushing me over the edge of my own ecstasy.

I have to say, he was one of the best I've had. In other circumstances I'd have taken him again and again until he fell apart. But, my sensitive ears detected the sound of Junior beginning to stir. I let the fugitive slide out of me as I stood up. I guess I'd winded him or something, because I'm sure he'd have got to his feet and ran off if he could have done so. Instead he just lay on his back, gasping. I ignored him as I turned in the direction of the despot's offspring.

You can find out just how I "thanked" Junior for calling me "whore" next time.

Thursday 19 May 2005 17:25 BST (GMT+1)

Where was I? Oh yes, about halfway between one man (the fugitive who I'd left, naked and lying on the ground, trying to recover from a gentle sex-session) and the other man (the dictator's son who I'd left, lying on the ground by his monster truck, trying to recover from being tossed backwards by a very gentle gust of my superbreath)....

Junior was just beginning to stir as I approached him, my hands on my hips. He opened one eye then the other, immediately making a grab for the huge rocket-launcher he'd pulled out of his ridiculous car. I stopped walking and waited for him to climb, uneasily, to his feet. Once again he held the launcher tube out in front of his body like a substitute penis. "What the hell did you do to me, whore?" he demanded.

"Nothing compared to what I'm about to do." I responded, truthfully.

"Enough of this!" The young man was clearly not used to people answering back to him. "Die, whore!" he said calmly, activating the launcher.

Now, as regular readers know, I'm a girl with strong principles. There are rules in life, which must be respected at all times. One of those rules is "Never call me a whore." The penalty for breaking this rule can vary, depending on the perpetrator and my mood at the time, from severe pain through amputation to death. Like I said, I'm a girl with strong principles. In this case, I felt only the maximum sentence was applicable. The problem was that he had called me "whore" five times. Tragically, I couldn't kill him five times...

Meanwhile, a large rocket-propelled grenade was on its way towards me. With my superspeed, I saw it just floating lazily towards me. I could have reached out and grabbed it with ease. Normally, I'd have just stretched up a hand and, with a single finger, flicked it back where it had come from. But that would've been too quick an end for Junior.

So instead, I just kept my hands on my hips and let the rocket complete its tortuously slow journey. I could see the tip of the warhead crumpling slightly as it tried and, naturally, failed, to dimple my left breast just before it detonated. I was surrounded in warm fire, and caressed by a million pieces of flying shrapnel. Of course, the explosion left not a scratch anywhere on my perfect body.

I'll never forget the look on Junior's face as the smoke cleared. I couldn't quite be sure if he was staring at my chest more out of pure lust or more out of amazement that it had proved indestructible. Laughing at him, I began to walk towards him, making sure my breasts jiggled nice and sexily with every step.

Reaching out with one arm, I grabbed the rocket-launcher from his grasp, ripping off a couple of his fingers in the process. Whilst he screamed in pain, I carefully inserted the tube portion of the weapon into my cleavage. Hugging myself to squeeze my breasts together, I crushed the rocket launcher's thick steel cylinder almost flat before pulling the now useless weapon away from my chest and tossing it over my shoulder. Quite a few seconds passed before my sensitive ears detected the clang! of it coming back to ground.

I grabbed the still yelling dictator's son by his right upper arm and closed my fingers until I heard the crunch! as every bone in there splintered. His cries of agony renewed. Ignoring them, I released his upper arm and crushed the bones of his forearm. Then I repeated the gesture with both ends of his left arm.

He was looking at me in painful, terrified shock now, tears in his eyes. Smiling I grabbed him by the neck, pulling his mouth to mine. I let him scream into my throat as I kissed him deeply, letting my lips pulverise his as my tongue methodically knocked each of his teeth from his gums.

Putting him back on the ground and pausing only briefly to admire the complete mess I'd made of his lower face, I turned my attention to his legs. A graceful tap from the pointed toes of my right foot brought him crashing down on his backside, a new scream filling the semi-desert all around us. I lifted my other foot and slowly replaced it on top of his prone, but still unharmed, right ankle. I pressed down slowly, making sure that everything under my sole was slowly ground to paste.

Removing that foot, I made a show of lowering it towards his groin. He was in so much pain by then that he couldn't even protest properly. He just looked up at me through tear-filled eyes, features contorted in suffering.   Seeing that he was moments away from slipping into unconsciousness, I quickly stepped down between his thighs, feeling the skin, muscle and tissue yielding to me as I emasculated him.

Happily, he held on just long enough to be aware of what I had done to him and to feel the extra pain. That pleased me greatly, even if, a few moments later, his heart finally gave up the struggle. I cleaned my foot on a unbloodied area of his designer jeans before turning around and starting to walk calmly away.

"Hey!" called a weak voice from over my shoulder. "What about me?". It was the fugitive, still lying on the ground where I'd left him.

Putting my hands on my hips, I turned, raising an eyebrow. "Would you like me to do the same thing to you?" I enquired.

"No, no, please...." he panicked.

"Then shut up." I told him, turning my back once more. I didn't hear another peep as I strolled away.

Friday 20 May 2005 16:27 BST (GMT+1)

I see from the superwomenmania forums that my irresistible charms are having their inevitable effect on Ultragirl.

She's talking in terms of "reconsidering our relationship" - an obvious sign that she's finding it too hard to deny her true feelings. And, to be frank, who can blame her? Not me.

And not the three young men I walked past in the park this morning. You should have seen the way all six of their eyes grew huge as they practically popped out of their owner's heads to get closer to me. It was just as well the effects of that solar-ray have worn off, otherwise I'd have raped all three of them there and then.

Instead, I settled for a carefully released waft of superbreath. Just enough to push the trio off their feet onto their rears and envelope them in a cloud of warm pheromone-saturated breath. All three of them were so overcome with lust, they came immediately in their clothes whilst I strolled on.

Men are so easy! Too easy. I need my Ultragirl!

Monday 23 May 2005 18:29 BST (GMT+1)

I was walking home last night (about 2 a.m.) when I passed a group of four young men wearing expensive-looking suits. With my superhearing, I was able to listen to their conversation long before they saw me. I gathered that they'd been out, celebrating some business deal or other, and they were all very, very pleased with themselves.

They were strolling side-by-side, completely blocking the pavement. Eventually, their feeble eyes spotted me walking towards them. Again. my sensitive ears picked up the various crude comments that my stunning appearance inevitably inspired. Those comments didn't really fade when I got within a "normal" person's hearing range. Nonetheless, I pretended not to have heard.

As I got close to them, I waited for the group to part to give me room to walk between them, but they did not. Judging by the exchange of glances between them, they had obviously come to a group decision to force me to step into the road to get around them. Angered, I stopped still just a yard in front of them and put my hands on my hips.

"Move aside!" I commanded them.

"That's no way to talk to a senior assistant broker," one of the idiots answered.

"Yeah," said another, "I could buy you fifty times over and still have change for a private helicopter."

I didn't bother with a witty reply. Reaching forward, I grabbed one of the speakers by the throat, lifting him off his feet and holding him there. With my free hand, I got hold of another by the end of his tie, using it to tug him forwards. Then I fastened his neckwear to the expensive silk tie around the neck of the one I picked up first.

Dropping that guy, I ignored him as he rubbed his neck and started the usual "What the hell...?" and stretched out, snatching one of the other two by the wrist. While the first pair tried in vain to undo the knot in their ties, I joined the third man's neckwear to theirs.

"What's going on?" the last guy asked as I pulled him hard by the sleeve towards the others, and quickly added his tie to the party. Now all four men were attached to each other by the thin strips of flashy material around their necks.

Giving one of them a gentle shove in the chest, I was rewarded by the hysterical sight of him falling over and dragging the other three down on top of him. They collapsed in an awkward heap. Try as they might, they could not co-ordinate themselves sufficiently to stand up. They tried loosening the big knot that bound them, but needless to say, they couldn't manage it.

One of them tried to tear his tie in half to escape the others, but he was just too weak to do it. I left them struggling uselessly as I walked over to a nearby lamppost. Balling up my fist, I punched it clear through the outer steel casing of the street-lamp. I put my hand through the hold I'd made, grabbed hold of the cable inside and yanked on it hard.

With a shower of sparks that covered my body and made a few burn-marks on my tight T-shirt, I pulled the thick electrical flex from the lamppost. Another tug tore the length of cable free from the ground, the second burst of sparks not effecting me in the slightest either.

Now I had a twenty-foot length of strong flex. Strolling back to the stumbling men, I pushed them all back down and bent over them to attach one end of the cable to their conjoined ties. That done, I walked away from them, keeping the other end of the flex in my hand until the cable was nearly straight.

A gentle flick of my wrist made the cable go taut and pulled all four men a yard towards me amidst a cacophony of yells of surprise, pain and, no doubt, humiliation. Encouraged, I played with them a little like that. Every little movement of my hand was transferred along the length of the cable to jerk or pull the quartet around, completely at my will.

After I while, I decided to try something else. I flicked the cable hard, like cracking a whip, and was delighted to see I'd put enough force into it to actually lift the other end of it. The four men rose violently into the air, dragged upwards by their ties which were still attached. They screamed and I laughed.

With a careful puff of superbreath, I kept the party airborne. I kept a good grip of my end of the flex, otherwise, my exhalation would have carried them all well above the tops of the buildings all around. But by using just a gentle blast here and there from my lungs, and clinging on tightly to the cable, I was soon able to "fly" the four men like a stunt kite.

In no time at all, I mastered my new toy. I did loop-the-loops, dives and figure-eights, listening to the diminishing cries and sobs from above me until, sadly, all four men slipped out of consciousness. After than, the fun really went out of it.

I could have just stopping exhaling and let them fall from the sky like a stone onto the hard street. But I'd had good fun with them and was feeling kind. So, with my new-found expertise, I let go of my end of the "string" and controlled the "kite"'s decent by gently blowing at it so that all four idiots landed in a large, half-filled refuse container about a hundred yards from me.

I couldn't resist theatrically brushing off my hands and laughing before continuing my journey home.

Tuesday 24 May 2005 17:17 BST (GMT+1)

Ever get the feeling you're being watched? I've had it a few times lately. Today I got an email which might explain it, but I'm not going to say anything... yet. (I have my reasons).

Well, well. I didn't realise the local news did comedy items, but apparently they do. Check out this headline from this morning: "City High-Flyers Foil Gang Robbery." Yes, you read that right. And it goes on!

"A quartet of rising stars from the banking industry were recovering in hospital last night after beating off a gang of would-be muggers. The men, only two of whom are believed to be conscious enough to talk to police, were attacked on [CENSORED] Street at 2 o'clock on Monday morning. A gang of around ten youths approached the businessmen, demanding money. When they refused to comply, a full-scale fist-fight broke out in the course of which three of the victims were knocked out and callously thrown into a waste container. By then, most of the gang had fled. The fourth victim remained standing long enough to see of the last of the attackers, who subsequently escaped on foot. Bizarrely, nothing was stolen in the attack.

A police spokesman said "The seriousness of the injuries sustained by the four men indicates that this was a ferocious attack by a large group of vicious thugs. The victims displayed great courage in putting up a fight but ultimately they were outnumbered. As yet, we have been unable to get a firm description of any of the gang members, but we will be continuing to interview the victims, as and when the doctors believe they are fit to talk to us."

Obviously, someone didn't want to admit that he (and his friends) were beaten up by a girl. What a pathetic bunch! All I did was blow at them a bit, and now they're all lying in hospital in such a state that the police think they were worked over by a street-gang. I'm going to have to pay them all a visit, individually, to remind them who really was responsible. I'll wait until they're out of hospital first, of course. It's always more fun to injure a male just as he's almost recovered from his last encounter with me...

Wednesday 25 May 2005 16:27 BST (GMT+1)

Ultragirl!

She loves me, she loves me lots...

But... it's almost as if she's ashamed to tell anyone else or do anything about it. Why? Who wouldn't be drawn to me?

Maybe I need to give her a little encouragement. How about this: in 24 hours' time, I going to publish the email she sent me in which she admits her true feelings. Unless either of the following things happen. Either 1) she goes public or 2) she gives me a damn good reason not too.

Thursday 26 May 2005 15:43 BST (GMT+1)

Here it is, in full and unedited. Just the way I received it from Ultragirl:

I can't help it! You just have such an effect on me. What is it about you?! I hate you for it, but I just can't get the feeling of your body out of my head. Your power is amazing. I guess, in some way, I wish I could have the freedom you have. Another part of me won't let it happen. You no doubt realise by now that I've been watching you. Those stupid men deserved it! I love watching you "perform". Sometimes, I fly naked above you imagining...

I implore you. You cannot tell anyone about this! The consequences will be dire for you, Blogger. I wish I knew your name.

Love,
Ultragirl

It's what I always knew. I'm irresistible. Don't worry about that "dire consequences" bit, by the way. I think we've established now that I can handle her without too much trouble.

Meanwhile, there was another piece of business I had to take care of today. Ultragirl vets all membership applications to her yahoo group, so I've been logging on and reading her posts using Cf's password. When I instructed him to give me the password, I made it quite clear what would happen to him if Ultragirl ever found out. Well, it seems she's found out....

I found him on his way to lunch. Standing behind him in a deserted street, I called out "Hey, Deadmeat!"

He spun around as fast as he could (slowly) and went crazy as he saw me. His eyes were flickering between my face and the upper portion of my torso and his expression was oscillating like a cartoon character's between fear and lust. I fought the temptation to laugh at him and lost, throwing my head back in hysterics for a few moments.

Stupidly, he tried to use those moments to run away. Run away! From me! I caught up with him inside two seconds without even trying to go quickly. With a disinterested sweep of my left hand, I swatted him completely off the pavement into the wall of a building. He slid down to the ground. His shoulder bag had cushioned the impact. That was why he was still conscious.

Even though he was hurt and doubtless very afraid, when he squinted up at me he couldn't help staring at my chest. "Are... are... y... y... you g-going to rape m-me?" he asked.

"In your dreams!" I told him, roaring with laughter. Bending down I grabbed him by his T-shirt and lifted his whole body off the ground, holding the (considerable) weight by just a handful of cheap material in my fist. A little flick of my wrist sent him sailing about twenty yards down the street. He rolled for another five yards before coming to rest.

He was face down. I walked slowly over to him and flicked my toes under his shoulder which flipped him completely over onto his back like a giant, ugly, misshapen pancake. He was only just clinging on to consciousness, his face cut and bruised, breathing laboured. Smiling down at him I lifted my foot high over his chest and held it there for a moment.

"Please. I..." (cough) "..I really..." (cough, splutter) "...really think you're..." (cough, cough, cough, wince) "...gorgeous...." (splutter, wince) "...but I can't..." (cough) "...take any-"

"Shut up." I told him. I'd had enough. I got ready to put my foot down on him for the last time. Ever. A second later,


Well, I'll leave that for next time, I think. Tense isn't it? Ha ha ha!

Friday 27 May 2005 13:01 BST (GMT+1)

Recall the scene where I left off last time, if you will. Me, standing tall, comfortable and dominant over Cf's pathetic, wounded, prone lump of a body, my foot raised ready to stamp down and rid the world of a fanboy...

Now, a brief aside: As the most powerful being on this planet (perhaps in this universe), leading a low profile life has a lot of advantages. It's not that anyone could subdue me, or force me to undergo experimentation or, worse, do "good" deeds. It's just that they might try. It could end up with me being followed or tracked all over the world with millions of tons of munitions being wasted in futile attempts to hurt me. If I know one thing for certain, it's that I don't want to live my life like one of the characters in Cf's awful stories, with my wonderful chest constantly providing target practise for tanks. Plus, my clothes would keep getting ruined.

There are two main disadvantages to keeping that low profile. Firstly, I can't simply just take over the world (as I probably should) and enslave the entire human race, forcing them to build giant statues of me and worship me in their millions around the clock. The second disadvantage is that I can't do anything that might jeopardise my incognito status. What that means in basic, day-to-day terms is this: No witnesses. It's a simple rule, but I can't break it if I want to continue enjoying my current lifestyle. And I do enjoy it. Very much indeed, thank you.

All of that is by way of an explanation for this: Cf had just finished screaming out "Oh, shit, no! No!" as his testosterone-muddled brain finally computed my intentions. I was just about to (a split-second later) plant my foot onto and through his torso. And that's when my magnificent hearing drew my attention to the sound of a car engine. I recognised it instantly (with ears as sensitive as mine, identifying cars by the sounds of their motors is easy) and I also recognised that it was about to turn the corner onto the street where we were.

It would not have been good to have been spotted, sexily-shaped-ankle-deep in fanboy guts. Especially by the occupants of a police patrol car. I had no choice. I had to stay the jerk's execution.

Worse followed. The two coppers did spot me, and also him. They slowed and pulled over to the side of the road. The one nearest me opened his window and leant out in my direction. He spoke, addressing his questions, as men so often do, to my breasts. "Is everything OK here?"

"Oh, yes, yes." I smiled back. As if he would even bother to check out my face! His loss, anyway. My face is stunning.

"Is the.. er... gentleman on the ground alright?"

I nearly answered "That's no gentleman, that's a jerk." but stopped myself.

"Yeah, he's fine." is what I actually said. "He's just had a few too many for lunch. Never could handle it..."

The policeman grinned at my chest. "Are you looking after him?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. I'm looking after him alright." I said, trying not to laugh.

"Looks like he could do with a coffee." The window wound up and the car began to move on.

Through the sealed glass, above the noise of the engine, I could clearly hear the copper muttering to his colleague "Lucky bastard. Imagine having that to nurse you after a heavy session."

"If I had a bird like that," his colleague answered, "I'd give up drinking. And working. And getting dressed. Just spend all day in bed..."

I cursed. There's no way those two will ever forget the sight of me. If I went through with my intentions and finished Cf off, the pair of them would be able to provide the most accurate description of a suspect in the history of policing. The one who talked to me would probably be able to portray the way my large round breasts deformed the front of my T-shirt to the millimetre. There was nothing I could do, without getting involved in the sharp end of a murder enquiry.

"Cf, that copper was right. You are a lucky bastard." I told him. I still gave him a parting kick in the ribs. Not a fatal blow, sadly, but enough to make him scream and to snap a couple of fragile bones. Not unexpectedly, he passed out immediately. I snorted and walked away. My low profile is still intact. Unfortunately, so is Cf.

Tuesday 31 May 2005 16:55 BST (GMT+1)

I had a lovely holiday weekend. I even managed to do some community work. Not really, of course. But I did spend a little of my precious time visiting the sick.

Hospitals can be dangerous places. I mean, the news is full of stories of diseases that spread through the corridors. There's less about physical injuries that occur on the wards, but there probably was an article or two in yesterday's papers. I myself know of two such "accidents" that happened on Sunday morning. Both at the same hospital, in fact.

Remember the four jerks in suits that I met on the street the other week? The ones I turned into a human kite when they annoyed me? Remember how they had told the police that they were attacked by a vicious street gang, rather than a lone, unarmed (and very beautiful) girl? And remember how I said at the time that I was going to pay them a visit to remind them of the truth?

It wasn't the greatest challenge I've ever faced to find out which hospital they'd ended up in. As part of my investigations I had to seduce an ambulance driver and a hospital clerk. That was two minutes' work. I also had to physically intimidate a couple of receptionists, which took all of twenty seconds. After that, it was easy.

I discovered that the two I was seeking were in a luxurious private hospital, their care paid for apparently by their employers. I still didn't know which rooms they were in. I could have gone through the entire hospital door by door until I found them, but I didn't need to. I just fluttered my eyelashes and showed a little bit of superhumanly firm cleavage to the bisexual head nurse and she told me everything I wanted to know.

"Are you a colleague?" she asked, breathlessly staring at the valley between my breasts.

"Oh, no. More of an acquaintance." I replied.

"A friend?"

"Definitely not."

"Good. I've had more complaints about those two from my nurses than any other patients we've had this year.  They're a pair of sexist pigs. They keep touching my girls even though we've asked them to stop." said the head nurse.

"I'll tell you what," I said. "If I can persuade them to keep their hands to themselves, will you forget seeing me or having this conversation?"

"I could never forget seeing you," she confessed, her gaze still fixed on my chest, "but I could pretend."

"That'll do fine." I smiled. She almost fainted when I leant over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

A minute later I walked into the first room, without knocking. "Remember me?" I asked as the fellow in the bed sat up awkwardly.

"Oh god, no!" he spluttered. "Please, leave me alone!"

"I will in a minute." I said, grinning warmly. "I just wanted to apologise for what I did to you." The fear evaporated from his face immediately. I walked over to his bedside. "I'm sorry." I told him, reaching for his hand. I held it gently, pulling it carefully towards me. "I truly am. From the bottom of my.." I placed his palm softly over my left breast. The contact with my femininity (albeit through my T-shirt) made his heart-rate double. I could see him becoming erect under his bedclothes. "...heart." I said, still smiling.

Then slowly, my grin unchanging, I pressed his hand against my mound. At first he just winced. Then he groaned. Then he yelled, By then, I'd crushed most of the bones in his palm to little pieces against my firm breast. Only then did I let him go. As I walked away, leaving him with tears of agony in his eyes, I said, over my shoulder, "Only joking. I'm not really sorry. See you around, arsehole."

I strolled into the second jerk's room and found him asleep. I sat on the edge of his bed, picking up his hand and gently laying it between my thighs. "Wake up, jerk!" I hissed. He opened his eyes and stared straight into mine. He was confused for a moment, but then recollection seemed to kick in. "Wha... what do you want?" he asked, trembling.

"I want to say how terrible I feel about what happened to you." I told him, my voice laden with sympathetic tones.

"Really?" he asked, in pleasant surprise.

"No. Not really." I replied, closing my legs together, trapping his hand between my smooth, round thighs. I squeezed it gently to begin with, just enough to bruise him and make him cry. Then I did it properly, enjoying the lovely mixing of the sound of his scream with the noise of his bones crunching. I had to be careful not to get blood all over myself, but I managed to hurt him badly without actually breaking his skin. "Well, it's been fun." I pronounced, slipping off the bed. "Catch you soon!"

And with that, I walked calmly and unnoticed out of the hospital. I felt a lot better after that. It's always good to, er, lend a hand to the sick.

 

 

June 2005

Wednesday 1 June 2005 16:52 BST (GMT+1)

Having done my good deed for the decade at the weekend (visiting those two jerks in hospital) today was a day dedicated to me.

I went for a walk in the park, to see how work is progressing on the demolition of the "haunted" tea rooms. It's taken a team of eight men a week to do about as much "damage" as I managed in twenty seconds, so they must have been working flat-out, the poor boys.

They were using a bulldozer to break of little bits of one of the walls. Each swipe of the teethed scoop removed another six inch by four foot section of brick. I had to laugh. Such a big, expensive (and supposedly powerful) machine, and all it can do is nibble away painfully slowly at the wall.

Compare that with little (bust excepted) me. I mean, I could have just taken a moderately deep breath, pushed out my sexy lips and gently blown the rest of the wall down in a second. Without any effort whatsoever! Of course I didn't do it. It's much more fun to watch those lads with their useless muscles struggling away...

I couldn't resist puffing a quick blast of freezing superbreath at the bulldozer's engine, however. The cold of my exhalation instantly froze the fuel in there solid. I stayed for about half an hour as six men scratched their heads and struggled in vain to get it up and running again.

Again, I could have used another waft of warm breath to defrost the machine, but where was the fun in that?

Thursday 2 June 2005 17:48 BST (GMT+1)

A wet, cool day today. Not really the kind of weather you'd normally associate with the beginning of June, but it's not as if I care.

I don't feel cold, even in an industrially-cooled vat of liquid nitrogen. And a little rain isn't going to give me 'flu. I've been exposed to some of the deadliest viruses and poisons in existence without so much as sneezing or feeling the need to scratch a little.

But even a being as perfect as me can still get caught outside in a rain shower without an umbrella. It happened to me today. I suppose I could have done something to avoid it. I could smell that a downpour was imminent, and there was nothing (I don't count brick walls and men as impediments) to stop me forcing my way into someone's house for shelter, but for the sake of a quiet life, I didn't bother.

The rain soaked my hair, matting it flat onto my head and in thick, dripping strands down my face. My thin white cotton T-shirt was also saturated. It shrank and became almost see-though as it clung so tightly to my body. My big nipples were clear to see, along with quite a bit of each large breast around them.

No wonder, then, as I strolled down the road, that there were two car crashes, three pedestrian collisions, a guy losing control of a push-bike and at least one man falling from a ladder. I reckon I was directly responsible for half a dozen men getting hurt in the space of about fifteen minutes. And I didn't even have to use my powers!

Friday 3 June 2005 17:40 BST (GMT+1)

It was raining this morning again, so I've decided to have a change of scenery. I'm at the airport right now. I'll post again when I arrive wherever it is I end up going...

Monday 6 June 2005 15:10 BST (GMT+1)

It's always nice to take a little break somewhere off the beaten track. Or, in this case, off the machete'd track...

I'm right in the middle of the jungle right now, in a tiny shack which serves as a research base for a major pharmaceutical company. It's got beds, washing facilities, and an array of satellite equipment on the roof providing TV and, most useful of all, internet access. And the team of four who are on a yearlong posting here have been most generous in allowing me to use make use of their facilities.

True, there was a little misunderstanding when I first turned up. They didn't seem to want me around and there was an amusing "You three hold her while I get the tranquilliser darts" scene, but once they understood that I can't be held, darts bounce off my skin and I don't take "no" for an answer, everything was fine.

I've even managed a little romance with a couple of my hosts. (The attractive ones, that is. The other two are not my type at all). This morning I woke the decent-looking ones up in their bunks by picking up one of them from his bed (his six foot body as good as weightless to me) and dropping him onto his colleague's mattress so that they were side by side. Already nude, I just leapt on top of the pair.

Isolated for so long, they were each more than happy to oblige me the first time. They were more reluctant when I initiated the second round a couple of minutes later, both complaining about bruising and exhaustion, but I convinced them quickly enough.

They actually began to protest as I started Round Three, and I had to be insistent as I reminded them that "No" is not an option with me. I left them both sleeping side by side, black and blue where my body, especially my chest, had repeatedly battered them.

Right now, I'm going out to do a little jungle exploration of my own. I hope my sleeping pals recover enough energy for tonight. Otherwise, it's going to be extremely hard work for them.

Tuesday 7 June 2005 16:59 BST (GMT+1)

Tarzan? He's got nothing on me! I mean they might have given him nice looking muscles in the films, but they're just for show. I might look more like Jane (if more beautiful) but my slender arms contain vastly more strength.

I proved that on my walk this morning. I saw something slithering on the ground and realised it was some kind of massive snake. I poked its middle, trying to make the thing show its head, which it finally did. Its skull was almost as big as mine!

The creature's jaws opened wide enough to swallow half a cow as it struck at me. I'm more than quick enough to have evaded it completely, but I let it clamp its fangs into my bare left thigh. (I should have mentioned I was attired in an exceptionally fetching brief red two-piece). There was blood on my leg; not mine, of course, but the snake's. Apparently, it lost a giant tooth in its futile attempt to bite me (or leave any kind of mark on my flawless skin.)

Now enraged, the snake began to curl its enormous body around me. It had to have been over a foot in diameter. As more and more of it appeared out of the foliage, I realised that I was dealing with a real-life monster, at least thirty foot long. It coiled itself around my perfect body, slowly tensing to try and squeeze the life out of me. Needless to say, the serpent's best efforts were barely noticeable to me. You probably feel more restricted being hugged by an elderly relative.

With ridiculous ease, I used my arms to lever the animal away from me, lifting it off me, without registering any weight. I grabbed its body, just below its head and let it struggle and thrash about between my small hands. I needed so little effort to hold the beast in place that I soon got bored. I began to squeeze its body, enjoying the way it fought so uselessly against me.

I don't need to say that the symbolism of the moment was not lost on me as I slowly and playfully squeezed the long, round animal, taking my time as I hugged it to myself and let my large breasts gradually crush the life out of it until some of its guts spurted from its mouth. Then I set off back to the base, dragging the massive corpse behind me like a normal person would drag a length of string. I've told my hosts, the four scientists, to make me a set of matching luggage from its skin. I look forward to the results.

Of course it's particularly hard for them as I keep interrupting the work to rape one or two of them, but a girl has needs...

Wednesday 8 June 2005 17:30 BST (GMT+1)

After the fun of yesterday's reptilian rumble in the jungle, I went out this morning hopeful of another enjoyable encounter.

Sadly, I didn't find anything more exciting than a monkey. It was terrified of me, and started to climb a tree, but I jumped higher than it could climb in the short space of time it had. I took it back to the research station and got one of the scientists to look at it. Apparently it was from a really rare species. "You shouldn't have killed it! It's endangered!" the geek told me.

"So are you if you talk to me like that." I responded. He immediately apologised and went back to work on my suitcases. Turning that giant dead snake into a set of luggage is proving quite a challenge. None of the scientists have experience with skinning animals or with needles and thread, but they're trying hard. Perhaps they're worried that I might not be happy if they fail. That's not even the case. I'd be happy even if they did fail. They'd be badly, badly hurt, of course, but I would be happy.

At the moment, there's just three of them on the job. The other is asleep, heavily dosed up on morphine. The others wanted to call an air ambulance to get him to a hospital, but I've told them that no-one will leave until I complete my stay. It's not like he's that badly hurt. It's just a broken leg and a couple of cracked ribs which he sustained shortly after I woke him at dawn to have sex with me. And don't blame me for not being careful. I was being careful. He was just too fragile.

Thursday 9 June 2005 17:52 BST (GMT+1)

It's been another enjoyable day out here in the jungle. Initially, I was only planning to stay for a night or two, but I'm having such a good time, I think I might spend the whole week here.

Morphine-man woke up for an hour or so last night. One of the others wanted to give him another dose right away, but I pushed him back with a blast of superbreath. I just felt that after sleeping so long, he must've gathered enough energy to please me. I mean, he only has a broken leg and a couple of busted ribs!

Anyway, he was a bit groggy. I had to rub my breasts across his face until large bruises appeared on his cheeks before he got erect, but after that, I got a decent-enough ride out of him. And, yes, I was very, very careful with him. In fact I only broke two more ribs. Oh, and I also knocked out half a dozen of his teeth when I poked my tongue in his mouth, but he didn't complain. Well, I suppose he couldn't with my lips sealed over his.

When I was done I told his colleague he could go ahead with the morphine injection, as my lover's pathetic sobbing (was it pain or humiliation or both? Who cares!) was beginning to annoy me...

Monday 13 June 2005 17:04 BST (GMT+1)

Home sweet home. And, I've got to say, it's good to be back.

Don't get me wrong, I really enjoyed my stay in the jungle. Plus, I've got a fairly decent set of matching snakeskin luggage as a souvenir. Some of the stitching on it is a little imperfect in places, and the fastening mechanisms leave a bit to be desired (more on that later), but it still a lovely thing to own. It's just that I had to get out of there. Things were really starting to go downhill just before I left.

It was on Friday morning. I walked into the main room of the research station where I was staying and clicked my fingers. This was the prearranged signal for the four scientists there to gather round. The negotiations of this arrangement went like this: I announced "I click, you four get in here as fast as you can and throw yourselves at my feet, waiting for instructions. Any failure to comply results in pain (either severe or excruciating, depending on my mood). Understood?" In answer, the quartet nodded vigorously, so I released the crushing grip I had placed on the necks of two of them and let them slump to the floor.

On Friday morning when I clicked, three men came running in immediately, although one was limping quite dramatically. I couldn't believe he was still in pain. I mean, it had been more than twelve hours since I'd picked him up by his ankle and swung him around my head (not a punishment, I just thought it would be an amusing thing to do. And his screams at the time were amusing...) Anyway, the limper ran as fast as he could. Two others sprinted to me. The fourth man was missing. Apparently, he was fast asleep, dosed up to the eyeballs on morphine as the couple of bones I'd accidentally snapped while having sex with him were causing him extreme pain.

"Please," one of his colleagues begged me. "he needs to go to a hospital. Every minute is crucial."

"He should have thought about that before he put his fragile ribs in the way of my chest." I chuckled, pushing out my perfect large breasts to illustrate my remark. No-one said anything, but all three of them stared up at my prominent mounds. Still smiling, I announced that I wanted to see the luggage they were making for me.

"It's... it's not ready yet." One of the two ugly (unscrewable) men said. My understandable displeasure must have shown on my face, because he immediately added, in a desperate tone, "Please! We are scientists, not cobblers! We're doing our best but-"

"-But you're best just isn't good enough." I interrupted. Turning my face slightly towards the corner of the room which housed the giant tank containing the installation's drinking water, I slowly and sensuously pushed out my lips. Then I bent at the waist a little (just enough to make my breasts stretch the material of my tight T-shirt almost to tearing-point) and exhaled a long, ultra-cold blast of superbreath at the tank. Within seconds, the large metal container was coated in thick frost. Of course, the liquid inside was now a solid block of ice.

"Our water!" one of the men at my feet protested.

"Next time," I warned, without bothering to look down "it'll be you I turn into a freeze-pop. No-one's drinking until my suitcases are ready. Is that clear?"

"Yes." answered the trio of voices from below.

"Then get to work!" And they did, falling over themselves to return to their task as quickly as possible.

About four hours later, one of them approached me as I returned from a lovely outing killing wild animals and knocking over trees in the jungle. "Forgive me speaking out of turn," he began, dropping to his knees in front of me, "but your luggage is ready." I gave him a gentle prod in the ribs with my bare toe (jungle strolls are much more fun without shoes). It wasn't a hard kick. Just enough to make him yell and send him rolling across the room until he hit a wall. After all, he had spoken out of turn, despite his plea for forgiveness. I stepped over him on my way to see the results of his work.

The cases, five in total ranging in size from a huge suitcase down to a delightful handbag, were arranged on a table. Two of the scientists were in the room with them. They immediately stood up and backed away from me when I entered. I examined the luggage minutely with my superhuman eyes, without even having to approach it. "The stitching is a little imperfect on two of the pieces." I observed. I looked from the suitcases to one of the men standing against the wall. "You," I commanded him, "come here!"

Nervously he took a couple of steps towards me. "I... I... didn't do the stitching." he stammered, clearly terrified.

"I don't care who did what," I told him. "You were all involved. Besides, you're all just men. It makes no odds to me which one of you gets punished."

"P-p-punished?" he swallowed. Hard.

"Well, obviously. You think I can let that less-than-perfect stitching go? Someone has to be punished for it. It might as well be you. Give me your hand."

"B-b-but it wasn't me, I did-" he protested.

"-Give me your hand or you're dead." I said, flatly. A wildly shaking hand was reluctantly proffered to me. Its owner shut his eyes and turned his head away. Laughing at his cowardice, I used my thumb and forefinger to break three of his fingers, one by one. I waited after each snap for his cry to fade before moving onto the next digit. Then I announced. "Now get out of my sight."

The one with the damaged fingers immediately rushed from the room. Behind him, his colleague began to follow. I put up one hand, blocking the second man's path. "Not you." I said. "You stay there." He was shaking as I turned back to the five bits of luggage and resumed my detailed scan of them.

"I don't like these fastening mechanisms that you've used." I said. "It looks like you've just cut the buckles off a bunch of belts and stitched them on. I wanted brass combination locks."

"But.. but that's all we had to work with!" the man in front of me wept. "This is the middle of the jungle, there's no brass and we've no experience in lock-making!"

"Well, you're scientists," I explained, "you should have worked out a way round a small logistical problem like that." An effortless flick of my left index finger against his left upper arm made him scream in pain. I could see from the bizarre angle his forearm was left hanging that I'd damaged something in there pretty badly. Already, a big, dark bruise was appearing where my fingertip had struck him. He looked with tear-filled eyes from his damaged limb to my face. "Lucky you." I told him. "I could have really hurt you. Now, get lost." He ran out of the room, clutching his busted arm.

After that, I carefully put my new suitcases together, each one inside the next largest until the whole set was inside the largest case. To me, it was weightless as I picked it up. It could have been filled with air or bricks, and it would have felt the same. I walked into the tiny sickbay where my some-time lover was lying under heavy sedation. Putting down the cases, I bent over him. "Wake up!" I said. He stirred, but his eyes didn't open. I grabbed his arm and squeezed it until the pain brought him round. He looked at me in that sweet mixture of terror and confusion that I often inspire in my "partners".

"I'm off now." I told him. "I just wanted to say thank you for the good times." I saw the look of total relief that washed over his features. The look vanished as quickly as it came when I went on "Also, I'd thought I'd screw you one last time, for the road."

"No! No! I can't! Please, I just can't..."

"Don't be so modest" I smiled.

"No! I mean it! The pain! The drugs! I couldn't get it up! I swear I couldn't!" he pleaded.

I leant in close to his face. Really close. "We'll see about that," I breathed, already reaching under the blanket for his organ. I threw the bed sheets off and gently stroked the end of his dormant member. He winced in pain, but he was responding to my touch. Stripping off, I jumped up onto his bed and sat on his belly, straddling him. He started to wail like a baby. To shut him up, I lowered my chest over his head, burying his face in my cleavage and smothering his cries with my flawless and erotic feminine flesh. Not only did that silence him, it also brought him quickly to a fully erect state.

I scooted down his body and lowered myself onto his upstanding organ. He started making all kinds of noise (shouts of pain, pleas for me to stop, wails of humiliation). To shut him up, I placed one open palm over his mouth and started to ride. I could feel him shooting his load within me after about twenty seconds. In response, I doubled the pace of my bouncing, continuing to take him in and out of me at that rate for several minutes until I reached my own orgasm. By the time I leapt off him, wiping his sweat and juices off me with his bedclothes, he was out cold and barely breathing, so there was no point bothering to thank him.

I slipped the two pieces of my bikini back on, picked up my cases and walked out of the installation. Outside, I leapt up onto the roof. Strolling around up there, I gave a few easy kicks of one of my long legs. Each kick tore a satellite dish from its mounting, smashed it well beyond repair, and sent the pieces flying maybe a mile into the jungle. Inside two seconds, I'd completely cut the research base off from the outside world. Things must have been awkward for the four guys in there. Poor boys: wounded, stuck in the middle of the jungle and with absolutely no means of communication. But like I said, they're scientists. They can figure something out.

Tuesday 14 June 2005 15:58 BST (GMT+1)

There are some limitations in life which (gasp!) even a superhuman, physically perfect being like me cannot escape from. Sure, I can go halfway around the world, wrestle giant snakes, have my way with scientists and so forth. But, I can't get away from myself.

Back here, it might be playing on my mind more, but I can't deny, it was bugging me back in the jungle too. Especially in those moments when I was bouncing up and down on top of that dishy researcher, trying to extract a little bit of pleasure from his pretty, but pathetically weak and fragile body. You should know by now that what I'm talking about is Ultragirl. She's the only person I've ever met who could really fulfil me.

The only problem is, instead of her being right here, with me (naked) she's thousands of miles away doing her little "tease" act. I know she wants me. This is what she wrote at her "members only" (yeah, right) Yahoo! group at the back-end of last month, after originally publicly denying sending me a declaration of love by email:

Okay, okay, so I sent an email! Hopefully Cf changed his password so that Blogger can't see this. What have I gotten myself into?! The League would kick me out. The public would hate me. I think I'm going to cry. Why would she do that to me after what I said to her?

Wait. It's not like they're going to believe her! She's deranged! She could have fabricated the whole thing to smear my image. Makes sense because she can't beat me physically. Next time she'll make it to orbit. I won't mess it up!

But, I'm so confused. She so beautiful. Everything about her is lovely. If she wasn't so difficult things wouldn't be so bad! I wonder if she's ever seen me when I'm floating high above her naked. To have someone so powerful adore you so much is a wonderful feeling. To bad I have to put her down. Maybe I'll have a bit of fun with my new body before I do it. This time, SHE gets the spanking! Of course, that's after I have her suckle my breasts! Oh, this is going to be fun!

And now this is (a partial extract of) an email she sent me at the weekend:

I've been away, I know. I had business in another galaxy. You wouldn't know how that feels would you? But you know how I feel, don't you? I actually missed you. You should come with me sometime. The weapons here don't feel near as good as the Galaxy Police's does. Imagine large naval-sized lasers swallowing your whole body. Lovely!

I'm going to give you the address of ********. He's an old boyfriend of mine. He's one of the "super strong" type. I want you to show him what real strength is, honey. Take your time, make him cry.

I'll be watching you from above. If you can, use your wonderful breasts to do most of the damage. Once he is humiliated and crying, then you and I will make love in front of him! That's right, lover, I'm all yours! Bite my nipples, lick me, do whatever you want to me!

Ohh, I'm so excited already!

Well, I reckon I'm going to be taking her up on her invitation. As soon as she lets me know where I can find her ex.

Wednesday 15 June 2005 17:22 BST?(GMT+1)

So, I'm still waiting to hear from Ultradarling with her ex's address. I hope she's not getting cold feet now. Although, if she is, I know several very good ways of warming them.

I won't lie and say I'm not disappointed. The heavy rain falling this morning matched my mood quite well, in fact. I took advantage of it to go for a stroll in the deserted park. I picked a tree and set about working out my frustrations.With two punches from my little fists, the huge trunk snapped in half and the thing came crashing down. I then fell on it, using my hands to reduce that massive cylinder of wood to a billion matchsticks, chopping with the edge of my palms, tearing with my fingers, crushing and smashing with my fists.

I kept one short length of trunk intact. I lay on it, enjoying the way the hard, rough bark felt against my body with the heavy solid wood of the tree beneath it. Then my mind wondered, and I started imagining that instead of a trunk, my lovely Ultragirl was lying beneath me. I put my arms around "her" and squeezed her tight...

And that's when reality kicked back in. Unlike they had done against Ultragirl's wonderful body, my breasts didn't even yield momentarily to the tree. The huge heavy block of wood just crumbled to sawdust and splinters in my grasp, leaving me face-down on top of a pile of wood chippings.

I went home quickly as, frankly, I feared for the life of anyone who got in my way. Or didn't get in my way but just caught my eye for the wrong reason...

Thursday 16 June 2005 09:24 PST (GMT -7)

I'll have to be really brief today - I'm in an airport cafe, and my connecting flight leaves in just a few minutes.

In fact, I had to barge three people who were in front of me in the queue out of the way just to get to a terminal. I overdid it (naturally) elbowing one guy hard enough to break a couple of ribs, pushing a woman with sufficient force to send her diving into a table so that all its contents went flying and shoving an old fellow who ended up rolling for twenty yards along the carpeted floor. Of course, no-one noticed me in all the ensuing chaos, apart from a couple of guys who merely stared at me in lust.

You've probably guessed that I finally received that invitation I've been waiting for. I'm on my way there right now. In fact, it's time to board my flight. More from the scene tomorrow...

Saturday 18 June 2005 03:05 (GMT+10)

Ever noticed when a car-driver gets travel directions from a non-driver? The pedestrian will say "It's two minutes' walk. Just take the next right turn." The driver thanks her and sets off. Only when she gets to the turning, there's a big sign saying "No right turn." The pedestrian probably never noticed this; there's no sign saying you can't turn right when you're on foot.

It's a bit like that for me right now. Ultragirl's instructions for finding the island where her ex lives are really from the point of view of someone who can fly. Travel is a little different if you're on the ground. So, even though her description was clear, it took me quite a while to find the place. It didn't help that I couldn't find a boat from the mainland. I had to swim more than a hundred miles of the Pacific Ocean for starters.

I knew I'd finally arrived when, as I walked out of the sea, water glinting on my bikini'd body in the moonlight, I was greeted by a machine-gun toting goon in a ridiculous-looking red and yellow uniform. Ultragirl told me about the security team on the island and their peculiar dress in her directions. Don't ask me why a so-called superhero needs a security team, or why they dressed in red shirts and yellow trousers.

The one who yelled at me as I came ashore, pointing his weapon at my head, certainly wasn't very good at his job. I broke into a superspeed run towards him and, even though he had been fifty yards away when I started sprinting, I still managed to tear the gun from his hands before he could fire off a single round. I also tore a bit of hand away with the gun, but he didn't get to scream much as I quickly tapped him on the top of the skull with a finger, putting an end to all his troubles.

As I strolled away from his fallen body, two more red-and-yellow idiots came running down the beach. I kept walking towards them as they approached. I did not break my stride when they opened fire either. I just let the two streams of hot lead tear my clothes off my body and then bounce uselessly off my naked perfection. When I got within about twenty yards of them, I reached out, lazily, and grabbed a couple of ricocheting bullets from the air.

Placing one in each hand, I chucked them underhand at the two shooters. Needless to say, my casual throws sent the bullets back where they had come from about twice as fast as they had originally been fired at me. I could see the large hole my slugs tore through each one's chest, but a normal person might not have noticed at first because of their already-red shirts. That was three out of the security team down. I had been told there were nine in all.

The sound of gunfire brought two more running. They saw me from about fifty yards, lining me up in the sights of their weapons as they continued to charge at me. I didn't wait for them to start firing. I just pushed out my lips and blew a big kiss at them. My breath lifted a lot of sand from the beach. It also lifted the two guards and threw them backwards through the air.
I put just enough force into the puff to violently jerk their bodies. They never stood a chance. By the time I closed my lips and the pair came down, some thirty yards from where my superbreath had picked them up, they had both been shaken to death. And I hadn't even bothered to actually blow hard!

A strong sea breeze was criss-crossing the island and I used it to my advantage. By merely sniffing the air, I detected the scents of the rest of the guards. They were all close together. After a minute's walk following their smell, I found them in the little control hut where I'm sitting right now. It's got internet via satellite, you see, allowing me to post this blog entry.
It's a small, but very high-tech little one-room building. One wall is completely taken by electronic equipment, including this computer terminal. To my left, the doorway, with its metal door hanging from one hinge at a forty-five degree angle. All I did was push it open with one hand. I didn't realise it was locked until I saw the torn bolt.

By the door is the guy it hit when I pushed it in. He got smacked in the face, and he's not a pretty sight. There's another dead guy lying on top of a large CCTV console. He ran at me, I backhanded him across the room. Somehow, I don't think his head should be at the angle it now is from his body. Still, he's not complaining.

To my right, a third corpse is lying not far from my feet. He charged me with a night-stick. I just reached in and flicked him under the chin with my little finger. He bounced off the ceiling before coming to rest. Actually, now I look, part of him is still up there...

The fourth guard is still standing. He looks like a statue in fact, as if someone pressed a "Pause" button when he was in mid-stride towards me. The icicles hanging from his frosty features tell the real story. A really gentle, sharp blast of ultra-cold superbreath froze him in an instant. He's starting to drip a bit now. It's very warm in here.

So much for the security team, then. Nine men dispatched with about as much effort as it takes to raise an eyebrow. I do hope that Ultra's ex and his girlfriend (who's supposed to have some kind of powers too) are more of a challenge.I'm off to find them now...

Tuesday 21 June 2005 04:52 GMT+10

OK, so I told you how I dealt with this little island's so-called "security" team. And I mentioned I was off to find Ultragirl's ex and his current squeeze. Here's what happened next.

Ultrababe warned me that the new girlfriend had super-powers, so I wasn't sure what to expect. I guess her name - "Heat-Stroke" was a clue. Anyway, there's only one large villa with a pool on the island, so I knew that would be where I'd be most likely to find the lovely couple. In fact, I was still a mile away when my sensitive nostrils detected the girlfriend's not-exactly-cheap perfume. I prefer a natural scent myself, but it did save me time looking for her.

She was lying by the pool, sunning herself. At first glance, I couldn't believe that anyone could give up Ultra for her. I mean, sure she had nice tits (who doesn't, eh?) and a sexy pout but she's not fit to brush my darling Ultragirl's hair. I told her as much as I walked up to her. I said, "Hey pretty! I've got a message from your boyfriend's ex. And believe me, he took a step down when he picked you up."

I don't know why, but she seemed really pissed off with me. She raised her hands and I found out where she got her name. Two blasts of pure white light left her hands and flew straight at me. They didn't explode like bombs, they just sort of dissolved in heat, like a jolt of solar energy. So warm. Almost hot. They'd have seriously damaged my clothes if I had been wearing any.

I laughed as the wave of warmth began to dissipate, but I laughed too soon. It was like that ray I "borrowed" from the government a while back. Sure, the solar energy didn't hurt me, but it did have a profound effect on me. It made me horny. Really, really, brain-numbingly, fist-clenchingly horny. It felt almost as good as being touched by Ultragirl. Almost.

I closed my eyes. Heat-Stroke (bless her) must've seen it as a sign of weakness because she fired again. I don't know if she was aiming carefully, but the bolt of heat energy smacked me right between my naked breasts, sending me into an uncontrollable ecstasy. I couldn't help cupping myself and playing with my swelling nipples.

Of course, that left the rest of me unprotected and the silly cow took advantage by shooting off another blast. That one hit right between my thighs. Some of the heat even seemed to creep a little inside me. The pleasure was so intense, I fell onto my back. She must've thought she was defeating me in battle, because two more hot zaps struck me in my most tender region as I lay there.

I went into one of the best orgasms of my life. When I opened my eyes, Heat-Stroke was standing over me, bending down to examine my face. I was still out-of-control at that point. I can hardly even remember reaching up and placing my palms on her cheeks. Nor pulling her pretty face towards mine. Or planting my lips on hers.

But I do remember giving her the most passionate kiss I've given anyone in a long time, drawing air into my lungs as I did so. Maybe it was because I caught her off-guard but she wasn't a good kisser. Still burning with lust, I pressed my mouth harder against hers and kissed more insistently. That just got me the taste of blood. A second later, she went limp and fell onto me. I knew at once that I'd sucked all the life out of her. Her fault, I say, for getting me so worked up.

Hoping that Ultragirl was somewhere up in the clouds watching, I left Heat-Stroke's body by the pool and went into the villa in search of my real target. I searched every room, and found nothing. But I could definitely smell a trace of male in there. He must've bolted in the last few minutes. I went outside and shouted into the air. "He's not here! Give me a couple of minutes and I'll find him." All I could do was wish that my love heard me. I couldn't see her anywhere up there.

All that was left for me to do was find the poor runaway and bring him out into the open so Ultra could watch me teach him, as she so inspiringly put it, "the real meaning of strength."

Wednesday 22 June 2005 06:58 GMT+10

So, do you remember where we're at? I'm looking for Ultragirl's ex. On the island, the security team having taken early, permanent retirement, my "target"'s sun-blast-chucking girlfriend lifeless by the pool...

The guy wasn't in the villa. I picked up a very subtle hint of his scent and followed it down the side of the hill, towards the sea. In my experience, men have a very strong odour, which I can normally detect from a couple of miles away, but this guy's was much less clear. Maybe it was because he's a "super" type.

The scent got stronger down on the beach. There's a series of small caves at the bottom of the hill where the sand begins, and I worked out straight away that he had to be hiding in one of them. "Oh, Power-Plant!" I called out to him. There was no reply, so I tried his real name. "Hey, Trevor! I've got a message for you from Ultragirl!" Still, I got no answer
I was all prepared to search each cave one by one (the dark's no problem for my eyes) but the guy saved me the bother by throwing a rock at me from inside one of them as I passed in front of its mouth. Ultragirl had warned me that he's superstrong, and she wasn't lying. The rock he threw (at almost the speed of sound) was maybe four feet in diameter. Serious stuff!

Naturally, I didn't bother to dive out of the way. I just stood there and let the enormous ball of solid stone smash into my torso. The rock exploded on impact with my far harder body, little fragments of it flying in all directions. "Hey! That nearly tickled!" I called into the cave from which it had been launched.

Another huge lump of rock followed a moment later. This time I was facing it full on. It just crumbled to dust as it slammed onto my naked chest. It didn't feel a quarter as good as Heat-Stroke's blasts had done. "You're wasting our time, Trevor." I said. "Why don't you come out and fight like your girlfriend tried to?"

"What have you done with her?" came a ridiculously pompous voice from inside the cave.
"I kissed her, then dumped her. Just like you did to Ultragirl. Too bad you couldn't be there for Heat-Stroke, Trevor. She might still be alive if you had."

"You bitch! Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of Ultragirl's. Now, are you coming out or do I have to come in and get you?" I was already walking into the cave as I said that. Somehow I knew that the coward would never come out of his own accord.

Inside the pitch black cave, I scanned all around and saw nothing. Not because my eyes weren't more than capable of seeing in the dark (they were) but because, as I found out after some further searching, Trevor was hiding behind a rock. With a flick of my wrist, I tore his hiding place away and sent it flying into the wall of the cave.

Power-Plant stood up and punched me. Only Ultragirl has ever punched me so hard. His big fist landed right on my chin, almost even pushing my head back. His next blow was against my cheek. The Clank! was like steel hitting steel. "Nice try" I smiled.

That seemed to wind him up. He unleashed a flurry of punches at my body, some striking my breasts (and feeling quite nice) and some hitting my belly (and barely registering at all). When he was done, he was puffing for breath. I put my hands on my hips and laughed. "Is that it? Is that the best that the great Power-Plant can manage? I wonder what Ultragirl ever saw in you."

I picked him up by his armpit with my right hand and started to walk out of the cave. He tried everything - pulling, punching, pinching, kneeing, kicking, biting - to get out of my grasp, but to be honest, it wasn't exactly hard to ignore him. Once we were out of the cave, I dumped him on the sand and threw myself down on top of him before he could move.

"You think you're so strong, don't you, Trevor." I told him. "You think you're such a big, macho, man. Let me show you some real strength. Female strength. Not with rocks. Not with big hairy fists like you. But with these." I shook my pendant breasts over his face to illustrate what I was talking about.

Immediately, he reached up and grabbed hold of my left mound. Even his big bear-like hand wasn't large enough to completely encircle me, but he did his best, squeezing with all his might until his face went purple and his eyes looked ready to pop out of his skull. Of course, his best efforts barely dented my soft round flesh. "Pathetic." I told him. One gentle shake of my chest and his hand was knocked away.

I grabbed hold of one of his wrists with each of my hands and pinned them, with very little difficulty, either side of his head. Then I leant over him until my nipples were brushing his cheeks. "Let me show you some real female strength." I said.I began with a gentle swaying of my hanging breasts, letting the outside of my bust slap alternating sides of his skull, knocking his head one way then the other. "Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!" was all he had to say to that, so I moved up a gear, raising myself up slightly, then dropping my chest quickly onto random bits of his face. That brought forth cries of "Ooof!" and "Ack!" to go with the continuing "Ow!"s

The next step was to just press my breasts into his head. I started on his chin then his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his eye-sockets. I can't really spell the sounds he was making by this point (they were more like screams than words). To stop the racket I smothered his mouth in my cleavage, holding myself on his face until he finally shut up.

I lifted myself up and looked down on a very strangely-coloured Power-Plant. His skin was light blue in a few patches, although those quickly turned pink as he gulped down air. Most of his head though, was purple. Bruised as badly as anything I've ever seen (or caused, for that matter). "So are you ready for Round 2, Trevor?" I asked.

"No.. No.. Please... no...."

"Oh, I insist." I smiled, shaking my breasts very slightly. The sight made him wince in terror.

"No! I beg you! Please... I... I... I believe.... in..... f-f-female p-power! You're... you're... better than me. Please! No more!" A single tear appeared in his swollen eye as he pleaded. I'd done what Ultragirl had asked me to do.

Standing up, I rested one foot gently on Power-Plant's chest (just enough to stop him getting up). Turning my face to the sky, I shouted to the clouds where I hoped Ultragirl was watching "It's done, my love! Come and see for yourself!"

Nothing happened for a few seconds and then... Oh, let's save that for tomorrow.

Thursday 23 June 2005 02:56 GMT+10

With Power-Plant (AKA Trevor) battered and crying as I rested my foot triumphantly on his chest, I was scanning the sky, waiting for my date. She had promised she'd be watching, and that she'd come and join me once I had dealt with her pathetic old flame. But where was she?

"Ultragirl!" I shouted into the air, loud enough to start a minor rock-slide from the nearby cliffs and make Power-Plant cover his bruised ears with his hands. Ten seconds passed. Then I saw a little dot in the distant, morning sky. That dot became large very quickly. There was the lovely Whoosh! that accompanies Ultragirl's arrival and then she was there. Floating in the air, about ten yards from me.

I couldn't believe my eyes. She'd told me she'd been working out, but never would I have imagined what she meant. She was covered in muscles! Huge, bulging muscles everywhere. Her formerly shapely arms were now rippling with brawn. Her thighs, once so sexily rounded were now enormous. Her beautiful, flat stomach had become a rigid six-pack. This wasn't my pretty feminine Ultragirl. It was her steroid-addicted twin sister!

"Oh my god! What have you done to yourself?" I asked, horrified.

"Don't you like it?" she responded, rotating in the air, so that I could see that her back was as muscular as her front. She zoomed up close to me and put her arms around me. I tried to shrug her off and found, to my shock, that it was harder - a lot harder - than last time. She planted her lips on my mouth. I have to admit that was lovely; a kiss firmer and more passionate than any I've ever had. I yielded a little to her.

She was squeezing me tight now. It was nice - no, it was great - to feel another body compressing mine. My breasts were even flattening slightly against hers, something which I'd never properly experienced before. But the curves I'd been longing to feel weren't there. I tried to break off the kiss, but it was a real struggle. No sooner had I managed when Ultragirl started trying to push me down. Last time we met, I found it easy to resist her. This time... Well, I think she must've caught me by surprise because I ended up on my back on the sand next to Power-Plant.

Instantly Ultragirl was on top of me, her mouth covering my neck with kisses, which did feel fantastic. Suddenly though, she was kissing my breast. I squealed with delight as she sucked on my nipple but her thick arm lay across my body and I could feel its muscles pressing into me. I tried to move it but it was a real challenge.

I've got to be honest, it wasn't just the muscles that were turning me off. It was the thought that I wasn't so much stronger than her anymore. I like being in complete control. I was beginning to get the impression that Ultra was more in charge than me as she worked my breast with her tongue. I tried to wriggle out and she held me in place.

It took all my strength to get out from under her. As soon as I did, she used her flight powers to crash down on top of me again. Within a second, her hands were all over my body. I admit it was lovely to be touched by someone so strong, but the Ultragirl I'd been dreaming about just wasn't like this. I wriggled away again.

"You really don't like me like this, do you?" she observed.

"I'm sorry." I said. It was the first time in my life I'd ever said those words and genuinely felt them.

"Well, one for the road then, honey." Ultragirl said. She flew at me, clamped her hands on my face and kissed me hard. I don't think I could have slipped away even if I'd tried for all I was worth. It was a really strange experience. She broke off the kiss and just flew away. I was left standing there, utterly confused.

I've spent the last few days here on the island, trying to get it all straight in my head, making use of Power-Plant's villa whilst he sleeps on the beach. Now it's time for me to head off for home. I don't know if I'll ever recover from the disappointment of my beautiful Ultragirl becoming a body builder.

Thursday 23 June 2005 08:59 PST (GMT-7)

So, here we are again. Another rushed airport update.

I'm en-route back home, catching a connecting flight. I really hate this airport. I think I'll go and beat up some of the staff before I have to board the plane.

Friday 24 June 2005 15:52 BST (GMT+1)

Got to say, I'm glad to be home.

I mean, tiny Pacific islands are very pretty and all that, but once you've torn apart the security team, killed the girlfriend and beaten the crap out of the ex-boyfriend (all for the sake of a jealous lover who ends up letting you down badly), well, there's not much else to do.

I thought I knew just about everything there is that's worth knowing, but (amazingly) the events of the last few days have taught me a few things:Lesson One: There's no point having "feelings" for other people, because they just disappoint you in the end. I travelled halfway around the world for Ultragirl, took out a small army for her amusement, killed Heat-Stroke (who never did anything bad to me other than unwittingly give me a terrific orgasm) and gave that pompous arse Power-Plant a tit-beating that (being male) he probably enjoyed despite his injuries.

For all that I'd have charged an employer a small fortune. For Ultragirl, because I had "feelings" for her, I stupidly did it for free. And what did I get? Not the beautiful, curvaceous, strong-but-not-as-strong-as-me girl who'd been monopolising my thoughts. No, I got a weird copy of her, all muscles and look-how-strong-I-am-now... I'm off women now. And unless Ultragirl goes back to her former, gorgeous self, I'm off women permanently.

Lesson Two: I hate airports. I hate queuing with lesser beings, waiting for incredibly slow, weak creatures to move their ridiculously light luggage around. I could lift a full 747 with one hand. Why should I have to hang around because other people can't even lift a single suitcase with two hands? I wish I could fly. Then I wouldn't have to travel anywhere with pathetic "normals".

The west-coast American airport I had to change at on the way out and the way back last time was particularly depressing. First there was the farce of grabbing an internet terminal to post the blog on my way out. Then there's the fact that the place is full of happy people (ugh) with expensive cosmetic surgery. All those fake breasts! And none of them a quarter as beautiful or a twentieth as sexy as my natural endowments.

It was even worse on the way back. I had to queue twice! Even though I tossed six or seven idiots out of my way, I was still kept waiting for nearly two minutes. There's no way someone as physically magnificent and powerful as me should have to put up with that.

Even the toilet was a disgusting mess, although I admit that was partly my fault. I was in a bad mood and the young man at the coffee-bar just kept staring at my chest as if I was an exhibit in a gallery. (Huh! I'm vastly more beautiful than any mere work of art.) What else could I do, other than drag him into the women's room when no-one was looking and throw him across the room?

And if he cut his leg open, incurring a deep gash from his ankle to above his knee on the porcelain sink I'd smashed with an impatient tap of my finger, well it's not my fault that his blood smeared all over the floor. They should clean their conveniences better.

Lesson Three: In order to match my fantastic strength, Ultragirl has had to work like a dog in the gym for months, acquiring huge muscles and severely compromising her former beauty. I may not be able to state with complete certainty that I'm the strongest being in the Solar System now. But I'm absolutely sure that I am the most beautiful and (by a massive margin) the most sexy.

Ultragirl can (and should!) lose that musculature. Then she'd be close to me in the gorgeousness stakes once more. But that would leave her miles behind in the power league. She cannot compete with me on both fronts at the same time. So, this whole, sorry escapade has at least had one positive outcome: it has proven once and for all, that in terms of strength and beauty, I am simply untouchable.

Although, we kind of knew that already, didn't we?

Monday 27 June 2005 17:15 BST (GMT+1)

How was your weekend? (Don't answer. I couldn't care less how it was.) The important thing is that mine was great.

It was lovely to be at home with no other-people's-ex-boyfriends to humiliate. I'm through with doing favours. From now on, any small army I destroy will be because I feel like destroying it. Any stupid men I beat up with my breasts will be because I think it will be a fun thing to do. For me. And no-one else.

Like the story in this morning's paper: "Freak amplifier accident leaves four band members deaf." (It wasn't a "freak accident", of course. More on that in a moment.) The key thing is, the "incident" didn't occur because someone I fancied asked me to do it. It happened because I felt like doing it.

It was Sunday morning and I was out for a walk in a normally quiet part of town when my ears were accosted by the sound of a very, very bad rock band. It was muffled and distant, but, with my supersenses, I had no trouble identifying the source of the noise. I followed it until I came to a closed parking garage in a residential street.

I banged on the garage door a few times, but unsurprisingly, I wasn't heard. So I drew back my right foot and swung it, fairly softly, at the metal panel. My casual punt (it wasn't firm enough to be called a kick) tore a big hole in the aluminium door. The racket inside finally stopped.

I widened the hole by simply strolling through, letting my body rip and compress the metal as it needed to allow me to pass through. Inside the garage, I stared down each of four acne-ridden adolescents in turn. One of them (I think he might have been the so-called singer as he was the only one without an instrument) tried to act cool for his friends.

"Hey babe," he said, "if our music's too loud for you, you should get a pair of earplugs."

"It's not too loud." I told him. "It's too crap." He seemed a little disappointed by my reaction. I assumed that he didn't appreciate my criticism, but it actually turned out that he was more concerned about sound volume than quality.

"But... you got to admit," he countered. "We are pretty loud."

I dismissed his claim. "I can make more noise by whistling." I said.

"Yeah sure, babe." the possible singer laughed.

So, I had to show them. I pursed my lips and carefully blew through them to make a note. A very loud note. Nowhere near my loudest, but enough to make my point. Immediately, all four band members put their hands over their ears. A small glass window in the far wall shattered. Two of the guys collapsed to the ground, rolling about furiously. One of the others sank to his knees. The fourth bent over double as if punched in the stomach.

I held the note for about three seconds, then closed my lips to make it stop. I could see trickles of blood appearing from the ears of a couple of the young men. "Still don't think I can make more noise than you?" I asked them, but no-one replied. Reading the headline in the paper this morning, I think I know why.

Tuesday 28 June 2005 17:48 BST (GMT+1)

It's been another lovely day in the lovely single life of Blogger today.

I've gotten myself a new pet for company. I couldn't decide between a cat or a dog, so I got neither in the end. I had to go to quite a few pet-shops before I found what I was looking for, but I'm pleased with my choice. He's a male and I call him "Spot". I think his name was previously Steve or something like that, but I prefer my choice.

There was some fuss in the shop when I announced which animal I wanted to take but, as regular readers know, I can be very persuasive. In the end, it didn't cost me a penny. In fact, there was no-one to take my money anyway once I'd found a box big enough and stuffed my new pet into it. I had to put some cloth in its mouth to stop it shouting "Let me out! I'm a man not an animal!".

I got a leash from the shop and fitted it when I got home. It's come in handy for training. I can yank it to make my pet come flying to me, or to stop it going on the furniture. After a few minute's initial instruction which mostly involved picking it up and throwing it across the room to teach it who is in charge, it has been fairly-well behaved.

It's at my feet now, looking up at me in cute supplication while I'm typing this. I've got its leash in my hand. When I'm done, I'm going to give it a sharp tug and make him fly up onto my lap. Here I go then...

Wednesday 29 June 2005 16:58 BST (GMT+1)

The last twenty-four hours with my new pet (Spot) have been extremely enlightening.

I've learnt a lot. Like how to jerk his leash so that his whole body is lifted from the ground and slams into mine. We both find that very funny. Well, I find it funny, and it doesn't matter what he thinks. I've also worked out how to yank his lead so that he spins up through the air over my head and lands on the other side of me. I haven't found a practical use for that trick yet, but I'm going to keep doing it until I think of something.

I heard of some (vastly less powerful and beautiful) women who, by carefully applying food to certain areas of their bodies, encourage their dogs to pleasure them with their tongues. With Spot, it's much easier. I don't have to bother with the food for starters. I just strip, sit on a chair with my legs apart, and tug his leash so that he flies, head-first, straight at my groin. Then I instruct him "Spot, lick!" and he obeys. He's so sweet, he never stops until he passes out from exhaustion.

I think he loves me. He's so attentive and obedient. I'm sure that the fact that he knows I'll kill him with a flick of a finger if he ever displeases me is only a small part of it. Tomorrow, I might reward him with a walk in the park. On his leash, of course.

Thursday 30 June 2005 23:54 BST (GMT+1)

A rainy last day for June 2005, but it didn't spoil my walk in the park with Spot one little bit.

My new pet complained a bit, naturally. I told it that it should grow fur like normal pets, or become superhuman like me. It kept shivering under the rain. Quite a few times, I had to jerk the leash to stop him talking. "I'm cold.. please let me put some clothes on" and "This is so humiliating, crawling naked on a lead in public".

After a couple of the gentlest of slaps (barely enough to send it rolling a dozen times and leave dark purple bruises), Spot learnt to keep quiet. When it tired and started to become too slow for my liking, I just dragged it through the grass and the mud, its weight at the end of the leash hardly noticeable to me.

By the time we got home, he was filthy. I made it wash the mud off itself in a deep puddle outside my building. He left a few footprints on my carpet, which I dealt with by picking it up with my left hand under his belly until its face was level with mine. I told him if he left any more mess, I'd hurt him really badly and then tossed it across the room into the far wall to make my point.

When he came to, I was already sitting in my favourite armchair, having long since removed all my clothes. "Spot!" I called, pulling the lead so that he was violently tugged towards me, "Lick!"

 

 

July 2005

Monday 4 July 2005 19:04 BST (GMT+1)

"Spot's Exciting Weekend"

(typed by Blogger, because Spot isn't allowed on the furniture)

On Friday morning, I was woken up by my beautiful Owner tugging hard on my leash. I had been sleeping on the floor (nude of course) and the pull of my Owner's lovely hand was more than powerful enough to lift my whole body from the ground. I landed with my face in her fabulous lap and noticed that She wasn't wearing any clothes. I knew what she wanted me to do before she issued the command in her majestic voice: "Spot, lick!"

Of course, it is always my great honour to obey my Owner. I set to work immediately trying to please Her with my tongue. I knew that disobedience would bring me great pain and possibly cost me my life, but I put my entire being into the work because it is such a joyous task and not because I was afraid. Naturally, I was afraid, but that is normal for a someone in the presence of a being as great as my Owner.

I must have succeeded in bring some small degree of enjoyment to Her because after about five minutes, She tensed suddenly, closing Her glorious thighs slightly and trapping my insignificant tongue between them. Even as I tried to scream in agony, I knew that I was receiving a truly magnificent honour; that of being injured by my magnificent Owner.

She was displeased that so much of my mortal blood was spilled on the perfection of her body. The knowledge that I had caused Her to be unhappy hurt much more than the pain in my mouth or, for that matter, the knowledge that I had lost half of my tongue, crushed to pulp between Her silky thighs. I did my very best to wipe her clean until the loss of blood and the agony was too much for me and I passed out.

I was re-awoken on Saturday morning by my Owner's beautiful toes flicking me in the ribs, sending me rolling helplessly across the room. "Spot," she said, shaking her head, "what am I going to do with you? I manage to teach you one decent trick and, thanks to your clumsiness, you can't do it anymore."

I tried to say something in response (it doesn't matter what as my Owner knows that my words and thoughts are utterly insignificant compared to her unlimited power and beauty) but because of the wounds in my mouth, I can't speak anymore. My Owner laughed at my attempts at talking and said "At least we've cured your answering back problem!"

She dragged me by my leash into the middle of the room and then, with a prod from Her foot, knocked me over onto my back. Then she stepped over me to that she was standing astride me, her hands on her hips. She bent down and grabbed the back of my neck, lifting my head until it was right by her groin. "Well, you can't lick anymore," she said, "so suck!"

I set about my duty with delight. The tears in my eyes were of pure joy and not at all the result of total despair. I worked for a quarter of an hour, waiting for my Owner to ask me to stop but She did not. In the end, I fainted from pure exhaustion.

I was brought round that afternoon by my Owner, giving me the greatest of honours as she sat, naked, over the lower half of my face. I could barely breathe, which is what woke me up. As soon as my eyes flicked open, She said simply "Suck!" I could feel my chin and my cheeks bruising, but that is a small price to pay for the honour of pleasuring my Owner. However, I was only able to last for about ten minutes this time before slipping into unconsciousness once again. Only my Owner knew that my nose had been broken whilst I was performing my duties.

On Sunday morning, I regained awareness and became aware of the injuries to my face. I was being dragged through the park under pouring rain by my Owner who was walking very briskly, holding Her end of my lead around just a single finger as if my weight at the other end was nothing to Her. It hurt my neck as I was pulled along by my collar (the only item of clothing I wear these days) but, of course, I was thrilled to be in the company of one so wonderful as my Owner.

After my walk, my Owner rolled me through a couple of deep puddles to clean the mud from me. She lifted me from the ground with one hand around my waist and carried me under Her arm like a rolled-up coat back to Her appartment. There, She gave me the honour of sucking Her once more, but for some reason, I was not able to perform up to acceptible standards. No wonder she was frustrated and tapped me on the top of the skull with her smallest finger, sending me back into dreamland.

My Owner generously allowed me a long rest before She woke me up with that wonderful, familiar tug on my leash this morning. Because my nose is slightly flatter now thanks to my beautiful Owner, I was able to get closer than ever to Her perfection when she commanded me to suck. I managed a whole quarter of an hour before my patheticness triumphed and I blacked out once more.

I'm sleeping again now, but I can't wait for the next time my Owner wakes me and orders me to please Her.

Tuesday 5 July 2005 17:23 BST (GMT+1)

Sob, sob, sniff... It's always sad when a pet passes away.

Only joking! Of course it's not sad. Spot just wasn't up to the job of being my pet and, to be frank, I was beginning to get bored with him anyway.

He didn't quite die in my arms, more under my crotch to be precise, but I'm sure he was happy. Who wouldn't be, so close to someone as beautiful, powerful (let's face it, physically perfect) as me?

Anyway, I was going to bury him at the bottom of the garden, but when I got there last night, his corpse hanging from my left hand like a shopping bag, I realised I couldn't be bothered with all that. I'd only had him for a few days and he wasn't really worth the thirty seconds it would have taken me to dig and fill a six-foot grave. So I tossed him underarm, flinging him over the twelve-foot brick wall into the canal on the other side.

Bye bye, Spot. I'd like to say you'll be missed, but that would be a lie.

Wednesday 6 July 2005 15:47 BST (GMT+1)

Regular readers will recall how, for a week beginning on Thursday 24 February this year, I was helping out my city's bid to host the 2012 Olympics in my own, unique, way. (That said, most of my regular readers are males, so your brains probably aren't capable of such feats of memory - I suggest you look it up in my Archives.)

Today's announcement that the bid was successful is, unquestionably, a direct result of my efforts. Is there NOTHING I can't do?

Friday 8 July 2005 17:38 BST (GMT+1)

I've been at home, playing with a new toy.

No, before you jump to any conclusions, this one doesn't have two arms and legs and a penis. It doesn't come from a toy-shop either. It's a 9mm pistol.

I took it off a heroin dealer on Wednesday night as a souvenir. I interrupted him and a colleague whilst they were mid-transaction and they both took offence. I let them pull out their guns and squeeze off a few rounds at my face which felt like raindrops. Then they shot me in the chest six or seven times, which was just as ineffective, if slightly more enjoyable as the bullets caressed my large, invulnerable breasts.

Once they were done, and staring in shock at the fresh holes in my T-shirt (through which my unmarked feminine flesh was clearly visible) I shoved them both back into an alley. They dropped their guns as they flew backwards. One of them hit the back wall, about a yard above the ground and slid down unconscious. The other was awake enough for me to pin to the wall and strip.

He was obviously terrified, and I had to rub my naked nipples over his body, leaving dark marks where my "soft" flesh pressed into him, in order to get him erect. Then, with us both standing and him pressed against the wall, I screwed him hard and fast until his eyes closed and his legs gave way. I dressed and picked up the guns on my way out of the alley.

Back at home, I quickly broke one of the guns. I tried to insert it into myself and fire it, to see if I could get any pleasure from the bullet, but my labia were too powerful and crushed the end of the barrel shut so that when I pulled the trigger, the whole gun exploded in my hand. It felt OK, but I wanted to feel something properly inside me.

I used my fingers to hold myself open as I inserted the second gun. This time it fired fine, the red-hot bullet shooting right into me. It got about an inch into me before it became trapped by my invulnerable, superhumanly strong love canal. I removed the gun and clenched my inner muscles, compressing the slug inside me so much, it turned to liquid and dribbled out of me, cooling against my silky thighs.

It felt so good, I've been doing it again and again. The only problem is, I'm going to run out of bullets soon...

Monday 11 July 2005 20:48 BST (GMT+1)

The sun has been shining the last couple of days.

I've been out, catching as many rays as I can, just enjoying the lovely way sunlight makes me feel. It always has such a strange, but exhilarating effect on me, and it fascinates me.

This morning, I went up on the roof on my building. There's not supposed to be any access (there's a thick steel door at the top of the stairs, bolted shut and secured with an enormous padlock. I suppose I could have kicked the door open with my barefoot or pushed it out of its frame by pressing my body against it or chewed the padlock into pieces with my teeth, but instead I poked my index finger through the inch thick metal and used it to carve out a large rectangle (a door within the door, if you like).

Up there, I could lie topless in the sun, and watch the way my already large nipples got bigger and bigger and harder and harder throughout the day. By dusk, I'm sure I could have crushed diamonds to powder with them. I played with them for a while, pinching them hard between my fingertips. Really hard. Maybe five times harder than I would pinch solid steel to make it melt then vapourize. That felt good.

I really hope it's sunny again tomorrow.

Tuesday 12 July 2005 19:19 BST (GMT+1)

Here's a curious phenomenon: sunlight makes me stronger.

I've suspected it for some time (the curious effect of a day's topless sunbathing on my nipples which I reported on yesterday was a clue) but I've never been able to find out for sure. For one thing, testing your strength isn't easy when you're superhuman.

But today, after another seven hours lying on the roof in the brilliant sunshine, completely nude, I could have sworn I felt more powerful than ever as I stood up. I needed a test to find out. Fortunately, I had a good reference to compare with. There's a builder's yard just a short walk from my flat which I often visit at night when I'm bored.

They have a stack of five twenty foot long, two foot thick steel girders at one end of the yard. About ten nights ago, I tried, just out of curiosity, to see if I could lift all of them completely off the ground with a single finger. Balancing was obviously difficult, but I did manage it. At the time, I realised that I could have lifted more, but I could certainly feel the enormous pull of gravity on the huge pieces of solid metal as I raised them on the end of my outstretched index finger.

This evening, when I tried the exact same trick with the exact same girders, they came off the ground as if they were almost weightless. Without concentrating on the sensation, I could barely even feel the load!

I don't know what it is about the sun, but it seems me and it get on very well together. Very well indeed...

Wednesday 13 July 2005 17:42 BST (GMT+1)

Well, dear readers, I'm bored.

Totally bored. Bored of lying in the sun all day and then only testing my strength on bits of metal. Bored of trying to get one lone man to provide me with a little bit of pleasure. Bored of playing with pathetic popguns.

I've been looking around for something more amusing to do. And I think I may have found it. Last night, at an exclusive restaurant in town, I met a high-ranking police officer whom I seduced beyond hope in about thirty seconds. We went back to his place and I managed to squeeze quite a few state secrets (not to mention more than a couple of orgasms) out of him merely by gently rubbing my breasts against his torso.

Anyway, my man revealed (or rather screamed) that there's a major transfer of "dangerous" prisoners taking place tomorrow. They're all being transported from one jail to another in a big bus. I'm going to see if I can hitch a ride with them. It might be fun!

Thursday 14 July 2005 21:37 BST (GMT+1)

Well, I'm disappointed tonight.

The prisoners' transport was put back by twenty-four hours. But I'll be waiting for them tomorrow!

Friday 15 July 2005 17:47 BST (GMT+1)

Here I am, the most powerful, most beautiful, most gloriously sexy being in the universe, with a whole busload of prisoners and their guards completely at my mercy, and I'm taking time out to give you my thoughts. How privileged you are!

It's a magnificent feeling. More than a dozen men, cowering in complete fear of me. If they all got together and tried everything they could, they wouldn't damage a single strand of my lovely hair. But I... I can do whatever I want with them and there's nothing, no nothing at all, that they can do about it.

I could flick them under their chins with my little finger and make them fly up into the sky. I could line them all up and rape each of them in turn, breaking their fragile ribs with my glorious breasts.... Anything I want!

And it was so easy. I caught up with the prison transport as it sped down a motorway, my shapely legs and bare feet effortlessly matching the convoy for speed and then bettering it. I put myself right in the path of one of the accompanying police cars, too suddenly for the driver to react. The car and its occupants just crumpled to nothing against my beautiful, invulnerable body without causing me even a scratch.

I dealt with the other escort vehicle by just puckering up and gently blowing a little (casual) blast of superbreath at it. It was so effortless, but the effect was to lift the car from the road, and send it spinning forty yards through the air until it crashed down and exploded. I laughed at the sight of my unstoppable power.

All that was left was the bus with prisoners and guards. I ran behind it, crouching low to reach underneath and grab hold of the chassis, lifting the back of the vehicle slightly off the ground. Then I slowed up, bringing the huge coach to a total halt despite the frantic efforts of its enormous engine to pull it away from me. Needless to say, my single, slender arm proved much, much more powerful than an engine. After some desperate whining, it announced its defeat with a loud bang. Then all was quiet.

I walked around the front of the bus, ripping the door off with a couple of fingers and tossing it over my shoulder. Then I jumped in. A guard rushed me, I flicked him away with a couple of fingers and he slumped against the wall. Another smacked his night-stick down on my head. I grabbed the stick and snapped it in half. Then I lifted the guard by his neck and threw him into the group of prisoners.

Four of the convicts tried to run past me. I moved at superspeed, positioning my body in the path of each of them in turn. One by one they ran headfirst into my chest. Two of them knocked themselves out on my breasts, the others sustained some pretty impressive bruising. The remaining six men were fine, until I waded into them, picking them up by their armpits or throats and tossing them into the walls and each other.

Once I'd established my undeniable physical superiority, I commanded them to kneel in front of me. That's where they are now, waiting for me to finish typing this blog entry on my PDA. Now that I'm done, it's time for the real fun to start!

Saturday 16 July 2005 13:39 EST

Hello, everyone.

We interrupt this blog with an important announcement.

The bitch is gone.

Yes, that's right. This is me, Ultragirl. Cf has kindly (after only a little persuasion) given me access to these pages. After all, Blogger isn't going to be needing them any more. She's... um... moved on.

I just couldn't let her go ahead with her awful plan for those poor guys. I know most of them were prisoners, but I couldn't stand by while she abused her powers so cruelly. I had to intervene!

In the past, she's always been more than a match for me, but I'm stronger these days. OK, I admit I used some underhand tactics, like grabbing her breasts to distract her, but the end justifies the means. It wasn't easy, but I managed to hold on to her and fly her through the atmosphere, out into the void of space. And that's where I left her.

If you look up into the sky tonight, you might just be able to see a new (evil) star. Or you might prefer to look at the world around you, now that it's been freed....

Your friend and protector,

Ultragirl.

 

 

August 2005

Monday 1 August 2005 13:35 BST (GMT+1)

Hi folks. Conceptfan here. I haven't heard from Blogger for quite a while now.

I thought I'd publish some extracts from some of the emails I received about her.

The big question, nicely summed up by one correspondent, is "Hiatus or Hi Uranus?" In other words, will Blogger be back? How should I know!?

Many people have offered theories on what could happen. This seems to cover many of the points that crop up again and again in people's messages:

"I'm a little concerned that Ultragirl deposited Blogger outside the atmosphere of earth- ie, out in space where there is no Van Allen Belt to shield her from the exponentially stronger radiation of the sun...

We all know, by now, that Blogger is utterly impervious to the sort of harm that might be inflicted upon her by hard vacuum- hell, she's probably tough enough to (easily) withstand immersion in the heart of a star- and we also know that solar radiation from our yellow sun makes her stronger and more powerful. We may soon be in the unfortunate position of finding out just how much more powerful it makes her.

Now, I know, many people aren't particularly worried- after all, she's in space, we're on the surface of a planet and she can't exactly reach out and touch us. The problem is that, in freefall, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. In other words, she could, for example, propel herself back into the atmosphere simply by spitting away from the earth at an angle that would allow her to intersect the earth's gravitational pull."

Another worried correspondent writes: "Could Ultragirl tell us if Blogger managed to take on any air before she left the atmosphere? If so, I'm scared she might use her superbreath. Even from those distances, we know that she can generate winds powerful enough to cause major climate interference. Is she capable of disturbing the Earth's orbit with a blast of her breath?"

Others have asked questions such as "What if Blogger floats close enough to the International Space Centre? What if she decided to smash her way in there?"

Perhaps what most concerns folks is this "If Blogger does find her way back down to Earth, what kind of mood will she be in?"

Wednesday 10 August 2005 16:31 BST (GMT+1)

Hello everybody!

How have you been? (Like I care!) I'm sure you're all much more interested in welcoming me back to terra firma. I've had a lovely (or should I say "out of this world") three weeks, just soaking up vast amounts of unfiltered solar radiation. And I must say, it was probably the best holiday of my life to date; so much so, in fact, that I'm sure I'll be going back, again and again. Especially as I don't need Ultragirl (or anyone else) to help me get there anymore.

Readers, you have no idea how wonderful I feel right now. You simply couldn't. Let me try and explain it in terms you lesser beings might be able to understand: twenty days ago I was amazingly, mind-blowingly powerful, as-good-as-indestructible and irresistibly beautiful. Since then, the only thing that hasn't changed is my appearance but I think that's because I was already physically perfect to begin with. My super-powers, on the other hand.... well, they're now "super-powers-squared". And I owe it all to that yellow ball of flame in the sky and its delicious, supercharging energy.

Think about it. If sunbathing on the roof of my apartment for a few hours last month made some parts of my gorgeous body a little harder (harder than diamond that is) and caused my phenomenal strength to increase slightly, then what effect do you think three weeks of constant, 24-hour-a-day bombardment by solar radiation with no atmosphere or clouds in the way would have? A big effect? Wrong! A massive effect....

You see, it's not just that I'm stronger (although I am much stronger) or even more invulnerable (yes, I'm that, too) or that my other extraordinary abilities (supersenses, superspeed, superbreath) have been boosted in a major way. All those increases have happened (more on those later). But the most remarkable effect of my little trip into space is not that ramping-up of my existing powers. It's the discovery of new powers.

Two of these new abilities, both of which centre on my eyes, are cool. Firstly, if I stare at something and concentrate, beams of pure heat energy that look like red lasers emerge from my eyes. It's easy to control and devastatingly effective. The proof of that is that I utterly vaporised a meteorite that was three times my size (metal core and all) in mere seconds just by giving it an "angry look". I can't wait to try it out on a much less heat-resistant target like, say, a person.

New power number two is less destructive but probably even more useful. I found it when I was experimenting with my "heat-vision". If I tighten the muscles behind my eyes in a slightly different way (it's hard to explain to people who don't have even a millionth of my muscle-control) then instead of producing lasers, I can actually look right through solid objects as if they weren't there! In combination with my enhanced-super-vision, it meant that I could actually see Cf playing with himself in his bath. Through the ceiling of his bathroom. And the four floors above him. And the roof of his building. And the thick storm clouds overhead. At night. Whilst I was standing on the moon. I can also use this "X-ray vision" ability to look at nice things too. And things that are supposed to be well-hidden. Secret things...

You might think that was enough, but that's nothing compared with my third new ability. You're probably wondering, how did I get to be standing on the moon when Ultragirl had just left me floating in space? More to the point, how did I get back to Earth? The answer's simple. Ladies and gentlemen, I can now fly. That's right. I can fly! Like Ultragirl! It came to me suddenly after about a week in space. One moment I was floating helplessly in the void, the next I found a way, by tensing my arms and legs a little, to hold myself completely still. I experimented for a few days, until I found I had total control. I can move in any direction, at any speed, through space. And, as I discovered this morning, it works under Earth's gravity too. Right now, I'm typing this hovering three feet above the floor. And it's effortless!

I can shoot off at extreme velocities at will. I can go slow, or even, as I just mentioned, I can pause motionless in the air. I can turn the tightest of corners and angles at any speed, backwards, forwards, sideways, upside down... any way I want. And it doesn't even make me tired. I got from my original position about two hundred miles from Earth, to the surface of the moon in a minute. Then I went from there to Mars in quarter of an hour...

Yes, I could have come home two weeks ago. But I was having too much fun and the sun felt so lovely up there, I decided to stay a while longer. I was also fascinated by the way my existing powers were becoming more and more effective. Walking around naked on the surface of Venus, I barely even felt the crushing forces attacking my body. I got close enough to the sun to be completely engulfed by a particularly violent flare which just seemed a little warm to me. I left a perfect impression of my perfect body on the surface of Mercury merely by lying down on my belly and pushing ever so gently downwards, my large ultra-firm round breasts turning the solid rock to space dust without me having to exert even a hundredth of my strength.

Between Mars and Jupiter, I caught a passing meteor (it was about fifty times bigger than me) with one hand, cancelling out its momentum without realising what I'd done. Then I drew my arm back and casually tossed it towards a distant planet (Neptune I think). The huge ball of rock shot away from me incredibly fast and didn't stop till it eventually impacted hours later, dissolving into pieces once it had made a huge, huge crater. To celebrate, I signed my name with one finger deep into the crust of Mars and used my new heat-vision to destroy a couple of abandoned NASA vehicles on the moon as I flew past.

But I had to come home in the end. Firstly, I wanted to see if along with my super-sight, my super-hearing had also improved and I couldn't do that in the vacuum of space. Also, not having drawn a breath for three weeks, my lungs were empty and I wanted to test my superbreath too. But most of all, I wanted to show off my new abilities. So I flew back, faster than any puny rocket-ship, this morning.

The first thing I did when I re-entered the atmosphere, was take a deep breath. And then exhale it. I didn't even try and blow with any force. But it was enough to clear a tropical island fifty thousand feet below me of all its trees, rocks and soil. Clearly my superbreath has also been boosted. The next thing was my hearing. And yes, that too is better than before. I can hear a heartbeat from a hundred miles away if I concentrate!

Anyway, that's about it from me today. I want to go out and try out my new abilities (and my enhanced old ones) on Earth. And sooner or later, I'm going to have to pay a couple of visits to some old friends. Firstly, there's Cf, who described me as his "tormentress". If he thought I was scary last month, he should see me now (he will, don't worry). Then, there's Ultragirl. I should thank her for taking me beyond the atmosphere to where the sun could really supercharge me. But I know she was actually trying to kill me. One good turn deserves another, if you know what I mean....

Look out, Earth. Here I come!

Thursday 11 August 2005 13:08 BST (GMT+1)

Being able to fly is great! There are so many things that I can do now that I couldn't before. So many new ways to have fun. It's been a ball since I got back to Earth.

I spent a couple of hours playing with little private jets yesterday. They're so slow and clumsy in the air compared to me. I can catch up with them with the smallest burst of speed, fly rings around them and shoot past them with total ease. It's hilarious when I'm flying right alongside the cockpit and I can see the shock on the pilot's face as I smile and wave.

OK, OK so I got a bit too friendly with a couple of them but I have to experiment with my new powers somehow and besides, thanks to my wonderful X-ray vision abilities, I was able to check the inside of each one and verify that it was only men I was hurting, so it doesn't really count.

I was playing tag with one of those two unlucky pilots. I kept flying underneath or above him and veering into his path so that he had to dive or turn sharply to avoid me. Each time I would steer myself into his way, pretending to just stand in mid-air with my hands on my hips and my big, super-firm chest thrust out for maximum effect. On the last occasion, I overestimated the pilot's ability to evade me and the plane just ploughed right into the front of my body and exploded.

To be honest, I barely felt the impact or the aircraft crumpling up against my abdomen and my breasts. The explosion was a little warm, but nothing even vaguely approaching uncomfortable. The red-hot metal fragments that hit me hardly even tickled. It just reminded me how totally invulnerable I am now.

The other pilot that couldn't cope with me actually succumbed to a heart attack. He was fine when I flew alongside him and winked, and OK when I sat on his nose-cone right in front of his cockpit, my long legs straddling the tip of his plane. When I bent in slowly and planted a slow, sensuous kiss on the windshield, his pulse accelerated dramatically. All I did was pull off my T-shirt and press my nipples into the glass, instantly shattering it before continuing to lean forward until my bare breasts touched his face. Just that gentle contact was enough to make his heart explode. I left him and his machine to spiral down to the sea.

Oh what joy! Now it's time for me to take care of a little inner need that had built up all the time I was up in space. I'll have to be very, very careful with my newly-increased strength or else I'll make a nasty mess out of whatever man/men I chose to bestow with the honour of intimacy with me. I wouldn't want to do that. Not before I satisfy myself, anyway.

Friday 12 August 2005 15:45 BST (GMT+1)

As you know by now, it's never been hard for me to find a lover. I'm stunningly gorgeous and irresistibly sexy, after all. Besides, I'm millions (probably billions now) of times stronger than the average man so I've always just helped myself to whatever I've fancied.

But now that I can fly and see through the roofs below me, it's even easier (and more fun) to pick a male for sex. I just hover over the city, looking down using my X-ray vision to peel away the walls and ceilings and make my selection. It's like the whole world is my private supermarket.

I spent a few hours yesterday just cruising the skies, diving down through concrete or tiled roofs every time I saw a decent-looking man. I'd come crashing down in a shower of brick and plaster into their bedrooms, bathrooms, living rooms or offices, brush myself off and proceed to have my way with my invariably astonished and terrified choice of partner.

If they tried to run from me, I'd fly after them, catching them in seconds, tearing their clothes off and using my legendary charms to get them ready for me. If they didn't run I'd give them a few seconds to remove their own clothes before I would start to tear.

During my four-hour spree I managed to pleasure myself with a total of twenty-three different guys. Most I just pushed onto the ground on their backs, straddling them as I lowered myself onto them. Four or five, I took standing up, holding them with one hand on their rears and the other behind their upper backs, raising and lowering them into and out of me.

With two of them, I experimented. I kept them standing and floated off the ground, wrapping my legs around them. Then I used my new powers of flight to ride up and down. It was a completely novel experience and I really enjoyed it. The same couldn't be said for my lovers, however. They both suffered severe gashes where my engorged nipples scrapped their chests.

Overall, however, I was surprised by how little damage I caused my temporary "friends" considering my newly-increased strength. I kept a running score throughout of course. The final tally was: eighteen broken bones, four amputations (three minor: just fingers caught between my breasts and one major: a leg when I got a bit carried away). Besides the two badly gashed chests there was plenty of severe and less severe bruising and, amazingly, only one fatality (my chest crushed his ribs as I held him close when I orgasmed). Not bad for a morning's work.

Naturally, twenty-three men hardly makes up for three celibate weeks in outer space, but it's a start.

Tuesday 16 August 2005 15:25 BST (GMT+1)

Yes, I had a great weekend. No, I'm not at all concerned to know how yours was.

I was watching TV on Friday evening. Well, to be more precise I was watching the TV in a flat on the other side of the street. My new X-ray vision meant I got a perfect view of the screen through three brick walls (two of them reinforced with steel bars) and my extra-enhanced powers of hearing pulled the sound (with background noises tuned out) clearly to my ears. Not that I'm short of money, but my expanded powers will save a fortune on electricity bills!

Anyway, the programme I was viewing in that unorthodox manner was a nature documentary about birds of prey. I'm not really interested in lower forms of life like birds, cats, fish or men, but there was loads of footage of eagles seizing mice from the ground and it did grab my attention for a minute or so. The birds seemed to be complete masters of earth and sky and the rodents appeared to be pretty hopeless creatures, stuck on the ground and utterly at the eagles' mercy. It reminded me of my own dominance over the world around me.

Of course, I had to go out and try it for myself. At six in the morning I was flying over some hills outside town (it took precisely one minute to fly the twenty miles.) It's a popular spot with walkers and I quickly spotted a suitable target for my experimentation. He was mid-twenties with a large backpack. Just because I could, I examined its contents in detail from my station two thousand feet up. Nothing of interest was in there, though.

I swooped down on the fellow, remembering at the last moment to slow down as I didn't want to smash him against the rocky ground with displaced air. Nonetheless, he had no idea what was going on when I grabbed him by the back of the neck with my left hand and soared back into the sky. I know that because he yelled "Hey! What's going on? Oh my god! Oh shit!"

I must say that I didn't notice his weight (and that of his backpack) as I climbed to about two thousand feet up. Once up there, I stopped, hovering above the distant hill below as I turned my cargo around to face me. Despite his bulkiness, he was extremely easy to manoeuvre. He looked at me in shock whilst I just smiled.

"Put me down!" he spluttered.

"That's no way to speak to a goddess." I told him. He looked at me in confusion, then glanced at the six-hundred yards of empty air between his feet and the ground and then back up at me (pausing for a long, long moment at my chest before his gaze made it to my face).

"Please, oh mighty Goddess! I beg you to take me safely back to ground."

"Better." I said, remaining completely stationary.

"Great Goddess of the sky, please forgive my unworthiness. Your power and beauty are beyond the ability of a mere mortal like myself to describe. I humbly beseech you to grant me my wish to be returned to the ground."

I could see the earnestness in his eyes. He truly meant every word. He was so helpless, so pathetic hanging from my grasp. I dropped quickly downwards, the speed of the descent making his face go green immediately. I stopped abruptly when I was about ten feet up and, with a bored look on my face, opened the fingers of my left hand.

Without my amazing strength holding him in the air, he instantly fell the short distance to the ground. He landed awkwardly with a yell. I used my X-ray vision to confirm what I thought I had heard: the fall had broken his leg. And I had been planning to drop him from a much greater height!

He shouted something up to me about please helping him and calling an ambulance, but I'd had enough of him by then and I was already on my way, shooting upwards through the clouds.

Wednesday 17 August 2005 16:52 BST (GMT+1)

Well, my life certainly has changed a bit since I got back to Earth!

I used to take day trips, usually by train. I could have run to the coast (or wherever) much faster than any man-made machine, but a girl (especially a girl as undeniably beautiful as me) running at 250 miles per hour can't really hope to keep a low profile. So I used to take the train. An hour to the coast. Even longer to go elsewhere...

This morning, I opened the window, checked the street to make sure no-one was looking, floated up off the floor and just flew out. I went straight up, knowing that I can't be spotted by normal people once I'm a couple of thousand feet above them. Leisurely, I turned in the air and headed towards the sea.

I took my time, taking in the sights, using my X-ray powers to see inside the buildings below me, laughing to myself at all the pathetic people. I know I could have gone maybe ten or more times faster and yet within ten minutes I was over the coast. The same journey that used to take over sixty minutes!

On a whim, I changed direction. With my lithe, superpowered body, I can turn in the air even more easily than on my feet. Now I was headed North. As I had nothing better to do I kept on going until, less than a quarter of an hour (and 650 miles) later, I was soaring over the Highlands.

That's when my keen hearing detected the distinctive noise of a helicopter engine. I rotated to face its source and, employing my superhuman eyesight, managed not only to spot the chopper fifteen miles away, but also to read the words "Mountain Rescue" painted on it. It had to be looking for some poor lost climber. I did what any superhuman would do, and flew towards it.

Just a tiny, easy burst of speed brought me next to the rescue craft in seconds, even though it had been travelling away from me. On the way, I happened, by pure chance, to spot the stranded climber on the ground. (No surprise that my unaided eyesight is a lot better than a professional using the latest in binoculars.)

I thought about swooping down and grabbing the guy on the mountain, but changed my mind. I already did that (on Saturday). So I ignored him, and concentrated on the helicopter. I flew beneath it and reached up, taking hold of one of its landing skis with each hand.

Experimentally, I stopped flying and hovered still, keeping my fingers firmly gripping the flying machine. I heard the engine whine overhead, and the panicked shouting of the two men inside, but I didn't feel any strain at all as I effortlessly held the thing immobile, despite the best efforts of its engines to move forwards.

I tried flying in different directions, zigzagging, stopping suddenly then restarting and going sharply up and down. Whatever I tried to do, the helicopter had to do with me. My grip on it, my strength and my flight powers were all far too much for its noisy motors to resist. To be honest, moving that rescue craft was as easy as waving a piece of paper in the air. (But you would probably get tired doing that, whereas I never tire.)

I toyed with the helicopter in that way for about ten minutes. But, even the newest, shiniest, most expensive toy gets boring after a while. I found a nice, jagged, exposed peak and placed the chopper down on it. Of course, with its engine still running, it started to lift off immediately.

I flew out from under the machine and around it. You should have heard (and seen) the reaction of its two-man crew as I passed by the windshield and waved at them! Anyway, I floated over the top of the craft and with one hand extended over the hub of the blades, pushed it back on to the rocky peak with ease. I let go and it started to rise again, so I pushed it back down and held it firmly in place, this time using only my extended middle finger.

I realised I couldn't stay there all day waiting for the fuel to run out. I had two choices: let the helicopter go or stop it going anywhere once and for all. Thinking for a moment about the guy the chopper crew had been trying to rescue, I thought it would be funny to take the second option. So, I gripped the hub tightly, my fingertips cracking the so-called high-strength material. Then I pulled my arm back sharply.

With a crack and a brief, metallic scream, the blades and the assembly they were mounted on tore off the roof of the helicopter. I tossed them over my shoulder. Judging by the length of time that elapsed before I heard the clatter of their landing, they must have missed the rocky peak we were on and crashed down a thousand feet or more below.

I called down through the new hole in the roof "I hope you boys have got walking boots on! I'd stay and chat, but I've got to fly. Oh, and, by the way, you know that guy you're looking for? He's about a mile-and-a-half south-west of here." As soon as I'd finished speaking I took off for the sky. I heard them shouting "Wait! Come back! Don't leave us here!" before I stopped bothering to listen.

Thirty minutes later, I having a nice, relaxing bath at home, using another of my new powers (heat-vision) to keep the water at a pleasant, bubbly 100 degrees centigrade. Ah, it's great being me!

Thursday 18 August 2005 17:48 BST (GMT+1)

Today, I've spent quite a bit of time experimenting with my new heat vision.

It's pretty amazing. It's probably only because I've been so absorbed with now being able to fly that I haven't been playing with it more. I mean, it's extremely powerful, controllable and accurate. Let me explain:

Powerful: I turned a ninety foot tall steel radio transmitter tower weighing probably a hundred tons into a four-foot deep puddle of glowing, steaming molten liquid in around thirty seconds. I just blasted it with my heat rays, slowly lowering my gaze as I melted the massive construction from the top down. When I was finished, a quick blast of cool superbreath turned the pooled steel solid once gain in an instant. And no, the effort didn't leave me feeling in the slightest bit tired. But it'll be one hell of a job to deal with the big block of smooth-edged steel I left behind!

Controllable: As well as the extreme heat I used to melt the transmitter, I can use my heat vision to generate just about any temperature I want. I tried it on some very delicate white fabric which I dipped in the bath and then, carefully, dried off in seconds merely by looking at it severely. I know that anything over about 60 degrees centigrade would have left burn marks, so I must have warmed the fabric to around 50 degrees. Any temperature (and I mean any) between that around 5000 Centigrade is no problem for me.

Accurate: Standing on the ground and tilting my head back, I was watching a small private jet flying overhead at a height of around ten thousand feet. By aiming with care, I was able to use my heat vision to puncture the tyre on one of its wheels without in any way affecting the rest of the little plane. The pilot wouldn't have known a thing about it until he landed a little wobbly...

Friday 19 August 2005 17:24 BST (GMT+1)

It was miserable and raining in town this morning, so I decided to go to a less wet place.

Once that would have meant hours of boring waiting around with ordinary people in an airport, but not any more! At ten o'clock I made the decision to split town. By ten thirty, I was somewhere where it never rains.... the surface of the moon.

It was a lovely trip. As soon as I cleared the atmosphere, I felt the warmth of the sun seeping into my body, energising every single cell. I always feel great, but out there, in open space, away from the shielding effects of the ionosphere, I feel, well... totally super. Powerful beyond most people's ability to imagine. Unstoppable. Indestructible. Mighty. Perhaps that's because I am.

Anyway, I was strolling around on the sunny side of the moon, soaking up the rays, when I spotted something in the distance. Something familiar. I flew the thirty miles to the object in a second. I couldn't help smiling. There I was, standing right next to an abandoned NASA buggy. I've seen plenty of pictures, but it's another thing to touch something supposedly so permanently out of people's reach.

There was a set of footprints leading from the buggy. I remembered hearing how prints on the moon will never be erased. It just so happened that I hadn't exhaled since leaving Earth's atmosphere. I couldn't resist leaning forward, pursing my lips and gently letting out a steady stream of superbreath. I blew up a cloud of moon-dust that had lain undisturbed for millennia. It settled back down, completely hiding the prints.

One giant leap for mankind, one easy puff for me!

Tuesday 23 August 2005 15:56 BST (GMT+1)

"X-ray vision". The ability to see through stuff to the things behind it. Like through a man's jeans to see the erection I've given him merely by being so wonderfully sexy...

It's a pretty useful power. Not only does it let me examine things no-one else can (like in the example above) and observe stuff I'm not supposed to observe (again, see the example above) but it also lets me spot things that people don't want spotted. Things hidden behind walls or inside boxes (or under clothes).

Coupled with my amazing powers of flight, however, it becomes something else. I can see right through the roofs beneath me and study the contents of buildings. And not just low buildings like houses and factories. For example, hovering in the clouds directly above a skyscraper on Monday morning, I was able to scan the thirty-five storey building floor by floor, reading the documents stored in filing cabinets at superspeed as well as checking out the contents of every adult male's underpants.

It's awesome being able to do that. But it's even more awesome when my wonderful eyes reveal things buried underground. Sometimes, very deep underground. You see people, and especially governments, love to hide stuff under the ground. The more they want to hide something, the deeper they bury it. If it's really, really secret, they stick it beneath, say, a hundred yards of solid rock. That way, they can be sure that no-one will ever see it (or even know that anything was hidden there).

No-one, that is, except me. I can see a coin buried twenty feet under a meadow as I fly overhead, above the clouds. I can see "secret" subterranean bomb-shelters fifty feet beneath an office block when I'm standing on the moon. So it was absolutely no challenge at all for me to "discover" an enormous cavern, which must have been blasted out of solid rock, a quarter-of-a-mile beneath a seemingly desolate plain.

What really caught my attention wasn't just the size of the subterranean chamber. It was the fact that it was in the middle of nowhere, connected to the world via an impressive network of deep tunnels which ran for miles in several directions. It must have taken hundreds of workers years to build. I knew at once that it had to be something very important and very, very secret.

As I looked more closely from my station high in the overcast sky above, I spotted at least thirty uniformed men scattered in the huge chamber and in the tunnels leading to it. Most intriguingly, I counted five figures clad in long white laboratory coats moving about. I'd found some kind of military scientific installation that someone had gone to great lengths to hide from the world... and it was as clear as day to me!

Anyway, I'm going to do a little more investigation and observation. I get the feeling that there's a good time to be had down there, but I'd like to find out more first. Luckily, I know just who to ask...

Wednesday 24 August 2005 17:15 BST (GMT+1)

I have to admit. I don't miss airports or airplane-travel one little bit.

Yesterday evening, I visited an old flame in Moscow. I got to his apartment in about as much time as it used to take me to get through the airport, check in, hang around with all the "ordinary" people in Departures and board a plane. Lovely!

A little background: I first met Yuri when I was 16. He was a Soviet agent who'd just been rumbled. I was walking by his building when my sensitive ears picked up a whispered conversation amongst some intelligence servicemen about to raid his flat. Naturally, being a curious teenager (whose super-powers had recently fully developed) I couldn't help getting involved.

To cut a long story short, I was inexperienced and didn't handle the situation very well. One of the MI6 men had a gun. It was one of the first times I got shot and, being that age, I got lost in the pleasure of taking a bullet (or four) in the chest. Eventually, another agent got hit in the head with a ricochet. Anyway, it ended up with the two surviving intelligence guys and Yuri all naked and tied to a sofa with a length of steel cabling I tore off the window cleaner's moveable balcony.

Being so young, and so turned on my having my breasts caressed with hot lead, I couldn't help myself raping the three of them repetitively. By the time I had calmed my libido enough to think properly, only the Russian was left breathing (although I did knock out all of his teeth with my tongue.) Worried about having the whole of MI6 after me, I did a deal with Yuri, whereby I let him go, and he used his experience to make it look as if he had killed the others.

That was the last time I'd seen him until yesterday. I got his address a while back from a guy at the embassy who was happy to furnish me with a ton of useful information in return for his life (I pinned him to a wall and squeezed his thorax to breaking point by leaning my chest into him).

So, I popped over to Moscow for a visit. You should have seen Yuri's face as I flew through his living room window in a shower of shattered glass and wood!

"You!" he said. "I always knew I'd see you again. You've hardly changed at all... But, you can fly now! God help us all!"

I laughed and picked him up by the throat with my left hand, letting his feet dangle by my ankles.

"No... please... Why.. are... you... hurting... me?.." he choked. "The.. Cold... War.. is... over... We... are... friends... now..."

"This is how I treat all my friends." I told him, before adding "I need information."

"What... do... you.... want... to... know?..." he gasped. I told him all about the "secret" underground base I found. I could tell from his heartbeat that he knew what I was talking about, but he denied it at first so I had to use my free hand to crush his wrist to make him talk.

Through his tears, and occasional yelps of agony, he was eventually able to give me what I needed. After that, I pushed him down onto the floor, tore his clothes off and straddled him, for old times' sake. I was careful though, making sure he was still alive when I left. I want him to warn whoever's in charge at that installation. I want them ready for me. That way, it'll be all the more enjoyable when I pay them a visit.

Thursday 25 August 2005 17:19 BST (GMT+1)

Today's been another day set aside for preparation work.

I know what you're thinking. Something along these lines: Hey, Blogger, you're so powerful, so strong and so invulnerable (not to mention indescribably beautiful and sexy beyond all comprehension), why don't you just smash your way into that underground installation and just take it from there.

Well, sure, I could do that. It's not like there's any possibility that there might be something down there that could hurt me. Even before my recent "sojourn" in outer space, I laughed off a nuke exploding between my thighs, and now, as everyone knows, I much more powerful than I was back then.

No, it's not fear that's holding me back. These days, thanks to my flight powers, there's nothing (and I do mean nothing) in the universe that frightens me. It's just that I like to know exactly what I'm dealing with before I deal with it. I want to know just how deadly whatever-it-is is, how many thousand square miles it will effect and, much, much more importantly, what's the best outfit to wear for the occasion. I want to be in total control over everything.

With that in mind, I spent this morning tracking down two of the world's top weapons biochemists. The first lived in Florida (about one-and-a-half hours leisurely flight for me). I say "lived" not "lives" because, well, he doesn't "live" anywhere anymore. Unfortunately, he refused to talk, no matter what I tried. In the end, I experimented with a mixture of physical pain and sexual over-stimulation. The result was a failure; his heart gave out.

I'm not sure if that was because he couldn't take the agony or because I made him orgasm ten times in as many minutes. Actually, it wasn't a complete failure: I didn't get any information, but I did have an awful lot of fun while it lasted.

The next guy is based quite close to me. He was a total pushover; an ageing recluse with a weakness for cleavage. Once I'd crushed his wandering fingers to pulp in the valley of my chest and made it clear which other parts of his body were due to follow, he was surprisingly co-operative. In fact, he told me more than I needed. In the end, he wouldn't shut up until I told him I would let him lick his blood off my breasts. For a laugh, I trapped his tongue in there and gave it a good squeeze. That should stop him talking so much in future...

Now I think I know everything about that place and what's in it. Hopefully, Yuri will have warned them that I might be popping in, so they'll be ready to welcome me. I can hardly wait!

Friday 26 August 2005 16:37 BST (GMT+1)

Well, I'm almost set now for my little weekend trip.

Just a few final checks to make, such as an accurate weather forecast for the area I'm going to be visiting. Not than any thunderstorm, hurricane or similar phenomenon affects me in any way, but I do need to know exactly which direction the wind will be blowing from and how strong.

If I'm right (and I'm always right) then the stuff I'm going to be messing with will have quite an effect on the surrounding area. If the wind carries it in the direction of a town, it could be quite messy. Of course, I'll be absolutely fine whatever happens, so it's not that serious.

At least I have something to wear. A nice little custom number. I made it myself out of a steel girder I borrowed from a building site last night. I suppose I shouldn't have ripped out a girder that was already in use, but the collapse of the three-story half-finished building onto my head didn't hurt, so no harm done.

I flattened the steel to a few millimetres' thickness between my palms (it was totally effortless, but for the noise the metal made as I squeezed it, you'd think steel wasn't meant to be compressed that way.) Once I had a nice thin sheet I pressed it against my body, letting my generous curves deform the metal until it was a snug fit. Then I tore off the excess (easy as tearing paper for me) and smoothed them with my fingertips.

I was left with a lovely, fetching, two piece steel bikini that should stand up to whatever it needs to face. Needless to say, I look incredible in it. I can't wait to model it for all those soldiers and scientists at that installation. It'll be the last thing many of them will ever see, but me in a bikini has to be the most glorious sight in the universe, so I'm sure they'll appreciate how very lucky they are.

That's enough chatter for now. I'll be back with a full report in a couple of days. Oh, and don't worry about me. I'll be fine. That's for certain.

Tuesday 30 August 2005 17:42 BST (GMT+1)

They say that both heaven and hell can be found here on Earth. After last weekend, I wouldn't disagree.

My little trip to Central Asia went almost exactly as planned. Much of what I hoped to find was there. A warm (well, red-hot) reception featuring the latest military hardware and lots of stupid men. An enjoyably one-sided battle. And a beautifully intense moment of sheer physical joy. "Heaven" for me.

As for "hell"... Well, it probably wasn't as much fun for all the guys I encountered. Then again, they were only men. The important thing is that I had a great time. I love being so powerful! I'll tell you all about it next time.

One final thing. To the shy spectator who was watching me on Sunday (you know who you are): Have you forgotten that my eyesight is truly awesome these days? Of course I saw you! Why didn't you join in with the fun instead of trying to remain "unseen"? And... um... have you slimmed down again? (You looked good, you know, damn good.)

Wednesday 31 August 2005 17:47 BST (GMT+1)

So, you'd like to know all about my little trip abroad, would you?

It's just as well I'm in the mood to tell you then, isn't it, as there's no way on Earth that you could make me if I didn't want to. That's one of the great things about being this powerful.

Another couple of great things are being able to fly and having X-ray vision. That's what allowed me to see all the "secret" and "camouflaged" military hardware that was "defending" the installation when I was still miles away. I was pleased to note that, since my first flyby the other week, the number of soldiers underground and antiaircraft weapons "hidden" on the surface had significantly increased. Good old Yuri had obviously warned the top brass of my imminent arrival...

For a while, I toyed with the idea of ignoring all the extra men and equipment and just diving headfirst through the ground at supersonic speed. That would have taken me to the heart of the hidden underground base before anyone could have reacted to my presence. It would have been an excellent demonstration of my crushing superiority, but not much fun.

Instead, I pulled up to a stop in mid-air, hovering perfectly still about two hundred feet above the ground. My home-made steel two-piece outfit survived the flight intact, and I was looking, if anything, even more stunning than usual as I "stood" in the sky. As I had hoped, a barrage of antiaircraft fire rose up to greet me. I didn't move an inch as the hail of oversized, armour-piercing bullets pinged off the soles of my feet and my chin.

Quite a few shots smacked noisily into the underside of my metal bikini, only slightly indenting the thick steel. Inside that custom garment, I could just about feel the impacts. Nice, but nowhere near enough. Wanting to make the most of the continuing stream of bullets, I moved my feet apart whilst continuing to "stand". This allowed a number of bullets to hit the crotch of my metal knickers. Once again, they marked but failed to breach the steel.

On the spur of the moment, I made a quick wardrobe adjustment. I reached down between my legs to where the slugs were bouncing off my "knickers". Some shots hit my hand, causing much less damage than they did to the steel. Extending my middle finger, I pushed it into and through the solid metal, my digit penetrating the steel so much more effectively than the bullets were. In no time at all, I was touching my intimacy. I removed my finger, wiggling it to enlarge the hole I'd made in my knickers. Now I was wearing crotchless steel underwear.

Of course, this meant that a lot of antiaircraft fire actually rebounded off the entrance to my sex. Sure, none of it was powerful enough to properly penetrate me unless I deliberately relaxed my inner muscles. So that's what I did, allowing plenty of hot, speeding lead to enter me. The feeling was so pleasant, my nipples hardened and expanded in response, almost poking through the tightly-moulded, quarter-inch-thick steel covering them.

Someone on the ground must have noticed that, despite being hit hundreds of times a second, I was not falling from the sky. A Whoosh! sound nearby distracted my from the sensation of my aroused nipples burrowing into steel of their own accord. I looked down in time to see a black-and-yellow-painted surface-to-air missile shooting towards me. It was about as long as my leg, if slightly thicker (and nowhere near as beautifully sculptured.)

I could easily have moved out of it way, but I chose to hold my position and let the rocket's nose-cone crumple up against my left hip before the rest of it exploded, showering me in shards of red-hot, razor-sharp metal. It wasn't much of a shower: brief and unrefreshing. I allowed a second missile to detonate against my knee with similarly underwhelming results, suppressing my desire to yawn with boredom.

When I spotted the third rocket headed my way, I couldn't resist floating a little to the side and opening my thighs, carefully aligning myself with the oncoming weapon. The very tip of it passed through the hole in my knickers and actually parted my nether lips by about an eighth of an inch before it got stuck. Then, before the metal casing could properly begin to wad up against me, the missile blew.

The discrete opening I'd made in my underwear was widened considerably by the explosion. The remaining parts of my steel knickers were heated to glowing, as huge volumes of shrapnel slammed against the edges of my sex. A couple of smaller bits of red-hot metal found their way inside me until I contracted my vaginal muscles, squeezing them completely out of existence.

As the smoke cleared from my body, I called down "Is that all you've got for me?" but I doubt anyone heard. No matter. Seconds after my shout had echoed away through the apparently deserted landscape, the sound of approaching fighter jets reached my sensitive ears.

I'll tell you how I secured complete control of the sky next time.

  

 

September 2005

Thursday 1 September 2005 16:37 BST (GMT+1)

So, when I left off last time I was hovering in the air a couple of hundred feet above the ground. Another couple of hundred feet further down lay the "secret" base, full of soldiers and scientists and military equipment, just waiting for me to drop in and start playing.

But I was taking my time. As I "stood" in the sky, my hands on my shapely hips, my glorious bust thrust out, straining the very limits of my home-made bikini (it was only quarter-inch thick moulded steel, after all) looking beautiful, I listened to the crescendo of jet plane engines. I counted four of them, all flying flat out. Moments later, my amazing eyes picked them out.

I waited, unmoving, for them to approach a little. Then I focussed on just one of them, narrowed my gaze and let my new heat-vision power do the rest. Two beams of reddish light shot from my pupils, converging far in the distance at a point of my choosing. That point was the centre of my selected jet's fuselage.

For about half a second, the entire plane seemed to glow red. Then it became and orange and yellow fireball. Chunks of military aeroplane rained down on the ground below. I'd destroyed one of the most advanced fighting machines on Earth from half a mile's distance without even raising a finger. It's all so easy when you're as powerful as me!

Turning my attention to another jet, I aimed the next blast of heat-vision more carefully. I could have just exploded it like the first, but I wanted to test myself. Of course, I passed the test. Without any strain, I managed to direct the awesome power of my eyes to slice the plane's left wing off cleanly, leaving the fuselage untouched. I laughed with hysterical delight as the now one-winged jet immediately went into an uncontrollable spin. Another blast from my sexy eyes destroyed the crippled machine before it could crash into the ground.

That left two craft. Relaxed, I floated after one of them. The jet was cutting through the sky at top speed, a proud testament to the skill and technology of its builders and designers. I caught up with it with as much difficulty as I would have caught up with a drunken snail. To be honest, I got the feeling that I could have flown twenty times faster if only I'd bothered.

Slowing to match the frustratingly slow speed of the state-of-the-art, billion-rouble aeroplane, I was struck by the huge contrast between my power and beauty and the ugly, noisy jet's limitations. It just didn't seem right that the two of us could coexist in the sky. I decided to do something about that immediately.

An effortless burst of speed from me carried me clean through the body of the craft from top to bottom. I'd barely burst through the the roof, my skull punching clean through the frame as if it wasn't there, when the whole thing exploded. The flames engulfed me, pieces of jet battering all over my body. Naturally, not a scratch was left anywhere on my perfect skin, but a large dent was left in my steel knickers.

As the bits of that former military plane fell groundwards, I took off for the last remaining jet, swearing to avenge my underwear. Two seconds later, I was floating alongside. I say "floating" because I wasn't putting any significant effort into it. The pilot turned to the side and stared in shock and horror at me from his cockpit. I stuck my tongue out at him and he just looked even more surprised.

I puckered up and unleashed a quick blast of my cold superbreath (much less of a strain than a normal person would experience blowing out a single tiny candle on a birthday cake). I could see the air cooling to liquid as my exhalation passed through it. When my breath hit the front of the plane, it turned that half of the craft, and its contents, to solid ice in a split-second. I closed my lips, letting them curl into a smile.

The engines suddenly fell silent. A moment later, the plane itself fell, like a stone. It didn't even explode when it smashed into the ground below, merely breaking into dozens of little pieces. That was all that was left. The jet went from a marvel of engineering, flying at full speed to a pile of frozen useless junk scattered on the ground because I blew at it. You have no idea how wonderful that made me feel.

I was ready for the installation. With my X-ray vision I could see it, spread out beneath me, deep, deep under the earth. I couldn't help licking my lips in anticipation.

Well, I think that's enough excitement for today. You're only human (unlike me). More next time, folks.

Friday 2 September 2005 21:02 BST (GMT+1)

Floating there in the sky, the underground installation looked like a map spread out beneath me. I could see the vast central chamber, the corridors and smaller rooms arranged around it. A series of long, long tunnels spread outwards, like the spokes of a wheel. No doubt they all emerged miles and miles away.

Someone had clearly gone to a lot of trouble to keep the place hidden. There was no way in from the surface above. All the machines and people in there must have entered via one of the tunnels. I was about to follow one myself and see where it came out (even if it had been a hundred miles long, I could have flown the distance in minutes). Just then, I noticed some peculiar activity taking place in the main area.

There was no doubt that they knew I was around, and that I was planning on coming inside. The antiaircraft fire and the four jets were proof enough of that. Clearly, they thought I was about to attempt to get to the central chamber through one of the tunnels. I could see the men in uniforms, gathering in groups where the tunnels opened out into the installation itself.

There must have been a dozen men in each of those five groups, lining up across the mouths of the tunnels. I could see them all so clearly, even though there was a hundred feet of earth and rock between them and me. There were another twenty or so soldiers inside the huge main room. I couldn't see if they were supposed to be guarding the various pieces of machinery in there or the four men in civilian suits. Somehow, I knew I'd get to find out eventually.

I turned in the air, so that I was facing the ground. And then I accelerated towards it. I flew faster and faster as the ground seemed to rise up to meet me. In no time at all, I struck the earth, head first. The first six feet or so were soil, but beneath was solid rock. My skull slammed into it, and through it, leading the way. My shoulders followed, widening the channel my head was carving. Then my chest enlarged it still further.

I didn't even slow down. Or rather the "impediment" of ancient, compacted stone didn't slow me down. My body just smashed it out of the way, breaking it into tiny pieces as it slammed through, crushing it to powder as I brushed it aside. The sensation of rock crumbling against my face was unusual, but not unpleasant. Even the particles that got in my eyes were no problem. I just blinked them away as I continued to carve my way.

In hardly any time at all, I burst through the rock into one of the tunnels. A massive shower of dust and small chunks of stone rained down on me as I turned in the air to land gracefully on my feet. I'd measured my "dive" to finish about ten yards from one of the groups of men guarding the tunnel mouths, and, as always, my aim was perfect. Sadly, my entrance was partially ruined as the dislodged rock continued to fall from above, burying me almost entirely.

The men threw themselves on the ground, as if anticipating an explosion. Maybe, as they couldn't see me for fallen debris, they thought I was some kind of missile. Their mistake. I shook my head and shoulders, causing the pile of rock to fly aside. Some pieces actually hit the men at the end of the tunnel. Two of them collapsed with head wounds. And I hadn't even introduced myself yet.

"Hello, boys." I said when I was finally revealed. I gave them a few moments to react to the shock of seeing me, the most beautiful girl in the world, standing in the rubble that had been a hundred feet of stone. My steel bikini had sustained a few nicks and scratches but had otherwise survived pretty well. My knickers (other than the hole in the crotch) were also doing fine. I'd chosen my attire well. I could tell from the increased heart rates and panting breathing that they all appreciated the sight.

I put my hands on my hips and cocked them slightly, leaning a little forward and pushing out my breasts so that the thick solid steel strap that held my bikini in place began to groan in protest. "So.. anyone fancy a screw then?" I asked.

Now, I won't lie. I speak Russian well. I do everything well. So when six of those soldiers responded to my question by raising their rifles, I knew that it wasn't because they had misunderstood my question. Two of the others hesitated before lifting their own weapons. The remaining pair just seemed frozen to the spot. I didn't need supersenses to know that they desperately wanted to take me up on my invitation...

Meanwhile, the quickest of the riflemen had decided to shoot his weapon. I wasn't surprised that he was a good marksman; only the very best would have been picked for such a special job, guarding the secret installation. The bullet pinged off the centre of my forehead, landing on the ground about two-thirds off the way back where it had come from. All ten standing men looked down at it and then back at me. "Foreplay, eh?" I smiled.

He shot again. This time he wasted his lead on my nose. One of his colleagues tried his luck, the shot ricocheting from my neck into the tunnel wall some three yards away. "Boys," I said, rolling my eyes, "I'm in a bit of a hurry here. Would you mind getting a move on?"

That was all the encouragement three others needed to join the fun. My left eye, right cheekbone and top lip were all given the opportunity to demonstrate their invulnerability. "Don't you guys know anything about turning a girl on?" I asked impatiently. "You should aim for-" I seductively traced the curves of my breasts with a finger, "-here and-" I drew the same finger down the centre of my exposed stomach and down, between my upper thighs, "-here."

A couple of them obeyed. My steel bikini took direct hits on both cups, leaving it with yet more dents. Others pinged off my knickers, causing similar superficial damage. One particularly well-aimed effort actually missed my metal upper garment and successfully lodged itself in the uncovered top portion of my cleavage. I fished the deformed bullet out and casually flicked it back where it had come from. It went right through the soldier's head before his body even started to fall.

That got all the others, even the two who hadn't wanted to shoot at first, firing frantically at me. The bullets hit all over my head, my face and my torso. Using superspeed, I caught one between my teeth, being careful not to slice it in half with my jaws. I spat it back, taking another shooter out of the equation. The remaining half dozen glanced nervously at each other as they continued to shoot.

I started to walk towards them, through the hail of gunfire. When I was close enough for a ricochet off my abdomen to bury itself in one guy's leg, one of the others pulled a knife from his belt and charged me. He held the blade high over his head, preparing to slam it down on me. I caught his wrist, crushing it, and pulled him hard towards me.

The impact of his body against mine was too much. His ribs simply gave way against my steel-clad chest and I let go of his wrist and let him fall at my feet. Then I continued to approach the others. I picked the best-looking of the remaining soldiers and looked him straight in the eye so he knew I'd singled him out.

The bullets were still flying at (and off) me as I got close to him. He was really lucky that a stray shot or rebound didn't kill him. I got near enough to just reach down and pull his rifle from his hands. I must have broken a finger or four doing that, because he yelled in shock and pain. I smiled at him as I slowly crushed his weapon to a small, smooth ball between my palms, the noise of the protesting metal loud and clear above the continuing shooting.

He started to tremble as I turned his weapon into a small bowling ball which I tossed over my shoulder, so that it embedded itself a foot deep in the rock wall. I moved in closer to my new friend, positioning myself directly between him and the four other men. They couldn't have had much regard for their comrade (or maybe they had strict orders to kill any intruders no matter what). They were still shooting at me, despite the fact that he was right in front of me. I could feel the bullets bouncing off my back.

I was beginning to get bored with those guys. I'd meant what I said about fancying a screw. Destroying those jets so easily had left me feeling powerful (and therefore horny). I caught the gaze of the man on whom I'd chosen to bestow the honour. He looked at me in terror. I smiled and winked, then slowly turned my head over my shoulder to face the others.

Two seconds later, I was alone with my chosen one. The quickest, easiest "zap" with my heat-vision had turned the other four members of the group into something resembling a barbecue disaster. When I looked back at my intended, he had turned as white as a sheet. I gave him a bright, reassuring grin. He didn't seem to relax much though.

I pushed him gently in the chest with my little finger (just enough to send him staggering backwards into the wall and knock the wind out of him). Before he could recover, I was standing right against him, my metallic bra touching him.  He tried to push me away, struggling with clenched teeth, but soon realised he was wasting his time (not to mention his severely limited strength).

It took him a few moments to catch his breath. I was expecting the usual "Please don't hurt me" nonsense, but he turned out to be a brave fellow.

"Who... what are you?" he stammered. I leant into him a little, while my right hand easily tore apart the waistband of his trousers, leather belt and all. My lips were almost touching his. I exhaled sexily over his face as I answered his question:

"I'm the greatest thing that will ever happen to you."

And I think that's as good a place as any to leave the account until next time. You might not agree, but, hey, I'm the one with superpowers!

Monday 5 September 2005 17:49 BST (GMT+1)

The young man I had selected to please my (frankly, rampant) desires was an excellent specimen. Great looking, nicely muscled, and in the very peak of physical condition. In other words, as good as "normal" men get. I reckon he would have survived four or even five consecutive bouts of love-making with me under different circumstances.

Unfortunately, that's just speculation. We were interrupted, midway through the third session with me standing, legs apart, lifting and lowering him rapidly into and out of me, with one hand beneath his rear and the other behind his shoulders. A whole crowd of other soldiers came running. Presumably they'd been guarding the other tunnel entrances and had come in response to the sound of gunfire.

Although I got about twenty of them before they could even see me with a strong, indiscriminate blast of heat-vision, many of those at the back of the onrushing crowd survived, albeit with some pretty nasty-looking burns. Those still standing opened fire with everything they had. Naturally that wasn't enough to even chip one of my perfect fingernails, their bullets merely bouncing off my beautiful body like table-tennis balls bouncing off a brick wall.

I didn't count, but I'd estimate that over a thousand slugs hit me in the space of thirty seconds. As I said, not one of them could so much as leave a mark on my flawless complexion. But the very first bullet that ricocheted from one of my sexy curves was enough to kill my lover. I dropped the corpse and turned to face the charred mini-army that was spraying me in useless hot lead.

I put my hands angrily on my hips and scowled "Hey, don't you boys know it's impolite to interrupt a lady when she's entertaining?" There were a few puzzled faces, but no reply save for the continuing firearms assault. "Isn't anybody going to apologise for disturbing me?" I demanded. Again, no answer. "Fine." I said. "Have it your way."

I pursed my lips, bending forward at the waist as I blew a long, steady stream of warm superbreath at the men. Instantly, the group was lifted from the floor and sent flying, as one, through the air. The live and the dead crashed helplessly into each other as they tumbled, thrown violently backwards by the power of my breath. I kept it up until all the men had slammed hard into a wall some thirty yards behind where they had been standing. Only then did I close my lips.

I checked for heartbeats in the pile of twisted bodies, but there were none. Thirty-eight fit, strong and heavily armed men. One angry glance, one puff of breath, and then there were none. Sometimes, I impress even myself. But the truth is it was so very, very easy.

After that, I was left alone to stroll, at my leisure, towards the huge central chamber of the installation. I knew that that I was looking for was in there. I expected it to be well-guarded, despite my downsizing of the base's security team. I was not disappointed, as I'll tell you, next time.

Tuesday 6 September 2005 17:50 BST (GMT+1)

You don't go to great lengths to hide an enormous research base a hundred yards underground in the middle of nowhere just to develop a new flavour of ice-cream.

So, I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, as I approached the installation's huge main chamber, to have been confronted with more than just run-of-the-mill machine guns. Not that there weren't a few of those, too. Another group of soldiers were stationed just inside the chamber. Fifteen of them were trying to block the entrance by standing in a line and opening up with their rapid-fire weapons. I rolled my eyes in response to their useless attempt to hurt me.

Just for effect (and why not; I'm the most beautiful, sexy and powerful creature in the universe, and I don't see anything wrong with showing off a little from time to time) I put my hands on my hips and walked calmly towards the line of shooters. The bullets poured by the dozen onto the front of my body. I ignored them completely as I advanced, letting them spray off my stomach, groin, face and chest as if I was taking a stroll in the park.

The shots (and there were dozens and dozen of them) that hit my metal bikini created small sparks and chipped slowly away at the thick steel. A quarter of an inch of solid metal might seem like a durable and resistant material, but compared to my silky smooth, flawless skin, it's weak and highly vulnerable. My estimate is that twenty minutes continuous machine-gunning from fifteen shooters would have reduced my "knickers" and "bra" to useless.

Of course, I didn't give them twenty minutes. I just kept walking towards them through the haze of bullets until, inevitably, they started to get hit by their own rebounding slugs. Six fell that way, without me needing to do a thing. I was creative with the remaining nine. Bending for a moment to scoop up a dead man's gun, I brought it up to my mouth and took a big bite out of the barrel; my perfect teeth slicing through the steel like it was soft butter.

Carefully, I chewed the metal, using my back teeth and tongue to break it into a couple of dozen small pieces. Then I just spat them out, turning my head slowly from one side to the other, spraying the still standing shooters with little pellets. As I can spit with hundreds of times more force than a gun can shoot, the little bits of chewed steel made for exceptionally deadly mini-missiles. I had to smile at the effectiveness of my improvised weapon.

That was when I got a reminder of the nature of the work being done at the base: weapons research. As I entered the big chamber, I heard a loud whining sound. There, just twenty yards away, three men in uniforms stood around a low, square device with a tiny cylindrical protrusion. One of the three pressed a button on the device and the whining reached a new crescendo. Then, to my surprise, a beam of brilliant green light shot from the protrusion right at me.

I'd never seen anything like it and I'll admit I was worried... for about a twentieth of a second. The beam was obviously some kind of prototype laser-weapon. It's pretty powerful (probably). I say that because when the laser hit my steel knickers, they glowed red then white in an instant. Moments later, they turned into plasma gas, stripping my groin completely.

Then, the beam hit my actual body. I wasn't sure what concentrated energy like that would do to me. Something that can evaporate steel so quickly must pack quite a punch, or so I thought. The last thing I expected was that the laser would tickle me. But it did! The sensation of the energy uselessly attacking my skin was funny. I just couldn't help laughing.

The three men around the beam reacted to that by altering the angle of their weapon. The laser rose up my body, tickling my belly then my cleavage. In the process it sliced my metal bra in half. I decided to remove it altogether after that (no point covering my breasts if my pubic area was exposed) but it wasn't easy. The beam was making me giggle uncontrollably as it passed over my face.

There was a gasp from the men behind the weapon as I revealed my glorious breasts. I flung the two halves of my steel bikini at them, killing two of them. I should have got all three, but I was still shaking from laughter. I realised that I had to stop that green beam if I wanted to regain control of myself. I decided to try using my own lasers. I narrowed my eyes and shot a blast of heat vision at the device producing the tickle-ray.

Less than a second later, the square box exploded, taking care of both the green beam and its last remaining operator. Three more seconds elapsed before I managed to stop giggling and look around.

The chamber really was huge, perhaps as much as fifty yards across. In the far corner, a series of four-foot high, unmarked metal trunks were arranged. My X-ray vision allowed me to peruse their contents. All were empty, except for one. I recognised the object it contained at once. It was the prize I had come for.

Elsewhere in the room, five men in white laboratory coats stood in a line. In front of them, a disorderly collection of seventeen men in uniforms. All twenty-two of the males present were eyeing me in a mixture of fear, awe and desire.  And all twenty-two of them had their hands in the air in surrender. Their guns had been thrown down on the floor in front of them. They'd obviously seen enough of what I can do. I gave them all a smug smile.

And you can find out what I did after that next time.

Wednesday 7 September 2005 21:37 BST (GMT+1)

There I was, stark naked in all my (considerable) glory, facing down a small crowd of almost two dozen terrified men.

Like I said yesterday, seventeen of them were soldiers, who had thrown down their guns. Cowering behind them, five men in laboratory coats. Every one of them, whether a fighter or a scientist by trade, had his arms raised in the air and his eyes glued nervously on me. Haughtily, I cast my gaze over them for a few seconds, enjoying the way the tension built as I took my time. I knew they were all waiting for me to announce their fates and it amused me greatly to let them continue to sweat.

Eventually, I announced in a superior, commanding tone "The scientists will come forward. The rest of you will fetch me the sixth metal box from the left from over there." I pointed to the large containers on the far side of the huge room, and in particular, the one that my X-ray vision had revealed to contain the object of my quest.

There was a moment's hesitation from the men. That's to say, none of them moved with any great conviction for a second or two. I wasn't prepared to wait any longer to see if they were just being slow. I selected one of the soldiers and gave him an angry glare. A very angry glare. The sort of angry glare that only someone with heat-vision powers can achieve. The man I chose didn't even have time to scream before he became a pile of ashes.

"Anyone else having trouble hearing me?" I asked. The answer came in the form of men rushing to do as I'd told them. The remaining soldiers practically ran across the room towards the metal containers. The five men in white coats hurried towards me, albeit with plenty of apprehension. It'll come as no surprise to regular readers to learn that I'm an expert in reading fear in males. Let me tell you, those eggheads were about as scared as they come. It was all I could do not to laugh openly at them as they arranged themselves in front of me.

Meanwhile the military guys were having a little trouble working out exactly which box I wanted them to bring over. Eventually, they realised that it must be the heavy one. All the others were empty. They worked that out by trying to move them. Three of the soldiers, pushing together, could move an empty box. They couldn't lift them, but they could (with a concerted effort) just about scrape them along the concrete floor. The container I wanted was another story.

They crowded around it, straining and grunting, the perspiration beading on their faces. But for all their huffing and puffing, they only managed to move the box about two inches in a minute. The effort was clearly draining them. Sixteen men in peak physical condition, quickly becoming exhausted just trying to fetch a box. Normal people are so weak!

Given the soldiers' pathetically slow progress, I had plenty of time to address my hyper-attentive audience of scientists. "Do you men know what's in that box?" I asked. Three of them nodded, two shook there heads.

"Well," I said walking over to them, "if you two don't even know what it is, what use are you to me?" Before they could try to start thinking of an answer, I flashed out my left then my right hands, giving the two head-shakers the tiniest of shoves in the chest. They didn't touch the ground again until their bodies slid down from the wall fifty feet away from me.

The surviving three men in lab coats were visibly trembling as I strolled, slowly in front of them. "So, you three know what it is," I began, "but do you know how to use it?" They all nodded, extremely vigorously. My supersenses revealed a different story, however. One of the three heartbeats I was closely monitoring had suddenly accelerated. The owner of that heart was also sweating even more profusely than the others.

I approached him, in no hurry. "You're lying." I pronounced. "No... I-" An effortless backhand slap silenced him. (and separated his head from his shoulders.) I caught the gazes of the last two scientists. "Don't move a muscle." I told them. Somehow I knew they wouldn't disobey. I was free to turn my attention to the sixteen soldiers and their useless attempts to move a box.

Next time: How I moved that "heavy" container (and a little about its contents.)

Thursday 8 September 2005 17:45 BST (GMT+1)

I had whittled my collection of scientists down to the two who could be of use to me. Now I had to deal with sixteen soldiers who were (apparently) of no use whatsoever.

I'd asked them to perform a simple enough task for me. All they had to do was fetch a metal box. With the container measuring five foot long by three foot wide by four foot high, I hadn't thought it was such a big deal. But at the rate they were managing, I would have been standing there for about two days waiting. Funnily enough, I just wasn't prepared to do that.

Getting bored, I decided to amuse myself. Bending low for a moment, I plunged my fingers deep into the concrete floor at my feet, my hand penetrating the hard stone as if it were half-molten ice-cream. I scooped up a fistful of the material in my right hand, leaving a big gouge in the floor. Then I gently closed my fist around the block of concrete I'd removed, being careful not to crush it to powder (or beyond.) Instead, I reduced the chunk to a few dozen pea-sized fragments, which I kept in my hand.

Opening my fingers so that all the little bits of concrete lay on my palm, I used the index digit of my left hand to flick one fragment at a soldier over by the box. He fell instantly, as if he'd been shot. Then again, given the power of an easy flick of my finger, that piece of concrete would have been far deadlier than any bullet.

The man next to the fallen soldier turned to see what had happened, just in time to receive the next bit I flicked right between his eyes. That was enough to make all the others panic and start looking for cover. Laughing, I started the job of picking them off one by one with small pieces of concrete. It was like shooting fish in a barrel, but so much easier!

Some of the men tried to hide behind the other metal boxes. I just made sure I flicked my fragments hard enough to penetrate whichever thick steel container they thought was shielding them. The bits of concrete flew from my palm, passing right through the boxes and right through the men crouched behind them.

Two of the men managed to hide behind the box that I'd asked them to fetch. Maybe they knew its contents prevented me from flicking stuff through it, or maybe they just got lucky. Either way, it didn't matter. The solution was easy. A quick, well-aimed blast of heat vision at the ceiling twenty feet up dislodged a large amount of concrete which rained down on the box and the pair sheltering behind it. I knew the container was strong enough to withstand the falling debris. I also knew the men weren't.

Within twenty seconds, I had picked off every last soldier. To be honest, it was too easy. Sure it was funny while it lasted, seeing big, "strong" (!) men fall in response to a casual movement of one of my dainty fingers, but there was never any question that I would hit a chosen target first time.

Cleaning up wasn't exactly hard either. I pursed my sexy lips and blew a steady gentle stream of superbreath across the room, rotating my head slowly as I exhaled. My breath picked up all the bodies scattered around and threw them to the far wall, fifty or more yards away. I had to blow a tiny bit harder to move all the empty metal boxes aside, but I was still a long, long way from exerting myself.

When I stopped puffing, I'd cleared most of the room, except for the one box I was interested in and the two scientists standing, terrified, by my side. I did not need my supersenses to tell that saturating the atmosphere with my warm fragrant breath had brought both of the men in white coats to the point of spontaneous orgasm, despite their obvious fright. I took that as just another measure of my total power.

I looked at the box that held my prize. It was about thirty yards away from me. I could have walked over to it, but I had thought it would be amusing to ask the soldiers to bring it to me. In the end, it had proved too heavy for sixteen men to move. I'd had to provide my own amusement by killing them. Now, I had no-one to bring it to me. I probably would have needed a hundred or more males to shift it anyway.

It was time for me, the single, nude, slender, stunningly beautiful girl to do what all those men could not: to move that box. I knew without trying that I could have strolled up to it and lifted it above my head with a single finger. In fact, I reckon I could have hoisted twenty identical containers with that finger before I even began to notice any kind of effort.

But I did not move. Instead, I made the box come to me. I just faced it, parted my lips slightly, and inhaled deeply. Instantly, I sucked in every molecule of air from the area in front of me. Soon enough, the pull of my lungs became too much for the "heavy" metal container. It began to scrape along the concrete towards me, the friction as it moved creating impressive sparks.

As I continued to inhale, so the box gathered pace. It might have been too much for sixteen men to move a few inches, but this slim girl had no trouble at all making it race yards. Without even having to touch it! I just sucked it towards me, my gorgeous thick lips extended, silky cheeks concaved. Eventually, my lungs overpowered the forces of gravity keeping it on the floor and the box actually lifted off the ground, flying towards my face. That was when I stopped breathing in and, casually, caught the container just as it was about to slam into my mouth. It really didn't feel heavy at all to me. Those men must have been so pathetic!

I placed it on the ground and, with reasonable care, ripped the thick steel lid off with one hand, casting it aside so that it hit the far wall with a Clang! that shook the whole installation. Then, smiling with satisfaction, I reached in and pulled out my trophy, holding it before my eyes to examine it. I remembered one of the experts I spoke to before setting out on this visit. He had told me that the "thing" I was balancing on my palm had to weigh at least fifteen metric tonnes. No wonder I could barely even feel it.

In the next entry, I'll tell you what it actually was and what I did with it.

Friday 9 September 2005 17:28 BST (GMT+1)

According to one of the experts I spoke to before leaving for Central Asia, the search for the "next big thing" in destructive weaponry has been underway since the early 1960s.

Apparently, the general consensus was that as both superpowers had atomic bombs, the weapons only really served as deterrents. Neither side could launch an assault against the other, without expecting an equally devastating response. So work began to create a new device.

The idea was to build something small enough to be concealable so that it could be delivered and detonated without any warning. A device so powerful and so destructive that, once it was activated there would be no chance of any return attack. As my contact put it: "A nuclear bomb deployed properly can destroy a major city. This little toy can destroy a country."

Interestingly, only one such device has ever been built. The problem, apparently, was that although small enough, the thing was so dense that it was too heavy to transport secretly or to deliver. Which is strange, as it didn't feel all that heavy as I held it out in front of my face, balanced comfortably on my right palm.

To be honest, it didn't look very exciting either. Annoyingly, there was no obvious "Explode" button anywhere on the object. I turned to the two scientists, the only survivors of the fifty-odd men who'd been in the base when I first "dropped in".

"So," I said, raising and lowering the super-bomb on my hand as if gauging its weight, "how do I work this thing."

"It.. it cannot be triggered without the launch chip." One of the two men stammered. The other just stared at me incredulously.

"Well, fetch me the launch chip then." I commanded.

"I... I... can't. It's not here." I could tell, by examining the speaker's vital signs with my supersenses that he wasn't lying.

"Where is it then?"

"It... was destroyed. Our leaders decided that the device should never be used. We have been trying to work out a way to dismantle it for years."

"Dismantle it?!" I was amazed. "What a waste of time and money. Make me a new chip."

"We can't. I swear, we can't. You can kill us or torture us, but we cannot make a new chip." There were tears in the scientist's eyes as he said those words. His pulse showed he was clearly telling the truth. I felt heartbroken, like a child who's just unwrapped a box which he thinks contains the toy he's always wanted, only to find nothing inside but a pair of socks.

"Is there no other way to set it off?" I asked the two men, pouting.

"Well, in theory..." one of them began. (Typical scientist, he started warming to his subject, despite the extreme situation he found himself in) "...a partial detonation might be possible under certain circumstances. In practice, it is not possible, however."

"What do you mean?" I demanded, suddenly very interested.

"Well, the internal trigger mechanism could be fooled, as it were, into firing under extreme pressure. But given the density of the packed matter, it would simply not be possible to generate sufficient forces artificially." said scientist number one.

"-Not without creating a small, controllable black hole." added scientist number two. "Which, of course, is impossible. Otherwise, you would need an object constructed of a material at least twice as dense as the core of the device."

"Two such objects." chimed in number one. "Then you could pressurise the trigger mechanism between them."

"But only if you could generate sufficient power to drive the two objects together!" number two took up the baton. "And that is well beyond our technology."

"Let me get this straight," I said. "I could set this thing off if by squeezing it?"

"Well, yes, in theory." said number one, smugly.

Number two seemed even more pleased with himself as he announced "Although, you'd need some kind of crusher built out of a new material vastly harder than any known to mankind. And an engine to drive it that is tens of times more powerful than any that's ever been built."

"Well that's no problem." I commented, truthfully. Men are such fools. In their willingness to show off their knowledge, those two eggheads had given me all the information I could possibly ever need. "Thanks guys." I said, with a smile that caused both their heart-rates to double instantly. "Why don't you both stick around and see if you're right?". The pair looked at each other, completely bemused.

So, was the super-girl able to set off the super-bomb? Of course I was! How dare you even doubt it! Next time I'll reveal exactly how I did it.

Monday 12 September 2005 19:51 BST (GMT+1)

It really was so kind of those two boffins to explain to me how I could trigger that contraption. Then again, they were well rewarded. They got to see me in all my naked glory for several minutes which is, undoubtedly, the greatest thing that can happen to a mere male. Other than, I guess, actually getting to touch my perfection...

Anyway, I had the super-bomb in my hand. All I needed to do was find a crushing device that was stronger, more resilient and vastly more forceful than any ever built. Nothing man-made would be up to the task. But, crucially, I'm not a man. And the crusher I decided to use wasn't "made" by anybody.

I drew my hand (the one holding the bomb, of course!) towards my body. Carefully, I aligned one end of it with my upper torso. The two men in white coats stared, at first with puzzlement, then surprise, then lust, then awe and finally terror as I slowly, deliberately, began to force the device into the deep, smooth valley between my breasts. They obviously hadn't realised that I had everything I needed already on me. Literally, on me.

There is no material tougher and more resistant to damage or harm than my flesh. Not now, since my little holiday in outer space where the sun's wonderful energy filled every cell of my being with unfiltered power. I knew that each of my large, round, irresistible breasts would serve magnificently as indestructible walls in an improvised crusher. Whatever the core of that bomb was made of, I was certain that any part of me would prove harder, tougher and stronger. Even my softest, most feminine, most sublimely erotic flesh.

I also knew that, by placing my hands on the outside of my chest, and using my recently-boosted-to-uncalculable-levels strength to push those fabulous breasts together, I could generate levels of pressure probably only matched inside a black hole. I say "probably", because I wouldn't be surprised to learn that the forces at play in a black hole couldn't quite match those present in my cleavage when I press my breasts against one another.

The bomb certainly did resist at first once I'd jammed it snugly between my mounds. Despite its weight (remember, it had been too much for more than a dozen big men to move) my breasts supported it without difficulty when I transferred my palms to the outside of my generous curves. One of my favourite "party tricks" is to ground a diamond to powder and then carbon gas between my breasts. I had to squeeze a lot harder than that before I felt the device beginning to yield.

But yield it did. It might have been the densest man-made object ever built, but it was no match for this girl. Certainly not for my chest. It seems that nothing, no force, no substance, no entity, can hold out against my breasts. They always triumph in the end. They must be the most beautiful, most sexy and most powerful things in the universe.


My palms pressed into the outside of my chest, making a far deeper impression on that perfect flesh than the "world's densest object" could manage on the inside of my breasts. The scientists covered their ears to escape the terrible sounds emanating from the doomed material, but they couldn't tear their eyes away. What an honour for them to witness the glory of my magnificent body in action!

The edges of the bomb (the part of it wedged in my all-powerful cleavage anyway) were beginning to take on the shape of my lovely breasts. Lucky bomb. I knew I was really beginning to make an impression on it when one of the scientists shouted an expletive and his colleague repeated it a moment later. Still they could not look away from my chest. And still, I continued to squeeze.

But not for much longer. Like I said, my breasts always triumph in the end. And I always get what I want. That trigger mechanism never stood a chance...

Find out what happened when it finally succumbed to my vastly superior power next time.

Tuesday 13 September 2005 21:35 BST (GMT+1)

By now the bomb was about to explode. The two scientists knew it too. It was all just so exciting!

If the thing really was as powerful as I'd been told, then it wouldn't have been right to just let it explode. It might have killed millions. Maybe some of those millions were good-looking men that I might want to rape at a later date. Or people who might be useful to me in other ways. Besides, it's much more fun hurting people in smaller groups, when I can do the damage with my own wonderful body and watch them getting hurt.

So, I curled myself up into a tight ball, keeping one end of the bomb wedged deep between my breasts and folding my head and knees over the other end, covering as much of the rest of it with my arms as I could. This meant that my body took around 99% of the force of the explosion. There were two advantages to this.

Firstly, millions of square miles (and yeah, yeah people, too. I already said that) were spared destruction. Much more importantly, I got to enjoy the full effects of the blast without having to share it too much. A large portion of my body was touching the surface, ready to absorb and enjoy the bang. I felt like a kid about to open a big pile of birthday presents.

I knew that I couldn't keep all the effects to myself, so I said a cheery "Bye, boys!" to the two scientists with me just before the big moment. And then it happened.

The casing of the thing just dissolved. It broke into millions of sharp pieces that tried to press into my skin, but of course they couldn't. So they just got hotter and hotter as they massaged my body (my chest, my belly, my face, my pelvis) until they turned to gas.

Then a wave of pure heat shot out from the core of the thing. The two men with me vanished in a puff of smoke. My body began to glow, first red then yellow and lastly pure, brilliant white. I don't think I've ever been so hot. The floor of the huge underground chamber and then the walls turned red. The ceiling began to collapse on top of me.

Actually, the feeling of hundreds of tons of concrete and earth pouring down on to my back was rather nice. But it didn't last for long. The bomb entered the blast phase of its detonation. Or rather, the super-bomb entered the super-blast phase of its super-detonation. And I should know, being a super-girl myself...

The power of that explosion is difficult to put into words. Perhaps I could best explain it like this: I was curled all around the thing, and I actually felt it trying to push me away. Hard. It was all I could do in fact to hold my position, using my white-hot body to absorb as much of the energy as possible. The shock-waves rammed into me so forcefully, they actually compressed my breasts (slightly). I will never forget that feeling. It was so sexy!

At the same time, bolt after bolt of pure power beat against my groin like someone pummelling a big oak door. I could feel the superheated pulses of energy penetrating my sex. I closed my eyes and let the inevitable orgasm explode from deep within me like my own little internal bomb. I was still riding the waves of ultra-intense pleasure when the second one broke. Then the third ripped through me, making me scream with pure pleasure.

I could feel earth and rocks moving around me. Perhaps it was the power of my scream, perhaps it was the bomb. I was dimly aware of no longer being buried under a hundred yards' worth of Central Asian plateau, but it was only when I opened my eyes that I saw what had happened. Somehow, I was a couple of thousand feet in the air, hovering in the sky, still glowing white-hot. Beneath me, I watched a billion tons of displaced ground falling back into place, burying any trace of the massive installation in an instant.

For about five minutes afterwards, I stayed motionless in the air. I couldn't even touch myself. It wasn't that I burnt myself, even though I was probably tens of thousands of degrees. It was just that any contact anywhere on my body triggered another orgasm. I had to keep dead still, watching myself cooling down until I could fly without the air friction sending me into yet more sexual frenzy.

I used the time to observe the area of disturbed ground below me. A region about five miles in diameter had been torn up and thrown into the air only to resettle as churned earth. Three miles around that had been charred nearly black. And for a further ten miles further around that every single tree had been felled. Quite a big explosion, all told. Especially considering I'd borne almost the entire brunt of it. But then again, I'm quite a girl, aren't I?

Wednesday 14 September 2005 17:27 BST (GMT+1)

So I guess you all want to know what I did after I'd finished with the bomb. And the installation it was being kept in.

Well, I didn't hang around to help with the clean up! There was only one place I was going after that. Straight up. I rocketed into space, my body still glowing with heat and surplus energy. I felt the familiar caress of the sun's rays on me as I left the Earth's atmosphere. Lovely. It wasn't about feeling powerful, it was about being powerful. The most powerful being in existence.

I flew in a beeline for Mars. I was going fast, but not at my maximum, but I still made it in a little over an hour. I spent almost a day there, indulging my peaking sexual sensitivity by crushing bits of the planet against my thighs, my face, my breasts and my groin. I lost count of the number of orgasms I enjoyed. I only came home in the end because I wanted to post the blog and show off what I'd done. That and the fact that the best thing about being a supergirl is living in a world full of non-super men. I just love being so superior, and there's no-one to prove it to on Mars.

Oh yes, it's great to be me. It's great to be me because I am great.

Thursday 15 September 2005 17:59 BST (GMT+1)

Bet you've been wondering what I got up to in the days since I got back from Central Asia via Mars.

Well, amongst other things that I won't tell you about, I've invented a new sport. It's called "balcony snatching." It works like this: I cruise about the skies, too high to be spotted by the pathetic eyes of normal people. As soon as I spot a nice looking man (or, better, two or three) on a balcony, I fly down fast. Next I swoop beneath the balcony. With a blast of heat-vision, I separate the entire ledge from the building it's attached to. It doesn't matter if it's joined by concrete or by bricks and steel girders. My eyes take care of any thickness of any material in a split-second.

Of course the balcony is now loose and starts to fall. I just reach up and let it rest on my upturned palms. The weight is insignificant to me as I fly upwards, carrying the whole balcony and its terrified occupants. After a few minutes' flight during which I might perform a few tricks (such as throwing the load and catching it again or shaking it around) just to tease my passengers, I come down on top of a high building or bridge or monument. Anywhere from where it's extremely difficult (preferably impossible) to get down...

I put down the balcony, jump in and have my way with the bewildered male or males inside until they beg for a rest. Then I have my way with them a little more. As soon as I'm done, I kiss my lover on the lips and just fly off, leaving him there, in his balcony, until someone sends a helicopter to rescue him.

It's great fun although I'm not sure if it'll become an Olympic sport...

Friday 16 September 2005 19:09 BST (GMT+1)

Another fun new sport from my collection: "Pilot Teasing".

Once again, this begins with me prowling the skies. As soon as I spot a plane, I fly under it, reach up and take it under my control. My strength and flight powers are a thousand times more powerful than any jet engine, so I can take the craft wherever I want, regardless of what the pilot tries to do with his rudder or his flaps or his motors. I usually fly around in circles or funny up-and-down wavy patterns, depending on my mood. With my superhearing, I get to hear all kinds of funny radio conversations involving panicking, bewildered pilots.

Sometimes, I put the plane down in the middle of the sea when I'm done and fly away underwater. Sometimes I leave it perched on the edge of a cliff or on a mountainside and make my retreat too fast to be seen. A few of my toy aircraft just blow up before I can find anywhere amusing to dump them. It's fun when that happens too...

Monday 19 September 2005 17:25 BST (GMT+1)

The weekend is when people usually look to have their fun. But, when you're as powerful as I am (and everybody else around you is as weak as you are) then you can have fun all the time.

There are so many ways I can amuse myself when the fancy takes me. I've already mentioned two of my favourite games. Here's a third: "Rod-less fishing". It works like this:

I hover about thirty feet up in the air above a street at night. Naturally, no-one expects anyone (let alone a young girl as physically perfect as me) to be floating on air. Nobody looks up, nobody sees me. I just "stand" there, waiting patiently for a suitable-looking male to wander past. When I spot one, I don't swoop down on him, I "fish" him in. I just stay exactly where I am, look down on my catch, purse my lips and suck hard. Of course, at that distance, one man is no challenge at all for my lungs. The confused creatures are pulled off the road by my inhalation and fly right up to me. I stop sucking at the last second (I don't want the guys to splatter into my face) and grab them with one hand to stop them falling.

Once I've landed my catch, I decide what to do with it. Quite a lot of them I keep for later to satisfy my "appetite". Some I just throw back where I got them from. Such wonderful sport!

Tuesday 20 September 2005 19:26 BST (GMT+1)

I was sunbathing this morning, just relaxing and letting the sun's rays do their special thing.

I found a great spot where I thought I couldn't possibly be disturbed, took off my top and let my lovely chest bathe in the delicious solar radiation. It might have been a hundred degrees below zero, but then it's never warm a mile above the Earth's atmosphere. I don't mind. A hundred below is quite comfortable for me...

Anyway, I closed my eyes and thought of happy things like a room full of naked, well-built young men begging me for mercy. Sadly, my daydream was rudely interrupted by a communications satellite which had silently come up on me in its orbit and smacked into my head. The shape of my skull was clearly visible in the side of the tiny artificial moon when, surprised (but obviously not hurt) by the impact, I took a look.

A quick sweep of my hands over the exterior of the thing detached all the aerials, dishes and panels and sent them spiralling down towards Earth. That left just the main section of the satellite. It was about twice the size of me in length. I put my arms around it to show there were no hard feelings after the collision. Then I gave it a little hug.

The metal casing crumpled up against me, taking on the precise shape of the front of my body. The circuitry inside cracked, sparked and crumbled as I gently squeezed, my supposedly soft breasts crushing the satellite to scrap. When I opened my arms, the thing was about a tenth of its original size. I gave it a parting shove, breaking its orbit and sending it Earthwards. It might burn up in the atmosphere, or it might survive re-entry and give someone a nasty headache when it comes down.

Anyway, if you were making an international call earlier which was unexpectedly cut off, it's probably because of me. I won't apologise though. You should have thought of me before dialling. Next time, be more considerate. Use a satellite that isn't in my way.

Wednesday 21 September 2005 19:16 BST (GMT+1)

I was topping up my "tan" yesterday, (alright, I don't tan, but I do get other benefits from exposure to the sun, so I'm sure you all know what I mean) I thought I do some experimenting today.

I was curious about my new flight powers and my (I know, I can't get over it, either) increased (!) strength and how those two abilities might work together to allow me to do something I've never done before.

You see, I've messed around in the water as long as I can remember, swimming faster than a speedboat, holding my breath under the surface for days, punching holes in the bottom of ships, capsizing them by blowing a kiss at them... But I've never lifted a really big ship clean from the water. I haven't been able to as I didn't have anything strong enough to stand on as I lifted... until now. Now, of course, I have flight powers.

I used to be so impressed at the way I could swim at nearly two hundred miles an hour. But now, I can "fly" through water, even under the crushing pressures of the Pacific floor, at ten times that speed. I was able to spend the morning shooting around the Ocean, making sure I found the biggest, heaviest-looking vessel out of the hundreds I checked out for my experiment.

My selection was a fully-laden oil supertanker, a massive craft that must weigh thousands upon thousands of tonnes. I swam up underneath it, pressed my hands on the ridge of its enormous steel hull, locked my arms and concentrated on flying upwards. There was a half-second of resistance on my body and I really felt as if I was in a struggle, but it soon became clear that there was only going to be one winner between the forces of the universe and me.

I felt myself rising through the water more than I felt the ship rising above me. I could feel the pressure, the enormous bulk above pushing down on me, but my arms were comfortable holding that bulk at full stretch. My head burst the surface much sooner than I expected. I let out a triumphant cry as the rest of my body came up out of the water because, at that moment, I knew I had succeeded with utter ease. I had lifted a supertanker out of the water and supported its entire weight with my flight powers (and, of course, the strength of my shapely arms.)

There was nothing left but to fly the ship to the nearest deserted bit of land and put it down, carefully, about twenty yards from the shoreline. If anyone wants that monster back in the sea they've got two choices. One: they can ask me to pick it up and carry it back (it would take me about thirty seconds to accomplish, but I'm sorry, I can't be bothered to help...) That leaves option two as the only viable choice: they can do it themselves.

With equipment, a team of fifty should be able to manage it in a little over a day...

Thursday 22 September 2005 17:53 BST (GMT+1)

There was an interesting interview on the local news this afternoon with a spokesman for the zoo down the road.

Struggling to reassure the public that they were not at risk from his animals, he was at a complete loss to explain how, overnight, one of their adult African elephants had escaped from his enclosure. He kept insisting that the animal had not busted out, as the twenty-foot-high bars on all four sides were still perfectly intact. But he was completely lost for words when pressed to suggest a theory as to how the elephant had ended up on the flat roof of the zoo's three-storey office building.

Apparently, there's no way the thing could have climbed up there, or made his way up via the stairs inside the building as the they are far too narrow. To move an animal of that size, the spokesman explained, requires a massive specialist crane and a crew of six men. The operation would require several hours to complete.

Which just shows how wrong a so-called "expert" can be. I picked that pachyderm up with one hand under his belly, flew up to the roof with him, put him down and just flew off. Six men? Several hours? Try one girl and ten seconds.

Friday 23 September 2005 17:39 BST (GMT+1)

I slipped over to California this morning for a few hours (Ah, it's great being able to fly ten times faster than an airliner under my own, incalculable, power).

Whilst I was there I had some fun with a group of surfers. I joined them riding a wave. Of course, I didn't have a board, but you don't need one when you can fly. They didn't notice my bare, unaided feet at first. I guess they weren't looking at my feet, what with the brief swimsuit I'd squeezed myself into...

They only realised that I was no conventional surfer when I started to do some somersaults and jumps that weren't humanly possible. By then, one guy had fallen in trying to copy me. Another slipped off when I "surfed" close by and bent over, showing off my chest. He lost concentration and went straight into the sea. I got the third with the gentlest little jet of superbreath. He lost his board and went spinning over the waves for about fifty feet until he splashed down.

After I'd made sure they were all well bathed, I fished them out, carrying all three of them by the waistbands of their shorts with my left hand. I dumped them on the beach. They were too shocked to put up much of a fight as I ripped off their trunks.

Ten minutes later, I was in the sky headed back for home. But I doubt those boys will be doing much surfing for a few weeks...

Monday 26 September 2005 17:17 BST (GMT+1)

Well, well... Who would have thought there would have been a secret mini-space station orbiting the Earth?

Normally, governments are so proud about any achievements in space exploration, they can't wait to tell the world. So, when a major country puts a tiny laboratory into orbit and doesn't say a word about it, you can bet that someone is up to something sneaky. Especially when they've gone to all the trouble of manning it...

The way I found it was quite funny, actually. I was just on my way to Mars to pass a couple of hours somewhere where I knew I wouldn't be disturbed. I'd closed my eyes after leaving the atmosphere, to concentrate on feeling the lovely effects of solar radiation on my body. Besides, it's not exactly a difficult journey (you find the right direction and then keep going straight until you hit the red planet.)

Anyway, I almost flew straight into (and probably, right through) the little satellite, but I noticed it at the last moment and brought myself to a complete halt. My first thought was "That shouldn't be there." so I decided to investigate. That's when I noticed that the thing had a small, round observation window and that's when I realised I'd stumbled upon something really interesting.

I flew around to the window and peered inside. My gaze was met by two young men cramped inside in full space suits. Despite the reflective visors in the front of their helmets, I had no trouble at all seeing the shock on their faces. I'll assume that they were a little surprised to see someone floating around outside without an environment suit, and that the stunned expressions were not purely down to my (admittedly stunning) beauty.

I gave the two boys a smile which did nothing to ease the panic they were showing. They were both shouting, presumably into their radios. I like to travel low-profile, and I didn't want them telling all the folks back home about their unexpected visitor, so I reached up with my left arm and snapped off all the inch-thick antennas and bolted-on dishes with a casual wave of my hand, letting them float off into the void. From the desperate flicking of switches and pressing of buttons inside the capsule which I observed, I knew I'd successfully cut off their communications.

I was just about to see if I could find the door (or better yet, install a new door in my own unique style) to go in and join them, when I had an even better idea. I'd been on my way to Mars. The unanticipated company was no reason for me to change my plans. I decided to go anyway, and to take my two new friends along with me.

I placed my hands on the side of the satellite and started to fly, pushing it in front of me. The thing was equipped with small rockets, presumably for course-adjustment. I guess the two chaps inside fired them off in an attempt to get away from me. All I know for certain is that a blast of burning liquid oxygen shot out of the side of the craft right into my face, bathing me in fire. It almost tickled me.

It was a little warm inside the rocket flame, but not uncomfortable. As for the effect of the jet on the satellite's movement, well, I didn't notice any extra resistance as I pushed the craft through space. Either the engines were pathetically weak or I'm unthinkably strong. Probably, it's both.

I kept us all on course for the red planet, keeping my speed way down as I was afraid that the satellite (not to mention its contents) would fall apart if I tried to push it at even a fraction of my maximum. That's why it took nearly four hours to complete the journey. The only entertainment en route was the sight of the two desperate, terrified males inside. For some reason, no matter how many times I winked at them or smiled possessively, they seemed unwilling to relax. Maybe they knew it wasn't going to be their day...

Anyway, I'll tell you what happened when we reached Mars next time.

Wednesday 28 September 2005 21:43 BST (GMT+1)

As any geek will tell you, the Martian atmosphere is extremely thin. So much so, that I didn't really notice it as I pushed my new toy through it. The little satellite-cum-mini-space-station was more than resilient enough to survive the re-entry. Even the pathetic, fragile creatures inside, so hopelessly dependent on their clumsy, clunky protective suits and their complex life-support equipment, were never in any real danger (not from the friction their craft encountered anyway).

I flew us all down towards the surface at a boringly slow pace so as not to damage the contents in transit. The weight of the thing, under the red planet's weak gravity was as good as zero to me. I could have placed it delicately down on the barren dusty ground to bring about the gentlest, most controlled touchdown in the history of space exploration.  But, of course, I didn't. I just let go of the capsule about fifteen feet up and let it bounce violently. It wasn't designed for landing and it rolled onto its side when it finally came to rest.

I came down far more gracefully, onto my feet right next to the craft. My X-ray vision allowed me to see the very shaken, obviously terrified but still very much conscious men inside. Because of the way it had rotated, I had to bend over to smile at them through the circular observation window where they could see me. That meant they were also treated to a view of my pendant breasts. I could see from their eyes that even under those circumstances, my charms still had a powerful effect.

There seemed little point bringing those two fellows all that way and not letting them become the first humans ever to touch the surface of another planet, but I figured they might be a little reluctant to come out by themselves so I decided to help them in my own, unique style. I noticed a seam in the side of the satellite that was obviously a docking and/or entry point and was about to prise it open with my fingers when the ogling stares I was receiving gave me another idea.

I straightened up in front of the porthole-like window, so that my head was a couple of feet above it. What a view those guys must have enjoyed, possibly the most astonishing sight any "normal" people have ever beheld. I don't mean the dreary landscape of Mars, of course. I mean my naked chest, which was exactly in front of the round view-port. The sight got even better for them a moment later as I pushed out my breasts and leant into the window.

The special transparent material used was designed and installed to survive the pressures, frictions and impacts of travel through and beyond the atmosphere of planet Earth. Naturally, it was no match at all for my sexy mounds. My breasts barely yielded at all before cracks spread rapidly outwards from the points where my nipples pressed into the pane. An instant later, the window gave way, the thick material smashing into countless pieces which fell onto my chest, inside the craft, onto the shocked astronauts and on to the red ground. I brushed the fragments from my breasts and out of my cleavage as I stood up.

The porthole was too small for me to drag both men in their bulky suits through at once. So I had to reach in twice, pulling each of them out in turn with a single hand and setting them down on the ground, making sure their oxygen tubes were still attached to their suits and to the tanks inside the little craft. Such weak things, dependent on a rubber hose to live! Me, I'm perfectly comfortable in a vacuum. I only need air in my lungs to exhale it at hurricane force, not to survive.

Incidentally, I suppose I should have taken the trouble to find out the name of the one I pulled out before the other (the first man on Mars) but he was only a man, so I didn't see the point, to be frank. Anyway, once they were both out I stood facing them, my hands on my hips, while they glanced at one another and then at me, totally unsure what to do. I raised an eyebrow, and the panic that brought to the two male faces nearly made me burst out laughing. Unfortunately for the two men, neither of them seemed to get the joke.

I think I'll leave things there for today. More next time!

Thursday 29 September 2005 20:43 BST (GMT+1)

We stood for a couple of moments like that on the deserted plains of Mars, the two astronauts and me. It was fun letting them sweat despite the fact that they were wearing their carefully regulated environment suits.

I'd made sure, as I always do, that I'd filled my amazing lungs with Earth air earlier in the day, before I'd even reached the upper atmosphere, so that by exhaling as I spoke, I was able make the sound carry as far as the two men's helmets which must have reverberated dramatically with my words. Of course I had to be careful just to produce enough wind to transport my voice and not to blow the pair into orbit, but, luckily for them, along with super power, I also have super control.

"Well, boys," I said, "are you going to thank me for the lift, or are you just going to stand there?"

"Who... what... who... are you?" one of them stammered in response. I could hear him fine, even though there was a near-vacuum between us, thanks to my marvellous super-senses.

"I'm just a girl." I answered, shaking my lovely chest a little to emphasise my point. Looking down with my X-ray vision, I could see that both men fully appreciated what I was. Or at least their organs appreciated it. I reached out towards them, extending one hand towards each groin "But I see that you already know that." I added as I gently gripped the crotch of the two space-suits, one in either hand.

I lifted them both off the red soil with a single arm each, hoisting them by the thick metal-fibred fabric underneath their testicles until their feet were level with my waist. To be honest, I didn't notice their weight at all, but I could feel them squashing up inside, the throbbing manhood resting on each of my palms actually exciting me (for a moment). I knew that proper contact was out of the question, which was a shame. Otherwise I definitely would have taken the pair of them there and then.

"Wow, you both really like me. That's sweet." I observed, commenting on the increased pulsating I could clearly detect inside the space suits through the layers of specialist fabrics. I bent my arms, lowering the two men slightly and drawing them both closer to my body so that their fish-bowl-covered faces were just inches from my nipples. That really made the throbbing increase.

"So..." I said, holding them dead still right in front of my glorious breasts as I slowly undulated my body like an exotic dancer, "...do you boys come here often?"

There was no answer. "Aw," I said, pouting and saturating my voice with mock concern, "they're shy." I started to move my fingers very slightly. Not enough to hurt them properly, but more than enough to massage their already overexcited reproductive equipment through their thick space-costumes. Looking down at their faces, I saw the two pairs of eyes rolling upwards, heard the groans they uttered and felt the spasming inside the suits. I could even detect the jets of man-juice splattering on the inside.

"Boys!" I said, pretending to be shocked. "Have you no self-control? You're supposed to be men of science, exploring new frontiers! Here you are, the first men on Mars, and all you want to do is indulge your base instincts. And on a first date too. I'm shocked!" So saying, I took my hands away and let them both drop, still orgasming, onto their posteriors right by my feet. The twin impacts raised small clouds of red dust.

"That is NOT what I meant when I asked if you come here often." I chastised them. I crossed my arms under my chest, making my breasts even more prominent than before. "What a pair of typical men! What kind of girl do you think I am?" There was no reply other than the continued groans of sexual release.

"Well, if you've got nothing to say for yourselves, then fine. I WAS going to offer you both a lift home, but now I don't think I want to be with you any more. You can make your own way back." I heard the beginnings of their protestations which grew into yells of desperation as I effortlessly rose off the planet's surface, but I pretended not to notice.

In no time at all I was streaking back towards Earth, far faster than any rocket that's ever been built (probably faster than any that will ever be built in the future, too). Whenever they finally get an astronaut to Mars without my help, it'll be interesting to see what they make of what I left behind. No doubt, I'll be at hand to explain.

I have to stop typing now. I can't stop laughing as I think about it...

Friday 30 September 2005 19:16 BST (GMT+1)

Mars is very nice (if you like the colour red, dust and nothing else) but there's always something to be said for home comforts.

For starters, on Earth, I can rip a man's clothes off him without his internal organs immediately exploding. That comes in handy for those times when, just like a normal (weak and fragile) human, I fancy a little bit of intimacy. Of course, the great advantage of being both superhumanly powerful and superhumanly gorgeous is that I can enjoy that intimacy with whichever male (or males) I choose - whether or not the creature (or creatures) in question is initially of a similar frame of mind.

For example, the other morning, just before dawn, I was taking a nice leisurely flight over the Himalayas when I spotted a brightly-coloured tent pitched on a ledge about halfway up the side of a large mountain. With my great visual abilities, I was able to examine the bodies of the two dormant men inside, even though they were both wrapped in thermal sleeping bags. Seeing that they were both rugged, muscular-climber-types I decided to pay them a visit.

I swooped down to the front of the tent and removed my clothes. It was about ten degrees centigrade below freezing and the wind was howling, but I was perfectly comfortable, thank you. I used my left hand to yank the entire tent free of its moorings, tearing the pins holding it down from the rock they were embedded in and ripping the top of the covering from the ground sheet below in one, effortless pull. Unsurprisingly, that was enough to wake the two fellows inside.

"'Morning chaps!" I said breezily. "I hope you've had a good rest, because you're going to need plenty of energy!"

Thirty minutes later, I was back in the air, the warm glow of a pleasant (if small) orgasm in my loins. The climbers were back asleep (or unconscious to be more precise), utterly exhausted from the efforts of trying to please me. I would have been sitting in my armchair at home by the time either of them came to. It was a pity (for them) that I had to break the leg of one and the arm of the other, but I had to make sure they were in no doubt that I wouldn't tolerate any slacking. I wonder how they managed to get down. Perhaps they didn't. If so, it serves them right for being such average lays.

  

 

October 2005

Monday 3 October 2005 12:23 BST (GMT+1)

Hot and cold. Or rather extremes of the both. Deadly to normal people, utterly harmless to me. But you knew that already.

You also knew that generating these radical temperatures is easy for me. Lasers from my eyes can melt any material. Cold breath from my mouth can freeze any substance. Neither is difficult to produce. But you'd be amazed at the precision with which I can control both abilities.

For example, in my local park there's a small bronze statue of some pompous man riding a horse. Last night I paid it a visit. By carefully blasting bits of it with my heat-vision until they turned into liquid and then shaping the molten metal with little puffs of my breath before resolidifying them ultra-rapidly with short, sharp, super-cold exhalations, I was able to transform the monument into something far more artistic. Now, instead of a monument to a stupid male, visitors can find the words "Blogger rules" in beautifully-formed, calligraphic, solid bronze letters.

Not bad, considering I never touched the thing with my hands. In fact, I never got nearer than ten yards from it.

Tuesday 4 October 2005 17:54 BST (GMT+1)

It seems that, following the latest "unexplained" vandalism in the park, the National Paranormal Society is setting up a sophisticated 24-hour a day, 7 day a week surveillance network all around the area.

Included in their list of toys are half a dozen infrared cameras, heat-sensing devices, electro-magnetic disturbance monitors and a team of eight crack voluntary nerds (no doubt each equipped with anorak and flask of warm tea). The Society president announced "If there's any truth in the rumours about paranormal activity taking place in the park, we'll find it." Of course they won't find evidence of spirits or ghouls. Superhuman (and beautiful) girl: yes. Ghosts: no.

I'm going to have so much fun with those guys!

Wednesday 5 October 2005 20:46 BST (GMT+1)

After a few months of disuse, I've finally found a (temporary) new tenant for the flat upstairs.

The best thing is I didn't have to go to any bar or gym to meet him. I didn't even have to leave my flat. He came right to my home, all by himself, without needing to be asked. How helpful is that? There I was, just reading a novel on the sofa at around quarter to three last night when I heard a scratching sound outside the kitchen window. I put down the book and listened as the window was carefully pushed open. Then someone stealthily clambered in. I could tell immediately that it was a young man. I'm no Sherlock Holmes, but with my hearing, I picked out every scraping of cloth on window-frame, every stifled intake and exhalation of breath, every thump of every heartbeat... You get the picture.

I floated off the floor (infinitely more quietly than my mystery visitor could manage) into the darkest corner of the living room and waited. Unlike him, I can hold my breath for weeks if needed, so I was completely silent whilst he methodically opened and closed the drawers and cupboards in my kitchen. He even looked in the fridge! Soon enough, he came out of there and I got my first view of him. It was dark, but that's no problem for me. He was dressed entirely in black. A high-neck polo shirt, leather gloves and a woolly hat meant that the only exposed flesh was that of his face. Cute, even if he couldn't hide the fact that he was pushing forty. His tight clothes also gave a good indication of a nice, compact body.

If there was any doubt about his motives before, they evaporated when I saw the large open (but empty) sports bag he was carrying. Normally, I'd be pretty ruthless with an intruder, but I really liked the way this one looked. He clicked on a small hand torch and began scanning around the room. Way before the beam reached where I was hiding, it lit up my stereo. The guy switched the torch off and made his way over to it. He was reaching around the back of it, trying to pull out all the wires quickly and quietly so he never noticed me flying up behind him. I put my hand on the back of his lovely muscular neck and with one movement, lifted him off the ground and turned him around to face me, his feet hanging about level with my ankles.

To his credit, he didn't scream. He did kick at me several times, his boots bouncing off my shins, probably hurting his toes. It certainly didn't hurt me at all. Raising myself up a little until my arm was stretched straight out in front as I continued to keep him off the floor, I looked into his eyes to see the terror and confusion. I'm used to men wearing that particular expression, and it didn't reduce this one's cuteness in the slightest. I gave him my best smile. He responded by pulling an eighteen-inch long, thick iron crowbar from his trousers.

I was amazed to see he was quite happy to use it but although I could have stopped or evaded the blow, I let him slam the sharp end of the metal bar down on to my head. The clang as it hit was impressive. It was also the only thing that let me know that he'd used a bit of force as I couldn't really feel it. But that noise told me he whacked me hard enough to kill an ordinary person. In other words, he'd tried to finish me off. The cheeky bastard!

He seemed in shock at the ineffectiveness of his attack so I pulled the bar out of his hand without any struggle. Putting him down, I caught both his hands in my left before he could even formulate a plan of action. He wriggled like a fish on dry land, but it was easy to hold him still enough for me to pull his arms over his head and then wrap his crowbar tightly around his wrists. His eyes nearly popped out of his head as I casually twisted the heavy iron around his forearms and then for good measure bent the other end of the metal into a loop to make a convenient finger-hold.

I carried him by putting my middle digit through the loop and letting the improvised cuffs and the man entwined in them dangle from my outstretched hand. With my X-ray vision, I checked to see if there was anyone on the staircase outside. There wasn't so I went out of my front door, carrying my new pal to my special apartment upstairs. His feet dragged on the floor and bounced up the stairs. I hung him on one of the waiting hooks up there. It's been a while since I've had anyone staying in my "guest quarters", but I remembered how to be a good host, stopping his yells for help by stuffing his woolly hat in his mouth. Then I held his body still with a couple of fingers pressed into his sternum whilst I peeled his clothes away from his body.

It was like being a kid, unwrapping a present at Christmas. He really does have a beautiful toned, tight physique. I stripped him naked, taking my time and shredding his clothes to pieces in the process. Although he couldn't scream, he was still kicking his legs furiously. He soon got tired of thrashing uselessly against the wall and, not long afterwards, he gave up trying to break the metal bonds around his wrists. As if a man could bend metal! I stood there, patiently watching as he, at least temporarily, surrendered to his situation. I admit I couldn't help rubbing his helplessness in by adopting a "power pose" with my hands on my hips. No doubt, I was smirking a little as well.

When he'd finally calmed down a little, he began to look at me more and more. His eyes still showed a great deal of fear, not to mention a fair amount of anger, but another quality also was making itself apparent - namely, lust. The glances he threw at me became more and more frequent and lingering. They also focussed increasingly on my chest. I was wearing a fairly tight T-shirt and my obvious attractiveness is, frankly, too much for most men to ignore. This guy is no different I'm pleased to note.

He was naked, so he had no way of hiding the fact that I was stirring his desires. Furthermore, with his hands tied up, he had no choice but to let his arousal stand out in full view. He was clearly embarrassed as he squirmed against the wall, his face reddening. I couldn't see why. I mean, he's no porn star in that department, but he doesn't need to be ashamed either. I'd say he's slightly bigger than average. Anyway, I certainly didn't help him to get over his awkwardness as I made a show of looking at his expanding appendage.

Reaching out, I brought my hand close to his lovely face. He immediately turned his head aside, which was as much as he could do to avoid me. I merely cupped his chin - gently so as not to crush his jawbone to powder - and, despite his frantic but useless struggling, brought his face round so that it was directly in front of mine. Even with his teeth clenched and his features a little contorted by his wasted efforts, I could see he was extremely handsome. I moved my face closer, so that the tips of our noses were only a couple of inches apart.

"You're mine now." I breathed. This seemed to act as an amplifier for his emotions. The finality of my words must've brought home sharply his predicament, heightening his fear. His eyes went wild and he renewed his frantic but hopeless efforts to free himself. Yet, at the same time, the sensations triggered by my breath on his face inflamed his passion and immediately made his little soldier jump to full attention. I just smiled.

Releasing his chin, I turned to walk out, calling out over my shoulder "Wait there. I'll be right back, handsome." As if he's got a choice!

And that's where I left him. It's been seventeen hours so he's probably getting a bit bored. I'll go upstairs now to give him a little exercise.

Thursday 6 October 2005 16:55 BST (GMT+1)

Well, I had an exceptionally enjoyable session with my burglar-cum-house-guest last night.

I let him down from his hook and freed his hands. Then I threw him onto the mats on the floor and leapt on top of him. "You... can't... rape... me" he gasped (he was finding it hard to breathe with my chest pressing down on his lungs with enough force to severely restrict them).

"Why not lover?" I asked him.

"I... won't... let... you... Won't... get... hard... for... you..." I laughed. And scooted up his body until my breasts were resting lightly on his face. Then I leant into him, burying his eyes and nose in my cleavage and overwhelming his senses with my femininity. Five seconds later, as I discovered, reaching behind myself to feel, he had a raging erection.
"Shame about that," I mocked. I freed his head from my warm, erotic prison and carefully impaled myself on his waiting shaft. I started to ride him, aggressively.

"Stop! Please!" he cried.

"No." I laughed, speeding up. He started to hit me. I enjoyed that as I continued to bounce on him.

When I was done, he was gasping for breath, his torso and groin already bruised. "OK, let's do it again." I announced.

"No. I.. can't... I... just... can't..." I pressed my breasts into his face once more and proved him wrong. There were tears in his eyes as I began to take him into and out of my eager, superhuman sex.

For the third round, I gave him back his (slightly bent) crowbar and let him whack me with it whilst I screwed him. I loved the feeling of the metal slamming against my head, my back and especially my chest as I rode. I shuddered violently as a big orgasm ripped through me. By the time it calmed down, my reluctant lover was already unconscious. Typical male! I hung him back on his hook for safekeeping.

After that, I popped down to the park to see how preparations for the great "ghost hunt" are going. Those geeks are really going to town setting up their equipment. I can't wait till it's all ready. Those instruments (not to mention the men setting them up) are going to get some very unexpected results...

Friday 7 October 2005 21:59 BST (GMT+1)

This morning, I woke my burglar-sex-toy with breakfast in bed.

Only joking, of course! I woke him by lifting him off his hook and throwing him across the room so that he bounced off the (slightly) padded wall. He rolled a couple of times, right into my ankles. I stepped one foot over him and carefully lowered myself down onto his stunned, disorientated face. Did I mention that I was naked?

Anyway, I pressed my sex over his mouth and presented him with two options: "Lick me out or I'll crush you to death." He chose the former, although to be honest, he wasn't very good at it. To increase the minimal levels of pleasure he was giving me, I started to grind my crotch around over his stubbly face. I heard a couple of muffled cries as I did that, but thought nothing of them until I stood up.

His mouth was in a right state. Seems I knocked out most of his teeth, tore his lips open and split his tongue as I rubbed my intimacy over him. There was blood everywhere. I had to take a bath to clean myself up once I'd hung the second-rate licker back in his place.

Fortunately the bleeding had stopped by the time I went upstairs this afternoon for a quick couple of rapes. He tried his best to please me, but his performances are getting steadily worse each time. I think my toy might be running out of batteries...

Over in the park, meanwhile, the paranormalists have almost finished setting up all their equipment. I'm waiting for them to be fully ready before paying them a visit. Shouldn't be too long now.

Monday 10 October 2005 17:14 BST (GMT+1)

News reached me over the weekend of a minor setback in Operation Catch-the-park-ghost (or whatever the geeks are calling it.)

No, before you jump to any conclusions, I had nothing to do with the setback. I'm waiting for them to be completely ready before getting involved, remember? They just didn't have enough power-sources to run their equipment, so they're arranging for a portable on-site generator. Shouldn't take them too long, despite their lack of social skills.

Meanwhile, my own social life is a bit quieter. After a disastrous session with my burglar-toy during which his penis was bruised jet black and his pelvis broken in three places (X-ray vision is so useful for counting fractures) and, more importantly, which left me completely unsatisfied, I decided to let him go.

I couldn't be bothered to carry him downstairs, so I just opened the window and tossed him out onto the roof of a passing bus. I wonder what they made of the unconscious naked man back at the garage, his wrists bound up in thick, twisted iron, his groin severely wounded. And I wonder how he explained himself when (and, er, if) he came round.

Tuesday 11 October 2005 17:28 BST (GMT+1)

A little recap, then: for over a year, "strange things" have been happening in the local park. Trees uprooted. The teahouse vandalised several times and then as good as destroyed. A bronze statue remoulded. And so forth.

Of course, regular readers will appreciate that all of these "unexplained" events were my doing. But other people seemed convinced that some supernatural force is at work. So the local paranormalists have decided to investigate. They've spent nearly a week setting up an array of heat-sensors, infrared cameras, electromagnetic field monitors and all kinds of silly toys. They've also devised a rota which ensures that two (probably socially inadequate) members of the society are on vigil 24 hours day. That's how convinced they are that they're going to find evidence of a ghost.

In recognition of their brave, unpaid efforts, I popped over to see the two dweebs on duty last night with a couple of cups of hot tea and some shortbread biscuits that I'd specially baked for them.

Ha! ha! ha! Only joking, of course. All I did last night was play my heat-vision lasers around close to a couple of the heat sensors. They're designed to detect changes of a couple of degrees centigrade, so I'm sure ten thousand degrees would have made for interesting readings. For balance, I directed a few jets of ultra-cold superbreath in that direction too. From the temperature of the sun to just above absolute zero in 3 seconds... no doubt they will claim it as definite proof of the existence of a spirit world.

For the infrared cameras, I merely ran at around half my top speed, far too fast to be identified as a humanoid, but not too fast to show up as a streak of heat on film. I couldn't resist spelling out the words "Get a life, geeks" as I sprinted. I hope they got that on tape. I'm sure they were all a-buzz with their readings this morning. I can imagine the discussion: "...and look! Here, on the infrared film, the ghost is trying to communicate with us..."

If only they knew what I've planned for them for tonight!

Wednesday 12 October 2005 17:47 BST (GMT+1)

You can just picture the scene, can't you? Two bespectacled, anorak-clad wannabe ghost-busters, crouched over a makeshift bank of electronic equipment in a tiny tent set up in the middle of a local park.

They're looking for any signs of paranormal activity. Last night, their sensitive temperature gauges recorded, in the space of a few seconds, 1000+ degrees C, -210 degrees C and 8 degrees C. Then the spirits send them a message via an infrared camera. The message, in joined-up writing which "appeared" suddenly, spells out a rather mundane insult. Naturally, 24 hours later, they're on ultrahigh alert.

The displays in front of them, relaying images from an array of infrared and night-vision cameras, fail one by one. That's me, of course, taking out all the lenses (and their housings) one after the other by zapping them with my heat-vision. Ten cameras rendered unrepairable in two seconds (because I was taking my time for my audience's benefit.)
Then suddenly, a blast of cold wind rips through their tent. I just pursed my lips and let out a very gentle, very mild stream of cold (not freezing) superbreath. And then the wind rips their tent away all together. I put a tiny bit more into my puff to do that. Now, they're shivering and not a little frightened.

There's a rush of wind behind them. That's me sprinting at superspeed. A voice (mine, of course) says "Boo!". One of them screams. They both whirl around and see... nothing. (I'm already hovering a hundred feet up in the night sky.) While they're looking away, a quick shot of energy from my eyes causes their portable generator to explode. Both men run yelling from the scene. Neither of them hears my laughter.

The big question, of course, is: will they come back tonight?

Tuesday 18 October 2005 17:07 BST (GMT+1)

Greetings, people.

You may have noticed that your beloved "Blogger" has been uncharacteristically absent from these pages of late. Perhaps you have been speculating that she has been defeated in battle by Ultragirl once again. If so, then you are very much mistaken.

Blogger HAS been defeated, not in battle but in cunning and wit by no-one but myself. No female muscle was involved. Just good old MALE genius.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Duane. You may have met me before. Perhaps you are one of the many who have called me "Dweeb" or "Geek" or "Nerd" in the past. But not anymore. Oh no. Not now you face the consequences of inciting my anger. Once, you might have laughed at the prospect of fighting me. But no longer!

No-one will ever call me names again. Not now that I have, under my complete control, the most powerful being in the universe. I refer of course, to the one you know as Blogger. You see, she may be invulnerable to atomic bombs, and stronger than the entire human race combined, but she is no match (NO MATCH AT ALL) for my superior brain!

The supposedly peerless "Blogger" is in a special kind of hypnotic trance. A permanent, unbreakable trance that will keep her totally in my power. Forever. She will continue to do exactly what I tell her to do... forever! You could say that she is under my spell. She will not move one beautiful finger of her beautiful body without my command.

She is mine. All mine. Yes, every part of her. I have even touched her breasts without her reacting. I would have touched more, but I am not accustomed to being with women and the feel of her boob alone was enough for me to no longer be able to contain myself.

But enough talk of my weaknesses! Now, with "Blogger" by my side, I can finally punish all those people who called me names in the past. You will see, soon enough. You will ALL see!

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!

Wednesday 19 October 2005 15:06 BST (GMT+1)

Something is wrong with you people. I have just become the most powerful person in the world (ever) by gaining complete control of "Blogger". You should be offering me your praise and congratulations!

Why won't anybody show me the respect my genius deserves? Why do people continue laugh at me, even now that I possess the power to punish them? What is so funny about my face? With "Blogger" awaiting my every command, I can have all the acne cream I need now. I can have ANYTHING I want.

Yes, my control is complete. I can make her do anything I want. Like this: "Take off your T-shirt!" You see? She does whatever I - oh, my! I must touch... Oh, oh, oh!!!!

Never mind, I can have as many fresh pairs of underwear as I want now. I have complete control of the most powerful being in the universe.

Tomorrow, you shall see the results of this. Tomorrow, you shall ALL see. I am going to get my lovely pet to do something for me that will make the WHOLE WORLD sit up and take notice of me, Duane Perkins. Then all the people who criticised my computer programmes will be sorry.

In the meantime, you may send your messages of congratulations and jealousy to: yourmasterduane@hotmail.co.uk

Thursday 20 October 2005 17:55 BST (GMT+1)

So now you all know. Duane Perkins is NOT to be taken lightly. There will be no more "dweeb" remarks. I DEMAND your respect!

I must say, "Blogger" is a remarkable young lady. And not just to look at. Although she IS remarkable to look at too. But to have COMPLETE control over her power is most intriguing. Standing on the corner of the street, watching her in action is quite a treat.
You've probably heard about it on the news. I was on the street, outside the internet cafe where the ignorant staff killed my eighth level wizard by distracting me mid-battle when I was logged on to my favourite RPG site. For weeks I have been plotting my revenge. Now, it is complete.

I commanded Blogger to enter the cafe WITHOUT opening the door. She strolled, UNBLINKING through the plate glass windows, the shattering fragments not scratching her lovely, smooth skin. Then, according to my whim, she brushed aside the guy who works there with a sweep of her hand, sending him flying into the back of the shop. Take that, philistine! And finally, the "piece de la resistance". I instructed Blogger to insert the floppy disc I had prepared into the cafe's main server and run the application it contained. After that, I made my mind-slave turn around and leave as quickly as possible so that no-one else saw us. The perfect crime! And, of course, only Blogger is in the frame for it.

The disc contains a virus that will take weeks to remove from the network. It will keep popping up with messages insulting the staff and customers (here's the REALLY clever bit - it insults them in KLINGON so they won't even understand that they're being insulted!!!!) at random intervals. How fiendish! But THAT is what happens to those who cross Duane Perkins.

I have received a few emails. To those who warn me to watch out with Blogger, I say this: YOU watch out, for I have TOTAL control over her. To the two people who wrote to complain about an error in my "StarTrek Episode Guide Database 2.3" I say: You are wrong, FOOLS. Captain Picard wore only one ring in that scene, although he did have two on his hand in the previous scene. If you continue to question me, I will send Blogger to convince you otherwise.

Now, I need time with my mind-slave. I need to look at something. Soon, I will be able to TOUCH as well without, erm, becoming over-excited.

Send your praise for my genius to: yourmasterduane@hotmail.co.uk

Friday 21 October 2005 17:56 BST (GMT+1)

So, I have received yet more emails warning of an alleged dire fate awaiting me. I think not! My mind-control over "Blogger" will NEVER be broken. Those who wrote to say that they will harm me (P.D. and L.H. especially) if I do not release my hold on the delectable powerhouse should think again. It is I who holds all the cards here, particularly the marvellously curvaceous Ace of Trumps. You claim "Blogger" is your friend. I did not think she had any friends, but let me just say this: come near me and I will unleash the full force of your friend on you!

You STILL won't take me, Duane Perkins, conqueror of the unconquerable "Blogger" seriously? Allow me to tell you a little story. An illustration of my power now. This happened yesterday afternoon in one of the country's TOP fantasy retailers:

The man in the comic book section said "No, you cannot touch it unless you buy it."
I said: "Blogger, get it for me." And she did, punching through the thick glass counter, removing the object of my desire and handing it to me. The security guards came running over. "Blogger, hold them while I leave." She kept them both on their knees with a hand around each big man's throat as I calmly walked out. Then, according to my whim, she followed me home where she allowed me to touch her breast for a full ten seconds. I would have touched BOTH breasts and for much longer, were it not for the fact that I had already, um, peaked by then.

I hope you appreciate now that I am NOT a figure of fun, but rather a FORMIDABLE GENIUS. Nothing can stop me! Nothing!!

P.S. If you would like to join my NEW FAN CLUB (!!!) just send me an email: yourmasterduane@hotmail.co.uk

Monday 24 October 2005 17:02 BST (GMT+1)

Well, I have had a pleasing response to the announcement of my fan club. Thank you to those who wrote in requesting membership. Your support will not be forgotten when I overthrow the governments of Earth. The Duane Perkins Fan Club / Appreciation Society will be formerly launched shortly. No prizes for guessing which well-known personality will be officially opening the DP FC / AS. Say "Hello", Blogger.

"Hello, Blogger."

Doesn't she have a lovely voice? Almost as lovely as she looks. This weekend we have spent preparing for my most audacious project yet. The time has come for action. Action on a grand scale. For there is no point having COMPLETE mind-control over the most powerful being in the solar system if I continue to be denied the respect of my peers that I so richly deserve.

All that will change this week. With my unbeatable GENIUS and Blogger's unstoppable brawn (not to mention indescribable beauty) NOTHING can deny me! Behold the totality of my power over her: Blogger, approach!

Here she comes. That's enough. I said ENOUGH! Blogger... STOP! Oh, too late. She has touched me with her boobies. I can't contain myself. Oh, oh, oh....

HOW DARE YOU LAUGH! My self-control may be lacking but my MIND-control is perfect.
Blogger! Commence Operation Duane-in-charge. And then fetch me a clean pair of trousers.

To apply to join the Duane Perkins Fan Club/Appreciation Society, write to me at: yourmasterduane@hotmail.co.uk. Remember: those who are already members will receive preferential treatment when I take over the world. Can you seriously afford NOT to give me your eternal respect?

Tuesday 25 October 2005 22:30 BST (GMT+1)

After a number of minor technical difficulties, Operation "Duane-in-charge" is now underway. Everything is running precisely to my plan. But that is hardly surprising. My plan, like my control over "Blogger", like my very GENIUS itself, is absolutely flawless. As flawless as the lovely face of my mind-slave.

And how amazing it was to see that lovely face, and the, um, fascinating body attached to it ploughing through a street-length column of parked cars on Sunday night. I directed her to the road and instructed her to walk to the other end of it as part of my grand preparations. I assumed she would dodge AROUND the vehicles, but she chose the path of greatest resistance. Although, thinking of the ease with which she walked through those cars AS IF THEY WEREN'T THERE, "resistance" is perhaps a poor choice of word.

Not wanting to create a scene I sent the mental command for her to stop and also added a number of vocal instructions. I assume the noise of steel being rent asunder by her wonderful legs and hips was the reason she did not respond immediately, as my control is TOTAL. I am CERTAIN of that. It was quite a few seconds before I made my thoughts heard, by which time, no fewer than twenty vehicles had been utterly destroyed.

To possess the mind of a being so powerful takes great, great mental skill. Which I, fortunately possess in abundance.

Send me your praise, and ask to be accepted into the Duane Perkins Fan Club / Appreciation Society by emailing: yourmasterduane@hotmail.co.uk

Wednesday 26 October 2005 17:40 BST (GMT+1)

Life is a process of learning. Even a GENIUS such as myself can acknowledge that. And any new process / system can never be FULLY understood (and hence, MASTERED) until it has been tested IN THE FIELD for some time. So, I am NOT TO BLAME for yesterday evening's unfortunate events.

A mind is a complex and multi-stranded entity. It would seem that one can have TOTAL control over its intelligence and reasoning without simultaneously establishing such a complete grip on its lower processes. Obviously, when the mind in question is attached to an invulnerable and superhumanly powerful body (a very, very beautiful body too in this case) then a below-100% hold on "lower processes" can have, um, consequences.

Consider the parallel of gaining mind-control over a killer shark. One might be able to make the creature swim in complex loops for hours, apparently in TOTAL command of it. But if the shark were to suddenly detect the taste of fresh blood in the water, its "lower processes" might well come to the fore. The beast could TEMPORARILY enter an eating frenzy during which it might be LESS RESPONSIVE THAN BEFORE to mental instructions from its mind-master.

I believe that something similar happened to me last night. I needed access to some data held at a government research institution. Having followed my orders perfectly in smashing down several doors for me so that I could have access to the records room, I wanted Blogger to ensure that no-one entered the room whilst I worked.

ALL I SAID was "Blogger, make sure I will not be disturbed." She was SUPPOSED to stand guard at the door. She was SUPPOSED to use her MAGNIFICENT, invulnerable body to bar entry to any staff or security guards. She was SUPPOSED to help me keep my presence as low-key as possible. I NEVER INTENDED WHAT HAPPENED NEXT.

To cut a long story short, "Blogger" misinterpreted my command. For some reason, her enslaved mind concluded that the best way of ensuring that I wouldn't be disturbed would be to make sure that there was no-one to disturb me. In other words, she immediately (AT SUPERSPEED) set about the task of killing every other person in the building.

I only realised what was happening when I heard a succession of brief, truncated screams. I INSTANTLY issued a mental order for her to cease whatever she was doing and become immobile at once, but THE SCREAMS CONTINUED. I theorise that the "taste" of blood was somehow overriding her normal mental processes. "Blogger", it seems ENJOYS causing harm (horrible, terrible, blood-soaked harm) AT A VERY LOW LEVEL.

I confess that, as I ran out into the corridor, the sight of the dismembered and splattered corpses littering the floor and the walls was too much for me to stomach, and I had to stop in my tracks and vomit. That is the main reason why it then took so long to successfully command my mind-slave to stop. THERE IS NO QUESTION THAT MY CONTROL OVER HER IS ANYTHING BUT PERFECT, but unfortunately, she had long since completed the slaughter of every other person in the building by the time I got through to her with the command to sit down.

I instructed her to leave via the front entrance while I ran from the back. I do not know how she managed to return to my base apparently unseen, but my first instruction on her arrival was for her to wash all traces of the massacre from herself. Naturally, I observed this bathing process closely, solely to ensure that every last drop of blood was washed away. After watching THAT spectacle, I had quite a few drops of fluid to wash off MY body too...

...but all that is irrelevant! The important thing is that Operation Duane-in-charge is STILL running. The information I found before unwittingly ordering the massacre was EXTREMELY useful. Now, if I can control "Blogger's" baser instincts (a task surely WELL within my GENIUS) my destiny is assured!

All hail Duane Perkins!

yourmasterduane@hotmail.co.uk

Thursday 27 October 2005 17:32 BST (GMT+1)

Amazingly, I am STILL receiving emails from misguided people who think that my mind-control over "Blogger" is less than perfect or even that it is NOT REAL ! What fools you are! Do you not recognise GENIUS when it is thrust before you? To prove you wrong and to show my TOTAL control, I am not typing today's blog entry in the conventional manner: I am DICTATING it to "Blogger" TELEPATHICALLY. My superior brain is COMMANDING her to type exactly what I am thinking. See? Such is my power, I can even CAPITALISE selected letters in my mental messages!

Now, I am delighted to report that the blood (regrettably) spilt yesterday has not delayed Operation Duane-in-charge and Phase Two has now begun. In just a few short days I will be

of the world!

Blogger! You've missed out most of the last two sentences! No! Don't type this. This is not part of the blog! Stop looking at the ceiling! What are you looking at up there? There's nothing there! What on earth is distracting you? Why are you touching yourself... there? I've not seen you doing that before. Let me get a better look. Oh my, your fingers are going all the way into... oh! I... I... oohhhh!

There. I am all cleaned up. Now, stop typing my thoughts. We must edit what you have typed. Blogger! What can it be that is distracting you? You must press delete. Immediately! Press "Delete". "DELETE"! No, not "Send"

Friday 28 October 2005 17:47 BST (GMT+1)

Blogger, I COMMAND you! Tell your master what it is on the ceiling that is distracting you so badly. Why does it make you touch yourself like... like you are doing now?

Blogger! ANSWER ME! Stop that touching! Stop it now! You MUST stop. I COMMAND it. My mental control over you is COMPLETE and PERFECT. You must stop NOW, according to my wishes. Don't make me pull your hands away! You will regret it, I swear. I will use my BRAIN to fill your mind with pain. This is your LAST warning...

Very well, I will make you stop the crude way. Eeeuuggghhh! Aaargggh! Eeeeeeuuuuuugggggghhhhhh! [sound of panting] How can you be resisting me? Your brain CANNOT hold out against my superior GENIUS!

You HAVE to stop that touching - NOW! Please! It is distracting me. I wish to use your blog page to announce the success of Phase 2 of Operation Duane-in-charge, but I cannot THINK whilst you are making such an EXHIBITION of yourself. I cannot even WALK whilst you are doing that! I COMMAND YOU TO STOP!

Please stop. Pleeease!

Hey! Who turned on the voice-recognition software? Oh my, that COULD have been extremely embarrassing! I would NOT have been happy if THAT had been published. Thank goodness it's not in "post" mode...

Monday 31 October 2005 17:43 BST (GMT+1)

Now, there will be NO MORE MOCKING. I am control once again, this time PERMANENTLY and UNBREAKABLY. I have found a way to amplify still further the magnificent power of my mind so that no distractions, no "lower processes", no mysterious objects on the ceiling - NOTHING AT ALL - can interfere with my WILL. "Blogger" is MINE. FOREVER!

All of the greatest conquerors in history had their difficult days, and I must confess I am no different. I cannot pretend that there were no problems last week. Regrettably, those were all too public. But I have secured my command now. My genius allows me to learn from what has happened and ensure that it will NEVER happen again.

Operation Duane-in-charge is back on track, if a little behind schedule. This week, I will reveal Phase 3 to the world. My mind-slave has a deeply important role to play now, and I am CERTAIN that she will obey my every whim. When I unleash her tonight, she will follow my every instruction to the letter, using her unstoppable power to fulfil my orders. Nothing and no-one will be able to stand in her way and HER way will be MY way.

Behold the POWER of Duane Perkins!

Beg for my mercy BEFORE I become sole ruler of Earth. Send your advance pleas for mercy (and applications to join the Duane Perkins Appreciation Society) to: yourmasterduane@hotmail.co.uk
 

 

November 2005

Tuesday 1 November 2005 18:39 BST (GMT+1)

I am SO powerful! OK, "Blogger" is SO powerful, but I CONTROL her so I am even more powerful still! You don't believe me? Well, here is what happened this morning:

"Take out the guards" I said. She ran faster than a blur. There was a splash of red and two headless bodies flew out of the hut and landed at my feet. I was fifty yards away at the time!

"Deactivate the security system." I instructed. A crash, a shower of sparks and three lumps of twisted metal and circuitry came flying towards me.

"Go through the gate." She just walked right through the steel mesh barrier, her wonderful body momentarily stretching and then tearing through the metal, leaving a huge gaping hole. Only the arcing blue flickers told me that the barrier was still "live". 5,000 volts don't even seem to tickle her.

I heard the jeep rumbling towards her. "Ignore it." I ordered. A burst of machine gun fire ripped through the dawn. "Blogger" just stood where she was, looking in the other direction as a thousand bullets bounced off her, ripping her clothes to shreds. Through my night vision binoculars, I watched as her incredible flesh was gradually revealed. The sight was most distracting and I admit I did deviate from my plans for a minute or so. Fortunately, I was able to maintain a firm grip on the viewers with my left hand.

When I was finished with my, um, observations, I issued the mental command for her to silence the guns. I did not expect her to stroll up to the jeep and lift it, using only a single hand, clear off the ground with its three-man crew still inside. I saw her toss the massive load over her shoulder as if it were no more than a pebble before I had to run for cover as the vehicle crashed down right where I had been crouching. The explosion was rather impressive. When the fireball cleared there was no sign of the three men who had been in the jeep.

"Approach the large building on your left." I ordered. Now almost naked, the movement of her body as she strolled languidly according to my whim was quite thrilling.

"Enter the building". I thought she would locate the doors first. Instead she kept on strolling, smashing right through the thick brick wall like a beautiful wrecking ball, not slowing in the slightest as she ploughed through. I lost sight of her at that point, but I did hear screams and fresh gunfire. "Make the noises stop." I instructed. I heard a brief sound like a gust of storm-force wind. A window broke. Suddenly, icicles appeared on the outside of one wall. Then there was silence.

With the coast so effectively cleared, it was safe for me to enter. I ran carefully through the hole in the electric gates and ducked into the building. It was freezing in there! Everywhere, I saw men unmoving in a variety of poses as though time itself had been stopped. The figures were coated in frost. Icicles hung from their frozen bodies. In the midst of the surreal scene, "Blogger" stood, arms casually by her sides, as motionless as the men she had iced with her superbreath.

I located the object of the mission, a large red rectangular metal box. But when I grabbed at it, it refused to budge even a nanometre. There was only one thing to do. "Blogger, pick up this box." It turned out to be bolted to the ground, the long steel threads set in concrete. "Blogger" took hold of the thing with just her left hand and pulled it upwards in a smooth, fluid motion. The bolts screamed as they snapped, but she did not appear to notice. She held the weight with her single hand as I might hold a sheet of paper.

"Follow me." I lead her out of there. I was glad to be out in the comparative warmth of the chilly November dawn.

Once safely away from the base, I told her to open the box. She tore through the steel casing with her long, slender fingers, brushing it aside with absurd ease. I reached in and extracted the device inside. It was a struggle for me to lift with both arms, so I ordered Blogger to carry it for me. She hung it casually from a single finger. "Be careful with that!" I exclaimed. "That could really hurt us!" She looked at me perplexed. "OK, OK. That could really hurt me."

And now, I am ready to begin Phase 4. Soon, the whole world will be obeying my every wish as readily as "Blogger". Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

Praise me by email! yourmasterduane@hotmail.co.uk

Wednesday 2 November 2005 16:41 BST (GMT+1)

People, I do not have time for a full update today. Operation Duane-in-charge Phase Four is well-underway - as you no doubt will have seen on your news reports. The world is no longer ignoring Duane Perkins.

I will just say one thing in relation to today's events: I did not choose for things to become as, well... bloody as they have done. I did not ask for the Army to be sent in, but I MUST defend my dreams in whatever way I can, using whatever weapons I have at my disposal. And if one of those weapons is "Blogger", the most powerful force in the known universe, then so be it.

If the soldiers surrender and withdraw, I will call her off. But as things stand now, I fear there will shortly be nothing and no-one remaining to surrender. The power of Duane is TOTAL. Everyone can see it now. "Blogger" is magnificent. She does not tire or slow. I, as her MASTER, am EVEN MORE MAGNIFICENT.

Tomorrow there will be time to tell you of my latest achievements in more detail. For now, the battle still rages.

Thursday 3 November 2005 17:54 BST (GMT+1)

OK. First up today, an email I received: "Duane, I am a big fan of Blogger in action. Please could you give a little detail of the battle you mentioned in yesterday's post?" Do you not understand yet? Duane Perkins does not do "requests". Duane Perkins follows his OWN agenda. Duane Perkins SETS EVERYBODY ELSE'S agendas.

Nonetheless, "Blogger" was so impressive following my orders dealing with the army yesterday that I wish to share some of the highlights with you, so that you can fully appreciate the POWER at my command.

You will no doubt have realised that the heavy object in the red case which I stole with Blogger's help the other morning is a thermonuclear device. And even your lesser minds must have deduced that I intend to use it to hold the world to ransom. Even the military have worked that out. Hence their pursuit of me (and Blogger). How foolish of them to believe they could retrieve it with just a few hundred soldiers!

We were in a field outside town when a squadron of jeeps approached. I hid behind a rock and ordered "Blogger" to dispose of the intruders. She ran up to the nearest car and tossed it over her shoulder so that it landed upside down. The other vehicles quickly surrounded her on three sides and the men inside opened fire with automatic weapons. The bullets merely ricocheted from her glorious naked body as though they were polystyrene packaging chips.

"Blogger" seemed to be enjoying herself (although she was COMPLETELY in my command the whole time). She jogged around, kicking some of the jeeps into the air, lifting and throwing others. Sometimes she pulled men out of the vehicles, lifting them bodily with a single hand and tossing them into the sky. At one point, she picked up a jeep and swung it like a weapon into several other cars, causing explosions which engulfed her in flame, destroying everything but leaving her unscratched.

All the while, she was under constant fire, but not a single one of the million bullets that struck her seemed to cause even a tingle of discomfort. A helicopter flew overhead. She arched her neck leisurely. Two beams of light flashed from her eyes and the helicopter dissolved in a fireball. Another chopper was destroyed when she threw an already smashed-up jeep at it.

After that, planes began to sweep in, dropping bombs that tore huge holes out of the landscape. Even though several of these hit her directly, she strolled out of the inferno each time looking for all the world as though she was slightly bored. She titled her head and just blew at one plane, sending it into an out of control spiral from which it never recovered. Another aircraft was destroyed when she tossed a small rock at it.

A group of men on foot appeared on the horizon, charging at her. She pursed her lips and turning her face slowly from left to right, produced a stream of superbreath which lifted them one by one from the ground and threw them backwards through the air over the horizon. It almost appeared as if she were smiling after she did that, but I know that cannot be possible under my mind-control.

At one point, a series of long-range rockets appeared over the horizon and dropped towards her. The first fell just a few feet from her, tearing up the ground and tossing a ton of dirt into the air to rain down on her. She did not blink. Then something strange happened. She caught the next falling rocket in one hand and, keeping its tip pointing to the ground, inserted it into the space between her boobs.

I must say the sight stirred some "lower processes" within me, but it was also perplexing. She should not have done anything that I did not command, but I do not recall commanding her to do that. Obviously, the instruction came from the subconscious part of my brain. My subconscious must then have ordered her to slowly press her lovely boobies together. I saw the steel casing of the rocket deforming as it was squeezed by that delectable flesh. I confess I was then distracted by a sudden sticky warmth in my underpants, so I did not see the thing explode in her cleavage but I can only assume that that is what happened.

In my distracted state, I confused myself into believing that I heard her laugh, but I know that this was IMPOSSIBLE given the TOTAL nature of my brain-control. I looked up and sent the command for her to catch the next rocket and throw it back in the direction it had come from. I did not see it land as it was too distant for me, but I saw a small puff of smoke on the horizon. After that, there were no more rockets, so I presume she hit the launcher.

It was eerily quiet after that. I ordered "Blogger" to approach me, which she did, but I had to order her to stop when she was a few yards away as her skin was still so warm from all the explosions it had absorbed that I found myself uncomfortably hot. The heat clearly disturbed my brain waves for she did not halt immediately, but rather took a couple more strides. I could feel my skin scorching, and cried out, sending the mental command with ever-increasing strength and urgency.

Obviously, the overheated air between us distorted the mental commands. There is no other possible explanation for the fact that a wide grin then appeared on Blogger's face. In the end, I was obliged to run away as she continued to walk towards me. I knew she would never break into a run herself (for I commanded her not too) but she did inexplicably sigh. That exhalation was powerful enough to knock me off my feet.

When I sat up, I felt a tremendous wave of heat and realised that she was still walking towards me. I increased the power on my thought-amplifier to maximum and reissued the "Stop" command. Of course, she obeyed instantly, as my mind is ALL POWERFUL. I instructed her to remain where she was whilst I retreated a considerable distance to prepare for Phase 5 of Operation Duane-in-charge.

Unfortunately, I am in considerable discomfort due to the reddening of my skin. This has also made me a little conspicuous so I will have to alter my plans slightly for the next day or so. But Duane Perkins will NOT be stopped.

Now that the military have pinpointed me and read my intentions, I cannot afford any more slip-ups or miscommunications so I set the thought-amplifier to its highest setting PERMANENTLY. Of course, this uses a lot of power, but I am prepared for this and keep a large stock of NiCad rechargeable batteries (far more cost-effective than mere alkalines) on my person at all times. With the thought-amplifier set at maximum NOTHING can interfere with my control of Blogger. NOTHING AT ALL.

Soon, very, very soon, the world will be MINE!

Friday 4 November 2005 16:55 BST (GMT+1)

A warhead is a formidable weapon. But when one ALSO possesses a delivery mechanism, it becomes something many times more powerful still. And MY delivery mechanism is the fastest and most accurate conceivable. In addition, MY delivery mechanism CANNOT be intercepted, diverted or delayed by any other known force or technology.

Yes, people. The "missile" that will be carrying my thermonuclear device to its target and detonating it on delivery is, of course, my mind-slave "Blogger". That is how I can guarantee that the explosion will destroy the city of my choosing if my demands are not met.

I'm sure "Blogger" won't mind fulfilling the role. For one thing, even a nuclear bomb won't harm her. More importantly, she won't mind because she doesn't HAVE a "mind" anymore. I have COMPLETE control of her.

The governments of the world know my demands. They have four days to sign their sovereignty over to me or I will send my lovely mind-slave to destroy one of their cities.

All hail the NEW world. Duane Perkins World!

Monday 7 November 2005 17:55 BST (GMT+1)

Only a few hours remain before my deadline expires and, for some reason which escapes even my genius, the governments of the world do not seem to be taking me seriously.

They will learn the stupidity of underestimating Duane Perkins soon enough. My weapon is ready to be delivered upon my command...

Blogger! Don't hold it like that! How can I concentrate on taking over the world when you are posing with that thermonuclear warhead resting between your boobies like that?

Oh my word! Is the steel casing bending where you've wedged it in there? Let me take a closer look! Oh... Ooohhhh gggggeeeeuuugggghhh.....

Tuesday 8 November 2005 12:59 BST (GMT+1)

The time has come, my exquisitely beautiful mind slave. Duane Perkins does NOT set deadlines purely to stand by inactively when they expire. The world MUST be taught that the man shortly to become it's sole master never indulges in idle threats.

Blogger, carry that device CAREFULLY with your HANDS ONLY and fly NO FASTER THAN 850 kilometers an hour until you are precisely 1200 meters above... let's say... um... which city shall I choose?.. Oh yes, I know... Target 27. Once you are in position, detonate it.

Pay close attention to the words of your mind-lord: The device must NOT be detonated at ANY OTHER location, whatever you might encounter en-route, whatever your instincts or "lower processes" might crave. DO NOT EXPLODE THAT DEVICE UNTIL YOU ARE IN PLACE ACCORDING TO MY DESIRES!

Nod your head to show you understand me. Good girl! Now, I will switch on the latest creation of my GENIUS: The DPTR 1.12 (Duane Perkins Thought Receiver Version 1, Release 1, Edition 2). Now, Blogger, I believe you have a package to deliver for me. Go!

Not through the ceiling! Ouch.... ow.... ow.... Cough! Cough! Can't see for the dust... Cough! Ah, there she is... heading West... Let me check the DPTR 1.12 readout:

>>MUST CARRY DEVICE TO TARGET 27...
>>MUST NOT DETONATE DEVICE BEFORE I GET TO TARGET 27...
>>MUST PROTECT DEVICE...

Good. Everything is going perfectly. Where are my binoculars? Ah yes. OH MY! WATCH OUT FOR THOSE POWER-LINES, BLOGGER!

>>MUST WATCH OUT FOR POffzzzzzzzzttttt
>>WHAT THE HELL? WHERE AM I? WHAT THE FU-
>>MY HEAD! THERE'S SOMETHING IN MY H-

Blogger, you are under my control! MY control! MY control! I am your MASTER, Duane Perkins!

>>DUANE PERKINS IS MY MASTER...

Now, follow my instructions!

>>MUST DELIVER DEVICE TO TARGET 27...

That's better. MUCH better.

Tuesday 8 November 2005 16:12 GMT

>>MUST DELIVER DEVICE TO TARGET 27...
>>MUST PROTECT DEVICE...
>>NEED SEX...
>>DEVICE FIRST. DEVICE IS IMPORTANT...
>>WHAT'S THAT?
>>JET PLANES?.. YES! JETS...
>>THERE ARE MEN INSIDE THE PLANES...
>>MAYBE I CAN HAVE SEX WITH THE MEN...
>>THE PLANES ARE COMING STRAIGHT FOR ME...
>>THEY WILL SHOOT AT ME. THAT WILL BE NICE...
>>WHEN THEY SHOOT I WILL NEED TO HAVE SEX EVEN MORE...
>>I WILL LET THEM SHOOT AND THEN I WILL HAVE S-
>>NO! SHOOTING MAY DAMAGE THE DEVICE! MUST PROTECT THE DEVICE...
>>DEVICE IS IMPORTANT. DEVICE FIRST...
>>MUST DELIVER THE DEVICE. MUST PROTECT...
>>JET PLANES MAY DAMAGE DEVICE...
>>MUST DESTROY JET PLANES BEFORE THEY SHOOT...
>>I CAN USE MY HEAT-VISION TO DESTROY THE JETS...
>>1.. 2.. 3.. 4.. 5.. 6.. ANY MORE? NO. ALL DESTROYED.
>>DEVICE IS SAFE. MUST PROTECT DEVICE...
>>MUST DELIVER DEVICE TO TARGET 27...
>>NEED SEX.
>>DEVICE FIRST. AFTER DELIVERY, MUST GET SEX...

Tuesday 8 November 2005 17:59 GMT

>>THERE'S A LARGE CITY BELOW ME.
>>IT MUST BE CHICAGO.
>>CHICAGO IS TARGET 27.
>>NEED SEX.
>>FIRST, MUST DELIVER DEVICE TO TARGET 27.
>>WAIT! I HAVE DELIVERED THE DEVICE!
>>TIME FOR SEX NOW? NO, MUST DETONATE DEVICE FIRST.
>>DEVICE IS THERMONUCLEAR WARHEAD... IT WILL FEEL EVEN BETTER THAN SEX...
>>DETONATION WILL FEEL BEST IF IT IS IN THE RIGHT PLACE...
>>THE RIGHT PLACE IS BETWEEN MY THIGHS...
>>NEED SEX...
>>MAYBE I CAN SQUEEZE THE DEVICE UNTIL IT FITS INSIDE ME...
>>WAIT! MUST PROTECT DEVICE!
>>MUST DELIVER DEVICE TO TARGET 27...
>>NO. I HAVE ALREADY DELIVERED THE DEVICE! NOW I MUST DETONATE, NOT PROTECT...
>>OOOH! IT FEELS SO GOOD PRESSING AGAINST MY CROTCH...
>>WANT MORE... NEED MORE...
>>IT WON'T GO ANY FURTHER!
>>I CAN HOLD MYSELF OPEN WITH TWO FINGERS AND PUSH...
>>OH! OH! FEELS SO GOOD...
>>DEVICE IS COMPRESSING INSIDE ME. I CAN PUSH MORE IN... YES! YES! MORE!
>>OOOOH! THE STEEL IS SO PRESSURED IN THERE IT IS BEGINNING TO VAPORISE. FEELS WONDERFUL!
>>MUST INCREASE THE FEELING. MUST FORCE MORE OF THE DEVICE INSIDE...
>>OH YES!! CANNOT WAIT! NEED THIS NOW!
>>MUST ENSURE 100% OF DETONATION POWER GIVES ME PLEASURE... MUST NOT ALLOW ANY PORTION OF EXPLOSION TO ESCAPE MY BODY...
>>I CAN USE MY HANDS TO HOLD IT ALL IN LIKE THIS...
>>NOW READY. 1200 METRES ABOVE TARGET 27. MUST DETONATE DEVICE. NOW!!




What is this on the DPTR 1.12 display? WHAT? No! Blogger! No! Pull the device ou-

Too late! Noooo!



>>OOOOO RRRRRRR GGGGGG AAAAAA SSSSSS MMMMMM!!!!!!!!!



Blogger! Blogger! Listen to me! This is your master, Duane Perkins. Blogger! Blogger?

Tuesday 8 November 2005 18:15 GMT

What's happening? Blogger! What's happening?



>>AAAAARRRRRRRR!! SSS EEEEE CCCC OOOO NNN DDD WWWW AAAA VVVV EEE!! MMMMM *M*M*MM* **M****M*******!



"Second wave"? What does THAT mean? There is only one phase to the detonation! Oh my! The detonation! I must check my monitors! No! No! Noooo! Chicago has not been destroyed! There is no sign of ANY damage! She must have... contained the explosion ENTIRELY! She wasted my precious device!

Blogger! Blogger! What have you done?



>>TT** H***** IR***** D******* W**** AA***** V*** E*

What? What does that MEAN? Why are all these asterisks appearing on the DPTR 1.12 display? Asterisks are NOT part of its programming! Let me run a diagnostic....

Overload? What could be causing an overload? Let me see...

Ouch! Oh my! Electrostatic interference! From where? This room is PERFECTLY insulated. It's building up! Oh! It's pouring down the mind-link from Blogger into the DPTR 1.12. The circuit cannot survive these power levels. If it discharges it could affect ALL my equipment! I must disconnect the link.



>>******* ************ ************ *********** ********** *****
>>*********** *********** *********** *********** ********** ***
>>******** ********** ********** ******** ********* ****** ******
>>****** ******* ******** ******** ******* ******** ******** *****



Blogger! Stop thought-transmitting that energy! Stop it now! Stop it! Stop it!

MUST disconnect! Now! Switch off external thought-tuning circui-

OUCH!!!



>>******** ******** ******* ****** ******** ******** ********* ****
>>**** ********* ***** ********** **** OH WHAT AN ORGASM!!!
>>HERE COMES ANOTHER AFTERSH **** ******** **** ******** *****
>>**** **** ******* **** ******* ******** *** ******* ******* ***** **
>>******* OH FUCK! THAT WAS AMAZING!!! THAT WAS...
>>HEY! WHERE THE FUCK AM I? IS THAT... CHICAGO?
>>HOW DID I GET HERE?
>>WHY WAS I ORGASMING?
>>WHAT'S GOING ON?
>>WHO THE FUCK HAS DONE THIS?
>>I'M GOING TO FIND OUT AND THEN I'M GOING TO ******* ******* >>***** ******** **** ******* *** ******* **** ********* **** *******
>>******* **** *** ********** **** ****** ***** **** **** ******** ***
>>error number 235. critical circuit failure. thought-link broken.
>>DPTR 1.12

Thursday 10 November 2005 15:26 GMT

Well, I'd say it was good to be "back", but it isn't.

It's not good that one second I was enjoying myself, on the point of seriously injuring a weird-looking geek in the park and the next second I'm hovering in the sky almost a mile above Chicago, coming down off an enormous orgasm. It's not good that I had no idea that weeks passed between those two moments. And it's really not good that somehow (as I have since found out) I, the greatest, most powerful, most gorgeous being in the solar system fell under the mind-control of a total dork. Not good at all.

So what happened? Truth is: I don't know. Whatever "special powers" or equipment were used on me, it's not something I've ever encountered before. I need to ensure that it's not something I'll ever encounter again in the future, or at very least, be certain that I won't be vulnerable to it next time.

All of which leads to the big question: Who is Duane Perkins? Answer is: He must be the "ghost-busting" geek from the park. His ugly, acne-spangled face is etched into my perfect memory. But I haven't been able to track him down. Yet. Rest assured that I will. I have too much unfinished business with Duane to rest before I find him.

Yesterday evening, I swooped down on Cf on his way home to find out what he knew. I should have known that the sum total of his knowledge would be precisely nothing. He started blurting the instant he saw me, protesting his innocence. With my supersenses, I could tell he was being truthful, but, just for old time's sake, I gave him a gentle shove in the belly that sent him flying ten yards down the street before he crashed down onto his rear, yelling in agony.

Anyway, that's enough chit-chat for now. I've got a pathetic male to hunt down. Just a quick warning: anyone (or any weapon or any army) that gets in my way is going to pay badly. Almost as badly as Duane himself...

Friday 11 November 2005 16:16 GMT

I never, ever forget a face (or any other part of a body for that matter) thanks to my perfect memory.

It goes without saying that I can clearly picture the last face I saw before my bizarre "blackout". It's been foremost in my thoughts for the past couple of days whilst I've been searching for a match. I went through all the Duane Perkins in the directory, flying over the addresses listed night and day, using my X-ray- and telescopic- vision powers to study the people inside. But none resembled the image on my mental "Wanted" poster.

Maybe "Duane" was a pseudonym. So I began flying in a grid pattern over a wide area, looking for anyone who resembled my quarry. Perhaps he'd skipped the country or had radical plastic surgery... Then I saw a suspicious-looking figure crouching in the near-pitch dark between two huge boilers in the basement of a large public hospital.

It's amazing what super-eyes attached to a super-brain can accomplish! I studied the mystery person from my vantage point, 10,000 feet above the roof of the ten-storey building. My X-ray powers stripped away the half-dozen or so scarves the figure had wrapped around its head. There was something extremely familiar about the person hidden within. Familiar, but somehow different. More red. Even in the dark, even through ten floors of concrete and steel, I could see that this figure had a very, very red face.

Instantly, I recalled what "Duane" had posted on MY blog last Thursday (November 3rd): He had been scorched and was worried that the reddening of his skin would make him conspicuous. He could never have realised how prophetic his words were.

Now, I am no monster. I could have dived and flown at full speed towards the basement ploughing effortlessly through all ten storeys of that hospital, destroying everything in (or vaguely near) my path, probably killing hundreds in the process. There would have been nothing and nobody to stop me doing it, and I'd have had every right as far as I'm concerned to take a direct route given what "Duane" did to me.

But I am no monster. I took a slight detour, flying past the side of the building and only altering my trajectory towards the shadowy basement-lurker once I had descended as far as the first floor. I'm chuckling as I write that because, of course, in America, the first floor is at ground level, but in these parts, buildings have a Ground floor and then a ?1st Floor? above it. It is funny; some of you probably thought I had entered through the "lobby" instead of one storey up from there?

Anyway, I flew like a missile (but vastly more deadly and infinitely more beautiful) straight through the wall of a ward, showering brick and plaster over the beds (and the people in them) before turning a sharp right-angle and plunging through the floor. I sheered straight through a steel beam coming down into the waiting room as chunks of metal and concrete rained on the screaming out-patients, but I didn't stop to laugh at the panic I was causing. I just kept on going, ploughing through the thick concrete floor into the basement.

A large piece of displaced stone pierced the top of one of the large metal boilers as I passed, unleashing a powerful jet of steam that did nothing other than tingle pleasantly as it blasted my body. However some of the jet was gushing through the hole above into the waiting room and adding to the general chaos up there. Anyone the steam touched got burnt and screamed which suited me fine. It meant that no-one would be coming near the hole for a while, so I could be undisturbed.

I located the mystery figure in a split-second. Obviously, he'd been caught by surprise by my entrance (and hit by some falling debris judging by his awkward steps as he tried to run.) I'd have chased him down in three strides (or flown past him and landed right in his path in about a quarter of a second) but instead I unleashed a small blast of my heat vision at the ceiling in front of where he was running, bringing down half a tonne of shattered masonry that blocked his escape. He yelled and turned around laboriously.

I guess he couldn't see me in the dark, because he seemed to be peering right through me. I, however, got a good, long look at his revolting features. He started to run again (if such a pathetic snail-like limping can be called running) this time in the opposite direction. In other words, straight towards me. I stayed in the shadows and tripped him as he passed. He landed on his face and belly and as he impacted with the cold stone, over a dozen AA-sized rechargeable batteries fell from the pockets of his coat. I flipped him over by touching him in the ribs with my toe (just a gentle prod that made him cry out but didn't break anything) and then pinned him to the ground by placing my pointed bare foot lightly on his chest.

As he peered upwards, his weak eyes struggling only slightly less uselessly than his hands that were trying in vain to move my foot, I greeted him. "Hi Duane. I've been looking for you all day!" There was no reply unless spluttered panicking can be considered a reply.

"There's a couple of things I need to ask you. Stand up." I commanded, lifting my foot. He didn't move, so I bent down, grabbed his scrawny neck and pulled him swiftly vertical. I used my flight powers to float about a foot above the ground so that we could be gorgeous, bright super-eye to ugly, dull, pathetic-eye whilst his feet dangled helplessly at the end of his body which, in turn, dangled helplessly from my single hand.

"Tell me how your mind-control process works." I instructed. No answer. I shook him gently. His arms and legs flew wildly about and he screamed. "Tell me how your mind-control process works." I repeated.

He coughed. "No! Never!" he wheezed. I shook him again, a bit more insistently this time. His limbs were flung around so violently, his left shoulder was dislocated, causing him to yell once more.

"Tell me how your mind-control process works." I demanded for the third time.

"I won't!" he spluttered, finding it difficult to draw enough air to speak. "You can hurt me as much as you like but I'll never reveal my secrets to-"

"-Oh, I am going to hurt you, Duane," I assured him. "I'm going to hurt you more than anyone has ever been hurt until you tell me everything I want to know. And then, I'm going to hurt you some more. So..." I used my free hand to trap his left wrist and adjusted my grip so that I was holding his little finger between my thumb and another digit. "...tell me how your mind-control process works."

Silence. I snapped his finger. It might as well have been a dry twig. He shouted. Slowly, I took his ring finger (although, unsurprisingly, he wasn't wearing a ring) and, gripping it just above his knuckles, I squeezed it till it went Crunch! and then Squelch! and then fell off. His scream was the loudest yet. It was still echoing around the basement when I moved on to his middle finger and bent it back until it touched the back of his palm and made a nice little Crack! sound.

There were tears rolling down his cheeks as I took hold of his index digit. "Stop!" he cried. Naturally, I ignored him and pulled the finger until it popped out of its socket and hung limply at the end of his rapidly blackening hand. "Wait! No! Please!" But I'd started on his thumb by then, so I kept going, twisting and squeezing it until shattered bits of bone were visible through the torn skin. More yells of agony. I moved my grip so that I was holding his palm and, very slowly, began to compress it.

"OK! OK! Please! Stop! No more! Please! I'll tell you everything! Please!" blurted Duane. So I only partially crushed the bones inside his palm (perhaps leaving as many as a third of them intact). "Stop! I said I'd tell you everything! Please! Please let me tell you!" he begged. I let go of his ruined hand and let it fall at his side before casually reaching for his other wrist and encircling it with my fingers without actually doing any damage.

"Duane" looked at my slender digits surrounding the end of his arm, took a deep, shuddering breath and began "It works by electrostatic pulses...." He went on for about five minutes, telling me every last detail of how his system functioned. A couple of times I interrupted him, demanding more information on a specific topic and each time he struggled to get the words out fast enough. I didn't even have to remind him of the threat I posed to his wrist, so keen was he to give me every last scrap of knowledge he possessed.

I asked him how many "amplifier" devices he had built. "Only the one which was destroyed by thought-energy-feedback." he told me.

"You're lying" I said. In truth, my superhearing told me that, judging by his vital signs, he was actually being factual, but I fancied hurting him a little bit more, so I crushed his wrist between my fingers, smiling as I listened to every little Crunch! it made.

"No, no no!!! I swear! On my life! I'm telling the truth!" he protested, clearly in total agony.

"Your life isn't worth much right now." I informed him, before continuing the interrogation: "Did you write any notes of your work, Duane?"

"No. No. Never. I swear. It's... it was MY secret. There's no record of anything anywhere. I swear there isn't." I took his right hand in mine. His ruined wrist was already black but for good measure I broke all five of its fingers one by one, enjoying his screams as I did so.

"Well, now we can be sure you won't be writing any notes for the foreseeable future." I announced. "Now, did you TELL anyone about your work?"

"No! No-one!"

"Are you sure you've never told anyone about your work?" I asked.

"Yes. 100% sure!" he insisted.

"Good." I proclaimed, straightening the arm that was still holding him suspended by his neck so that his body moved a little further away from me. "Let's make sure that you never tell anyone about it." I was reaching for his face as I spoke and he started to scream before I even touched him.

"Duane, Duane!" I chided. "Why all the noise? Anyone would think I was about to kill you!"

"You are!" he screamed, terrified.

"I never said that. All I said was I was going to make sure you never tell anyone about your work." I jabbed my extended finger at his mouth, knocking all four of his central front teeth out of his gums. As he opened his jaws to yell out his newest pain, I quickly flicked my digit around removing every last vestige of his dental work. When I retrieved my finger it was soaked in blood. I wiped it off on Duane's face.

"Preese shop!" he pleaded. I think he meant "Please stop" but the lack of teeth was distorting his pronunciation.

"Oh, do be quiet." I said. "I've already heard everything you could say that might interest me. Talking time is over, Duane. Permanently." So saying, I thrust two fingers into his mouth once more, pinching his tongue as far from its tip as I could reach. The gentlest of tugs tore the muscle in half. A gush of thick blood poured from his mouth as I pulled the detached portion of tongue out and tossed it casually aside. Now his screams were muted and somewhat burbling as his throat filled with blood. He hung his head so that the crimson liquid could flow out of his mouth and it poured over my wrist (which was still clutching his throat) and onto the floor.

I could see he was about to pass out, so I kept him awake by blowing an exceptionally light stream of cold superbreath over his face. "Gggggmmm Gggmmgggmm!!" he sobbed, proving that I'd done a good job preventing him from talking. I'm not sure what he was saying, but I'd like to think it was something like "Please let me die."

"Stay with me, Duane." I told him, between cold wafts. "I wouldn't want you to miss a thing."

I extended the tip of the index finger of my spare hand and ran it gently down the front of his torso, a couple of inches left of the centre. Nothing more than a light carress. Just enough to pop his ribs cleanly one by one without shattering them or damaging his internal organs. "Ggggg! Gggggg! Ggggccchhhh!" was the best he could do for cries of pain. I smiled at him and repeated the process on the other side of his rib cage. "Ckkkkgggg! Mmggggg!" For a self-proclaimed genius, he was revealing an embarrassingly limited vocabulary.

I lifted him a little higher and, with an effortless tap on the outside of his leg, broke his left thigh bone. Another easy flick shattered his right kneecap. It was becoming increasingly difficult to tell when one "scream" of agony ended and the next began. They were just merging into one long, continuous cry of pain. I suppose he should have passed out and I was keeping him awake long past his bedtime, but I really did want to be certain that nothing happened to him without him fully conscious to experience it fully.

Extending my arm fully, I lifted him high. A friendly squeeze of my free hand reduced his right ankle bones to fragments. I was almost done. Ten seconds later, after I'd pulled off his left big toe, held it up in front of his frantic eyes and flicked it away into the distance, I was finished. I stopped the stream of cold air across his face and he was out cold within seconds.

I adjusted my grip on his comatose body, releasing his throat and holding him with my arm around his middle so that he hung sideways-on against my side. The steam still pouring out of the boiler was just about enough cover as I flew up, back through the chaotic lobby and the rubble-strewn ward upstairs, taking advantage of the convenient emergency exit route I'd installed on my way in. I couldn't fly at anything like full speed without frying my passenger so I kept my velocity down as I soared out of the hole in the side of the building and up towards the clouds. Of course, with all the panic in the hospital, no-one noticed me (or my cargo for that matter).

In no time at all, I was floating in through the window of my flat. I'd already decided on a punishment suitable for the man who thought he could enslave my mind (imagine it - a MAN thinking he could enslave part of ME !!!). I will not kill Duane. That would be far too quick. Instead, I will ensure that he remains with me, for the rest of his life, as my slave. There will be no sexual contact between us (he's ugly and besides, he hasn't got any teeth and most of his tongue is missing), but I'll just keep him around (and in pain).

The question was where to keep him? Experience told me that captive males are disgustingly messy creatures. Then, I had a brainwave. I knew just where to put him so his mess wouldn't be a problem. A length of thick steel chain, stolen from a building site, was all I needed to secure my guest immovably. I placed him, in a sitting position, naked, on the toilet in my bathroom. After all I never need to use it. I wrapped the chain tightly around both ?Duane? and the porcelain (using my superstrength to twist the ends of the chain together) thus binding man and lavatory permanently together.

As I type, of course, he's still unconscious. He'll need to be fed (I wouldn't want him to starve because he won't feel pain if he's dead), but I'm sure I can work something out for that. Of course, without splints and plaster, his broken bones will not heal correctly. But that's just part of the fun the next few months will bring.

Now, it's been a while since I was exposed to the sun's rays without the shield of Earth's atmosphere. A nice little "recharge" is very much in order. Maybe it's no so bad to be back, after all.

Monday 14 November 2005 17:18 GMT

Happy Monday, everyone. Well mine has been happy and, as ever, I couldn't care less about yours.

I feel even more terrific than usual today, having spent most of the weekend supercharging myself with solar energy outside of the filter of the atmosphere.
For example, I spent Friday night floating in the nude about 100,000 miles from Earth, just soaking up those lovely rays and looking at the pretty view.

After that I popped back home to check on my house-guest. Never let it be said that I'm a bad host. I made plenty of noise entering the bathroom and that seemed to slightly rouse him. His whole-body bruises and multiple swellings were just beginning to peak, so that he barely looked human chained up on the toilet in my bathroom. His left eye opened a crack as I approached him. I smiled and gave him an extremely gentle slap on the cheek , fracturing his bone and sending him back into his deep sleep.

I left him to doze and headed back into space, this time to lie on the edge of a small lunar crater in the nude for a couple of hours until I could feel the power of the sun throbbing in every part of my body. I tested my energy levels on the way home, unleashing a blast of heat vision as I flew a thousand feet over a forest. In less than a second, my "angry gaze" had turned an area two acres in size into a raging inferno.

Closer to home, I spotted a small group of sailing boats involved in some kind of race. Without slowing I blew the crews a cool (and frankly, effortless) kiss. Instantly, the sea all around the boats froze solid, locking the craft in place. Not that the various sailors minded, having themselves been transformed into human-shaped icicles. All that with an easy puff of breath. That's why I love sunbathing these days!

Back in my flat, I forced some food down Duane's neck so that he doesn't escape his punishment by dying on me. He woke up briefly to choke, so I seized the opportunity to inflict some extra pain on him by breaking his nose with a tap of my little finger. I let him cry out in agony for a full minute before he passed out again.

I'm off on a little trip to the US tomorrow (with the kind of power I can feel inside I should complete the 9,500 mile round-trip by lunchtime). If you're lucky, I might even let you know how it went when I get back.

Tuesday 15 November 2005 17:59 GMT

Some people like to take a stroll in the morning. Me, I like to take to the air and fly to a different part of the world. Of course, I don't get anywhere near as tired as the walkers do, but that's their problem...

Anyway, I was over in the extreme North West of the U.S. Why? Because I can! 4,700 miles (as the Blogger flies) is no big distance for me. The outbound trip took me ninety minutes because I took my time, firstly enjoying the scenery, secondly toying with a light aircraft that I encountered en-route and thirdly toying with the pilot once he'd bailed out. (We got on so well to begin with, but we soon fell out... Well, ok. He fell out of my arms and I stayed right where I was, 5,000 feet up.)

When I eventually got to my destination, the person I was looking for wasn't there. It all stems from an email I received from one of my female fans inviting me to come over and beat the crap out of her misogynist brother. Unfortunately, there was no sign of him at the address I'd been given.

I left a calling card in the form of a 50 foot tree which I pulled out of the ground and threw, one-handed, right through the centre of the house like an oversized javelin. After that, I decided to head for home. I flew less slowly without detours and made it back inside 45 minutes.

For those interested, by the way, Duane is doing just fine. He's flitting in and out of consciousness and shouting in pain when he's awake (no mean feat for a man with no teeth and half a tongue). Sadly, I'm running out of bits of him to break next time he comes round properly, but I'm sure I can find a way to increase his suffering...

Wednesday 16 November 2005 16:36 GMT

It appears that the calling card I left yesterday was not fully appreciated.

Apparently, when the guy I left it for found out that the tree had been thrown through his house by a superhuman girl, he said "shame she was too chicken to stick around and get her butt kicked". So now I've got to go back there. And make him beg for my forgiveness (although, as regular readers know, I've never forgiven any man for anything. Why should I? They're pathetic and I'm perfect.)

In other news, "Nobody's master" Duane spent a full hour awake today. His bruises and swelling look absolutely horrendous and he's clearly in terrible pain, I'm pleased to report. The food I'm forcing him to eat seems to be going through and coming out the other end. If he wasn't chained on top of the open lavatory, he'd have made a nasty mess on my carpet. Of course, he can't operate the flush so he has to wait for me to do it for him. I'm not very careful about it, though. Every time I reach for the handle, I end up brushing his shoulder, compressing what's left of the bones in there and making him cry out. It really is quite funny...

Thursday 17 November 2005 17:00 GMT

"Leech! Imme orphine! Ain! De ain!"
(Translation from the Toothless/Tongueless original into normal English: "Please! Give me morphine! Pain! The pain!")

Guess who was sobbing those words all night long...

Well, it couldn't have been me. I just don't feel pain. You see, "pain" is your body's way of telling you that it has been, is being, or is in danger of being, damaged. My (perfect) body, naturally, cannot be damaged, so there's no need for it to register pain. Or discomfort.

The correct answer is, of course: it was Duane who was crying like a baby, pleading for pharmaceuticals. He's becoming such a pain (ha ha). I'm sure he would have rattled his chains too if he had been able to, but his broken bones and mutilated hands, not to mention the tightness of his bounds, made that impossible.

I went into the bathroom to laugh at him and say "no" to his plea for painkillers.

"Leech juch ill ee de!" he sobbed. ("Please just kill me then").

"And miss all this fun?" I laughed. "No, I won't be killing you for quite a while yet, Duane." I sat on the edge of the bath to watch him crying for a while. When I'd had enough, I stood up, said "Shut up!" and knocked him out by tapping the top of his head with a finger.

I turned around and left the flat to find a nice, proper macho man. Naturally, once I'd found an acceptable male, I had plenty more fun by making him cry, too.

Friday 18 November 2005 17:19 GMT

I've just decided to go on a little trip.

Not an insignificant morning (airborne) stroll to another continent like I enjoyed earlier in the week, but a real epic journey. Somewhere no-one (and in particular, no man has ever been. Somewhere no man will ever be able to go.

I am talking about defying the laws of physics and nature, redefining huge areas of scientific knowledge, travelling tens of millions of miles and surviving the supposedly unsurvivable. I should be back on Monday morning. Yes folks, all that is just a weekend trip for me.

Of course, dear old Duane will need feeding while I'm away. His injuries have left him so weak (even compared with the average pathetically weak male) that missing a couple of days food might be too much for him. So, I've set up a couple of tins to slowly dribble their contents into a funnel I've wedged between his gums. Don't worry, he can't move or pull it out because I've tightened his chains a little.

So it's up, up and away for me (but sob, sob and stay for Duane).

Monday 21 November 2005 17:30 GMT

So I'm back from my little trip.

I've travelled hundreds of millions of miles, seen what no-one from Earth has ever seen, experienced sensations that are beyond normal people's comprehension and brought back some fascinating souvenirs.

As I flew into outer space, glancing over my shoulder at the shrinking Earth, I found myself going faster and faster. I realised I'd never really tested my maximum flying speed. I'd just never seen the need to push myself as hard as I can, certainly not within the confines of Earth. It might be interesting to try it one day though. Who knows what kinds of atmospheric (or other) disturbances I could cause flying around the globe at over a million miles an hour. It might be quite funny to find out.

Anyway, I was accelerating through space, marvelling at my ever increasing rate of progress. Before I knew it I saw the swirling clouds of Jupiter zooming towards me. Or rather, of course, I was zooming towards them. I almost couldn't believe how quickly I got there. The planet is so huge, it overfilled my vision when I was still a huge distance away from the outer limits of its bizarre atmosphere. I steered myself towards the famous "red spot" and dived into the churning gases.

The deeper I got, the darker it became and the more the pressure increased. With my fantastic visual abilities, I was able to see my surroundings long after the most sensitive electronic equipment would have failed, but it was still rather like a normal person like you must feel in the centre of a thick (if colourful) fog. As for the pressure, well the electronic equipment would have been crushed to the size of a pinhead thousands of miles above where I first began to even notice anything.

Being invulnerable is fantastic. The "air" became wet as I plunged ever nearer the centre. This was methane gas, in liquid form. A spaceship would have crumpled up like an empty drinks can, but I was perfectly comfortable. After a while, I started to come across huge chunks of metal, floating in the gassy soup. It took me a while to realise that these were "clouds" of hydrogen gas turned solid by the phenomenal forces of the giant planet. I spent a few moments remoulding a few of them into interesting shapes with my hands. It was like working with soft modelling clay for me.

Finally, I made it to the core. The solid centre of the planet Jupiter where no man (and no machine any man will ever build) can ever penetrate. I could feel the pressure trying to squeeze my perfect body, kind of like an all-over hug, but it wasn't at all painful. I'd estimate the force to be around 70 million times greater than the standard pressure you normal people just about cope with on the surface of Earth. To be honest, it didn't even compress my soft-to-my-touch, rounded breasts.

I lay down on the surface of the planet. In the near perfect darkness, even I had difficulty to see with total clarity, but I could feel the substance beneath me. I recognised it at once. It's a material I've come across before. Due to its hardness, It's very easy to identify. Yes, folks, underneath around 40,000 miles of gas, Jupiter is just one very, very big diamond. You'd need a pretty big ring to set it in though!

Rolling over onto my belly, I had fun drawing pictures by scratching the surface with my fingernail. It's not often I get to play with a diamond that big. I also made an interesting groove-based design by swinging my pendant chest and letting my perfect nipples gouge out a couple of chunks. Pressing my breasts firmly into the ground, I left a good impression of my magnificent bust on the planet's surface, and just below that, carved "Blogger was here" into the solid diamond with a fingertip.

After that, there was little left to do except scoop up a couple of handfuls of Jovian "soil" and fly back up through the atmosphere. The gravity must have been enormous, but I lifted from the surface without any noticeable difficulty. I'll admit that it is nice to reflect on the fact that even the solar system's mightiest object cannot match me for power.

With my little trophies, I headed for home. I had a strange feeling as I approached my home world, seeing the little cloudy planet in its entirety before me. It looked so small, so vulnerable. All that could be mine so easily, I thought. I mean, all of it. The land, the resources, the people... To be honest though, I'm satisfied just knowing that the planet is mine for the taking (if ever I could be bothered...)

Anyway, I guess the two fist-sized chunks of flawless diamond that I took from Jupiter will be a bit too big to make into jewellery, but they do look nice on the shelf in my flat. I'd show them to Duane, but he's asleep at the moment. He was just about conscious when I returned this morning, but when I greeted him by brushing him gently under his (broken) chin with my little finger, his head snapped back and he's been out cold since.

At least he did consume the two cans of beans I left him with (not that he had any choice in the matter). I'm all out of beans now though. Not needing food, I don't tend to keep any around the place. Luckily for him, I've got one tin left to throw into his funnel this evening. I'm sure he'll enjoy it. It says on the can that It's suitable for cats of all ages.

Tuesday 22 November 2005 17:24 GMT

After the weekend's history-making events, Monday was always going to be an anti-climax.

Earth might be teeming with life but it can be a pretty boring place for someone as perfect, gorgeous and powerful as me. Even torturing Duane seemed uninteresting today.

I'm going into town tonight to pick up some men. I doubt they'll be able to give me much entertainment, but I might be able to squeeze a few seconds' amusement from them. If that fails, I'll just have to pick a fight with an army or something...

Wednesday 23 November 2005 17:20 GMT

It's the time of year that Americans like to give thanks.

The four businessmen I found yesterday evening, on their way to an airport, were certainly keen to get back to their families to celebrate the occasion. "Please let us go," one of them begged me after I'd stopped their taxi by grabbing hold of the back fender, lifting the rear wheels off the road, slowly overturning the vehicle, ripping the doors off with a one-fingered casual tug and pulling the expensively-dressed occupants out one by one. The driver I just kissed, sucking the air from his puny lungs until he was unconscious, and tossed him aside. He landed twenty yards away.

To say that the remaining passengers were frightened would be a huge understatement. "I can offer you money," one pleaded, "lots and lots of money!"

"I have cash!" blurted the terrified third.

"Me too!" the fourth one yelled, taking out his wallet. Naturally, I accepted every single note he and his colleagues had on them.

"Thanks for the money, boys." I said, insincerely.

"Can... can we go now?" one of them asked.

"Of course not!" I laughed, pushing him in the chest, making him fly through the air until he crashed down on his rear. Before he could stand up again, I had grabbed the three others by their collars, pulled them up and strolled over to the fallen man. I dropped the trio on top of him and let them all roll around in clumsy confusion for a while.

I bent over them and made short work of tearing off all their clothes. I should mention at this point that the temperature last night was only a couple of degrees above freezing. That's significant, because we were still outside, by the side of the road. Naturally, such chilly weather doesn't affect me (have I ever told you about the time I bathed in a vat of liquid nitrogen?) but these guys were shivering like crazy, teeth chattering, hairs on their arms and legs standing up, faces turning blue...

A few gentle exhalations of warm superbreath would have kept them nice and comfortable, so I didn't bother. Instead I stripped, grabbed them one by one, rubbed their faces briefly and gently against my chest until they were bruised but erect and forced their organs rapidly into and out of mine until each had ejaculated inside me as ferociously as he could. As I finished with one, I'd drop him back onto the cold hard ground and snatch up the next. Then I went through the whole group once more.

The cumulative effect of eight pathetic male orgasms was just enough to stimulate a release of my own. Once it had subsided I stood over the collapsed, naked quartet, my hands dominantly on my hips and announced. "Well, that was... OK, I suppose. Now, I believe you were on your way to celebrate Thanksgiving. Don't let me stop you. All of you get on your knees and give thanks to me for not killing you!"

I let them worship me in that way for about half an hour until I got bored. I could tell the exertions of satisfying me, coupled with the damage my body had done to theirs and the effects of exposure to the cold were taking their toll. Personally, I felt absolutely fine, but men, as they are forever demonstrating to me, are pathetic.

I gave them two parting gifts: The first was a blast of my heat-vision that reduced the pile of their already-torn clothes to ashes. The second was a gentle gust of superbreath that scattered them, rolling helplessly, into the bushes. After that I put my own clothes back on, made sure I picked up all the money they'd so kindly offered me, and soared off into the sky.

Thursday 24 November 2005 17:59 GMT

I had to hose Duane down this morning.

He was starting to smell, and although I can tune out even the strongest, most unpleasant odours, I was worried that the neighbours might notice and call the authorities. Besides, it would appear that cat food doesn't agree with him, judging by the way he'd vomited it up over himself.

You should have heard him trying to scream! If he still had teeth and a whole tongue he'd have made a terrible racket. Such a sensitive soul. Just because the water was a little bit "hot". The thermostat said 95 degrees C which as I told him, is a full five degrees short of boiling. I turned the hose briefly onto my hands and showed him that it didn't hurt me in the slightest, but he didn't shut up, so in the end I gave him a gentle slap. That kept him silent (and unconscious) for quite a few hours.

While he was "sleeping", I checked his internet accounts. I was intrigued to see that a number of people had written to him during his brief, doomed spell as a mind-controller, asking to join his so-called "fan club". Those fools must feel pretty stupid now. But that's nothing compared to what they'll feel if I ever get to meet them...

Anyway, I also found an order he had placed for a bulk pack of rechargeable batteries. I decided, out of idle curiosity, to pop round to the delivery address he had given. It was a four-storey building, and his flat was on the second floor. As I travelled by air to get there, I had to pass through two other people's apartments to get to Duane's. I did quite a bit of damage on the way through, too. Serves those people right for buying a flat in the same building as the jerk who tried to cross me.

Inside Duane's flat I found the expected large quantity of computer gear, a number of electronic projects in various states of completion and a massive collection of soft-core pornography magazines. These, I obliterated with a blast of heat-vision. I also discovered a couple of academic certificates and a trophy, prominently displayed in such a way as to indicate that its owner was exceptionally proud to posses it. Engraved on the side were the words "Awarded to Duane Parkinson for Excellence in the field of Scientific Research." I knew "Perkins" wasn't his real name!

I snatched up the trophy and brought it home. When Duane finally came to, I held it up for him. "Guess where I've been, Mr. Parkinson." I grinned as his eyes grew wide with recognition. He strained violently against his unmoving chains. I could see that the effort was hurting him terribly. Obviously, that trophy meant a lot to him.

I brought it up to my mouth and took a big bite from it, my perfect white teeth slicing through the solid metal with greater ease than your teeth would carve through soft ice-cream. I would have written "Duane's teeth through soft ice cream" but, of course, he hasn't got any anymore. Anyway, as he made all kinds of desperate, burbling noises and pulled pathetically (but painfully) against his chains, and tears rolled down his cheeks, stinging his cuts, burns and bruises, I slowly ate his precious trophy, chewing it up mouthful by mouthful, making a big show of swallowing each bite until there was nothing left (not even the wooden base).

When I was done, I licked my lips and with a cheerful "See you later!" turned on my heels and walked out of the bathroom.

Friday 25 November 2005 17:41 GMT

I was a bit bored this morning...

Nothing new there, of course. When you're a goddess, far beyond any challenge that the world (or the solar system for that matter) can set, a little bit of occasional boredom is an occupational hazard.

I was thinking of doing some shopping. I needed more food for Duane for starters. But then I thought, why should I waste any money on that jerk? I mean, I took almost two thousand in cash off those businessmen the other night; did I really want to waste as much as five on something as trivial as nourishment for a mere pet?

So, instead of going to the supermarket, I decided (completely spur of the moment) to look up the addresses of one of the poor fools who applied to join Duane's fan club. Entering through a window, (it was closed at the time so plenty of glass got smashed by my perfect, invulnerable body) I was just in time to find the Perkins-admirer trying to run out of his front door.

Of course, I caught up with and overtook him in an instant. Turning sideways on, I pinned the misguided male to the wall of his apartment without even using my hands. (It's an easy trick when you have a stunning figure like mine.)
Taking care not to crush him to paste with my magnificent bust, I laughed off his useless attempts to move even as much as a millimetre. I could tell that my large breasts pressing into his fragile chest were pushing him to the point of spontaneous orgasm, but I wasn't interested in giving him a sexual thrill. (It's just an inevitable side-effect of my physical perfection.)

"Your pathetic 'master' needs food." I told the fan-club applicant. "As you're such a great admirer of him, you will be providing it. Where's your fridge?"

"Hhhhhhhhhh" he said in reply. That's when I realised I was squeezing him a bit too tight with my chest. Honestly, men are so pathetic! I wasn't even leaning into him with any force at all. If I had been, no doubt he'd have instantly dissolved into a sticky mess and my breasts wouldn't even have lost their immaculate roundness for an instant.

Anyway, I leant back so he could get some air into his useless body and reply. As soon as he could, he blurted "First door on the left!" I didn't bother to thank him. I tore off his jacket and then I just gave him the gentlest of one-handed shoves that sent him flying the length of the corridor and crashing through another door to land in an unmoving heap.

Before he'd even come back down to the floor, I'd entered the kitchen. I ripped the door clean off the fridge and flung it over my shoulder so that it embedded itself in the far wall. Then I emptied a couple of shelves worth of food, wrapped them up in the Duane-fan's jacket and took off vertically from where I stood, smashing clean through the ceiling in a cloud of plaster. An instant later, I was through the flat upstairs and the roof of the building. I heard the shower of debris raining down beneath me, but I was already rocketing towards the sky.

When I got home, I unwrapped the food and force-fed it to Duane. Of course, I didn't bother telling him that his lunch had been "donated" by a "fan"...

Monday 28 November 2005 20:04 GMT

It was a bitterly cold weekend in these parts.

Not that such things mean anything to me (my nipples don't even get hard when the ambient temperature is near-as-dammit Absolute Zero, although they do get harder than any substance in the universe at any temperature when I'm in the right, um, mood...) Anyway, even though a mild cold snap is irrelevant to me, it's highly relevant to "normal" people. Like, for example, Duane.

You see, the heating's not been on in my flat because I don't need it. But chained up, naked, in the bathroom (the coldest room in the place) my slave has been sneezing and shivering and moaning even more than usual. So, to cheer him up (not really!) I decided to take him out to the park last night.

I unwrapped his chains from around his body and the toilet, leaving just one end wrapped around his wrists. That left about twenty feet of free chain. Taking hold of the other end, I went out, dragging the heavy links and the man behind me. Of course, he's too badly damaged (so many broken bones, so much swelling, some bits of him missing) to walk by himself, let alone fast enough to keep up with me, so I just tugged him along, scraping over carpet and then down the stairs like a reluctant dog being taken for a walk.

It was so funny hearing the dull thud, yelp, dull thud, yelp sequence of sounds and I dragged him step by step down three flights of stairs. I was barefoot myself and as soon as I got through the front door, I made a point of stepping on a discarded bottle, crushing it under my sole. Neither the sharp glass fragments, nor the cold bothered me, but you should have heard Duane a few seconds later as I pulled him over the loose shards!

I dragged him to the park, which unsurprisingly for 2 a.m. on a freezing night was deserted. For a while I played, twirling the length of chain with its human cargo at the far end over my head like a lasso. I jerked the chain, watching the shock wave pass from link to link until it flicked the idiot eight feet into the air. I threw him up, holding onto the chain so that he shoot upwards before suddenly jerking to a halt (and screaming in pain) as the thing became fully stretched just before he came crashing hard back to the ground.

Then, for a while, I turned him into a kite. Of course, there wasn't enough wind to make him fly, so I added my own, my superbreath holding him airborne and steering him through a series of ever more complex stunts like somersaults and figure-eights. It was hysterical making a man dance helplessly in the air just by gently blowing at him. In fact, the whole experience was tremendous fun.

All good things (except for me) come to an end, and eventually it was time to drag him back home, through the mud, over the broken glass and up the stairs. I tied him back up on the lavatory, making sure that even if he had a miraculous recovery, he still wouldn't have a chance of escape.

For a would-be ruler of Earth, I've got to say he makes an excellent toy. I'd recommend it to anyone with superpowers. Forget "soap-on-a-rope". Try "Duane-on-a-chain"!

Tuesday 29 November 2005 17:10 GMT

All these overcast days we're enjoying lately are no help when it comes to keeping my energy reserves full.

I remember the old days, before I first went into space and got properly exposed to solar radiation for an extended period of time (thanks for that, Ultragirl. Even if you were trying to kill me at the time, I'm grateful for the results.) I didn't have heat-vision or X-ray powers. And I couldn't even fly! I was just a hundred million times stronger than the average person, ten thousand times faster and completely invulnerable...

I suppose we all have to start somewhere. But I prefer things the way they are now. With me twenty times stronger and faster, able to melt a steel bridge with an angry look, spot a man hiding in the basement of a building from a mile above the thirtieth storey and, of course, fly loops around the fastest jet.

With that in mind, I headed out of the atmosphere to top up my "tan" this morning. I guess I'm getting used to being in outer space. Certainly, the original novelty has worn off. After a few hours of just floating around in the vacuum, soaking up sun-rays, I got pretty bored.

I took off at a relaxed speed, shooting past Mars and into the asteroid belt. Once there, I made up a new game, steering myself into the path of incoming chunks of space-rock and watching the ancient planetary fragments dissolving into so much cosmic dust as they impacted against my big, naked, invincible breasts. Some of those asteroids were large enough and travelling with sufficient velocity to knock a small planet out of orbit, but they barely caused my glorious mounds to slightly flatten. A split second later, the giant rocks were breaking apart and my chest was as round, proud and magnificent as ever.

After that, I was feeling pretty much as "charged up" as I get. No danger of going back to those only-a-hundred-million-times-stronger-than-you times. Oh, and incidentally, if any of the meteors I smashed ends up on an Earth-bound trajectory and crashes through your roof, just think how lucky you are to be so close to something that's touched my glorious breasts!

Wednesday 30 November 2005 17:39 GMT

I've received an invitation to go and make beautiful music with a female fan over in America.

Normally, I'd turn this kind of thing down immediately. Firstly, if I want sex, well... I choose the partner and just help myself rather than waiting for an invite. Secondly, I'm not that into women. Sure, Ultragirl altered my opinions in that last respect but this person is no superhuman. What intrigues me though is that this female fan wants me to beat the crap out of her brother first. While she watches. It sounds a bit kinky. I may go.

What would you do in my place? Email me and let me know. blogger@conceptfan.com Of course I don't respect your opinion, but I'm curious to hear from other people nonetheless.
 

 

December 2005

Thursday 1 December 2005 17:00 GMT

"..Visit this woman in the US. Allow her to try to arouse you. If a little fluid were to be exchanged... perhaps she might become a little more than human. You could let her experiment on a few men, with you there to see to her safety, if necessary. If any enhancement occurred, and after some practice on some others, she might be able to address her concerns with her brother herself. You might enjoy the show."

Just one of the emails I received on this theme. Here's another:

"Dear Blogger,
Now that you're so powered up, why don't you see if you can't share some of that power with your new lady-friend? The two of you could go on a rampage together. That'd be great!""

And one more:

"...If the other girl gets the same power as you, you two can make Ultragirl be your slave forever."

Well, it's a sweet thought. Thanks for taking the time to send it.

Truth is, I don't think that will happen. Certainly no man I've ever been with has emerged any less pathetic than when I started. Those that got to emerge in any way at all, that is. Why should it be any different with a woman?


"Dear Blogger,
If you want some love you should ask me. I can give you something no woman can."

You sound like just the sort of man I love to hurt. No sex, just some good-fun, casual violence. Bring your friends. (If you have any.)

I still haven't made up my mind on this one. I will permit you to send your thoughts, however, to: blogger@conceptfan.com

Monday 5 December 2005 18:16 GMT

So, I haven't gone running into the arms of my wannabe-friend in the US. I'm still thinking about it.

Something else I've been thinking about is Ultragirl. She's got her own blog now, it seems, at http://ultragirlspeaks .blogspot.com/. She says some interesting things about me. I can't decided whether I should find her and smash her into the centre of the earth, find her and show her the true meaning of super-love or just ignore her completely.

The only other thing of note (that I'm prepared to share with you) is that I gave Duane a haircut this morning. He was beginning to look a bit scruffy. I know, being a useless, pathetic male he can't help all the bruises and scars and so forth, but as I told him, he really should make more of an effort for me. Anyway, I helped him out with the coiffure.

Of course, I didn't have time for scissors. Never believed in them anyway, as they certainly don't work on me. (Not that my lovely hair ever needs cutting, but that's another story.) I did Duane's hair by simply pulling it out of his skull handful by handful. With my strength it was much easier than plucking blades of grass. You should have heard him scream as I did it, though! There were tears rolling down his face. If I could, I'd have cried too (with laughter).

Tuesday 6 December 2005 17:29 GMT

So, Ultragirl is telling the world how confused she is towards me.

She's not even afraid to admit that she's scared of me! And now it seems, her powers are wearing off (or at least at a low ebb right now). She can't even fly! Imagine that. What a role reversal. When I first encountered her, she was the one with mastery of the skies, and I was stuck on the surface of the Earth.

Now of course, I'm more powerful than ever. Never mind the skies, I have mastery of the universe while she gets a black eye. From a single bullet! One little, ordinary pathetic bullet. A nuke could detonate in my eye without even making me blink. And she gets bruised by one tiny bullet. Bruised!

She's so weak right now. She's there for the taking. I could do whatever I wanted with her...

I'm on my way!

Wednesday 7 December 2005 16:10 GMT

"You! What are you doing here?"

Not the best greeting I've ever received, but it was nice to see that Ultragirl was slightly taken aback by my arrival. Then again, I did zoom down from the sky towards her out in her garden rather fast (rather fast, that is, by my standards. That translates as "Unthinkably fast" by yours). I stopped dead in my tracks, hovering about fifteen feet above the ground.

"Well, don't you know how to welcome a special guest? Don't just sit there! Come up and join me." Her angry face fell a little at that. "Oh yeah, sorry," I said, insincerely. "I forgot. You can't these days. How ironic, eh? If it wasn't for you, dragging me out into space trying to kill me, I wouldn't be able to fly at all. Remember when we first met? How you were flying and I couldn't? How times have changed!"

"What do you want, Blogger?" she asked.

"So much for the famous Texan charm!" I joked. I started performing small loops through the air, teasing her with my flying skills. "You must really miss being about to do this!"

"Why don't you come down here and talk to me face-to-face?" she asked.

"OK." I agreed and came gracefully down onto my feet right in front of her, our noses just a few inches apart, our chests even closer to each other. As we eyeballed each other (she must have known how much more powerful I was than her at that moment, but to her credit, she maintained a defiant front), I said "You know, I never did get back to you after that time you took me into orbit. You were trying to kill me then, weren't you?"

"Now, Blogger, let's not do anything too hasty..." she started. It was the first indication that she was aware of my power superiority. It gave me confidence. I decided that I was going to punish her for what she had done, and punish her to the very limit of my (almost limitless) abilities. I was going to pummel her right through the centre of the Earth and back out the other side and then through the cores of a couple of other
planets. I was going to crush her until even the individual atoms of her body were broken. I drew back my fist and looked at the centre of her face where I intended to land it.

That face. That beautiful face. With its superhuman radiance. She was blinking her eyes in anticipation of the blow I was about to land, and that just seemed to make her even cuter. Suddenly I couldn't hit her. I dropped my fist and instead placed my palms on her cheeks and pulled her rich lips to mine for a kiss.

She squirmed a little, but she wasn't strong enough to escape my grasp. I could hear her muffled protesting. Then, she must have gathered all the strength she had to try and push me away. Her hands, shoving against my breasts with more force than any other hands (other than my own) have ever used, filled me with such an intense sensation that I removed my hands from her face and broke of the kiss for a second. I gasped. She gasped. Suddenly her hands were back on my chest, not pushing me away now, but actually cupping and massaging my mounds. She leant back towards me, her gorgeous lips pouting, inviting mine to press against them.

We kissed again, longer this time, my hands going behind her back, pulling her towards me. Ultragirl's hands left my chest and grabbed my rear, tightening our embrace. My large breasts met hers. Her own impressive chest squeezed against me, compressing my mounds further than any substance they've ever encountered. Her extended nipples dug exquisitely into my softest flesh and my own teats responded in kind to the warmth of her lovely breasts.

I felt her tongue brush my lips and opened my mouth to allow it inside. We explored each other's mouths for a while, playfully wrestling our tongues whilst our hands worked their way over the contours of each other's body with increasing fervour. I held her tight and floated off the ground, allowing her to enjoy the experience of flight for the first time in a while. And then we really got into it.

We're just having a brief break now so I can update my blog. Ultra's kindly allowed me to use her computer. Now, where were we?

Thursday 8 December 2005 16:19 GMT

I don't get tired. If I did, I'd be exhausted right now.

In the end, after posting yesterday's entry, Ultra and I just got right back to business again. I don't think I've ever known pleasure like it. We did everything... in every position. And then we did it again and again.

At one point, I was flying us about 1000 feet up, lying on my back, with Ultra on top of me, my fingers interlocked with hers. Suddenly, I noticed that she was not resting her whole body on mine. Only her lovely chest was touching me. "Ultra!" I said, moving out from under her, whilst continuing to hold her hands. "You're flying again!" And she was.

When we came back to ground, I noticed that she was squeezing me a lot tighter than before, too. It seems she picked up a little bit of power from me while we were "entertaining" each other. The thought of her suped-up intrigued me. I started to think of the fun we could have together and suggested we go looking for a well-equipped army to play with. For a few moments, I could tell that the idea was appealing to her, but in the end she let her pointless "code" get the better of her and declined.

I was disappointed. I knew I could probably force her into joining me, but that would not have been as much fun. It was all a bit of a reminder of how different our personalities are. I mean, sure the sex was fantastic, but other than the fact that we're both gorgeous, superhuman girls, we don't really have anything in common. That kind of broke the magic for me. Ultra and I had one more roll in the clouds before going our separate ways. I'm sure we'll hook up again soon, though.

Monday 12 December 2005 19:22 GMT

Everyone knows how useful it is to have friends in high places. Naturally, I have more than my fair share of that type of influential contact (as if anyone would refuse me a favour and still be capable of holding down a job afterwards..) Sometimes, however, it's the people you know in low places that can be the most rewarding.

How else would I have found out that a group of long-term inmates in a high security jail somewhere in the world were planning a mass breakout? And how could I turn down the chance to be present at such an auspicious social event? I shan't tell you where it took place. Suffice to say thousands of miles from my home or, to put it another way, quarter of an hour's recklessly fast flight which must have caused severe weather disruption for millions of ordinary people.

Anyway, I was on hand outside the perimeter of the jail, well in time. My superhuman hearing detected a disturbance within the complex so I used my X-ray vision to take a look. I could see immediately that the shouting was merely a diversion to draw the guards whilst a couple of the would-be escapees prepared a crude explosive. The prison staff did not have the benefit of my supersenses, and were completely fooled by the plan.

I waited patiently for the little bomb to go off, injuring a couple of screws and blasting a hole in a brick wall. The runners dived for it, sprinting across the yard to a rope that had been prepared to help them scale the outer perimeter. They were faced with a twenty foot drop on the other side, but fortunately for them I was waiting to catch each one, in turn, in my arms.

Unfortunately for them, however, after catching one, I would toss him thirty feet to the side with an effortless flick of my wrists. I soon built up quite a pile of shocked convicts.

When the last man had come over the wall and been thrown onto the heap, I made my way over and began pulling individual men out of the mass. They were all in excellent physical condition, and although I had to reject the ones that were already unconscious, I still found eight who were up to the job of pleasing me.

I tore their clothes away roughly and took them, one by one, up against the cold stone wall of their prison until the constant slamming of my hips against theirs and the continual crushing of their chests between the solid wall and my vastly more solid breasts was too much. Whenever that happened I just grabbed another until, finally, the supply was exhausted.

After that there was no more fun to be had, so I left the prison staff to clean up the damaged wall, their injured colleagues and all the broken, battered and used-up convicts I'd left scattered around whilst I flew, leisurely, home to force-feed Duane and amuse myself chaining him up to the toilet in a variety of painful (for him) positions.

Truth be told, those eight men combined gave me less than a tenth of the physical pleasure I experienced making love to Ultragirl. But I always get a huge sexual thrill out of completely dominating a man, so you can try to imagine how much I enjoy completely dominating a dozen men, all of them violent and supposedly fit and "strong"...

Tuesday 13 December 2005 19:48 GMT

I'm physically perfect, as you all know, but even I have to take a bath sometimes.

Not that I suffer from any body odour issues, naturally. My flawless skin always smells more fragrant than the finest perfume and dozens of times more alluring than any mere pheromone. The only thing is, from time to time, I feel a bit dirty. Nothing sticks to me, sure, and a short supersonic flight or run generates more than enough heat through friction to vaporise any impurity (if it's not part of me, it's impure) but some things make me want to bathe.

Like when I've been a bit careless (or just rough) with a "normal" person and ended up with a piece of them splattering on me. Or when a man has particularly pathetic control and releases his juice on me. (I always punish that especially severely.) Or some unpleasant chemical like napalm has been poured over my body. (It doesn't hurt, but I get looks in public and anyone who touches me for a while afterwards burns.)

Anyway, last night was bath night. Without going into how, I managed to get guts, sperm and napalm all over myself. (They thought they were playing war "games"! Well, I guess they were until I dropped in...)

Of course I don't bathe with clothes on. Which means Duane, a fixture since I chained his crippled body to the lavatory, got to see me naked. Even in his awful state, he could not help being affected by the glory of my beauty. His pathetic member (probably the only significant part of him I hadn't yet permanently injured) did its best to salute me. I sneered at its worthlessness and unleashed a very carefully controlled and directed blast of heat vision which badly burnt his most sensitive "manly" skin, without doing any damage inside his sorry excuse for a body.

Now, hilariously, he suffers terrible pain whenever he gets erect. What fun I've been having, parading my lovely curves in front of him, keeping him as hard and as agonised as he can get. Twice he spontaneously orgasmed, driven wild with lust by my body (thankfully without me even having to touch him) but each time I'd made him stiff again within a minute.

It was so entertaining that I've stuck some pictures of me posing all around his little "throne" to keep him in that amusing state of pain even when I'm not around.

Wednesday 14 December 2005 19:28 GMT

Here's one thing that all the superhuman strength, invulnerability, speed, intelligence and judgement I possess can't help with: no matter how hard I try, I can never underestimate the pathetic fragility of a man.

Case in point: Duane. You see, thanks to my amazing powers of hearing, I can tell that the constant state of pain and sexual arousal that he's been in for the last twenty-four hours has put a heavy strain on his heart. If things go on like this, his feeble ticker will fail completely. The consequences of that would be unacceptable; his punishment would be cut short, and so would my fun.

So, I've had to take down the pictures of myself I'd plastered on the walls around him to keep him "inspired". Instead of leaving him with a constant agony-inducing erection, I now give him periodic, temporary agony-inducing erections whenever I feel like it. It's so effortless. All men are easy to manipulate in that way. It's just another power I have over them. So many ways to dominate...

Thursday 15 December 2005 16:52 GMT

"Where are my guns?" I asked the colonel when we met as arranged in the middle of the dark forest last night.

Last time I met him, I'd made my requirements absolutely clear: he was to bring me some nice new, state-of-the-art, fully-loaded toys. I'd also carefully explained what would happen to him if he let me down.

Of course he refused to help at first. But that was before I'd pinned him to a wall with just the smallest finger of my left hand while standing in a casual pose, one knee bent, spare hand resting on my hip. He went through his entire repertoire of martial arts moves before breaking his hand on my face while I laughed at him. Then I released the pin and hoisted him two feet off the ground with a single hand under his chin without moving my right hand from my hip. "Don't forget to bring the guns." I told him as I dropped him and walked away.

So, here we were, meeting as scheduled. Surely he could not have gone to the trouble of turning up empty-handed?

I wasn't to be disappointed. "You want guns?" he asked. "Have them!"

The speed at which he "whipped" out an Uzi was ridiculous. I could have run ten miles in the time it took him to "surprise" me with the weapon. It was as if he was moving in slow motion. I waited patiently for him to point the gun and pull the trigger.

A quick burst of bullets pinged across my stomach, ruing my T-shirt but feeling pleasant. "Do me a favour," I started to say as he opened fire again, this time at my face. It felt like confetti being sprinkled over my eyes, nose and mouth. Even the shots that smacked directly into my eyeballs barely tickled. I rolled my eyes. The colonel's jaw hung open and the blood drained from his face.

"As I was saying, colonel," I kept my voice calm and chatty, "do me a favour and point that thing where it can do some good." He didn't reply, so I gave him a little prompt. "Come on, shoot me here." I said, seductively tracing the outer circumference of one of my prominent nipples.

"Wha-?" The stupid male had obviously been so shocked by the sight of his gunfire bouncing off me like hailstones off a concrete roof that he'd lost what limited powers of thought he had to begin with.

"Shoot my tits!" I ordered. He looked up, perplexed and more than a little afraid. I decided to use that fear to provoke him into action. "Shoot my tits now, or I'll kill you."

That worked. A delicious sprinkling of hundreds of lumps of hot supersonic lead caressed my breasts, reducing my T-shirt to a few scraps of material, caressing my large womanly mounds and teasing my nipples. A couple of bullets got trapped in my deep cleavage so I hugged my chest and let my breasts squeeze the slugs first flat and then completely out of existence. Sadly, not longer after that, the colonel ran out of ammunition.

"Didn't you bring any more bullets?" I pouted.

He shook his head, now visibly trembling.

"Then you'd better get back here same time tomorrow night with as many as you can carry." I told him. "Oh, and bring a few friends. If you have any. And remember," I floated off the ground as I spoke for dramatic effect, "I know where you live." And with that, I took off for the sky.

Friday 23 December 2005 16:19 GMT

The mind. A dark, complicated and little-understood place.

That is where I have been for the past week. On a journey vastly more incredible, more awe-inspiring and more "impossible" than my trip to the core of Jupiter. People, I have been inside my own mind.

I'd been doing some experiments with the information I extracted from Duane before I broke his tongue, teeth and hands. I was trying to make myself immune from the effects of any other mind-controlling devices that might be out there, so that I never fall victim again.

I thought I'd found a way to be invulnerable to psychic attack. But I needed to test it. I needed to come under attack from a mind-controller device. Trouble was, I couldn't trust anybody else not to "do a Duane" and use me as some kind of tool to carry out their pathetic power-dreams or, worse, touch my perfect body without my permission (or my command.)

So, I had to use the device on myself. To try and use my mind to control... my mind.

To cut a long, weird story short, the machine went into a kind of feedback loop as part of my mind was electronically projected into itself.

Apparently, I should have died. I felt every emotion I've ever felt (enough to blow most brains, but with me it was mostly horniness, to be honest). I'm told that a normal person would also have experienced all their fears coming at once which would have caused certain heart failure. I guess I've never really been afraid of anything, because I don't remember that part.

But I do remember all my memories playing. All the men I've hurt. And raped. And killed. The violence. The destruction. For a week I was there, inside my thoughts with all those scenes on a constant loop.

To be honest, I quite enjoyed it. That's why I waited seven days to switch the device off. I need to do some more work on my theories though...

Friday 30 December 2005 10:30 GMT

Enjoying the holiday season? Not as much as I am, but that shouldn't be a surprise. I do everything more than you.

My end of year has been packed with fun. I've created a new party game, called "Pin the Duane on the Ceiling". During one game, I accidentally pulled off a couple of his toes. It was hysterical. (For me, not him...)

And the gifts! I prefer cash to actual presents, obviously, but this year I got plenty of gold which is just as good. And no, I didn't steal it. It was voluntarily given to me. (I gave all the donors free choice: "Give me your wedding ring or I'll drop you over the edge". OK, so I did dangle them from the roofs of various buildings, but they still chose to hand over the rings. Is there any sight more entertaining than a big "strong" (ha ha!) man pleading for his life as he hangs helplessly from my single, delicate hand, all his weight barely noticeable to my slender outstretched arm?)

The funniest present of all was hand-delivered all the way from America. On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me... Wait a moment. I can express that more accurately: "On the fourth day of Christmas, my occasional lay gave to me..." That's better. Anyway, here's what happened:

I got a ring on the bell at home and went down to open the door. There was no-one there but a large, square box wrapped in bright stripy paper had been left on the ground. The label read "To Blogger xxx." I was intrigued. Of course, unlike normal people, I don't have to open boxes these days to examine their contents. X-ray vision is so useful. However, someone had gone to great lengths to hide the inside of the gift from me, as the box was heavily lead-lined. That's when I realised it had been hand delivered by someone stronger than the average feeble male. No man I know of could have lifted that much lead!

Not knowing of anything that can harm me, I wasn't afraid of opening the box, despite not knowing what was inside. I found out quickly anyway. As I tore off the paper and plunged my fingers through the thick lead casing (about as easy as plunging my fingers into soft butter, if you must ask) I saw a bright flash of light.

Fortunately for the entrance to my block, I have much, much faster-than-lightning reactions. Realising that the present was just a big bomb, I wrapped myself around it, partly to contain the explosion and save the building but mainly to ensure that I got to enjoy as much of the effects of the blast as possible.

It was nice. Red-hot chunks of torn lead slammed all over the front of my body, shredding my clothes before pinging off my invulnerable skin. Some shrapnel got caught in my cleavage and I amused myself pressing my lovely breasts together and watching them compress the solid chunks of metal until they vaporised. All in all, a very pleasant seasonal surprise.

I knew the only person who could have arranged and delivered it was Ultragirl. Too bad I didn't get anything for her in return. I was thinking of going over to the States next week to deal with some other unfinished business. Maybe I'll pop by Ultra's and say thank you in my own, unique way.

January 2006

Monday 2 January 2006 09:38 GMT

I won't wish you a happy new year. I'm happy and I intend to stay that way for a lot longer than just the next 52 weeks (and I always get what I want). As for you and everybody else, well, I couldn't care less.

As you know, New Year is a time for resolutions. Mine is this: I've decided to declare 2006 the International Year of Me. That means I'll be expecting to be shown the appropriate level of respect wherever I go. The appropriate level of respect for any "normal" creature in the presence of a goddess such as myself is, of course, worship, humble adoration and total submission. That goes double for males.

This is even more my year than any other. This year I won't be showing my soft, caring, easy-going forgiving side at all. I've had enough of inferior beings. I'm going to be putting myself first. Anyone who doesn't think that's a great idea should stay very far from my way.

As you can no doubt tell, I'm still very much in the party mood. I gatecrashed an excellent new year's event which was terrific fun. I say "gatecrashed" because there was a twenty-foot high, chained and padlocked, bared-wire-topped, electrified metal gate... I planted my hands on my hips, thrust out my glorious chest and just "crashed" though it.

Parties on army bases are always enjoyable. First, there's all the fit young men trying to hurt me with their noisy rifles, machine guns and grenades. I love the way those things tickle! Then, after letting the firearm-play last as long as possible before everyone left standing has surrendered, you can play "line up the remaining men and force them to try and satisfy you sexually", which is always a firm party favourite with me. I didn't leave until the very last soldier fell unconscious at my feet (his ribs cracked where I'd pulled him against my large, sexy breasts).

I got home and took a nice long bath in front of Duane. He's still experiencing a lot of pain every time he becomes "aroused." Of course, the sight of my naked perfection as I slowly caressed each of my fabulous curves was more arousing than anything he'd ever dreamed of before. His yelps of agony were a lovely accompaniment to my soak.

Tuesday 3 January 2006 17:00 GMT

I've been looking at the picture of Ultragirl's new costume that she's posted on her blog. And all I can say is?if she wants a power boost, all she has to do is ask. Girl, that look is hot. So hot, I might not even wait for her to ask me

I've also been getting a lot of insubordination from a correspondent in the US. I think tomorrow might be a good time to pop over there and put a few things straight. Get the red carpet ready, folks. This is no ordinary visit. Remember, 2006 is the International Year of Me. That means I expect even greater respect when I travel abroad. Or else.

Wednesday 4 January 2006 16:59 GMT

Regular readers will know that I never brag. I just report what happens in my life. If that seems like bragging, it's just because I (and my life) are so amazing.

Anyway, purely for reporting purposes and not for bragging, here's a picture of what I had fun with this morning:

Note from Conceptfan: Image subsequently removed on Blogger's orders.

Yes, Ultragirl is looking pretty hot these days, isn't she! Almost, you could say, as hot as me. Almost.

Anyway, here's what happened:

I flew over, as planned, to the North Western U.S. It's a 5,000-mile journey as the Blogger flies, but, as I was taking my time, it took almost half-an-hour to get there. I landed on the lawn in front of the house I'd thrown a tree through the other month. Even though the trunk had been removed, the damage I'd caused to the building was still clear to see. Putting my hands on my hips I shouted up at the house: "Hey! Is this anyway to treat a visiting goddess? Where's the red carpet?"

Eventually the man I'd been hoping to meet came out to greet me. "I wouldn't even put out an old towel for a bimbo like you," he said, stupidly. "No woman is worth that kind of trouble."

I laughed. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yeah. You're the bag-of-bones bitch from the internet. You don't scare me."

"There's more to me than bones." I pointed out, thrusting out the magnificent swell of my breasts. I picked up the inevitable acceleration of heart-rate. He just couldn't help but stare. I chuckled.

"You need a slap, bitch." He said, trying to hide the way my body was distracting him.

"You're welcome to try." I told him. He approached me, and actually did try and whack the palm of his hand on the side of my face. Of course I didn't blink. His hand went bright red. There were tears forming in his eyes as he tried to hide the obvious pain he was in.

"Let me show you how it's supposed to be done." I smiled, slowly extending the middle finger of my left hand. I used it to flick him in the chest, a blow strong enough to lift him off the ground and send him hurtling backwards twenty yards until his back hit the wall of his house. By the time he'd shaken the dizziness out of his head, I was already standing over him, hands on hips.

"Still not scared?" I asked him as he climbed awkwardly to his feet.

"Fuck off, bitch!" was his "clever" comeback. He balled up a fist and drove it at my stomach. He was so slow! I didn't bother letting him hurt his knuckles on my flat abdomen. Instead I caught his fist in my hand and held it. And slowly squeezed. He fought like hell not to cry out, but of course, I won and he was forced to scream in agony.

I let go of his fist and took a hold of his throat, raising his whole body off the ground with one hand whilst my spare palm rested casually on my hip. "Now you're really going to feel pain." I told him. I was going to slam him against the side of his house when I heard a familiar whooshing sound behind me. Immediately I dropped the jerk and whirled around. That's when I saw Ultragirl in her new costume. Even I was stunned by that sight.

"Leave him alone Blogger." she said.

"No," I retorted. "He's mine. You can watch if you like, though."

"I said: 'leave him alone'." she repeated, insistently.

"Get lost, blondie," said the jerk, surprising both Ultra and I. "I don't need some big-titted bimbo to rescue me from a chick!"

"Fine, then." Ultra said, making me laugh. "He's all yours, Blogger."

I picked him up by the throat again, this time turning around to face Ultragirl as I held the jerk. For her benefit as much as anything else, I brought his head down to my chest and stroked his face across my large breasts. "Ow! Ow!" he cried as each of my mounds smacked his head as hard as a boxer's punch. A bruise began to form on his cheek.

I could see that Ultra was watching my display of "breast-power" intently, so I pulled the idiot's head back across my upper body, making him scream twice more and bruising his other cheek. I was starting to have fun.

I tugged his face full on against my right breast and heard the satisfying "Crunch!" of a man's nose breaking. There was blood pouring over his lips.

"That's enough now. You've made your point." Ultragirl said.

"Not 'till he begs." I replied, slamming his head into my other mound. This time, he really screamed. A fresh trickle of red appeared just under his eye. The surrounding flesh turned rapidly purple and began to swell impressively. I merely positioned his face for the next blow.

"OK. OK." the jerk croaked. "I've had enough." I smashed his mouth against my chest, splitting his top lip and breaking several teeth.

"Aaaargh!" he yelled.

"Come on," said Ultragirl. "He's asked you to stop. Leave it now."

"I said: Not 'till he begs." I reiterated, rubbing the guy's battered features hard across my bosoms, making him shout:

"Ow! Ow! OK! You win! Please! Please! Stop! Ow! Please!"

"OK, he's begging. Lesson taught. Let him go now," said Ultra.

"Just one more for luck." I said, lifting his face away from my body and preparing to slam it one last time against my feminine glory.

"No, don't!" Ultragirl called. "You'll kill him!"

"And?" I asked.

"That's murder! I can't let you do that!" Ultra said.

"Please! Please! Don't kill me please!" the jerk begged, tears rolling down his messed-up face.

I laughed. "As if either of you could stop me!" I exclaimed, readying myself for the final impact of idiot against breasts. But something made me stop in my tracks. Something I saw, out of the corner of my eye. Ultragirl had slipped one strap of her sexy top over her shoulder, offering a tantalising glimpse of her wonderful chest.

"Blogger," Ultragirl called. "wouldn't you rather be playing with me?"

I needed no second invitation. I let the jerk fall at my feet, forgetting him instantly as I stared at the vision of female beauty. In less than a microsecond, I was standing in front of her, slowly lifting aside the other strap of her top. The material fell away, revealing her breasts in all their glory. Hungrily I reached up to stroke her fantastic mounds. Then I kissed each of her nipples, one after the other.

My hand made its way inside the waist band of her blue-and-red panties. Ultragirl sighed and pressed her body against mine. I left her chest to plant my lips over hers, our tongues playfully flicking in and out of each other's mouths.

"I... I'm not sure about this." she said, as I lowered her to the ground. I flung myself on top of her.

"Anything that feels this good must be alright." I told her.

"No," she said. "Please, I... I... don't think I'm ready." She tried to get up but I pinned her effortlessly.

"Shhh." I said, kissing her, holding her down and slowly grinding my body against hers. I didn't notice any more protests after that.

When we were finally done, I was still lying on top of her, but now at the bottom of a ten-yard wide, twenty-foot deep crater. We must have created it with our passion. Ultragirl stood up, putting her costume back on. "I... I have to go." she said.

"Stay." I said, reaching for her arm. She pulled it away, and took to the air. She hadn't been flying before we made love. She must have gained some power from me once again. I was about to fly off after her, but decided against it and instead headed back for home, leaving the badly battered jerk lying in front of his house. There was no point creating a scene with Ultragirl. She and I both know I'm vastly more powerful than she is right now.

And she is so gorgeous....

Thursday 5 January 2006 17:20 GMT

I've been doing some more experiments with Duane's mind control theories.

He really did make some startling discoveries before his brilliant scientific career was so abruptly cut short. But that was his fault. I had to cripple and imprison him. No-one can expect to mess me around without facing the consequences...

Anyway, to ensure there were no weird accidents like last time when I ended up wandering around my own thoughts for a week, I changed things around. I still kept the controlling side of things with me (I'm much happier when I'm in control) but I switched the receiving end to a convenient "guinea pig". Well, it would have been a crime against irony not to use Duane for my experiments!

It was so easy to take control of his mind. I got him to say "Ahh uuu eeeiii uuuaaa iiooa" which would have been a lot funnier if he still had his teeth and the front half of his tongue. For the record, he was trying to pronounce the phrase "I love being Blogger's prisoner".

Much more amusing was his pathetic attempts, on my mental command, to punch himself. His arm, which of course, I broke, is setting crookedly and looks hysterical when he moves it. Then there was his useless fist made of his three remaining fingers which I've left permanently twisted. I could tell he was carrying out my unspoken orders to the letter, but as a result of all that mutilation, he couldn't really hurt himself at all no matter how hard I instructed him to punch himself.

In the end, having declared the experiment a complete success, I broke the mind-link. I thanked Duane for his co-operation by using my own, perfect, hand to give him the punch he was incapable of managing. Just a light one, naturally. He should come round in a couple of days.

Friday 6 January 2006 17:12 GMT

To the victor, the spoils.

Of course, I was the victor. The competition wasn't even my idea, but, as ever, I won. The "prize" was my idea, but I fully deserved it. And fully enjoyed it.

Let me set the scene: I got a message yesterday evening at home: "Would you like a race?" Normally of course I'd have laughed and either ignored the message or ignored the message and beaten up the sender. But this was different. The sender was Ultragirl. And the race she was proposing was interesting enough to pique my curiosity. She sent me a map of the race route and the rules: Absolutely NO flying allowed.

Written at the end of the message was: "Of course, if you think it's too physically demanding, or you're scared of finishing second to me, you can always refuse." That did it. I decided to take part, if anything just to prove that nothing is too physically demanding for me, and that I had no fear whatsoever that I might not win.

I arrived at the agreed starting point just seconds before the race was supposed to begin. Travelling several thousand miles might not seem like the best preparation to you, but it didn't make any difference to me. Both Ultra and I chose to run barefoot as the shoes that can withstand the sort of heat and friction we would be generating haven't been invented. I let her count us off: "3.. 2... 1... Go!" Here's a copy of our route:

Note from Conceptfan: Map subsequently removed on Blogger's orders.

I discovered pretty much straight away that I was a hell of a lot faster than Ultragirl over land. I could have streaked ahead in no time at all, but I chose not to. In fact, I held back considerably for most of the course. There was a very simple reason for this: I couldn't see her wonderful tight arse when I was in the lead. So I went slow, keeping myself just behind her as we streaked across the continents.

Flying was forbidden, and for once I thought it would be more fun to stay within the rules. We were allowed to jump over border fences and other obstacles, but we had to run over mountains and swim across seas and oceans. I made sure my slip-stream caused plenty of inconvenience to thousands and thousands of people who had no idea what was happening as I shot past in a blur.

I only started to approach my normal speed towards the finish. I moved effortlessly past Ultra into the lead. In fact, I built up such an advantage so quickly, that I had time to take a tiny detour from the prearranged path just to have a bit of fun with a couple of big navy warships. With my hands clasped behind my back, I tore a big hole in the thick armour on the side of a destroyer using just my breasts. Then with a carefully aimed jet of superbreath, I made another smaller vessel spin on the water until the crew passed out. Laughing, I returned to the actual race at my leisure.

Despite all that, I had to wait an age for Ultra at the finish line. I was bored, and thought about starting a second lap (35,000 miles is nowhere near enough to tire me out) but decided to hang on for her. When she eventually arrived, she looked exhausted. She was puffing for breath and ready to collapse. When I had finished I had been as fresh as when I started!

"I won! I won!" I cried as she practically crawled across the finish line, a very, very distant second.

"Huh?" she gasped. "How... long... have... you... been.... here?" she asked, incredulously, still struggling for air.

"Ages!" I laughed. "So what's my prize?"

"Prize?... I... hadn't.... thought... of...."

"Never mind!" I said. "I know what I'll have." I leapt on her.

"Not... now.... please.... Blogger...." she panted as I easily held her down, completely ignoring her attempts to push me off. I held both her wrists with just one of my hands and removed her costume, squeezing one of her wonderful breasts. She squealed. If she resisted any further, I didn't notice.

She was even more exhausted by the time I'd finished with her.

"Thanks for the race," I said, standing up as she stayed on the ground, trying to recover. "That was fun. Let's do it again sometime. But let's make it a proper distance next time, eh?" And with that, I took to the air, full of the joys of victory and the joys of making love to Ultragirl. It's great being me!

Monday 9 January 2006 17:52 GMT

Let me start today with a rebuttal.

I did not as Ultragirl claims in her blog and on the superwomenmania.com forum, cheat in the race last week.

I did not take any short cuts. I took a long cut (of sorts) by taking time out to play with a couple of ships, but that was in addition to the race route. I covered every single inch of the course.

Truth be told, had I run at something approaching full speed from the start, I could have gone round the route twice in the time it took Ultra to do it once. And she was out of breath (quite dramatically) when she finished, regardless of what she might say.

How can someone who boasts of living her life according to some ridiculous "code of honour" tell such blatant lies? One minute she comes up with some nonsense like "Oh Blogger, don't hurt those poor men, it's 'wrong'!" (whatever that means). The next she's showing herself to be a very poor loser and an out-and-out liar!

If she wasn't so pretty, I'd pound her through the centre of the Earth and back out the other side for those remarks. But I suspect she's only trying to get my attention. She says she wants a re-run. She just wants a re-run of the post-race fun. If she had the courage to ask me outright, I might even consider it. She is, after all, the best I've ever had in the sack. By quite a margin.

Anyway, I'm going out tonight to visit a lab (they don't know I'm coming. I love surprises!) where some arrogant scientist thinks he's created an "indestructible" cloth. If he has, I'll order a couple of outfits. More than likely, however, I'll prove him wrong. I mean, "indestructible" is one thing. "Blogger-proof" is another thing altogether

Tuesday 10 January 2006 16:40 GMT

"Hi," I said, "I'm looking for the indestructible fabric."

"Er..." the security guard replied. His lack of verbosity was hardly surprising given that I'd just entered the building by leaping over a twelve-foot barbed-wire fence and kicking a ferocious attack dog as good as into orbit before smashing right through an inch-thick sealed steel panel as if it were aluminium foil.

In order to encourage the mumbling fool into divulging the information I was after, I gently took hold of his throat and lifted him a few inches off the ground. People generally react in one of three ways when I do that to them. This guy (again, unsurprisingly given the nature of his employment) was a kick-shins, punch-belly, try-to-prise-fingers-off-throat kind of fellow. I let him struggle for a full thirty seconds until he'd broken one set of knuckles and contused both his feet (he must have really kicked me hard to do that kind of damage to himself, because he was wearing heavy-duty boots). I, meanwhile, would have experienced more discomfort being stroked with a feather.

"I take it you now realise that I'm superhuman and that all your efforts are about as effective as trying to extinguish the sun with a drop of water?" I asked.

"Wh... Who... are... you?" he gasped. It's not easy for a man to talk when I'm holding him off the floor by his neck.

"I'm asking the questions." I told him. "Now, do you accept that I am superhuman and you are powerless against me?" I tightened the fingers around his windpipe for effect. For a frantic few seconds he tried to loosen my grip with his good hand, but he quickly understood that it wasn't going to happen.

He made a strange sound and then, realising that he couldn't speak at all with my hand restricting his vocal chords so effectively, nodded his head. I relaxed my hold a little, and he eagerly gulped down air, all the while staring at me in shock.

"Great. I'm glad we've got that straight." I told him. "Do you also accept that I could snap you in two more easily than you could snap a twig?" He hesitated for a moment. I helped him out by using my free hand to tear a small strip of steel from the door I'd walked through. Bringing the piece of metal up in front of his face, I squeezed it in my fist until it began to ooze out between my fingers. "Put it this way," I suggested, "is your flabby body as tough as this steel? If not, then you have to accept that yes, I could snap you like a twig."

"I accept! I accept!" he blurted, looking at the semi-molten steel in my hand.

"Well done." I patronised. "Now we understand each other, we've got a great basis for a relationship. So, can you tell me where I can find the indestructible fabric or am I about to kill you? It's your call. I really don't mind which option you choose."

"Second floor! The textiles lab is on the second floor! Please don't kill me!"

"Thanks." I said. "You've been most helpful." I released my fingers around his throat. He didn't have far to fall, but both his feet were injured so he yelped when he landed on them and fell in a most undignified way onto his rump. I didn't spare him a second thought as I flew straight up, the crown of my head smashing through the plaster, concrete and steel support beams in the ceiling as though they were as brittle as ancient parchment.

By the time all that debris had rained down on top the security guard, I'd already shot through the ceiling of the floor above, dislodging and breaking more material (including some rather expensive-looking specialist ceramic floor tiles) which fell through the two new holes onto the prostrate man below. It just wasn't his day, I guess.

I emerged in a small prep room and brushed all the small bits of broken stone and metal from my hair and the front of my T-shirt. The little room had two doors. Helpfully, there was a sign on one of them that read "Textile Laboratory." The door might have been unlocked, but I took no chances, walking into it with my hands behind my back and my chest thrust out, my large, perfect breasts stretching the material of my T-shirt until I could actually hear the fibres groaning. Of course, my prominent nipples barely got to make contact with the door before it was forced off its hinges by the pressure I exerted through them.

The dislodged door travelled until it hit a heavy workbench and smashed into firewood. Ignoring it, I scanned the lab. It was dark in there (the lights were off and there were no windows) but that's never stopped me. I spotted a large square glass tank in the middle of the room in which a single piece of cloth, about the size of a handkerchief, was mounted on some kind of cloth-holder. That had to be it.

I used my heat-vision, narrowing my eyes and projecting a beam of energy that warmed the casing of the tank to beyond the melting point of glass in a split-second. The glass case just seemed to collapse into goo, leaving the object of my visit utterly exposed. I reached in and took it.

It felt a bit like cotton. I was excited at first, thinking how it could be used to make all kinds of indestructible costumes. Not to mention lingerie. I wondered if it could be dyed, or stitched or cut. Then it occurred to me that I needed to test its strength first. I took a corner in each hand and slowly pulled them apart.

Nothing happened for the first instant. "Wow!" I thought "This stuff really is indestructible!"

Then, with a loud Rip! the whole piece just tore down the middle. It wasn't indestructible at all! Maybe it had withstood a few lab tests. Maybe it had survived being stretched by powerful heavy machinery. But in my delicate hands, it had lasted about three-quarters of a second. I swore and stamped my foot in anger at my wasted time, making the entire building shake and causing quite a few bottles and jars to fall off their shelves.

I'll bet the scientists involved with that pathetic experiment were men. It would be so typical of a man to call something "indestructible" when in reality it just falls apart in my hands.

I'd had enough of the lab. I sprung up off my toes, smashing through the lab's ceiling. My body tore though quite a lot of electrical cable and air-conditioning ducts that were hidden up there, sparks arcing through the darkness as I burst out of the roof. I headed straight for home, in a foul mood.

On the doormat I found a small card that had been pushed through my letterbox. Printed on it, in some fancy font was the heading "Magician Zara". Underneath was written, in fountain pen: "Hi, I'm a friend of Ultragirl. I called 'round, but you were out. I hope you don't mind, but I've borrowed your little man-pet. He looked like he needed a little bit of Zara-care. Love, Zara."

"Who the fuck is Zara?" I demanded, out loud as I stormed into the bathroom. To my shock, there was no sign of Duane in there. The chains that had been binding him to the lavatory had gone too. In their place there was nothing but a series of short paper-chains (the kind people hang for decoration). No trace anywhere of the mind-control geek. No footprints, no crawl-marks. Nothing. I couldn't even pick up his scent. It was as if he'd just vanished into thin air.

I opened the window and flew out, tracing ever-growing circles around my flat in the hope that I would spot him making his get-away, but I drew a complete blank. How the hell can a mere man (a badly crippled man at that) escape from me? He can't. That's how. Someone must have helped him. My next move has to be: track down Ultragirl and see what she knows about her "friend", this "Zara". Duane is my property. No-one pisses about with my property.

Wednesday 11 January 2006 17:35 GMT

Since I posted the last entry, things have been a bit, well, weird.

I finished the blog and, without bothering to make any preparations, flew off out of the window, heading West towards Ultragirl. I had a few questions for her that I was eager to have answered, and I wasn't holding much back in terms of speed. As a result I broke the sound barrier just yards from my building (and in the process broke half the windows in the street) as I rocketed away.

Travelling at those kinds of velocities creates dramatic displacements of air. Millions of people must've experienced unusual weather (streaking clouds, sudden short bursts of violent rain and freakish gusts of wind), but that's the price the world has to pay when I'm in a hurry.

Anyway, I was over the Atlantic Ocean inside minutes. I was expecting a quick and uneventful journey and I'd already decided that I wasn't going to stop for anything. If any aircraft crossed my path, well, that would have been their bad luck. I was on a mission to get back what had been stolen from me and nothing was going to distract me from that.

Or so I thought.

Well, what would you have done? I mean, there I was, streaking across the globe at tens of thousands of miles an hour, maintaining an altitude of around fifteen thousand feet, when I heard a distinctly feminine voice beside me saying "Ah, there you are!" Of course, I turned to look. This is what a saw:

"Floating" alongside me, matching my pace precisely, was a young woman with long black hair, large green eyes with thick black lashes and rich dark lips. She was dressed in a long black dress which was cut so low in the front that almost all of her voluptuous chest between her nipples was visible. She wasn't flying as such. It was more like sitting crossed-legged, her dress covering her knees so that only the long high heels of a pair of black boots were visible. And here's the really freaky bit: she was sitting on what looked to be a small pink cloud.

Was it some kind of aircraft? No! I used my X-ray vision to examine it, and saw nothing inside the pink cloud but... well, pink cloud. Just as strange, my X-ray vision seemed completely unable to penetrate the girl's gothic outfit. (I was curious, OK.)

"Who, and more to the point, what the fuck are you?" I demanded.

"They said you were a charmer," the young woman replied with a patronising smile. I did what seemed to be the most natural thing in response. I swung at her with my right fist, making sure that I put plenty of power behind it. As you know, "plenty" of my power equates to a force greater than anything your minds can imagine. In other words, it was a punch that would easily have split a mountain in two or capsized a battleship. Or reduced a person to a collection of scattered atoms.

In this case, there was no collection of scattered atoms. In fact, there was nothing. Nothing at all. Literally. My fist and forearm just went right "through" the girl in black. I felt nothing but air.

"You didn't expect me to actually be here?" she asked, in mock astonishment. Her smug tone was really beginning to piss me off. In anger more than anything else, I aimed a fierce blast of heat vision at the centre of her head. The energy beams passed right through their target and vaporised a large cloud some distance away. "Er, hello?" she said "Can you hear me? I'm not here!"

"Then where the fuck are you, bitch?" I demanded.

"Oh, here and there," she said, disinterestedly. "it doesn't really matter. I can talk to you just fine like this and it's a lot more comfortable than shooting through the sky like a demented rocket. Such an undignified way to travel."

"I'll undignify you!" I threatened.

"Really!" she feigned disapproval. "A little politeness goes a long way, you know. You'd be amazed how people respond when you act civilly towards them."

"I get what I want from people without all that 'act nice' crap, thank you." I told her.

"Yes, yes, they tell me you're very good at throwing your strength around."

"Who's 'they'?" I demanded. "Who's told you about me? And who the fuck are you?"

"Tsk, tsk," she shook her head, "you really do need to learn some manners. Ask me nicely, and I'll think about telling you. But if you're just going to be rude and use coarse language, well, I have better things to do."

I knew I was being wound up. I decided that losing my cool would just be handing this mysterious girl a victory of sorts. Then again, there was no way I was going to give in and ask politely.

"Tell you what," I offered. "We (or rather just me seeing as you're not actually here) will be over the east coast of America in a minute or so. If you would be so kind as to tell me who the fuck you are and who the fuck told you about me, I'll be lovely and polite and not destroy New York. Is that civil enough for you?"

There was a tiny flicker in the girl's superior expression. Just a hint of shock. She hid it quickly, but I definitely saw it. "You wouldn't!" she exclaimed.

"You're most welcome to stick around and find out." I said.

"You really are a special case," she said, shaking her head. "Very well, then. I shall tell you. My name is Zara."

I should have known, of course. "You have something of mine." I said, calmly. "I want it back."

"All in good time, my dear."

"No. Now." I insisted. "Or I swear I'll kill millions!"

"So impatient!" she criticised. "And so unnecessarily melodramatic!"

To add weight to my threat I altered my trajectory, going into a shallow dive that saw me pointed precisely towards the centre of Times Square which was still about fifty miles away. Nonetheless, Zara read my intentions. "There really is no need for this," she said.

"Tell me where I can find you FOR REAL or you're going to have a lot of blood on your conscience!" I warned her.

"On your conscience, too," she pointed out.

"I don't really have one." I said, truthfully.

"No," she said, suddenly less confident, "you don't seem to. Alright. Perhaps it is best if we continue this discussion in a more... traditional setting."

"So, where are you?" I reiterated the question.

"Why, in your apartment of course. I've been here all the while."

"You'd better not be lying!" I said as I executed the tightest and fastest U-turn in the history of aerodynamics. In the split-second it took to right myself in the air again, the pink cloud and its bizarre passenger had disappeared.

I've never crossed the Atlantic so fast. Nothing has ever crossed the Atlantic so fast. I can only guess at the amount of force I had to withstand decelerating so as not to destroy my entire district when I got home.

As for what I found when I got there... Well, you'll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out, won't you.

Thursday 12 January 2006 21:40 GMT

OK, OK. You want to know what happened when I got back to my place...

I flew through the window only slightly faster than the speed of sound, decelerating to zero in the space of half a yard. The displaced air of my arrival knocked over most of my furniture and smashed a picture on the wall. That annoyed me (it was a picture of myself). All the chairs tipped over. Except one.

The one that Zara was sitting on.

Her jet black hair was blown back by the brief gust but otherwise she didn't seem affected. "My, you are fast!" she observed, before destroying the compliment by adding "for someone who has to travel by boring old conventional means."

"Conventional?" I admit I was pretty flabbergasted by the adjective.

"Non-magical." she said, by means of explanation, offhandedly.

I rolled my eyes. "I've never been impressed by conjurers" I told her, truthfully.

"Me neither." she smiled. That caught me off-guard. "Then, again," she added, "conjurers couldn't do this-" She lifted a long arm, the material of her loose black sleeve flowing with her movement, and pointed at nothing in particular. There was a sound, like an animal's scream and then, in mid-air, right in the middle of my living room, a dark circle began to form. It grew more intense and began spinning and in a short moment what appeared to be a swirling, infinite vortex opened up. It must have been four feet in diameter, its lowest point three feet above the carpet.

Immediately, I dashed around the other side of the apparition to see if I could spot a projector (that's how the villains did it in Scooby Doo) or some mirrors or perhaps a couple of nylon cables. Instead, I got a shock. Because, from the other side, the swirling tunnel was completely invisible. The room looked utterly normal. I moved at superspeed around to where I'd been before. Sure enough the mysterious, never-ending hole was there, clear as day.

"It only exists on one plane." Zara told me, as if that would clear up my confusion. "From behind, a moth can fly right through it unharmed. But anything that enters from this side vanishes into infinity. I can see you're curious. Why don't you try it?"

I couldn't resist. I picked up a fallen chair and tossed it towards the black shape. A brief flash of light filled the room, and I swear I distinctly saw the chair join with the swirling blackness, spinning and getting ever smaller until it completely disappeared from sight. I tried to hide how impressed I was. "Where's the chair now?" I asked, sounding as only-mildly-interested as I could manage.

"Still spinning on its way to infinity." Zara said, proudly, making it clear that she detected my surprise. "It takes a long time to get to infinity, in fact-"

"-Don't tell me," I interrupted. "It takes forever?"

"Well, until the end of Time, anyway." Satisfied that her demonstration had been successful she waved her hand casually through the air and the vortex instantly disappeared.

"You should get those into the shops in time for next Christmas." I said.

"Perhaps not. I think it would be far too dangerous for ordinary people to play with," she answered. There was something about the way she said the word "dangerous" that seemed to carry a threat. Was she intending to shove me into one of those vortices?

"OK, enough party tricks." I announced, regaining control of the meeting's agenda. "Time to hand my property back."

"Your property?" she pretend to be thinking for a second before suddenly announcing "Oh, the boy! I don't think he wants to go back to you. He seems so much happier with me."

"I don't give a shit how happy he is. He's mine. Where is he?"

"He's safe. But he really doesn't like staying with you. He told me. Why don't you let me keep him for now?"

"Because," I was getting angry. Truth be told, I was almost shouting. "He's MINE! He's not supposed to LIKE being with me. Get your own pet!"

"He really was most insistent about not going back to you." Zara said, calmly, clearly enjoying my increasing annoyance. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"Where is he?" I demanded, through clenched teeth. I vowed that Zara would die the instant she had told me.

"He's right here," she said.

Now, folks, you must remember that I've seen the very core of the planet Jupiter. I've seen the inside of thousands of fireballs. But I'd never seen anything like what happened next.

Zara calmly lifted her arm, extending her long thumb and forefinger and lowered them towards her chest, placing them into her deep cleavage. She extracted the two digits a moment later with something pink, grey and black dangling from them. I zoomed in with my super-vision.

"What the f-" I started to say. But even I was lost for words. In the end, I managed only the one syllable: "Duane?"

I recognised him at once. Even if he was only five inches tall. He was still wearing the same clothes he was wearing when I'd last seen him, chained to the toilet in my bathroom. But all the wounds I'd inflicted, the busted hands and feet, the missing fingers, the bruises, bent limbs, cuts... they'd all vanished. Other the fact that his acne had now disappeared, he looked just like he had when I first found him hiding in that hospital basement. Only now, he was five inches tall.

"The very same," Zara answered my question, just a hint of a smug, triumphant smile on her face. She looked at the little creature hanging from her pinched hand, suddenly smiling. "Oh, you do love it in there, don't you? Wedged in, safe and warm between Zara's big, soft breasts. Much nicer in there than with that nasty Blogger, isn't it, my little man?"

"What have you done to him?"

The smile vanished as she started to answer me. "I've fixed him. I much prefer my boys in mint condition."

"But he's tiny!"

"Oh that!" she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "That's just for my travelling convenience. I do so hate carrying luggage around."

"You can make him bigger again?"

"Bigger? Of course I can! Bigger, smaller, any size I want. Very basic magic. Kid's stuff, really. Isn't it, Duaney?" she brought the tiny figure dangling from her two fingers up to her face to pose the question. Then she pursed her lips, air-kissing him with a loud "Mwah!" His whole miniature body began swinging from her grasp as it was buffeted by her breath. She muttered some words in a language I'd never heard before and then she flicked her wrist, opening her fingers so that the tiny man was flung into the air.

Just when I was about to move at superspeed to snatch him before he could fall, he started to glow bright orange. In less than one microsecond he changed before my eyes from a five-inch doll to a full-sized man. He was a little disorientated from the size-alteration and, no doubt, from being tossed into the air. Although his feet suddenly reached the floor, he had no balance and immediately fell onto his rear.

Zara had done an amazing job healing every single last wound I'd given him. I couldn't help but smile when I thought about all the hurting I was going to have to do all over again to get him back into the state he'd been in prior to the "magician's" interference.

Out of curiosity I brought my X-ray vision into play. I swear I was only checking to see if she'd healed all his broken bones correctly. I was not interested in any other aspect of his anatomy. I just couldn't help noticing what else Zara had done to the miserable jerk.

"What have you given him?" I gasped.

"Just a quick fix-up. Nothing special." she replied, again, as if there was nothing unusual about it all.

"But.. he's..." There was no other way to phrase it "..fucking huge!"

"Well, obviously I just had to give him a bit of a boost down there. I do that for all my boys. It makes them more, well, fun, to be with."

"You've been screwing him?" I asked, frankly amazed. She seemed far too good-looking to settle for that fool, even if she had given him a perfect complexion, fixed his teeth and extended his cock by something like 150 percent. Although, actually, thinking about it objectively now.... Anyway, at the time, I was totally stunned by the idea.

Zara seemed equally stunned by my surprise. "What else is a boy for?" she asked.

"This one is for my sport. He's mine." I repeated. I realised I was beginning to get distracted by the girl's repertoire of (admittedly remarkable) tricks. I needed to assert my natural superiority. It's very, very rare for me not to be (and to feel) in total command, and frankly, I don't like it. "I'll tell you what, Zara." I announced, putting my hands on my hips to remind her (and, yes, me too) of my power, "you return my property," (I nodded in the direction of Duane who was now sitting on the floor beside Zara like a faithful dog at his mistress' feet) "and teach me how you did that shrinking trick, and I'll let you leave in one piece."

"You could never learn my magic!" she scoffed. "Do not underestimate me." she said, coldly. "Besides, I'm not sure I don't want to keep little Duaney for myself. He's quite entertaining... for a boy. I've got an alternative proposition for you: I'll fight you for him."

I laughed. I mean, I rocked with hysterics. I've never lost a fight in my life and these days I'm stronger and faster than I've ever been. "Fine." I chuckled. I couldn't help adding "You're so dead, Zara" as I strolled towards her.

"Wait! Not here!" she said, a bit too quickly for someone as supposedly sure of herself as she seemed to be before.

"Scared, Zara?" I smiled, one eyebrow raised. I was looking forward to tearing her apart and then re-wounding Duane.

"There's a wood thirty miles due North of here." She offered, dodging my question.

"You are scared!" I declared, delighted.

Then, almost unbelievably, she vanished. Just disappeared. I'm the fastest thing on Earth and I would have spotted her moving at super-speed. She didn't. She simply vanished. And so did Duane. One nanosecond they were in my living room, the next they weren't. Then, most amazingly, I heard her voice, as clear as before. "See you there!" she called, from the "ether".

What choice did I have? She was beginning to really get on my nerves. I took off, out of the window, heading due North out of town.

And I think I'll leave what happened after that for next time.

Friday 13 January 2006 22:10 GMT

So, where was I? Oh yes

Flying twenty miles in the frame of mind Zara had put me in took seconds. And not a lot of seconds, either. Likewise, finding her, dressed entirely in jet black, in a forest, at night from the air, took me a small fraction of one minute. You can guess how much time I needed to zoom down and land ten yards from her.

"Where's Duane?" I demanded as I touched down. There was no sign of him anywhere.

"He's safe."

"I said 'where is he?', bitch!" I really was angry by this stage. Believe me, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry

"If you must know, he's with Ultragirl."

I snorted in fury. I felt betrayed, but, with hindsight, what did I expect?

"In that case," I said, between clenched teeth (how many millions of pounds per square inch of pressure must there be between my clenched teeth?), "after I'm done with you, she's going be next."

"Not every problem can be fixed with violence, you know." Zara said, calmly.

"I know one problem that can." I practically spat out the words, following them up with the most intense blast of heat-vision I've ever generated, aimed right at the middle of her smug face.

The air all around her glowed white and the leaves and trees for about fifty yards in every direction instantly ignited as I unleashed untold amounts of pure heat energy on the magician. I maintained the beam for a few seconds, enough to reduce maybe thirty or forty thick trunks to ash and start thousands of miniature fires.

But not enough, it seemed, to harm Zara. I heard her laughter amongst the flames before I adjusted my vision to see though the fire. She was unmoved and, apparently untouched. I was stunned. Nothing should have been able to withstand those temperatures.

"Oooh," the bitch mocked. "That might have really hurt if I wasn't properly dressed for the occasion. You see, Blogger, this elegant gown, as well as being so much more elegant than your, frankly, common, undersized T-shirt, is also what we magicians refer to as a 'Gown of Invulnerability'. Totally unnecessarily, and in an infuriatingly patronising tone, she added "That means no harm may ever befall the wearer."

"Oh yeah?" I steeled myself, preparing to blast her with the biggest burst of heat-vision I've ever used. I summoned every last scrap of energy and concentrated on channelling all of it into my eyes. I've turned massive, solid blocks of steel to liquid in an instant with about one-tenth the power. I could feel the phenomenal force building in my eyeballs. I was about to unleash a massive bolt of pure heat the like of which has never been seen. And then something utterly bizarre happened.

No twin death-lasers came forth from my eyes. Instead, and I cannot explain how this came about, two streams of (I know it seems amazing) water flowed out. Not even powerful streams. More like strong trickles.

"Now I know you're very upset, Blogger dear, but there's really no need to cry about it. It's so undignified." crowed Zara.

"What have you done to me, bitch?" I shrieked.

"Oh, just a bit of very basic magic," she boasted, "you know... fire into water... blah, blah, blah... nothing special."

I was so furious, I found myself running before I had a plan. Finding the nearest surviving big tree, I drove my small fist into the centre of its massive trunk, burying my arm beyond the elbow amidst a shower of splinters with ease. Then, using just that single arm (and the hand deep within the trunk for leverage) I tore the entire, gigantic tree from its roots, hoisting the enormous weight over my head.

I pulled my hand back, and screamed "Die bitch!" as I hurled the tree at full force right at her. A trunk that big, tossed with that much power would destroy a big, strong building. In fact, it would probably destroy a whole street of buildings. Whether or not it could hurt a magician with a "Gown of Invulnerability" I just can't say.

I can't say because the tree never reached Zara. Halfway through its supersonic flight it changed (yes, just "changed"!) into a large bunch of daffodils. They landed, rather pathetically at her booted feet. I was simply stunned.

"Flowers? For me?" Zara exclaimed. "How lovely!"

That was it. No more games. I was going to charge at her and pull her apart, piece by piece. Starting with that hateful gown. But... But, when I tried to, I just couldn't move. Not a muscle. My legs, my arms, my head... No part of me would move. It was like being frozen. As though someone had invented a glue that could hold me (I mean, me the strongest thing on Earth!) I simply could not budge.

She began to walk towards me slowly, not smiling, but somehow still looking sickeningly pleased with herself. "Don't just stand there..." she said in triumph.

I wanted to shout. I wanted to kill her with my hands. But I could not, could not, could not move.

Zara stopped only a couple of yards from me, placing her hands confidently on her hips. "Well, if you're done then it must be my turn now." There was a horrible, excited glint in her eyes.

Of course, I wasn't afraid. I don't do "fear", but I'll confess to being a little worried. After all I'd seen from this girl, I just didn't know what to expect.

And I was right to be worried.

But I'll leave that for next time.

Monday 16 January 2006 17:41 GMT

Your recall isn't as good as mine. Don't argue. It doesn't pay to disagree with me.

Anyway, because your recall isn't anywhere as good as mine, a little reminder of the story so-far:

Having kidnapped Duane and healed his injuries, Zara had left him with Ultragirl and invited me to fight her for him in a forest outside of town. Her "Gown of Invulnerability" protected her from my first attacks, then she turned my heat-vision into a trickle of water and the tree I threw at her into harmless flowers. After that, she somehow paralysed me, so that I couldn't move any part of my body.

As I struggled to budge, she approached, taunting me.

"I'm guessing," she said, smugly, "that you're none too familiar with feeling pain. Am I right about that? Blogger?"

If I could have answered, I would have hurled a choice insult or four at her. But I could move my jaw, my lips, my tongue (or even my vocal chords) no more than I could move my hands or feet.

"Oh, you can't answer, can you?" Zara mocked. "I'd ask you to nod, but that's off the menu too, isn't it? Poor thing! You can't move a muscle! Well, we'll just have to assume that your experience of pain is limited. So, you're probably not going to like the next bit very much. In fact, I'll have to do the enjoying on your behalf." She raised her left palm and pointed it towards me, her right still staying on her hip. Her thick dark lips moved in silent recitation. I tried to lip-read her words, but they were not in any language I know of.

When the "spell" or whatever it was had been completed, she closed her fingers slowly and then, dramatically, re-extended her long index digit, pointing it at my knee. Instantly, something happened.

It's hard for me to describe. I felt something, not on the outside of my skin, but actually inside my knee. I didn't even know I had sensation in there! It started as a strange tingle but then it grew and grew until... well, until it became uncomfortable. The intensity of the feeling increased. It was although something was breaking apart in there. It began to occupy all my thoughts. I wanted it to stop. Still, the sensation grew stronger. I felt like yelling. I wanted to pull my leg off to end it there and then, but I remained frozen in place.

And then, quite suddenly, the feeling ceased. I'd never, ever, known a sense of relief to match that which washed over me at that moment. "If that was true pain," I thought, "I don't ever want to feel it again."

Unfortunately, even I don't always get what I want. I watched, horrified, as Zara once more pointed at me with her finger. Perhaps I was also (for the briefest moment and to the smallest degree) a little scared. Perhaps. I was certainly not happy as she aimed that finger at my paralysed face.

I've heard ordinary people on many occasions speaking about having a "headache". I've always assumed it was either an invented condition or else just another sign of ordinary people's pathetic weakness. But Zara's magic gave me an aching head, alright.

If I could have done so, I would have brought my hands up to my temples. My brain felt like it was expanding and pressing against the inside of my skull. I could not even think as all my mental processes were overcome with the throbbing, screaming sensation. My eyes were open, but it was hard to process the information that they were receiving, as though every part of my mind had been crippled by the feeling.

Finally, it was over. It felt like a knife blade had been removed from my head (I know, it's impossible to imagine a knife that could pierce my skull, but I'd think that, if there was such a weapon , it would feel just like that). My vision became clear again and I saw Zara, looking more pleased with herself than ever, standing only a few yards from me. She was raising her hand again!

"Well, that was different, wasn't it?" she asked, knowing she would not get a reply. I pictured myself killing her very, very slowly. If I could have moved, I would have done more than just picturing. "Now, what can I do now?..." she wondered out-loud, clearly enjoying my unease. "I know!" she waved her hand. "Remember this?" she asked.

Right in front of me, no more than six inches away from my body, the air began to move and blur in a circular motion, ever faster, ever darker until a black vortex, identical to the one she had conjured up in my living room, appeared. I stared straight into the infinite swirling void, recalling the site of that chair spinning away into eternity. Was I about to follow the furniture?

"Taking a good look, Blogger?" Zara asked, a strong hint of amusement in her voice. "Well, I can't blame you. It's good practice to plan your route before embarking on a long journey."

So, she was intending to feed me into the vortex! How dare she try to kill me! I vowed to tear her into tiny pieces for that.

"I'd ask you to jump in yourself, but I know you're having a few difficulties with movement at the moment," she bragged. "Never mind. If Blogger won't come to the vortex, then the vortex will have to come to Blogger." She pointed her finger once more.

Slowly, at a rate of about an inch every three seconds, the spinning "disc" started to move. Towards me. For the first time since I first saw her, Zara started to laugh. "Too easy! Just too easy!" she chuckled. Instant by instant, the infinite blackness loomed closer. It was as though Eternity's jaws had opened and I was about to be swallowed whole.

Anyway, that's enough excitement for you for now. I'll leave the reporting of subsequent events for next time.

Tuesday 17 January 2006 17:48 GMT

There I was, face to face with an ever-nearing, swirling vortex of black infinity and I couldn't move a muscle!

Now each of my muscles, as you know, is more powerful than any machine or engine ever built. I knew that I could effortlessly overpower Zara if only I could momentarily use even one of them. But it was me, not her, staring at defeat and an indescribably horrid fate.

Unless I could find a way to disable her magic.

Mentally, I ran through each of my fabulous powers. Strength and superspeed were no use without movement. Invulnerability would keep me alive, maybe forever, spinning inside that terrible void, but it would not stop me being sucked in. My heat vision lasers, even if they could harm the vortex (which I doubted) had been cruelly "changed" into harmless ocular water-pistols. I couldn't even open my lips to try using my normally all-conquering superbreath. And, of course, I couldn't fly.

Something; some force, some invisible shield, was holding me perfectly still, resisting my efforts to move any part of myself. The more I tried to struggle against it, the more convinced I became that the effect worked like a wall built all around my body.

The whirling disc of eternity was close now. I was beginning to feel the air in front of me being sucked into the unending dark within. I knew I had only seconds before I would be captured within its irresistible gravitational pull. I was mere instants away from becoming yet another object forever spinning helplessly towards the end of time.

I had to think fast. If I could work out what was going on, why I couldn't move, then maybe I could figure out how to counter it. I kept returning to the idea of the "wall". It wasn't something Zara had done to me. I could tell by the way the various parts of my body responded when I tried to manipulate them. She had not switched off my ability to move. She had merely created a force field that made movement impossible.

What assets were left for me to use? Zara's magic had cancelled the use of my body

No, I couldn't use my body to move... but...

Suddenly I had it! Rather than using my powers to evade the looming vortex, I need to use them to resist it. It wasn't about moving at that moment. It was about not moving.

I used my new powers of flight, not to propel myself across the solar system at half the speed of light, but instead, to stay exactly where I was. In short, I rooted myself to the spot, using ever last drop of power I could generate internally.

The disc was almost upon me. My hair was being pulled, strand by strand, towards its black, infinite heart. I could feel the remarkable power of it now tugging at my face and my chest. It got so close that I lost sight of everything around it as it filled my vision. Now I was aware of being dragged violently forward by an indescribable, inanimate force.

But I did not fly into the vortex. I did not move at all. My powers held me exactly where I was. The ground at my feet was beginning to lift up, tearing off in chunks that shot into the swirling circle to spin away to nothingness. Leaves from nearby trees were being torn off and sucked up by the sheer force of the supernatural vacuum cleaner. Twigs and then smaller branches then large bits of tree brushed against the side of my face on their way into the void. But I remained on the outside.

Despite the racket of winds rushing past as air raced into the swirling "disc", I could still hear Zara's triumphant laughter. Then, I heard it slowly fading. I heard her shout: "You cannot resist the vortex. You cannot resist the vortex. The vortex does not get resisted!"

I couldn't be sure, but I thought I detected a note of unease in her previously super-confident speech. It gave me the first glimmer of hope I'd had for a while. A new sound, like a very distant, very faint moan, reached my sensitive ears. The pull on my body seemed to grow. Suddenly, I could no longer see anything but pitch blackness. I realised in horror that the disc must be touching my face. I concentrated on resisting the forces trying to grab me from within the dark.

The moan rose in volume and pitch. It took on an eerily, almost human tone, like a man being stretched to the very extremes of his physical tolerance. It reminded me of the countless times I'd been responsible for making men yell in that way. I imagined the vortex as just another weak, hopeless man, completely at the mercy of my overwhelming power, and drew strength from the thought.

Now the sounds coming from the "disc" were just like a voice. A voice that was screaming that it could not take much more, that the efforts it was being forced into were too great to be sustained for long. It gave me pleasure to hear it. I continued to resist.

"No! You can't!" Zara yelled, like a spoilt child having her favourite toy confiscated by an adult.

"Oh yes I can!" I thought, even as the remaining earth beneath me was torn up in one huge chunk that smashed into small pieces against my body before streaming into the swirling, screaming void. Still I did not move.

"No!" cried Zara.

Light suddenly hit my retinas. The sound, the rushing movement all around ceased in an instant. The disc had disappeared. Zara was on her knees. I wanted to finish her off, but I found that I still could not move. That particular spell seemed to be holding.

Slowly, she rose to her feet once more. "You... you... you've broken the vortex! Nothing should be able to do that! What are you?" she demanded of me. I would have smiled if I had been able.

Zara recovered her composure and narrowed her eyes, to look at me. "At least you cannot break out of the Shell of Paralysis," she commented.

"Shell of Paralysis"! This girl's gimmicks had such melodramatic names. But I was right about the way she was preventing me from moving. It was an external, rather than internal force.

That gave me an idea. Maybe there was a way to crack that shell from within...

Anyway, I'll let you know what happened next time.

Wednesday 18 January 2006 18:15 GMT

Can you remember where we are in the story?

You can? Well, so what! I can remember the license plates of the two thousand three-hundred and eight cars that I flew over yesterday. But I'm not bragging

Anyway, I had resisted the vortex (even "broken" it as Zara complained) but I was still trapped in the magician's ludicrously-named "Shell of Paralysis". I had to find a way to break out from within.

My hands and feet were held completely fast by the "shell". I knew that I could not move them enough to exert any pressure on the bizarre force-field. Conventional body movements were out of the question.

Something different was needed. Something that would test the strength and integrity of the shell by pressing against a small area of it. Something that did not require me actually moving my body

I was thinking. Not about how to escape my current predicament (I'd already formed a theory for that, remember). No, I was thinking about, well, things I like. I mean, things that I really like.

I was thinking about well-built muscular men, begging me to stop as I bounced on top of them. I was thinking about tough soldiers, staring in shock as they sprayed my glorious naked body with gunfire. I was thinking about hurting them. Scattering them into the distance just by blowing gently at them.

I was thinking about the wonderful thrill of power I get seeing sights like that, knowing I have caused all that chaos with just the minimum of effort. Knowing there's nothing the men I'm hurting (or throwing) can do against me.

And I was also thinking about Ultragirl. Her wonderful body, pressing against mine more firmly than anything has ever pressed against it. Her hands squeezing my large breasts with a force second only to my own fingers. Her lips embracing mine, her tongue resisting the unstoppable power of my own for an instant before inevitably yielding

I couldn't even close my eyes because of the temporary paralysis. Instead, I had to access my memories and my imagination with them open, ignoring the sight of Zara studying me with intense curiosity and concentrating solely on the images in my mind.

Images chosen with one single purpose: I was trying to turn myself on.

I could already feel the tingles in my big nipples as they responded to my thoughts. So much harder than diamond during "relaxed" moments, the points of my chest swell and become dozens of times tougher when I'm "in the mood".

The more I thought about sex and sexy things, the more I felt the very tips of my nipples push against the inside of the mysterious "shell". I imagined the feeling of Ultragirl's large breasts flattening slightly against my own big mounds and noticed the resistance as my nipples tried to push the force-field back to accommodate their increasing size.

I incorporated this sensation into my fantasy, pretending that the points of Ultra's chest were trying to compress my nipples, rather than the "shell". It worked. I definitely felt a tiny quivering of the "wall" all around me. It was the first sign that the "Shell of Paralysis" might not be unconquerable.

Encouraged, I tried to increase my ardour and, in turn, the size and hardness of my teats. I envisaged a mile-long queue of beautiful men that I could help myself to one-by-one, using each according to my fancy of the moment. I tried to recreate in my mind the sensations of Ultragirl licking me with her strong tongue all over.

All around me, the "shell" began to vibrate, as if it were fighting and weakening against the incalculable force my expanding nipples were exerting on it. I found I could move my fingers. It was only a fraction of an inch but it told me all I wanted to know.

I could move my lips too, just enough to slightly part them and run the very lip of my tongue over them. That feeling, coupled with my on-going erotic train-of-thought, drove me wild inside. I felt the desire surging throughout my body, my nipples becoming almost electric as they swelled more and more rapidly.

The invisible "wall" was shaking now, as though it were frightened. It had good reason to be. I knew I was almost free. I thought of the way I always feel when I use my body to triumph, to conquer, to dominate. I found I was smiling.

The mere fact that I could smile was very pleasing. It meant I had enough room to manoeuvre. Enough room to move my upper torso backwards a little and then slam it forwards, fully engorged nipples pushed to the fore.

I don't know how much force I used. I didn't have a lot of space to pull back to generate top power. I'd guess I smashed my chest into the "shell" with the same kind of strength I'd use to break a two-yard cubed block of solid granite into powder.

The exact amount of force in the blow isn't important. All that matters is that the shell, like the imaginary block of granite, shattered completely on impact. I felt little bits of it flying away from my body as suddenly, I became free. All of me. My nipples had proven powerful enough to break me out of the unbreakable "Shell of Paralysis."

"Noooooo!" Zara screamed, putting her hands on her cheeks in genuine horror and amazement.

I placed my hands on my hips and proudly thrust out my truly unstoppable breasts.

"How... how did you do that?" asked the stunned magician. Then, trying to provide her own answer, she muttered, "Your... your... breasts! They must be stronger than... than...

"...Than anything you can imagine." I finished the sentence for her.

"I... I... never... knew... " Zara stuttered.

She looked and sounded defeated. But I wasn't through with her yet

Although that can keep for next time.

Thursday 19 January 2006 17:48 GMT

Quick recap: I'd smashed my way out of Zara's "Shell of Paralysis" by thinking sexy thoughts to make my nipples expand and push against the force-field with enough insistency to weaken it, before "smashing" the "shell" by slamming my chest into it. But even a mere male would probably remember that!

I kept my hands on my hips, partly to emphasise my successful defiance of Zara's magic and partly to show my newly-proved dominance. Mostly, though, my hands were on my hips so that I could show off my perfect upper-body, especially my large, firm and upstanding breasts. It was their sheer power which, having defeated the "Shell", was now fascinating the magician.

As I walked slowly and confidently towards her, she stared at me in (what seemed to me to be) awe. I smiled slightly, and put a tiny wiggle into my walk. Distinctly, I heard Zara drawing a sharp, stunned breath.

"What... What... are you?" she stammered, her eyes not flickering as they feasted on the sight of my glorious chest.

"I'm the most amazing thing you've ever seen." I boasted in reply. "Aren't I, Zara?"

"Ultragirl said she thought you might be a g-g-goddess," she stammered, her voice lacking all traces of the arrogance it had carried earlier. "Is that true? I mean, are you? Are you a Goddess, Blogger?"

"Maybe I am." I answered honestly, without any hint of mystery. I mean, I could be a Goddess. I do feel like one these days.

Zara tore her eyes from my mounds to look at my face for a moment. I could tell she was searching my features for any indications that the "Maybe" remark was a joke. She found none. Pretty quickly, her gaze flickered back to my chest.

"You... you smashed the Shell of Paralysis with your breasts!" she said, clearly still struggling to come to terms with the fact, "You stretched it with your nipples! I saw you! No-one has ever been able to disturb a "Shell" spell before, but you... you did it with your nipples! And then you smashed it to pieces with your breasts!"

"I know Zara," I said, slightly bored, "I was there, remember."

"But... how... how can you have so much... so much power in... in... those?"

"Yes," I smiled, pushing the subjects of her wonder out, making her gasp, "they are fabulous, aren't they?"

"Are they... are they real?" she asked.

"They're super-real." I said, genuinely proudly.

"Can... can I... can I touch them, Blogger?" Zara breathed.

"You may." I told her, magnanimously.

She took a step towards me, lifting up her palms. She was almost trembling as she lay them over my chest, each of my mounds proving much too big for her feminine hands to cover. Her touch was so light, just like a "normal" person's. I was hoping she'd turn out to be another Ultragirl and give them a proper superhuman squeeze. But she continued to merely caress.

"So soft to stroke," Zara mumbled, "so large, so... so round... but I... I can't... I can't dent them at all!" That was the first proper indication I got that she was actually trying to squeeze me. "So warm, so... so erotic!" Zara's enthusiastic, murmured monologue continued. "So perfect!"

Keeping her hands on my breasts she looked away from them for a moment to speak to my face. "Maybe... maybe you are a Goddess." she said, before turning her attention back to her (frankly) pathetic rubbing.

"That's enough," I told her. With an obvious reluctance, she lifted her hands off my chest. "It's my turn to touch you now." At superspeed, I swiped the back of my hand casually across her right cheek. The blow (which would have knocked an express locomotive off its rails) caused her head to turn sharply to the side as her body lifted from the ground. She sailed in an arc through the forest, crashing down around fifty yards away. Instantly, I flew off after her.

I landed before she'd even begun trying to climb back onto her feet. She shook her head and rubbed her cheek which had turned bright red. "It... It hurts!" Zara said, as though she couldn't quite believe what she was saying. "It's not supposed to hurt! The Gown of Invulnerability always protects its wearer from even the most powerful blow."

I laughed. "Maybe you need a wardrobe update. That outfit is so last season!" Before she could answer, I drew back my foot and swung it forwards into her belly. I felt my toes sinking into her abdomen for a moment and heard the air being forced out of her lungs as, once again, she was airborne. My punt sent her on a curved flight which peaked about thirty feet up and carried her around a hundred yards through the forest.

I didn't really have to hurry to be standing over the spot where she landed before she even crashed down there. Once she'd slammed into the ground and come to rest, she immediately opened her eyes and saw me.

"You... winded... me..." she puffed.

"Why aren't you dead yet?" I demanded, slightly annoyed.

"Gown... of... Invul... nera... bility."

I reached down to tear the low-cut long black dress off her body. But when I tugged at the thin material, instead of ripping as I expected, it held fast. I found myself lifting the dress and its wearer. I might as well have been lifting an empty gown for all the girl's weight taxed me.

Which is why I hardly noticed the change when, from one instant to the next, she vanished. I know it wasn't superspeed, because nothing is as fast as me. She must have teleported magically from my grasp.

"Where are you, you coward?" I thundered.

"Over here." She replied. "It seems I still have some tricks which even you cannot match." I whirled around, spotted her standing a couple of dozen yards behind me, and zoomed at her fast enough to ignite the leaves under my feet. To her credit, she managed to perform the teleport trick within the split-second it took me to launch at her with a kung-fu style kick.

I sailed right through where she had been, my leg slicing a huge thick tree trunk in half. The bulk of the above-ground tree came crashing down onto my head, bouncing up a few feet off my skull before slamming on to the ground behind me.

"This could go on all day and all night." Zara said. She was now standing about ten feet to my left.

"Fine. I don't get tired." I told her, charging at her once more. Again, it only took me a fraction of a second to reach the spot and again, she'd already "vanished" by the time I got there.

"No, you probably don't," she conceded from her newest location, making me spin around to face her, "but I could always just magic myself to the other side of the world. Or a different world."

I knew she was right. That's why I didn't attempt to run at her. "You tried to kill me," I reminded her. "I will catch you in the end."

"You may well be utterly unique, Blogger, but only a magician may kill another magician. I made the mistake of underestimating you once. I will not make the same mistake again." Zara said, the confidence returning to her voice. "Perhaps it would be in both of our interests if we could come to an understanding."

"No deals." I said.

"You forget, Blogger, that I still have two of your possessions," she said, suddenly more pleased with herself. I hadn't forgotten as such, but I admit I hadn't given much thought to it when I dismissed her offer.

"Here's what I propose:" she began, "I will return Duane to you and I will restore your heat-vision. In return, we call a truce. Live and let live."

My supersensitive hearing picked up the sound of a minivan pulling up about half a mile away. I listened and heard the two front doors and the rear hatch opening and counted six sets of feet climbing out. People were coming, presumably to investigate all the noise and small fires that Zara and I had caused.

"So, what do you say, Blogger? Do we have a deal?"

This time, I replied. Next posting, I'll let you know how I replied.

Friday 20 January 2006 17:43 GMT

So, Zara had offered me my heat-vision and my pet (Duane) in exchange for a truce.

As should be clear by now, I don't do "deals". I issue instructions.

The trouble was, I didn't fancy spending weeks breaking out of "Shells of Paralysis" and fighting the pull of two-dimensional infinite vortices. Not to mention the magician's annoying habit of disappearing just when I was about to land a killer blow on her. And then there was that infuriating "Gown of Invulnerability". It seemed to be made of the undamageable material I've been seeking out for years.

I knew prolonging the fight with her would be a waste of time and energy (in as much as anyone can waste what they have in unlimited supply). But to let her go so that she could try and repair and improve her "Shell" and her vortex did not seem like a clever idea to me either. I knew she had been deeply shocked (awed, even) by the display of my body's power. Would that mean she would stay clear of me or renew her resolve to take me down?

Then again, what choice was there? For either of us?

"Ultragirl is waiting for you. Duane is with her too." Zara announced, as if that would help me make a decision. "She's calling for you now."

"How do you know?" I demanded.

"The "Eye of Distant Vision"," she said. "It allows me to observe events far away. Ultragirl is wearing a ridiculously tiny bikini top with the letters "U" and "G" rather tackily inscribed on the two cups. It's barely covering her at all."

I chose to believe her. Firstly because Ultra had mentioned owning such a garment in the past but mostly because I was enjoying the image Zara's words placed in my mind. I was impressed with the trick, but tried not to show it.

"Your 'Eye of Dysentery'-?" I started, mockingly.

"-Distant Vision." Zara corrected me, before allowing me (briefly) to continue.

"Whatever it's called, it might be great for checking out my girlfriend's tits, but-"

"-Oh, I absolutely assure you," Zara gushed, "I have no interest whatsoever there."

"You seemed quite keen on mine a moment ago." I reminded her.

Zara seemed a touch uncomfortable answering. "I... I... I was just a little... um... curious about how they might, er, feel... you know... after they had... well, "smashed" the "Shell of Paralysis". A purely um... professional interest. I only do men as a rule."

"Sure, doll. Whatever you like to tell yourself." I teased. "You keep using your magic to check out Ultragirl on another continent. Just a shame it can't pick up the people walking towards us five hundred yards away in that direction." I pointed.

"People? Headed this way? How do you know?"

"Er, Zara? I'm a superbeing remember? Never heard of superhearing?"

She closed her eyes. "Ah, yes, now I see them. Six of them. All men. Goody! Two of them look just lovely. I think I might just... have them... for my... collection. One can never have too many toys."

"They're mine." I said emphatically.

"Surely you can spare a couple of them for me?" she asked. "Must we remain in perpetual conflict?" She had a point. About the "perpetual" thing, anyway.

I paused a moment. The men would only be brief sport for me. Much more durable fun in the delightful form of Ultragirl awaited me four thousand miles away. It might have taken weeks to finally defeat Zara in a fight. I could always do that some other time.

"I swear, Zara," I said, "if you ever cross my path or interfere with my property again, I will kill you."

"So you are accepting my offer?" she asked.

"I'm letting you live for now." I tried to put a better "spin" on my decision. She opened her mouth to reply, but obviously thought better of it, closing her jaws without making a sound. "You may have the six men." I proclaimed.

"And you may have your heat-vision back." She echoed my superior tone, waving her hand. I narrowed my eyes at a nearby tree and shot a beam of pure heat, setting it on fire.

"Know any tricks for putting that out?" I asked. Zara pointed at the tree which momentarily disappeared behind a flash of light. When the light dimmed, there was nothing where the tree had been save for a two-foot high model of the tree standing where the base of the trunk had been. Strolling over to it, she extinguished the few remaining flames by stamping them out.

"Can you make anything small like that?" I asked, genuinely impressed.

"Almost anything." Zara said. "It, ah, didn't work on you when I tried it. I think your molecules are too... er... dense (in the nicest possible way, of course.) Quite a few of my usual party pieces don't seem to work on you. And some of yours don't seem to have the desired effect on me, either."

She was right, but I wasn't about to admit it. "They still hurt, don't they?" I reminded her. "Just remember, next time I will kill you." I said, rising into the air. I took off for the clouds, intending to make Zara believe that I was streaking towards Ultragirl.

In truth, I was hovering in the atmosphere, five miles directly above the forest. Ultragirl could wait a little more for me. I wanted to see what Zara did with the six men.

Next time, I'll tell you.

Monday 23 January 2006 21:46 GMT

Motionless in the sky, I stared down at the scene miles below.

Despite the dark of the night and the density of the forest, my superhuman eyes and ears could follow every detail of what happened down there. I saw Zara disappear from the spot where I'd left her, only for her to reappear, in the very same instant, a couple of hundred yards away. I suppose the ability to teleport oneself is a pretty impressive trick

The six men, who were dressed in rural fire service uniforms, were certainly shocked to see her, judging by their reactions. Zara raised her right hand, palm towards the fire-fighters and muttered some incomprehensible incantation. Even I was shocked to see the effect of her magic. All half-dozen men, as one, fell to their knees before her, as if in worship.

She put her hands on her hips, and though I couldn't clearly see her facial expression from my vantage point directly overhead, I could tell that she was smugly grinning. After her run-in with me, she was obviously enjoying an encounter in which her supremacy was not in question.

A few moments passed before she removed her palm from her side and used it to gesture the men to stand. Again, there was no hesitation and no resistance. All the firemen rose quickly from the ground onto their feet. The magician clearly has quite a lot of power. Over men, at any rate.

With her hand still extended, she clicked her long fingers. At once, the six began to strip off their clothes. When each was done, he stood naked, facing her, his hands behind his back as though ready for some kind of inspection. I was left wondering how she communicated such detailed (and impeccably carried out) instructions without proper words? Duane's mind-control device was never that good.

It soon transpired that the men were, indeed, presenting themselves for inspection. Zara took a few arrogant steps towards them until she was only half-a-yard from the nearest. She made a show of slowly scanning his body from the top of his head to his feet, pausing to stare at length at the key points. Then she moved on to the next man, taking even longer to study him inch-by-inch.

She seemed to like the third man particularly. She examined his face for an age and then spent quite some time looking at his sexual organ. She even prodded it with her extended index finger a couple of times. Finally, she moved on to number four.

This one was clearly not to her taste. She looked him up and down quickly and turned rapidly away, moving on to the fifth male. Number four hung his head, apparently in shame at the reaction he had elicited, but otherwise, none of the men moved or spoke.

Zara bent low to be at eye-level with the fifth man's penis. She slowly took it in her hand, and I saw it quickly swelling in her grasp. She stroked it for a moment, as if checking out its feel, before releasing her hold and moving on to the last man. A quick up-and-down glance was enough for her to make her mind up.

She stepped back from him and looked over the group. Pointing at numbers 3 and 5, she beckoned them to approach. They moved forward in unison, halting when she signalled them to stop. Then she indicated the other four, and waved her hand dismissively. They fell instantly, as if shot by simultaneous, silent bullets. It took me a moment to focus in on them and realise that they were breathing slowly, as if deeply asleep.

Having made her selection, Zara clicked her fingers for a second time. The two men she had chosen reacted as though she had thrown a bucket of freezing cold water over them. They shook their heads quickly, suddenly looking down, apparently confused as to how they had become naked. Evidently, she had put them into some kind of trance before. But why was she releasing them now?

The answer, as far as I could see, was that she was releasing them for sport. Her sport, of course. She lifted her arms, extending them fully in front of her and stretched a finger from each hand towards the men. Then she muttered something incomprehensible. Phonetically, it was "Griz haflur verinkee floopjig" (but don't bother trying it, it won't work. I know. I've tried it.) But, when Zara said those strange words, the effect was amazing. In a twin flash of light, the "chosen" pair of men shrunk from near-enough six foot each to more-or-less six inches.

It wasn't a gradual process. One instant they were big, then the light obscured them (yes, even from me) for a millisecond, then they were small. Not small, but tiny. I heard the men's pathetic little screams as the magician stepped towards them. It wasn't easy to spot things so minute so far down amongst the leaves under the trees in the dark, but I managed. The pair began running in opposite directions. I can only guess what they hoped to achieve by attempting to flee, but Zara didn't seem to mind the turn of events.

"You can run, my little boys, but you can't escape Zara!" she cried gleefully. "Ready or not, here I come!"

Naturally, she covered the same distance in a single stride as the men managed in a dozen. She caught up with the first tiny male in seconds, swooped down and scooped him up in her fist. She brought him up to her face. "They'll be no more running for you," she smiled. Even from that height I could see his hair being blown back as she blasted his face with her voice. "You belong to me now. Let's put you somewhere nice and safe."

Using two fingers from her free left hand, she reached down the front of her low-cut dress (the so-called "Gown of Invulnerability") and inserted them deep into her vast cleavage, parting her two big round breasts. Into this gap she forced the shrunken man trapped in her other fist, pushing him right down into that womanly valley. She removed her hands, letting the natural firmness of her chest close her cleavage once more and the miniature fireman disappeared from view, completely engulfed by her "charms".

"Make yourself comfortable in there." she spoke down to her breasts. I could hear the little guy's muffled yells from five miles up (although that probably says more about my superhearing than the loudness of the cries).

"Oooh, I love the way you feel in there, wriggling around, trying to get free." cooed Zara. "But, you can't get free, can you? You're trapped, you poor little thing. You can't even push my lovely big soft breasts a tiny bit apart can you? They're just too much for you, aren't they? So large... so heavy... that's right, keep trying. It won't do you any good of course, but I like it. Look at you! Struggling with all your might, but you're so tiny. No wonder you can't move my breasts! Each of them is bigger than you are now!"

Whilst I could only wonder how the fireman felt, being engulfed in the magician's voluptuous chest, I had a fairly good idea what was going through Zara's mind. "Oooh, you're so little and helpless in there. I just want to give you a big squeeze! Oh, stop complaining. Wouldn't you like Zara to give you a nice hug with her lovely big breasts? Wouldn't you? Yes, of course you would! Mmmm..."

She clasped her hands in front of her abdomen, using her upper arms to press the edges of her generous chest, squeezing her mounds together and pressing the shrunken man wedged between them. Up in the sky, I heard his scream, quickly muffled by the feminine flesh that smothered his entire body.

"Oh, yes, isn't that nice?" Zara asked, looking down at her now narrower, but even more pronounced, cleavage. "Feeling my big breasts all around you, pressing so tightly against you... Oh, I could just squeeze you to death..."

I saw her hugging herself a little more, and watched as her bosoms compressed, the large soft mounds mashing together as she pressed them into each other. I had no trouble at all hearing the muffled, distant crunching sound that escaped from her pressured cleavage.

"Oh dear!" there was such a heavy layer of mock concern in Zara's exclamation that I couldn't help bursting out in laughter. "Did my big breasts squeeze the little man a bit too much?" She brought to fingers up to her chest and extracted her victim, holding him by the back of his neck between two long, perfectly manicured, black-painted fingernails.

"Oh you poor thing!" she smiled at him. "You're all bloody and crooked. Let's see how many of your tiny bones my big, naughty breasts broke..." She held him right up in front of her eyes, studying him. "Ohh," she said. "Looks like they're all broken. Never mind, we'll just get you home and fix you up better-than-new with some clever magic." And with that, she stuffed the bleeding, contorted figure back into her cleavage.

Facing forward, she asked "Now, where has your little friend got to?" Now, I could see the other tiny man, but I'm superhuman. He'd made it about ten yards, clambering over twigs half as tall as him and leaves that he could have slept under. Given that there was no artificial light, no normal person would ever have spotted him. Zara must have used magic to find him. I was impressed by how efficient she was, needing only about two seconds to locate him.

"There you are!" she cried, excitedly, jogging over to the poor little fellow. He screamed as best he could, but her hand was around his body in a flash. "That's right, kick and punch away!" she mocked his efforts to fight against her. "Oh, are you trying to bite me, little man? That almost tickles! Oh, I can see you're going to be loads of fun. Let's get you home before you hurt yourself."

Her other hand went to her chest, prising open her blood-speckled cleavage. I saw no movement from the misshapen tiny man already in there as she carefully inserted his colleague alongside. "Do be still," she tutted, "You might hurt yourself. I don't want two smashed-up little boys to repair. Ooops! Too late! Well, you just stay there with what's left of that leg until we get home. Stop crying, it's nothing I can't fix."

Zara took her hands away from her chest and her breasts settled into their naturally (or maybe magic assisted?) perky positions. Looking down from the atmosphere, not a trace of either of her prisoners was visible to me. She clicked her fingers and simply vanished.

I thought she'd teleported herself out of there, but a second later I heard her voice, clear as before, from exactly the same place. The only explanation was that she had, somehow, turned herself invisible. I have to admit, this girl freaked me out more than anyone else I've met. I just can't explain what she did or how she did it.

"Boys, you can wake up now." invisible Zara said. The four (full-sized) naked firemen she had put to sleep earlier began to stir. They looked disorientated, confused and cold, but otherwise undamaged.

"Home, James!" the magician's voice rang out. I heard no further sound (nor saw any further sight) from her. The firemen began to dress themselves before, with increasing urgency, starting to search for their missing colleagues.

I left them to their futile task and zipped through the sky, West, towards where Ultragirl lay in wait for me. Oh, and Duane too.

Next entry: what happened when I got to her place.

Tuesday 24 January 2006 22:32 GMT

So, with Zara out of the picture, there was only one task left for me: picking up Duane.

Of course, the fact that my toy was being "babysat" by Ultragirl made the chore into something quite different from what it might have been. A lot had happened in the previous hours, and I flew towards her home at a comfortable pace, thinking through it all. Despite that, I crossed the Atlantic and swooped down into Ultra's back yard within a quarter of an hour.

She wasn't in the garden, but the back door had been left invitingly open. I knew it was meant as a signal, but what's the point of having the power to see through walls if I don't use it? Before I strolled into the house, I'd already located Ultragirl and Duane. Naturally, I pretended to completely ignore the (patched up better-than-before) dweeb as I made a bee-line for Ultra. I couldn't help detecting the obvious signs of terror (increased heart-rate, trembling, shallow breathing) as I passed a few yards away from him.

"I was told you were wearing a bikini." I said, strolling into Ultragirl's bedroom. She was splayed out, utterly naked, lying on top of the bedsheets on her belly. Her gorgeous, pert, superhumanly-firm rump was on full display (in my honour I presumed).

"Um, I took it off. I thought you'd like me better like this," she drawled seductively. I'll admit I was stirred by the show. Deeply stirred. But I had unresolved issues with her.

"You think offering yourself up on a plate for a quick bit of loving will make me forget you sent a magician to try and kill me?"

"I... I didn't ask her to kill you." she protested. "I just told her to... to... reel you in."

"Reel me in? What are you talking about?" I demanded.

"I... had to. You're so... um, powerful these days, I just couldn't not try something. It would be a dishonour to my code and -"

"Your code?" I asked, astonished. "Your pointless, hypocritical, holier-than-thou code?"

"It's part of whom I am," she protested.

"Well, it's a part of you I don't like." I retorted.

With a wise sense of timing, Ultragirl rolled over on her bed, so that she was lying on her back, legs slightly apart, arms out by her sides. "At least I have a few parts you do like." she bragged.

I was about to let loose with a tirade of abuse about her code, but the sight of the second-most-beautiful woman in the world (after me) laid out in front of me was distracting. I hate to confess it, but yeah, she does have a few parts that I like. More than a few parts, actually.

I floated up off my feet and turned in the air so that I was "lying" face down about six feet above the ground. Then I drifted until I was hovering directly over Ultragirl. Slowly, I peeled off my clothes, tossing them over my shoulder.

"I have a theory," I said.

"What's that?" she breathed.

"All your attempts at 'reeling me in' have nothing to do with your 'code'. You're not worried about my power allowing me to commit crimes and go unpunished, no matter what you say. It's not about my power over ordinary people, is it? It's about my power over you. You're terrified of the way I make you feel, aren't you? You just can't help yourself."

She said nothing in response. I pressed my point: "Admit it, Ultragirl. You're head-over-heels hooked on me, aren't you?"

She cast her eyes down momentarily. "Yes." she whispered. I smiled.

Having put her in her place, it was time for fun. "Duane!" I called. "Come in here!" I could hear him breathing in the other room Breathing, but not obeying. "Now, Duane, or I'll kill you." That worked. Immediately I heard his footsteps. A second or two later I heard his gasp when he saw the two of us superwomen naked. "Kneel in the presence of your Owner." I instructed him. At once, he did.

"Crawl into the corner." I ordered. He shuffled and puffed to the edge of the room. "Stand up and face the wall!" He did as he was told. "If you move from there (or try and turn your head to look) until I give you permission, you will die. Understand? Nod your head." He nodded.

For the next two and a half hours, I made loud, energetic, glorious, superhuman love to Ultragirl. I pinned her down and licked her all over. I let her clamber on top of me and pleasure me. We caressed and squeezed and kissed every inch of each other. We peaked and peaked and peaked. And finally, we came down in one another's arms.

As Ultragirl recovered her breath, I jumped up (as chock-full of energy as ever) and pulled off one of the sheets. Walking up to Duane who was still staring at the corner six inches in front of his face, I wrapped the bedclothes around his head and body at superspeed, keeping hold of the corners. I slung the make-shift "bag" over my shoulder, making sure its contents impacted hard with my unyielding back, bringing a satisfying yelp of pain out of Duane.

"See you around, Blondie." I called out as I took off, with the wrapped-up geek on my back. I deliberately avoided the open doors and flew through the closed window, the glass shattering on my invulnerable skull. Of course, I was left utterly unmarked but a stray shard must've caught Duane because he cried out and a small red stain began to appear on the sheets.

"Wait!" Ultragirl cried. I ignored her. I couldn't fly very fast (or very high) with my "precious" cargo, but I made sure his ride was anything but smooth. By the time I was unwrapping him in his old familiar home (my bathroom) he was covered head to toe in bruises and barely conscious. Just awake enough, in fact, to hear me promise "Tomorrow, we'll start undoing all Zara's mending magic."

I didn't have the chains I originally used to tie him on top of the toilet. Instead, I improvised by leaning out of the window and ripping a length of steel guttering off the side of the building with one hand. Although I manipulated the metal with consummate ease, Duane was obviously not going to free himself. I blew him a kiss goodnight, my superbreath knocking his head back against the wall, putting him to sleep.

Satisfied, I walked out of the room.

Wednesday 25 January 2006 18:15 GMT

"Duane, has no-one ever told you that big boys don't cry?" I asked him as I walked in on him bawling his eyes out this morning.

"Please!" he sobbed. "Just kill me now!"

"Tsk, tsk." I disapproved. "That is no way, no way at all for a big boy to behave. And you are a big boy now, aren't you?"

"I... I..."

"Come on, don't be shy. Zara made you a really big boy, didn't she?"

"She... she fixed me up..." he began.

"How lovely." I commented, my words dripping with sarcasm.

"And then she... she... used me," he finished, the tears still flowing.

I laughed and reached behind him, using one hand to effortlessly untwist the thick steel pipe that was binding him to the toilet and letting it fall to the tiled floor with a loud Clang!

"Stand up." I ordered him. "I want to see what she did to you." Slowly, he rose.

"Quickly," I said, "or I'll break every last bone in your body." He jumped up the rest of the way, his hands folded in front of his crotch. I could see his "enhancement" just fine through his palms, but I was enjoying his discomfort so I commanded him to place his hands behind his back. Then I bent down and lowered my face right in front of his groin.

"Wow, Duane." I said. "That's really impressive." He flinched as I reached for it, but with nowhere to back off to, he was helpless as I took hold of his magnificent organ. If I thought it was exceptionally large when flaccid, it soon became absolutely huge in my grasp. He squirmed uncomfortably as I gripped him securely, but not painfully.

"That Zara must be one kinky magician." I chuckled, looking down at the remarkable gift she'd given Duane. Slowly, I lifted my arm, not relinquishing my hold on his shaft as I did so. He groaned, moved onto tiptoes and then yelled as his feet came off the floor.

I continued to lift his entire body by his erection until he was hanging, in considerable pain, from my single fist. You should have heard him scream as I swung him around the room like that. I haven't laughed so much in ages.

Sadly, my fun was cut short as he passed out. Maybe the agony was too great for him. I put him back on the lavatory and wrapped the steel pipe around him once again. His massive penis remained erect for a minute or two. As it started to droop, dark purple bruises began to appear where my fingers had been.

I bet those will hurt tomorrow.

Thursday 26 January 2006 20:38 GMT

Well it's seems that I was completely right about Ultragirl.

She's totally obsessed with me and my power. She's even confessed it on her webpage. Can't say I blame her for the way I make her feel. (Don't tell anyone but even I feel a little in awe of myself every now and then).

I'm not so sure about all this chasing glimmers in the sky, though. Maybe I've left her seeing stars....

Anyway, on to a letter from a reader (remember you can mail me by clicking the "Email" link above):

"Dear Blogger,

Have you ever given a man a blowjob -"

Well, thousands of times in one sense. It depends on your interpretation...

"- and I don't mean a clever answer of using your super-breath to send him flying elbows and teacups?"

Ah, right. Shame. There must be thousands of men to whom I've given that treat. Some of them are still alive, even...

"I would like to know if you have ever put a man's penis in your mouth and SUCKED!

In awe of you greatness,
[name supplied]"

Good sign-off. I approve.

As for the sucking, well, yes. A couple of times. Once when I was having a laugh with a businessman who had looked at me a few seconds too long in the street. I lured him into an alley, made him think that I was about to go down on him and sucked very gently until he screamed. Then I sucked a little more until he was permanently injured. It was so funny!

Maybe, as I have, thanks to a certain meddling magician, the most remarkable penis I've ever seen (you know, the one that's attached to Duane) within easy reach, perhaps I should try it again sometime soon...

Tuesday 31 January 2006 21:01 GMT

Well, regular readers of Ultragirl's blog (http://ultragirlspeaks.blogspot.com - can't your non-super brains remember anything?) will know that I was disturbed the other morning by a sound just outside my window.

If you've never checked out her page, you should. It's probably the second best blog written by a superhuman. (Of course, you already know that this blog is the best.)

Anyway, the sound was Ultragirl crashing down from the sky. She was in a terrible state. She didn't look very "super" at all. In fact, she barely even looked "Ultra" to be honest.

Seeing someone else in trouble usually makes me want to laugh, but I helped her in, mostly because I was curious to know who or what had left her so battered. She lay on my sofa and told me everything. How she'd discovered a vast alien armada in our solar system. How she'd tailed a scout craft until it lead her to a huge mothership. They'd tried to kill her, but she'd wasted nearly a hundred small fighter-ships until the mothership's main weapon (some kind of energy beam) had blasted her halfway into next week.

I left her resting on the couch and flew through the window and out into space to see for myself. To my amazement, I saw that she hadn't been lying about the armada. Immediately, I returned home. I wanted more information from Ultra.

"I think they're about to invade." she said.

"How do you know?" I asked. "Maybe they're just sight-seeing..."

"Not with that kind of weaponry and in so many numbers. And they definitely wanted to kill me," she pointed out. "This is it, Blogger. The big one. I can't fight them alone. You... you have to help me."

"Me?" I laughed. "Sorry, but you're on your own with this one. None of my business. I don't go round calling myself a "protector". That's your bag."

"But... but they could be about to attack the Earth! They might kill millions!"

"That's not my problem." I said.

"Blogger, please!" Ultragirl pleaded. "I think they may be about to try and enslave the entire human race. Why else would they come in such numbers?"

"What?!!" I hadn't really considered things fully up to that point. It was true. It did seem that invasion and occupation was the extraterrestrials' likely intent. "There is no fucking way I'm going to share my playground and my toys with anyone." I announced.

"So... you'll help?" she asked.

"I'll defend what's mine." I confirmed, making sure my motivation was clear.

"We have to act quick," Ultragirl announced, sitting up. The effort seemed to have made her dizzy.

"You're not going to be much use in a fight like that." I pointed out. Slipping my T-shirt over my head and revealing my perfect upper body, I suggested: "Perhaps I should 'power you up' a little first?"

"There's isn't time!" she protested, unconvincingly.

"There's always time." I told her, floating off the floor, turning my body towards hers and slowly drifting nearer to her.

"What about the aliens?" asked Ultragirl, yielding before she'd even begun to resist.

"Let's wait and see what they do next." I told her. "We have more important business to attend to first." I kissed her as I finished speaking, hard, on the lips. I could feel her responding to me with every inch of her being.

Tomorrow, I might suggest we take a little trip back into space to check out that mothership. Or I might continue to bide my time. After all, I need to make sure that Ultra is fully charged...

 

February 2006

Thursday 2 February 2006 21:07 GMT

Making love with Ultragirl is a lovely way to pass a couple of days. It's certainly helped her to recuperate from her brush with that alien weapon.

You might think that, with a possible fight against an invading alien force just around the corner, we'd be conserving our energy. But that just shows how little you know. Thanks to my super loving, Ultra is completely healed and so much more powered-up than when she first arrived. And me? Ha! "Donating" some of my power to her hasn't affected me in the slightest. I don't do "tired", remember?

Anyway, when we haven't been exploring every inch of each others' glorious bodies, we've been watching the skies. They're definitely up there. Dozens and dozens of tiny ships skirting the edges of Earth's atmosphere. The activity seems to be increasing. I'm still not sure that Ultragirl is right about their intent, but they're clearly planning something.

Tonight, we're going to pay a very quiet little visit to the fringes of the Asteroid Belt where the bulk of them seem to be based for now. Hopefully, we might find out what they're up to.

Friday 3 February 2006 18:01 GMT

My word, there's a lot of ships out there!

I mean, tens and tens of thousands. Just hovering silently in space, about a million miles beyond the orbit of Mars. It looks like they're continuing to arrive from wherever it is they're coming from. We saw a couple of dozen more joining the huge group while we were out there.

We also saw the mother-ship. And it really is one mother of a ship. It must be three miles long, a mile high and half a mile across. Ultragirl scanned her superhuman eyes all over the surface of it. I used my even-more-super eyesight. We failed to locate a single window or obvious opening anywhere.

I tried using my X-ray vision with little more success. I could penetrate about eight inches into the unknown alloy of the outer shell but all I could see was more solid metal. No matter how much I tried, I just couldn't see anything more of the inside.

Not wanting to attract any attention, I decided it was not worth risking getting closer to the thing to try and hear what was going on inside. They'd already "met" Ultra and tried out their big weapon on her. They don't need to know about me... yet. Not until they do something to piss me off anyway.

We returned from our scouting mission, discussing the situation using the air we'd stored in our super lungs before leaving Earth.

"Well, it's obvious they're planning to invade." Ultragirl said.

"They still haven't actually done anything." I pointed out.

"By the time they do, it could be too late! We need to attack now and catch them off-guard," she protested.

"No. Let's see what they're up to first."

Ultragirl looked at me, unsure. I returned her gaze with one of steely determination. It was enough to convince her that arguing wouldn't change my mind. We completed the trip home in silence after that.

We'd been back in my flat for barely a minute (hardly even enough time for me to stuff a water-bottle in Duane's mouth and flush the toilet beneath him) when Ultragirl shouted "Hey! Look! There's one of them entering the atmosphere right above us!"

I looked up, narrowing my eyes to see through the ceiling and the flats above and the roof and the clouds. Sure enough, one of the thousands of small craft we'd seen hovering near Mars was streaking down through the atmosphere. I left Duane and dashed at superspeed to Ultra. "I suppose we'd better check it out." I said, slightly annoyed. I had been planning to spend the next few hours enjoying the delights of her body.

"Don't get too close." I warned as we took off through the window. "We're just observing for now." I reminded her.

"Hey! Who said you were in charge?" Ultra demanded, semi-seriously.

"You want to fight me to see who's top dog?" I asked, deadly seriously. She didn't answer. Not talking, we trailed the saloon-car-sized ship as it streaked downwards.

Anyway, I'll let you know what we saw next time.

Monday 6 February 2006 17:16 GMT

So... Ultragirl and I were tailing a small alien craft as it dipped into the atmosphere. You do remember that from last time, right? Anyway

"It's unmanned!" Ultra turned to speak to me, mid-flight.

"Don't you mean unaliened?" I joked. Unlike the massive mother-ship hovering so sinisterly out beyond the orbit of Mars, the little vessel we were following was completely penetrable to X-ray vision. There was nothing inside but bizarre-looking machinery including miles and miles of strange tubing. No sign of any "seats" or anything that resembled organic life as I know it.

The craft changed course quite suddenly, a clear demonstration of the impressive technology behind its propulsion and guidance systems. Nothing made on Earth could have executed such a sharp re-orientation whilst accelerating so dramatically as it turned towards the surface. Of course, such mid-air acrobatics were no challenge for my flight powers. I'm a damn sight more manoeuvrable (not to mention fast) than any space-ship, whatever its origin. Even Ultragirl, heavily boosted by so much love-making with me, had no trouble keeping on track behind the mystery probe.

We were closing on the ground, the nocturnal countryside spread out below. Only a few scattered cottages and farm buildings dotted the landscape and I was beginning to wonder if whoever was controlling the vessel was seeking to land it in as isolated a spot as possible. In fact, as it turned out, I was wrong about both the "landing" and the "isolated" parts.

It decelerated in an instant, quite a feat for a ship travelling at such speed. Especially when achieved sixty feet above ground. One moment it was streaking downwards from the clouds, the next it was hovering motionless immediately above a large farm house. I mimicked its sudden stop and so did Ultra. We glanced at each other for a moment, and then I used my superhuman eye-sight to check out the building directly beneath the alien craft.

It looked like a normal house, with a normal family asleep within. I scanned the rooms, spotting a middle-aged couple in a double bed in one, a girl in her late-teens under a blanket in another, and a slightly younger boy in a third. There was even a dog in a basket in the kitchen.

"Hey, look!" Ultragirl hissed, making me look away from the house and follow the direction indicated by her pointed finger. That's when I saw the underside of the alien craft appearing to rotate. A small aperture appeared in the centre, revealing the end of a short metallic cylinder.

"It's a weapon!" she cried. "We've got to save those people!"

"Why?" I asked. Did she know those people from somewhere? I couldn't understand why she'd want to put herself at risk for a bunch of strangers. She'd probably call it "heroism" or something corny like that, but I'd call it "stupidity."

She made a swoop towards the craft. I took off in pursuit. I could hear the whining drone of an energy build-up inside the little ship. Clearly, something was about to be discharged through that opening. Having recently been badly hurt by an alien laser, I couldn't believe she wanted to put herself into the path of another, but she positioned herself right in front of the mysterious metal tube.

There was a "whumpf" sound. The edge of the tube began to glow. Something overcame me. I can't explain it and I don't think anything like it has ever happened to me before. I got a sudden inner compulsion to get Ultragirl out of the way of the beam before it fired.

Now, my feelings for Ultra are well-documented. She's gorgeous. And, yeah, she's a great lay. The very best, even. But it's not as though I'm especially fond of her socially. I wouldn't call her my "friend". I don't have friends. Don't need them, don't want them. And I certainly do not in any sense of the word, harbour any sentiments towards her that could be classified as what other people call "love." That's not a concept that ever touches my existence.

So, I just cannot explain that strange need to save her from the beam. Probably, it was the side-effect of exposure to some unknown kind of alien radiation. Or something like that. Anyway, before I even fully realised what I was doing, I had flown in and shoved her aside.

I was just in time. A shaft of dazzling yellow light shot out of that tube almost as I was pushing Ultragirl out of the way. The outer edge of the beam grazed her arm as she was flung aside by the force of my intervention at several thousand miles an hour. She rocketed away, screaming. I couldn't tell if she was yelling because I'd shoved her or because laser had wounded her.

She was still moving away as I looked down and saw the intense yellow light now bathing most of the house below. The laser-beam began to pulsate. The very bricks of the building seemed to be glowing yellow. And then it ceased all together. The aperture in the bottom of the small ship began to close. Ultragirl regained control of her flight and turned in the air to come rocketing back towards me just as the craft unexpectedly shot straight up into the sky.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Ultra demanded as she caught up with me.

"The last time one of these things shot at you, it nearly killed you." I reminded her.

"That wasn't the same kind of weapon!" she protested. "How could you leave those people unprotected?"

"They're just people." I said, shrugging. "They seem fine to me anyway." I added, glancing down at the house.

"No thanks to you!" she chided me. I rolled my eyes. "But... they are fine." Ultra admitted after checking them out for herself. "That's strange. That energy burnt like hell and it barely touched me. It blasted the house for five seconds and it doesn't seem to have done anything."

"Maybe you're a bit too sensitive." I joked. I studied the house and its occupants once more with my X-ray vision. "There's no sign of anything having changed down there at all I said. Everyone's still happily asleep in bed - Mum, Dad, Junior and - hey!"

"What is it?" Ultragirl asked, looking for herself and finding the answer. "The girl! She's... gone!"

There was a muffled Bang! from below. I immediately looked towards its source and saw the building's front door was now open and hanging at an angle, some of its hinges apparently broken. There was no sign of anyone or anything either side of the door. "Weird." I observed.

"That beam!" Ultragirl started thinking out loud, "..what was it?"

"How should I know?" I answered.

"My arm's still stinging where it touched me," she admitted, "and I think it's completely vaporised that poor young woman!"

"Looks like it." I said. I couldn't think up another explanation for the girl's disappearance.

"You should have let me shield her!" Ultragirl said, accusingly.

"And let you get vaporised? I thought you wanted to save all the helpless little people of Earth. How were you going to do that dead?" I countered. Her expression told me she accepted my argument. "How's your arm?" I asked

"Still hurts."

"Then you'd better get back to my place and check it out properly." I advised.

"And you?" she asked.

"I'm going after that little ship. I want to bring back that weapon. There's a couple of people I know who should take a look at it." I explained.

"Be careful!" Ultragirl called after me. I laughed at the thought as I shot away after the tiny space-ship.

But I'll leave that for next time

Tuesday 7 February 2006 17:38 GMT

As I was recounting... Ultragirl headed back towards my flat rubbing her arm where the yellow energy beam had hit it whilst I set off in pursuit of the probe that had fired the thing.

Wherever the aliens came from, they certainly had a very impressive level of technology. That little ship really could move! There can only be a tiny handful of objects that have travelled so fast away from the Earth. Certainly, I can only think of one that has ever travelled faster

Yes, folks, you can add "faster than a speeding alien spaceship" to the long list of my fabulous abilities. You see, even as the thing streaked out towards space, powered by its mysterious extraterrestrial engines, I was following behind, closing the gap between us by the second, powered only by my fantastic body and its mind-boggling power.

Evidently, the computer (or alien being or whatever it was) that was controlling the craft became aware of my presence. It tried to shake me off its tail by executing a series of tight, sudden and apparently random zigzag manoeuvres. Of course, I just kept up my chase throughout. My reactions were too swift and my control over my flight powers too complete to be tested by any artificial steering mechanism, no matter how hyper-advanced it was.

All that changing of directions slowed the ship down far more than I needed to decelerate to copy its flight-path. Whereas I had been slowly closing in on it, now I found I was rapidly nearing. In a couple of minutes, with the Earth far enough below for whole continents to be visible under my feet, I got within reach.

I stretched out my arm, and touched the smooth metallic shell of the small craft. Tentatively, I began closing my fingers around a convenient edge. To my satisfaction, the metal began to deform just like good old steel under my fingertips as I got a solid, one-handed grip on it. Then I braced my extended arm and brought myself to a stop, just hovering there out in the vacuum of space.

I could feel the whole craft vibrating as its powerful unworldly engines tried with all their might to pull away from me, but my dainty-looking fingers held it firm. My slender arm wasn't even particularly taxed by the effort. In the end, I found that I'd conquered the alien ship's propulsion systems with no more difficulty than I would have encountered stopping a speeding bus. (In other words, it was easy.)

I spent a couple of moments just studying the probe with idle curiosity as I held it fast. Trying to turn it around to see the other side of it, I failed to notice that the engines were still working flat-out to try and escape me. The entire thing shuddered violently for a moment before a tiny crack appeared right where I was gripping the surface. Instantly, a small shower of sparks erupted from the small fissure, covering my arm in little glowing points, but (obviously) not causing me any discomfort.

After that, the vibrating stopped. The mini internal explosion must have been the death-throes of the propulsion system. I'd disabled the ship without even trying! Laughing, I turned around, heading back to Earth and dragging the deactivated alien craft behind me. I knew exactly where I was taking it.

Ten minutes later, I was smashing bare-feet-first through the steel-reinforced concrete ceiling of a university laboratory complex. I hovered when my ankles were just inside the building and casually kicked out a wider opening in the roof, letting the debris rain down inside. I needed a large hole so that the captured ship didn't get scratched as I brought it in.

I landed amidst the rubble and dust and set the craft down beside me. Only when I heard the protesting creaks of the floor beneath did I realise that the probe, despite its small size, actually weighed a couple of tonnes. (It had felt light as a sheet of paper to me.)

I cast about the room, spotting a familiar figure crawling awkwardly from under a small pile of concrete fragments. "Hey, Phil!" I called. "Remember me?"

"You!" the white-coated middle aged man exclaimed, wiping the dust from his eyes as he gingerly stood up. "You could have killed me!"

"I will if you don't shut up." I told him. He didn't contest the threat. After all, the last time we'd met I'd left him sitting on the floor of his lab with eighty feet of steel handrail from the building's staircase wrapped around his body

"You have to do something for me, Phil," I informed him. I pointed to the little ship. "This is an alien probe I've just caught."

"What?"

"You heard. There's a weapon inside it. Some kind of energy beam. Find out what it is and what it does. You've got twenty-four hours. Oh, and if you tell anyone about this before I get back tomorrow you're a dead man. Understood?" He nodded.

I took off, straight up through the ceiling once more, puncturing a second (smaller) hole in the thick roof just to the side of the one I'd created upon entering. After that, I headed for home. Seeing as Ultragirl was there, it seemed wrong not to make the most of her presence

More next time.

Wednesday 8 February 2006 17:36 GMT

Ultragirl was waiting for me as I swooped back through the window into my flat.

"How's your arm?" I asked her.

"Um, better," she said. I went quickly over to kiss her. "Not now," she said, pulling back, "we need to stay alert."

"Look, if anything major starts, we'll know about it." I argued. "Besides my little scientist friend needs a day to analyse the probe. We should be in a much better position to deal with these... things once we know a bit more about their technology. In the meantime, we can keep ourselves busy." I made it extremely clear how I intended us to keep busy by leaning towards her once more with my lips pushed out.

"No!" she said. I ignored her and continued to approach for the kiss. "I said 'No'!" she reiterated, her hands coming up to my shoulders. I expected her to offer token resistance for a moment which I would easily overpower before she would, as ever, yield. That seemed to be the game with her. At least I thought it was.

I was astonished to feel her gripping my shoulders tighter than ever. She was pushing me away. Shocked, I leant into her harder, certain that she wouldn't be able to hold me off after that. But she did. Before I knew it, I was in a physical struggle, having to actually make an effort to fight against the force with which she was repelling me.

"Wow, girl," I observed, "have you been eating spinach while I was out?"

"No.." she replied, speaking through gritted teeth. She was having to work quite hard to keep me at bay, but I couldn't deny that she was making things a lot harder than I'm used to. "But I do feel, um, different."

"You're stronger." I said, sure of the fact. I brought my palm up to her belly and shoved her gently in the stomach. The push forced her to take a couple of steps backwards before she recovered herself. The previous day, the same shove would have sent her crashing into (and probably through) the far wall. "And tougher." I added.

There was a pause. "The beam!" we both cried in unison, having simultaneously hit upon the only possible conclusion.

"How come it's made me stronger, but completely vaporised that poor girl in the farmhouse?" Ultragirl wondered.

"Maybe it affects superhuman metabolisms differently?" I suggested, walking towards her. I leant in from behind and kissed the side of her neck. She shuddered with the contact and turned to face me.

"We really shouldn't-" she began.

"-But we are!" I pointed out, the fingertips of my left hand already tracing the outer edge of her wonderful right breast.

"OK," she sighed, her lips almost touching mine, "but we should be quick."

"Oh yes." I agreed, my tongue flicking out and caressing the tip of hers.

It wasn't until many, many hours later that we both arrived, together, at the laboratory. But that can wait until my next post.

Thursday 9 February 2006 17:16 GMT

"So, what've you found?" I asked the terrified university scientist as Ultragirl and I descended through the hole in the roof into the lab.

"Ah, not much..." he started. He must've caught the angry glint in my eye as he hurried to backtrack: "I mean, it hasn't been a whole day and it's very hard working on my own on this. I've done the best that I can although-"

"-So what have you found?" I demanded, again, not interested in excuses.

"Right, yes... of course..." Men, especially terrified men, are so slow getting their thoughts together... "Well," he finally began, "the whole thing is made of some kind of alloy, possibly containing an element previously unknown to us. It's fabulously resilient. I couldn't cut it or manipulate it at all!"

I strolled over to the probe which was still on the floor where I'd left it the previous day. "Obviously," I said, gripping a ridge of mystery alloy and squeezing it between my thumb and forefinger, making the metal creak loudly and severely denting it, "you weren't trying hard enough."

The idiot muttered an expletive and looked up at me in shock. Ignoring his surprise at my strength (I get it all the time) I asked him "What about the weapon?"

"The weapon... ah yes. It's some kind of energy beam," he said.

"I could have told you that!" I exclaimed.

"I thought you said this guy was good." Ultragirl turned to me, accusingly. The scientist shot her a nervous glance, then looked back at me, clearly rather scared.

"He's supposed to be the best." I said. "Maybe he just needs some encouragement," I suggested, taking a couple of steps towards him.

He started to back away clumsily. "Wait! I... I've done the best I can! No-one else could have discovered more in the time! I've studied the mechanism attached to the firing tube in great detail... it's just that there's... well there's nothing I recognise in there! It's all completely... er... completely alien." He protested.

"Duh!" I said.

"No, I mean there's nothing that looks like a power supply. I... no-one... could identify the type of energy it uses because it's impossible to see how and where that energy is stored or generated!" he explained.

"We need to know about that energy," I told him, "What it does, how it affects its target. My friend here-" I nodded at Ultragirl "-took a slight hit and it's given her a bit of a boost."

"But it seems to have vaporised an ordinary girl and left the rest of her family untouched." Ultragirl went on. "Any idea how or why?"

"Was the girl completely vaporised? If there are any, er